“So the A.Team’s rocket was never launched. Chip Shot, Pipersville in the future, was saved.”
“Oh the bomb reached Chip Shot. Wiped it pretty clean out. But it’s like that church choir practice synchronicity from Beatrice, Nebraska, US of A. Pretty much everyone was out of town at the time. Sink X is there for a reason. It’s a residue crater for certain — not a legitimate, Sinkology verified sinkhole. The Brown-Bower theorems prove that conclusively. So that part can’t be changed. But we got almost everyone out. Save one.”
“The Gno King,” I guessed after a beat.
“No,” replied Detective Biff Carter, still on the hunt. “He or she survived in the Room. It was on the north side of Chip Shot but the south side of Pipersville. When the former rebuilt as the latter after the War of Southern Aggression.”
“So the Gno King hid out in the room and survived the blast.”
“No… not the Gno King. Get that trail out of your noggin. It was someone else. We know he (or she) was there because of the maths, though. They couldn’t work out the way they did if not.”
“Your Mama. Your Mama was in the Room.”
“It’s on the north side of Chip Shot,” and here patient, precise Detective Carter moved his right hand more away from me on the bar counter we sat side by side at, and pivoted it sideways, as in a karate chop, “and the south side of Pipersville — when it came about.” He opened his near hand with the same gesture but facing the opposite direction. “Where’s the other gun, Marcus? What’s neither North (he moved his far hand back toward me) nor South (he moved his near hand away from me until they met in the middle to make a fused statement)?”
I thought I was Clever, like a Fox. I thought I was Smart (hence the names). But I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around it. I’d need more help.
“Can I phone a friend?” I joked.
Sunklands 