Chapter 8
“WHAT THE…”
Tough Guy dropped the Twizzlers like they were glowing strands of red-hot plutonium.
“Okay, son,” said the leader, making a big show of lowering his weapon. “We’re impressed. We know what you’re capable of. We’re special agents with the FBI’s IOU.”
“IOU?” I laughed. “You’re making that up, right? Like I owe you?”
“I assure you, son, this is not a joke. The Interplanetary Outlaw Unit functions under the radar as a liaison between the United States federal government and visitors from planets unknown.”
“Like me, you mean?”
“No, son. We’re on the same team.”
Impossible, I thought. In all my battles with alien outlaws, never once had the United States cavalry come riding over the ridge to my rescue.
“We’re your friends,” he continued.
“No. My friends just left so you wouldn’t hurt them with that Opus 24/24—if you even know how to fire it.”
“We’re not here to hurt anyone.”
“Then tell me: Why are you carrying a weapon known to be the galaxy’s most heinous, most hurtful, not to mention most outlawed, instrument of pain?”
“We thought carrying the alien weaponry would prove that we are who and what we claim to be. We confiscated these weapons in firefights.”
“Right. The IOU. A super-secret branch of the FBI that deals with alien outlaws, just like Mulder and Scully used to on The X-Files. ‘The truth is out there’ and all that. Sorry, Agent, I want to believe, but, frankly, I don’t.”
“You should, Daniel. I promise you, I’m telling you the truth.”
“Okay. That was good, calling me Daniel. I only have one question: How did you know my name?”
“Easy,” said a tall man who stepped out of the shadows. “I told them.”