"Anytime," he said, and then realized she was talking of the water-laser. "Sure," he said.
From a pitcher on the table, she poured a small glass of water. "Mind you," she said. "This model's just experimental. But it shows the principle."
She turned off the motor and the laboratory rang with the sudden silence. She lifted off the top of the water-laser and poured in the glass of water. "The device uses its own internal water supply," she explained.
From the side of the water-laser, there was a nozzle similar to a spout on a gas can. She began to twist a knurled nut. "I'm narrowing the stream," she said. "It's adjustable."
She turned the laser so the spout faced Remo. From a bench she took a steel plate a few inches square, and handed it to Remo. "Hold it in front of the spout," she said. "And brace yourself."
Remo took a good grip on the steel plate and held it in front of the spout. Just one cup of water. How much force could be generated from one cup of water?
Jill tossed a switch and the pump began to groan again. Remo could hear it churning and could tell by its rising pitch that it was building up to top power. And then he was almost lifted off his feet, as a jet of water shot from the front of the water-laser, smashing against the steel plate. His arms were rigid and Remo had gripped the plate with all his strength, but the force of the water acted as a battering ram and knocked Remo five feet backwards.
Remo's arms throbbed with the pressure of the water against the plate, and then the pressure suddenly stopped as the machine stepped itself down, resuming a steady, low throb.
Jill laughed at the look on Remo's face.
"I'm impressed," Remo said.
"The secret is the lack of wave pattern in the water," Jill said. "There's no surge, just a steady force. If we focus a stream of water to a narrow extreme it can cut through metal. If we use a wide stream, it can crush. You just saw us use a cup of water. The water-laser holds five gallons when it's full."
She turned a dial and the machine slowed down even more. "We're testing it now for endurance," she said.
"And this is the only one?" Remo asked.
She paused. "Yes. The only one. Why?"
"Because I think someone may have stolen your plans. Do you know that someone is able to cause earthquakes and is trying to shake down people in San Aquino?"
"Well, they couldn't do it with this machine. It's too small. Still experimental," Jill said. "And as for stealing our plans, there are no plans. We built the water-laser from scratch, improvising as we went. And who'd be crazy enough to make an earthquake?"
"Who indeed?" Jacki snorted, behind Remo.
"If enough money's involved," Remo said, "you can find somebody crazy enough to do anything. That's why your Mafia friends were here today. They're trying to move in."
"Are you a detective, Remo?" Jill asked. "You seem very concerned."
"A detective? No thanks. I'm just a store owner trying to make a living and I'm not going to be able to if I have to pay shakedown money."
Dr. Quake walked away and sat himself down behind a desk, looking through a sheaf of papers.
"Listen," Remo said softly to the girls. "I think you ought to get a guard here or something. Until this whole thing is cleared up. The Mafia might be back."
"Oh, I think that's silly," Jill said. "By the way, what happened to those two men who were here? What did you tell them? We saw them driving away in a real hurry."
"Only one drove away. The other one's dead in your kitchen."
"Dead?"
"Dead."
She started to say something, then stopped. She turned to walk away. "If you haven't any more questions, Remo, we've got work to do."
"Sure thing," Remo said. "We'll talk again. Why don't you stop sometime and have a swim in my pool?"
"Maybe we will," Jill said.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Wade Wyatt was standing alongside the road, throwing up Gertie's lunch into a ditch.
Remo saw the black and white sheriff's car on the side of the road as he drove back from the institute. Speed-trap, he thought. But as he drew abreast of the star-studded patrol car, he saw Wyatt at the side, his burly back heaving spastically as he upchucked. Next to Wyatt was a cadaverously thin man, dressed in the same tan uniform as Wyatt. The deputy, Remo remembered.
Remo pulled off onto the shoulder of the road, left the motor running, and got out. He walked back to Wyatt, who was still heaving.
"Must be something you ate, sheriff," he said pleasantly.
Wyatt turned. "Oh, it's you." He pointed down into the ditch and resumed vomiting.
Remo looked down. Two men were at the bottom of the ditch. They wore blue suits and had elaborate hair styles that would delight a hair spray manufacturer. It looked as if the two of them had choked on their intestines. Gobs of guts were stringing from their mouths as if their stomachs had been crushed and their intestines had taken the only way out, through their mouths.
"Man," Remo said, "they must eat in the same place you do."
Wyatt had his stomach under control now. His deputy said to Remo, "Don't be talking to the sheriff that way."
"I'm a taxpayer, sonny," Remo said.
"Even a taxpayer got no right to go mouthing off to Sheriff Wyatt that way."
"Sorry," Remo said. "No offense."
"All right," the deputy said. "Just so's you know."
Wyatt hitched up his pants and slid down into the ditch.
"Who are they, sheriff?" Remo asked.
"Don't know yet. Ginzos. Eye-talians," he explained. "Wouldn't surprise me none if these were the wops that killed Curpwell."
"Good thinking," said Remo who knew better. "Who found the bodies?"
Wyatt was now reaching a hand delicately into the first man's pocket, looking for a wallet.
"Phone call from a motorist," he said.
Satisfied the first man's pockets were empty, Wyatt began to look through the second man's clothes. Nothing there, either. As he stood up, Remo noticed that the men's trouser flies were open. He noticed something else too. Around their waists, their shirts and trousers were slightly discoloured. As if they had been wet, and then baked dry quickly by the sun.