Part 43 (2/2)

”Okay. Don't freak out or anything-”

”Oh, my G.o.d! It's not...Jax?”

My you-can-read-my-mind face gave me up.

”Oh, my G.o.d!” Keelie grabbed my arms, sending Yeoman Rand's wig a wobbling. ”Is he okay? Tell me he's okay!”

”I don't know anything more. All Manny told me was that Jax had been located. Manny wanted us to wait here for him. That's it. That's all I know.”

Keelie's stricken expression revealed much. It didn't take tarot cards to figure out this city mouse was in love with her country mouse.

”Maybe we should wait at your mom's trailer,” Keelie suggested. ”I don't feel much like partying.”

I nodded. I felt the same way. Besides, the beehive on my head was giving me a heavy-duty headache. And G.o.d only knew what the hose cap was doing to my hair.

We started to retrace our earlier steps, me gingerly, Keelie stepping out like she was in Starfleet boot camp when Langley, dressed in a blue Dr. McCoy s.h.i.+rt paired with black Capri pants (Capris with a Star Trek s.h.i.+rt? Surely, a cosmic faux pas.) rushed up to us.

”Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d! Oh, G.o.d!”

I was ready to offer Lang the comfort of a soothing sitz bath when he grabbed my arm, sending my wig weaving to and fro again.

”Where's Manny? Or your trooper friend? Anybody! Hurry! It's an emergency! Tiara's been abducted!”

”What are you doing, Lang?” Keelie said. ”Did Tiara put you up to another little stunt? It's pathetic. Beyond pathetic. She needs help. Professional help.”

Lang shook his head.

”No! No! I swear to G.o.d, Keelie, I'm not lying! This is real! A Klingon just kidnapped Tiara!”

Keelie grabbed the neckline of Langley's Star Trek uniform. ”So help me, Langley Carlisle the Third, if you're lying to me I will never speak to you again! Do you understand? Never!”

”It's true. I swear it. A Klingon ran off with her! I'm not making this up! Honest! We've got to help her!”

Keelie let go of Langley's s.h.i.+rt.

”Hold on a minute, Lang.” I said. ”Can you be more specific? Was it a Klingon circa the sixties series, or was it the more contemporary one?” I asked.

The Brit, obviously no Star Trek aficionado himself, stared at me.

”Oh, for heaven's sakes! Did he have the funky forehead ridges in the front and a disturbing pageboy thing going on in back?” I asked.

”Yes! Yes! That's the one!” Lang insisted. ”That's him!”

”You mean Worf,” a rather rotund Kirk nearby inserted.

I turned. ”Worf?”

”A main character in The Next Generation and Deep s.p.a.ce Nine,” he said. ”Really groundbreaking for the time. A Klingon crewman.”

I shook my head and turned back to Lang.

”How big was he? This Klingon? Was he short or tall? Tan or fair?”

Lang shook his head. ”It happened so fast. He was on the short side, I think. A few inches taller than Tiara, I think. That's really all I can remember.”

A short Klingon warrior. I looked around. Klingon warriors of all sizes, shapes, and colors were everywhere.

I sighed.

Why did it have to be a Klingon? Why couldn't it have been a Romulan? Or a Gorn?

My phone rang. It was Manny.

”Manny, Tiara's missing! A Klingon has her!” I blurted and explained what Langley witnessed. ”He's a more recent Klingon. Think Mork on Star Trek: The Next Generation or Deep s.p.a.ce Nine,” I said.

”Worf, not Mork,” the portly Kirk corrected.

Keelie grabbed at the phone. ”Did he find Jax? Is he okay?”

I waved her off, finished listening to Manny, and then handed my phone to Keelie.

”Manny wants to talk to you,” I said. Seeing the fear in her face, I nodded. ”Go ahead. It's okay. It's good news.”

It was. Kind of.

Jax had been found. And, mostly, uninjured.

It was how and where he was discovered that wasn't such good news. The country crooner was discovered, bound and gagged, in a Porta-Potty. The kybo door had been duct-taped shut, a ”Do Not Use-Out of Order” sign posted on the front.

I made a ”eww” face, my own recent Porta-Potty nightmare still fresh in my mind.

Keelie handed me my phone.

”He's okay,” she said, breathless with relief. ”Thank G.o.d, he's okay.”

I nodded.

That was the good news.

The bad news?

We'd eliminated our one and only stalker suspect, and our perp looked like a gazillion other alien warriors partying in Riverside.

Talk about lost in s.p.a.ce.

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