driver leaned forward, squinting through the rain lashing
his windshield. The wipers squealed and sloshed against
the downpour but as soon as it cleared, more water sluiced
down from the skies. A flash of lightning lit up the flooded
The driver cursed, rummaging in the glove box for his
map and steering one-handed through the storm. He thought
he should have turned left at the last intersection, and
now he was lost. Failing to find the map by touch alone,
he glanced down.
The wheel wrenched out of his hands as the front axle
dropped into a deep puddle, and the truck skidded.
The driver grabbed the wheel with both hands, wrestling
with the heavy truck as it careered across the road.
The truck lurched into the kerb, tearing the back tyre
off the rim. The driver spun the wheel but the truck continued
to skid, out of control on the flooded road.
Another tyre blew out as the truck jolted over a rock,
spinning the truck around. The driver threw up his arms
to protect his face as the truck swerved off the road
and into the trees. It skidded sideways down the wooded
slope, hit a boulder and rolled, tumbling over and over
before crashing down onto another road at the bottom of
The truck rolled once more, landing on its roof. The back
doors burst open, shiny cylinders spilling across the
wet tarmac. Inside the cab, the driver put a shaking hand
to his head, his fingers coming away sticky with blood.
The thunder echoed in his head as the world grew dark
and echoing around him. He looked out, seeing the city
lights twinkling upside down in the distance.
His last thought before he passed out was, ‘I guess
I found L.A. after all…’.
* * * *
Being in a gang sucked, the boy decided.
Going for a drive in this weather sucked too, the roof
of the ancient convertible leaking a steady stream of
water down the neck of his too-large leather jacket.
The jacket sucked as well – it was too hot to wear
during a sticky, September storm and it smelled of the
previous owner’s sweat and stale cigarettes. But,
as Jethro had pointed out, if you aren’t wearing
the colours, you’re disrespecting the gang. And
you didn’t upset Jethro, because Jethro getting
mad at you sucked worse than anything. The boy pulled
at the jacket collar, trying to stop the rain getting
in. The movement attracted the attention of the convertible’s
driver, something he’d been trying to avoid.
“Hey, Einstein, you having fun yet?” The driver
turned to stare at him without taking his foot off the
“Oh yeah, Jethro. Great.” The boy forced a
smile, willing Jethro to concentrate on the rain-slick
“OK then.” Jethro’s gaze flicked back
to the road and Einstein breathed a sigh of relief. He’d
hoped for safety in numbers when he’d hooked up
with Jethro, but Jethro frightened him almost as much
as the older gangers, the proper gangers in his neighbourhood.
“Well, what do we have here?” Jethro stood
on the brakes and the car squealed to a halt, the wreck
of a truck lit up in the headlights. The gang crowded
forwards, squashing Einstein against the door.
“You think the driver’s dead?” The ganger
next to Jethro opened his door, letting in the rain as
he got out for a closer look.
“Most likely. Come on, let’s see what we got.”
Jethro turned up his collar and stepped out into the rain.
Einstein followed more slowly, stepping round the puddles
and walking past the spilled load to peer into the cab.
“Jethro! I think he’s still alive!”
Einstein scrubbed at the cracked glass and looked in again.
“I look like I care? Get your skinny ass over here
– truck’s carrying chemicals and shit.”
Jethro shook his head at Einstein and turned a silver
canister over with his boot.
“But Jethro! He’s hurt. We can’t just
leave him here!” Einstein flinched as Jethro glared
“So call 911!” He spun round, water spraying
off the fringes on his jacket sleeves, “Except I
don’t see no phone round here, do you?” He
tipped his head back, catching a mouthful of rain. “Call
‘em when we get back, you’re so worried about
some punk-ass truck driver. Idiot. Get over here and look
at this.” Jethro stared at Einstein until the younger
boy sighed and splashed his way to the back of the truck.
Einstein crouched next to the canister, wiping rain off
the label. His lips moved as he read the formula printed
there and shook his head.
“I never heard of that, Jethro. Is there anything
else in there?” He rolled the canister over. “No
hazard stickers, so I guess it’s not dangerous.”
He watched as Jethro leaned into the truck, flicking his
lighter to see inside.
“Looks like… jetpacks?” Jethro shook
his head. “No idea what the hell we got here, but
it looks like it’s worth money. Load her up.”
The gangers filled the trunk with three jetpacks and an
armful of cylinders, piled in and drove away. Einstein
twisted round to look out of the back window as they left,
but there was no movement from the truck.
* * * *
Inside the truck, the driver frowned. Had he seen a pale
face at the window, or was he hallucinating? He closed
his eyes and slid into unconsciousness.
* * * *
Detective Kate Murphy set her coffee on her desk and picked
up the folders in her in-tray. She blew on her drink and
sipped as she flicked through the titles, then opened
the top one. She read through the four burglary reports,
the update on the gang scene in South Hollywood and the
accident report on the chemical truck, crashed up in the
hills. She skimmed the rest, but there was nothing new
assigned to her. Nothing that sounded like Dr Zito might
have been involved. She silently cursed her own paranoia
and reached for her case files.
* * * *
“So what is it?” Jethro leaned against the
kitchen counter and poked a finger into the mass of tubes
and wiring Einstein was investigating.
“I dunno.” Einstein caught Jethro’s
frown. “I dunno yet, I mean.” He moved the
machine out of Jethro’s reach and picked up one
of the silver canisters, fitting it into a space at the
side of the machine. “The gas, or whatever’s
in here, hooks up to the delivery system, but what it’s
for? Beats me.”
“Huh.” Jethro picked up another machine by
its straps. “You can’t read that science-shit
formula on the tank? Maybe you’re not so clever
after all. Remind me why I let you hang with us again?”
He glared at Einstein and the younger boy looked away.
“I’m trying, Jethro. I’m trying.”
Einstein picked up a tube of superglue, sticking down
a component that had shaken loose in the crash. He laid
the tube down next to the canister, holding the machine
parts together. Then he frowned, glancing from the canister
to the tube. He set the machine carefully aside.
“Jethro, I think I know what’s in here.”
He frowned at the canister, trying to work out the formula
in his head. “I think it’s kinda like superglue,
only it’s a foam.”* * * *
“Non-lethal weapons? Isn’t that a contradiction
in terms?” Seeley scooted his computer chair across
to MacGyver’s desk, reading the New Scientist article
over his shoulder.
“I don’t think so.” MacGyver moved the
magazine so that Seeley could see too. “Imagine
the situation: You know there are enemy soldiers or terrorists
in a particular building, but bombing the building is
out of the question because there are innocent people
in there too. What if you could, say, ‘neutralise
-’” MacGyver made quote marks in the air,
“- everyone in the building and then go in and weed
out the terrorists afterwards, with no threat to your
soldiers and the civilians?” He spread his hands.
“Think of the lives that could be saved!”
“Sounds, good, but how would you do it?” Seeley
rubbed his chin and frowned. “This John Alexander’s
ideas of microwave cannons and electromagnetic pulse generators
sound like pure science fiction to me.”
“Yeah…” MacGyver turned the page, scanning
the article. “Sound waves and guns that shoot fast
setting foam or anaesthetic gas sound more plausible right
now, but in twenty years or so, who knows?”
“It’ll never catch on.” Seeley stood
up. “I’m getting some coffee, you want some?”
MacGyver shook his head, still reading.
* * * *
“Damn, bro!” Jethro shrugged out of the harness
and put the machine down on a dry patch of concrete. He
crossed the yard and reached out to touch the sticky mess
plastered across the wall. His fingers stuck, taking some
skin off as he yanked his hand free. “Just like
the Ghostbusters packs! We got us some unlicensed adhesive
accelerators right here!” He chuckled, turning to
face the assembled gangers.
“Don’t cross the streams, bro!” A lanky
ganger grinned, shaking his head as he poked the mess
with a toothpick.
“Don’t cross the streams is right. Lonnie,
go get me a guinea pig. I want to test this baby on a
live target!” Jethro picked up the glue cannon again,
settling the straps on his shoulders and stroking the
canister. “Real firepower at last…”
“Yeah, Boss.” The lanky ganger signalled to
the two standing nearest to him and they slouched off
down the alley. Einstein watched them go, more worried
than usual by the gleam in Jethro’s eyes.
* * * *
Detective Murphy rubbed her eyes and blinked. Her shift
was due to finish in half an hour and she was looking
forward to a hot shower and a meal. She typed the last
paragraph of her report and signed it. The phone rang
and she tucked the receiver into her shoulder, winding
the report out of the typewriter.
“Murphy. Yeah, what is it?” She listened to
the agitated desk sergeant. “You’re kidding
me. They glued him to… How?!” She put the
report down, reaching instead for a notebook and pen.
“Yeah, tell me where… OK. And we’ve
no idea how…? Right. On my way.” She put down
the receiver and stared at the phone, drumming her fingers
on the desk. Then she picked up the phone again, dialling
a number from memory.
“Can you put me through to MacGyver, please? Detective
Kate Murphy, LAPD. Yes, I’ll hold.” She grabbed
her bag, fishing out her keys and gun one handed. “Mac?
Yeah, it’s me. I’m OK. No, no sign of him,
this is something else.” She shrugged into her jacket.
“Uh-huh. Yeah, well, you know how much you love
weird science? I want you to come out to a crime scene