Driving Doctor Mayhem

[32] Ice Gun Thing

When I wandered into Doc's apartment the next day with his coffee and flopped onto the couch, he barely even noticed because he was putting the finishing touches on his ray gun.

"I can't believe," I mumbled, "that you're trying to build a ray that freezes time by putting ice in it."

"You'll have to take your face out of that pillow if we're going to have a conversation. But if that was a criticism--and I'm guessing from the tone of your voice--you don't have to bother."

I sat up. "I said, I can't believe you're trying to build a ray that freezes time by putting ice in it."

"So, it was a criticism," he grimaced, holding up the jar of goo that he was in the middle of emptying into the gun. "It doesn't just have ice in it, you know. That'd be ridiculous."

"What else's in it, then? It's something sophisticated and hard to pronouce, I'd bet."

Doc laughed, still not taking his eyes away from what he was working. "That'd be correct, but if I told you, you wouldn't understand. Besides, not all of this stuff is entirely street legal. Canada has smugglers, too."

"Is it drugs?"

"No, Robin."

"Norma told me that you had a drug bust here."

"It isn't drugs; it's chemicals," he sighed. "Don't worry about that, Larry is just an asshole. I know you think I'm a grumpy old man, but that's an actual grumpy old man."

"Chemicals are in drugs. Also, you're still a grumpy old man."

"Chemicals are in literally everything." He finally pushed away the jar of goop, pulling off the latex gloves he was wearing. When he looked up at me, he took a step back. "You look horrible."

"Thanks." I flopped back down into the pillow.

"You're not getting cold feet, are you?"

I sat up. "No, that would require of being sure of the plan in the first place, which I never was."

"You should be sure of the plan. It's foolproof."

"Unless your ice-gun-thing doesn't work."

"It'll work." Doc pretended to look hurt for a moment, but he wasn't fooling me. He was still on an emotional high, and would most likely ride its waves for weeks if the plan worked. For once, I was the grumpy one in the conversation.

"It's not about this, anyways. I just didn't sleep well last night, is all."

"Is it all the partying?" he cracked.

I gave in and laughed a little. I hadn't partied since ninth grade, and that was when spin-the-bottle was still a part of the equation. "Yeah," I replied. "Must be the partying. And, you know, the heroin."

Doc rolled his eyes and I realized that I was complaining about sleep to a narcoleptic person. "Pick yourself up some coffee, then," he said. "You need to be in best form today. We are committing a felony, after all."

Later on, I'd ask Gideon why he'd ever give Doc a second glance, when he could get nearly any other man he wanted. He rattled off a long list of reasons, most of them pretty silly, ranging from, 'He's absolutely brilliant,' to 'He has the same eyes as my dog.'

But the first thing that idiot blurted out was, 'Well, gosh, Banksy, I think it was his smile. Because he only did it when he meant it.'

In that moment, Doc's smile was about as wide as his face.

Cleo hopped onto the couch and curled around my feet, flicking her ears as if to say, 'Get a load of this lunatic.'