Bikini Planet

  Bikini Planet

  David Garnet

  Rookie cop Wayne witnesses a mob hit and must make a swift getaway. But waking up 300 years in the future is more extreme than he’d planned. Putting his only skills into use, he joins GalactiCop, but becomes entangled in a gang war for control of Bikini Planet - pleasure capital of the universe.

  Bikini Planet

  by David Garnet

  CHAPTER ZERO

  June 26, 1968 was a Wednesday in Las Vegas.

  All over the world it was Wednesday. Except across Australia and half of Asia, where it was already Thursday.

  Wayne Norton sat behind the wheel of a car parked outside a donut shop at the southern end of Las Vegas Boulevard. He had the window wound down because it was fractionally cooler on the sidewalk than in the vehicle. Only a few years ago this part of the Strip had all been desert. Now there were buildings everywhere, and at least half of them seemed to be hotels or casinos. Or both.

  Norton looked in the rearview mirror again. After pulling in, he’d angled the mirror so he could see himself. This only confirmed what he already suspected: His new sunglasses weren’t right? He didn’t look cool enough.

  When he straightened the mirror he saw that the stretch limo was still there, still in a no-waiting zone. Norton’s car was in the same prohibited zone, but that was different.

  His was a police car, and he was a police officer.

  He glanced toward the donut store, but there was no sign of King. They were meant to be on patrol, so one of them had to stay inside the automobile in case of a radio message.

  Because he was hot and bored and tired, Norton allowed his eyes to close for a second. He quickly opened them again. It would have been so easy to fall asleep, giving King another excuse to complain about baby-sitting.

  He had to do something, so he opened the door, climbed out, and walked back along the street toward the Lincoln. It was all black, even the windows. He bent down to peer inside, but could see nothing through the darkened glass. The polished paintwork gleamed in the sunlight, and it looked as if it had come straight out of the showroom. It had Illinois plates, but even a driver from out of state should have recognised a no-waiting sign.

  Norton wrote a parking ticket and tucked it behind the windshield wiper. That was when the door opened and the driver stepped out. He was six and a half feet tall and must have weighed over two-fifty pounds. His expensive suit was so well cut Norton could hardly detect the bulge of his shoulder holster.

  The driver stood looking at him, then reached for the ticket. He tore it in half, in quarters, in eighths, and he kept tearing until his massive fingers had reduced the paper to confetti. One squeeze of his huge fist, and he could probably have turned it to dust.

  “There is,” Norton said slowly. “A city ordinance. Against littering.”

  The driver raised his hand to his face. And stuffed every scrap of paper into his mouth. He chewed for a few seconds, swallowed it all down. His eyes never left Norton’s face. He didn’t even seem to blink. Then he climbed back into the car, closed the door, and disappeared into the blackness.

  It was as if none of it had happened.

  Norton decided it might not be such a good idea to issue another ticket. He turned away, and only then realised his right hand was on the butt of his revolver.

  Sergeant King was leaning against the patrol car, eating a donut.

  “Did you see that?” said Norton.

  “I didn’t see nothing,” said King.

  “That guy just destroyed state property.”

  “Where’s the evidence?”

  “He swallowed it.”

  “Here.” King handed over a donut. “But a parking ticket probably tastes better.”

  “So you did see what happened.”

  “At least he didn’t make you swallow it.”

  “What do we do?”

  “Nothing.” King slid into the passenger seat. “A limo like that, who do you think owns it? We all get on fine, Duke. We leave them alone, they leave us alone.”

  Norton looked at the Lincoln, imagining the invisible driver watching from behind the black windows. The automobile wasn’t really his style, but he’d have liked windows like that. They were real cool.

  And gangsters were always cool.

  Eating a donut on the street wasn’t very cool, but it couldn’t be helped. Norton didn’t want any crumbs in the car. He wiped his mouth, took a final glance at the Lincoln, hitched up his gun belt, then got back inside the LVPD vehicle.

  They weren’t called gangsters, of course. In Las Vegas they were known as businessmen or investors or property developers. This was their town. They’d built it. They owned most of it. And that included the police.

  Not that there was any corruption. Or not much.

  Gambling, prostitution, all night drinking; everything was legal. So there was no reason to pay off the police. Or not much.

  When he was a kid, Norton had wanted to be a gangster. He’d seen all the movies, watched the television series, and he always cheered for the baddies. They usually ended up dead, mown down in a hail of bullets, but that wasn’t for real. Growing up in Las Vegas, he knew real-life gangsters didn’t get shot. They always wound up with the newest cars, the smartest clothes, the best-looking chicks.

  “Get this wagon rolling, Duke.”

  King had been Norton’s partner for six months. Ever since their first minute together, when the sergeant found out his first name was Wayne, he’d always called him “Duke.” Norton had never said a thing, never let on that he knew the reason for the constant Western references. He’d hoped King would tire of them. But he hadn’t, and he called the two of them “the King and the Duke.” Which meant Norton was always outranked.

  Norton turned the key and the engine roared into life.

  “Another two hours to go,” said King, as he checked his watch. “What you doing tonight?”

  “Nothing special.”

  “This is Vegas, Duke. Every night is special. It’s the greatest place in the whole wide world.”

  Norton hoped Vegas wasn’t the greatest place in the whole wide world. Was this the best he had to look forward to? The way things were going, he might never find out.

  The one time he’d ever been out of Nevada was to see the Grand Canyon, and that was only a few hours away.

  “England, Italy, Germany,” said King. “I’ve seen them all, hated them all. I couldn’t wait to get back here.”

  England. Italy. Germany. Just the names sounded so exotic, like mythical lands out of an ancient-history book. “Maybe you wouldn’t have hated it if they hadn’t been shooting at you,” said Norton.

  “They didn’t shoot at us in England. We were supposed to be on the same side. It rains in England, Duke. It rains all the time. I don’t know what was worse—the boredom and the rain in England, or getting shot at in Italy and Germany.”

  King no longer had that problem. It didn’t rain in Vegas. Or not much. And no one shot at the police. Or not often.

  That was fine by Norton. He was used to the weather, although it might be interesting to try another climate. He’d never been shot at, but he definitely wasn’t interested in finding out what it was like.

  If he had been, he’d have gone to Viet Nam.

  Which was what had happened to friends of his, those who’d been unable to avoid the draft. And those who thought it was their patriotic duty not to.

  Norton had no idea how to join the mob, and in any case it probably didn’t mean automatic exemption from military service. So he’d gone with his second career choice and joined the police force.

  He wasn’t sure it was the right decision. If he’d entered the army, at least he’d have gone somewhere. King would never have been an
ywhere if it hadn’t been for the Second World War.

  “You’ve never wanted to go back to Europe?” he asked.

  “What for?”

  “For a vacation.”

  “On a cop’s pay?”

  Norton glanced at King, and after a moment King smiled. He didn’t have to live on his police pay. Because he was a cop, he had other sources of income. And fewer expenses. He probably hadn’t paid for those donuts.

  Norton stood as little chance of going to Europe as he did to the Moon, but he said, “I’d like to see the world.”

  “There’s no need, Duke. The world comes to Vegas. It’s the centre of the universe.”

  King believed exactly what he said. Either that or he’d convinced himself he meant it. Which was the same thing.

  Norton was worried he’d find himself believing it, too. Would he still be here in twenty or thirty years’ time, still driving around in a police car? Around and around. How many miles would he have driven by then? Without going anywhere.

  A car overtook them.

  Going fast.

  Very fast.

  On the wrong side of the road.

  Norton floored the accelerator.

  “A heist?” he said.

  “What?”

  “A robbery?”

  “Nothing on the radio,” said King. “But that doesn’t mean much.”

  Norton switched on the siren. This was more like it. The speeding car was a red Jaguar, and within a minute or two both vehicles were out of town and on the open highway. The police car was doing a hundred, but the Jaguar was even faster, pulling further and further away.

  This was the most exciting thing that had happened for weeks, and Norton was enjoying the chase. He hoped King wouldn’t ask for back-up, or call for a Highway Patrol roadblock up ahead. Then he saw the red lights as the other driver hit the brakes, pulling over in a cloud of dust and a trail of burning rubber.

  The police car skidded to a halt ten yards behind the Jaguar. Norton climbed out, drew his pistol. King did the same, waiting by the hood while Norton approached the other car. It was brand new. Had it been stolen?

  It was a convertible, but the top was up and the rear window so small he couldn’t make out who was inside. The driver’s window wound down. Norton halted.

  “Out of the vehicle!” he yelled.

  The door swung open.

  “Hands on your head!”

  “Can’t I put them inside your pants?” said the driver.

  It was a woman’s voice. A girl’s voice.

  And Norton knew exactly who she was.

  She slid her sandalled feet out of the door. Her legs long and tanned. Then leaned her head out. Her hair long and blonde. She stood up, smiling.

  “Hi, Wayne. Hi, Sergeant King.”

  “Hello, Susie,” said King. He grinned at the girl, holstered his revolver, winked at Norton, then went and sat back inside the police car.

  “What do you think you were doing?” said Norton.

  “About a hundred and twenty,” said Susie Ash. “Is that a gun in your hand, or are you just pleased to see me?”

  “What? Oh. Yeah.” Norton put away his pistol. “Whose car is it?”

  “Mine. You like it? Daddy bought it for my birthday. I thought I’d see how fast it could go.”

  “You did that deliberately, didn’t you?”

  “Did what?”

  “You know what. Because you wanted me to chase you.”

  “I’ve always wanted you to chase me, Wayne. Because I’ve always liked it when you caught me. Come here. Give me a kiss.”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “I’m on duty, Susie. The only thing I’m going to give you is a speeding ticket.”

  “Another present? No, you shouldn’t. You’re all so good to me. Daddy gives me a car, then you give me my first speeding ticket. Wow! It’s all too much. Am I a criminal? Will you lock me up? There must be a cell back at the station where we can be locked up together. Why don’t you handcuff me, Wayne? Then I’d be unable to resist you.”

  But Susie was the irresistible one. Norton had known her for years. They’d grown up together, gone to school together, done almost everything together. She wore a tight pair of cut-off denims and a tie-dyed psychedelic T-shirt that clung to her bra-less breasts. When Norton looked into her eyes, all he could see was himself. She was wearing her mirror-lensed sunglasses.

  Everyone thought Susie was a great girl. She was. And she was his, all his. Or so everyone thought.

  Norton glanced at the car. It wasn’t her birthday until Friday, and he hadn’t bought her anything yet, but what kind of present could compare with a brand-new Jaguar? Susie’s father had built one of Las Vegas’s first supermarkets, and now he owned stores from California to New Mexico.

  Norton had always wanted to visit California, to see the ocean—and the bikini-clad surfer girls. Susie had gone out there last summer, lived in San Francisco and become a hippie. Until her father had her brought back to Vegas, before sending her on a long tour of Europe. At the end of this summer, she’d be gone again. To college, back east.

  College. Europe. A red Jaguar. Norton was nothing but a rookie cop. Susie was his girlfriend. But for how long?

  He’d always hoped they would get married, and it was something they used to talk about. As time went by, they talked about it less. Everything became less, in fact. They saw each other less, did less together.

  “I do love a man in uniform,” said Susie, reaching out to him.

  She folded back his shirt collar, checking he was still wearing the peace button she’d given him for his last birthday. He’d much rather have had her sunglasses.

  “Almost as much as I love a man without his uniform,” she added, as she tried to undo his shirt buttons.

  Wayne stepped back. “What do you want for your birthday?”

  “Only you.” Susie stepped forward.

  “I wish.”

  “It’s not what you give, Wayne. It’s the thought that counts.”

  “I know what I’d like to give you,” said Norton. “It’s something I’m always thinking about.”

  Susie smiled. But with her eyes hidden, the smile could have meant anything.

  “How about a sample?” she said, sliding one of her legs between his, rubbing her thigh up and down his crotch, pressing her warm breasts against his chest.

  “No!” Norton leaned back. “The sergeant’s waiting.”

  “What about all the times you’ve waited for him?”

  Every few days, Norton had to sit in the car while King visited some cathouse or other. At least he was never inside very long.

  Susie licked her lips. Norton knew he stood no chance.

  She really was irresistible. They kissed, her lips sucking at his, her teeth clashing against his, her tongue snaking deep into his mouth. She tasted so good.

  She drew back for a moment. “Maybe it’ll be you who gets a present on my birthday,” she whispered.

  “I wish.”

  They kissed again, her kiss promising everything. When they finally parted, she looked him up and down.

  “You are glad to see me!” she laughed. “Adios, Wayne.” She spun around.

  A few seconds later the Jaguar roared away. Norton watched it vanish in the distance, then turned and went back to the patrol car.

  “Where’s the ticket?” asked King.

  “What? A ticket? Well… er… no… I didn’t… er… write one.”

  “I thought maybe she’d swallowed it, but I guess she was too busy swallowing your tongue.” The sergeant laughed and shook his head. “You’re a lucky guy.”

  “Am I?”

  “Her father’s one of the richest men in the whole goddamned state. She’s his only child. As if that isn’t enough, she’s a total knockout. You’ve got it made, Duke.”

  Norton wasn’t so sure. He started the engine.

  “If only I was twenty years younger,” added King, “you wouldn’t
stand a chance.” He shook his head again. “What an ass that girl’s got. Great tits. Real blonde, too, no two-tone model. Not that I have to tell you.”

  Norton looked at him.

  “No offence, Duke. Just being complimentary, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I bet she’s great in the sack, yeah?”

  Norton looked away, smiling.

  “Yeah,” King said again, and he sighed.

  Great in the sack? Norton wished he knew. The way his life was going, he’d never find out. At twenty-one, he was probably the oldest virgin in Las Vegas.

  And Susie Ash was the second oldest.

  He hoped.

  Norton slammed on the brakes and managed to stop before he hit the man. Even then, the guy didn’t move. Norton sounded the horn, but the jaywalker stayed in the middle of the street, less than a yard in front of the squad car.

  “Out of the road!” yelled Norton.

  His shift was almost over, and all he wanted was to go home. King had already gone, getting Norton to drive him there. They were supposed to sign off together, but the sergeant had been on the force long enough to bend the rules.

  Norton had been thinking about Susie, and the man seemed to have appeared from nowhere. If he’d moved away, Norton wouldn’t have given him a second look; but because he remained where he was, Norton looked again.

  He was wearing the most amazing shades.

  They weren’t shaped like a pair of sunglasses, but more like the visor of a motorcycle helmet. At first, the lens appeared to be mirrored, and yet the effect was the exact opposite—as if it absorbed light instead of reflecting it. The surface looked black, but every colour of the spectrum seemed to swirl and shimmer within the darkness.

  Although only a narrow strip, the shades effectively masked the man’s face. They were real cool. Exactly what Norton wanted. Where had he bought them?

  Norton could feel the hidden eyes staring straight at him. Then the guy suddenly laughed and shook his head, stepped toward the sidewalk and turned up the next street.

  It wasn’t just his shades that were odd, Norton realised. His hair was long, but there were hippies even in Vegas. His clothes were weird, too, even by Vegas standards. When it was all added together, there was something very suspicious about him.