Read Online Lafferty, Mur by Playing for Keeps [html] - Free Book Online
Authors: Playing for Keeps [html]
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smile did not waver. "Ms.
Branson, we are here to suspend your alcohol license; your last report to us listed you making fifty-two percent of your net profits from alcohol sales instead of food sales, which violates Statute 756-A stating that every restaurant must make fifty-one percent of profit from food sales or call itself a private club."
Keepsie's smile evaporated as her jaw dropped. "That can't be, I track the books myself before I send to my accountant.”
Orson hooked his thumbs through his belt and sighed. "Well, Ms. Branson, if that is indeed true, it will show up in your next audit in sixty days time. Until then, we have to suspend your license and close your bar. We'd appreciate your cooperation with us." The officers at his back puffed themselves up menacingly.
"You can't do that, you can't take anything from her without her permission," Ian said.
"That may be true for Ms. Branson's possessions, but an alcohol license is something that belongs to the state, and can be taken by the state, just like a driver's license," Orson said.
Keepsie eyed him warily. "If you know that, then you must have friends at the Academy."
"Academy officials are acquainted with many other government agencies, ma'am," Orson said. "We do talk on occasion."
Cold comprehension washed over Peter. This was the only thing they could take from her, and possibly the thing that meant the most to her.
Keepsie allowed Orson to lead her mutely down the stairs into the bar.
They came out with the alcohol license - Keepsie had removed it from her frame -and Orson instructed her to lock the door. One officer came downstairs with a drill and a padlock and quickly installed another lock in Keepsie's door.
"They can't do this, can they?" Michelle asked.
"They can do anything they want," Peter said. "I'm sure if Keepsie has a change of heart about the device, then the audit will show no such numerical errors."
"But she was going to give it to them anyway!" said Ian. "Hey, Keepsie!" he called down the stairs. "Tell them you were-"
Keepsie looked up at him and shook her head sharply, her eyes cold and dry.
"Oh dude," he said. "She is pissed."
They watched as the officer finished his work and the three came up the stairs. Orson handed Keepsie his card and said, "We'll be in touch. And, if you wish to tell me anything, I'll be available to listen."
"This is bullshit!" Ian cried. "This is utter bullshit! You can't do this to her just cause she pissed off the heroes! She didn't break any laws, you're just Academy puppets!"
"Sir, I'll appreciate it if you keep calm," Orson said, but the officers behind him exchanged nervous looks.
They must have read the files on all of us, Peter thought.
"Ian, don't-" said Keepsie, but it was too late.
Ian raised his fists and his terrible talent spewed forth. Filth and excrement shot from his hands with firehose-like pressure, coating the men in feces and knocking them back.
"Oh no," groaned Michelle.
Ian laughed as he effortlessly kept the scrambling men at bay, slipping and falling again in the shit. He allowed them to get up only to knock them down again with a fresh stream.
Peter held a handkerchief to his nose, gagging. Keepsie lifted her arm to her face. She and Peter exchanged anguished looks, but before they could do anything, they heard a voice behind them.
"Thanks for finally giving me an excuse," said White Lightning, and he punched Ian in the back of the head. Ian fell forward. Peter leaped to try to catch him but he had edged too far away to avoid the stench. Ian was already unconscious as he hit the pavement.
"You're under arrest," White Lightning said to the prone Third Waver. He lifted him into his arms and flew toward the Academy.
Chapter 7
Dimly aware that Michelle was ranting and Peter was escorting them both down the street, Keepsie walked. The world was a flat image; a picture of the Seventh City Main Street that she walked twice every day, rain, shine, snow, heroes,
Branson, we are here to suspend your alcohol license; your last report to us listed you making fifty-two percent of your net profits from alcohol sales instead of food sales, which violates Statute 756-A stating that every restaurant must make fifty-one percent of profit from food sales or call itself a private club."
Keepsie's smile evaporated as her jaw dropped. "That can't be, I track the books myself before I send to my accountant.”
Orson hooked his thumbs through his belt and sighed. "Well, Ms. Branson, if that is indeed true, it will show up in your next audit in sixty days time. Until then, we have to suspend your license and close your bar. We'd appreciate your cooperation with us." The officers at his back puffed themselves up menacingly.
"You can't do that, you can't take anything from her without her permission," Ian said.
"That may be true for Ms. Branson's possessions, but an alcohol license is something that belongs to the state, and can be taken by the state, just like a driver's license," Orson said.
Keepsie eyed him warily. "If you know that, then you must have friends at the Academy."
"Academy officials are acquainted with many other government agencies, ma'am," Orson said. "We do talk on occasion."
Cold comprehension washed over Peter. This was the only thing they could take from her, and possibly the thing that meant the most to her.
Keepsie allowed Orson to lead her mutely down the stairs into the bar.
They came out with the alcohol license - Keepsie had removed it from her frame -and Orson instructed her to lock the door. One officer came downstairs with a drill and a padlock and quickly installed another lock in Keepsie's door.
"They can't do this, can they?" Michelle asked.
"They can do anything they want," Peter said. "I'm sure if Keepsie has a change of heart about the device, then the audit will show no such numerical errors."
"But she was going to give it to them anyway!" said Ian. "Hey, Keepsie!" he called down the stairs. "Tell them you were-"
Keepsie looked up at him and shook her head sharply, her eyes cold and dry.
"Oh dude," he said. "She is pissed."
They watched as the officer finished his work and the three came up the stairs. Orson handed Keepsie his card and said, "We'll be in touch. And, if you wish to tell me anything, I'll be available to listen."
"This is bullshit!" Ian cried. "This is utter bullshit! You can't do this to her just cause she pissed off the heroes! She didn't break any laws, you're just Academy puppets!"
"Sir, I'll appreciate it if you keep calm," Orson said, but the officers behind him exchanged nervous looks.
They must have read the files on all of us, Peter thought.
"Ian, don't-" said Keepsie, but it was too late.
Ian raised his fists and his terrible talent spewed forth. Filth and excrement shot from his hands with firehose-like pressure, coating the men in feces and knocking them back.
"Oh no," groaned Michelle.
Ian laughed as he effortlessly kept the scrambling men at bay, slipping and falling again in the shit. He allowed them to get up only to knock them down again with a fresh stream.
Peter held a handkerchief to his nose, gagging. Keepsie lifted her arm to her face. She and Peter exchanged anguished looks, but before they could do anything, they heard a voice behind them.
"Thanks for finally giving me an excuse," said White Lightning, and he punched Ian in the back of the head. Ian fell forward. Peter leaped to try to catch him but he had edged too far away to avoid the stench. Ian was already unconscious as he hit the pavement.
"You're under arrest," White Lightning said to the prone Third Waver. He lifted him into his arms and flew toward the Academy.
Chapter 7
Dimly aware that Michelle was ranting and Peter was escorting them both down the street, Keepsie walked. The world was a flat image; a picture of the Seventh City Main Street that she walked twice every day, rain, shine, snow, heroes,
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