Read Online America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 22: Blue Powder War by Walter Knight - Free Book Online Page B

does.”
    “I’m listening, but you’re not making me happy.”
    “How do I know you can be trusted?”
    “You don’t have a choice.”
    “Neither do you,” argued Blue-Claw. “The whole Arthropodan army is about to attack your gulag, searching for their lost refugees. I want a one-way ticket for me and my associates to pre-historic Arthropoda.”
    “America doesn’t have gulags.”
    “Do we have a deal?”
    “What you want might violate several treaties, but it’s doable.”
    “Just make it happen. Remember, I have incriminating video on you, Czerinski.”
    “Fine. Who has the weapon?”
    “The cops.”
    “I see. Thanks, we have a deal. If you want to play Fred Flintstone with giant monitor dragons on pre-historic Arthropoda, who am I to argue with that? I’m sure you will get what you deserve.”
     
    * * * * *
     
    A lone United Parcel Service truck drove to the front gate of the scorpion judge’s rural villa. Its stoic spider driver peered into the camera announcing, “UPS. What can Brown do for you?”
    “You must be lost,” replied a scorpion guard over the intercom. “You spiders are not allowed anywhere near Scorpion City.”
    “I’m delivering Outlaw Beer for the barbecue,” advised the spider driver. “I’m on the clock. Are you going to open up or not?”
    The gate opened, letting the UPS truck through. Once inside, the spider driver handed his clipboard to the scorpion judge at the edge of the gathering. “Please sign, Your Honor.”
    “I didn’t order more beer,” slurred the scorpion judge, wearily. “But I didn’t order more spider meat either, so you and your beer are welcome to stay. The more the merrier. Bon appétit.”
    The driver unlocked the back of the truck filled with large boxes. The scorpion judge cut open the nearest box. He stared dumbly down the barrel of an assault rifle wielded by an Arthropodan marine who emerged from styrofoam packing peanuts. What the hell?
    “Make my day!” exclaimed the spider commander cheerfully. “Where is human pestilence Channel Five World News Tonight reporter Phil Coen?”
    “Tied to a spit, about to be roasted,” answered the scorpion judge incredulously. “If you’re hungry, you’re just in time. He has already been basted.”
    “I don’t eat human pestilence.”
    “I don’t blame you, they’re a bit gamy. It’s an acquired taste.”
    The spider commander hit the scorpion judge square in the face with the butt of his rifle. Other commandos cut their way out of the boxes, quickly exiting the truck. Automatic weapons fire killed partygoers and guards in short order. The spider commander dragged the judge into the house where Coen’s camera equipment was retrieved. Coen was loaded into the UPS truck.
    “Is there anything you want to say before meeting the Grim Reaper?” asked the spider commander, filming the event. “Anything? Perhaps something profound about justice and the rule of law?”
    “This is an outrage! You won’t get–”
    The spider commander shot the scorpion judge between his eight eyes. “See you in Hell, bitches!”
    The villa burned. Commandos sealed themselves back into boxes, to be mailed home. Ha! Another use for duct tape.
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 12
     
    Inmate Charles Coles walked out of the New Phoenix County Jail, free as a bird. All the blue powder evidence from the illicit convoy was blown away by a mysterious giant tornado dust storm. Coles found himself out of a job, but at least he was free, more than could be said for his boss, Blue-Claw. Ever opportunistic, Coles even boosted a new pair of stylish jail underwear jockey shorts from the lackadaisical staff, a sign his luck might still change for the better.
    Coles high-stepped across the street to the unemployment office to apply for free money. Counselor Sally Hart empathized with the downtrodden, giving him a big smile. Sally had a very pretty smile.
    “You look lost, poor soul,” she said
    “I am,” replied Coles.
    “Can I