Free The VMR Theory (v1.1) by Robert Frezza Page B

index fingers. “White Zin?” It came out like “White Death.”
    “Do you know what kind of people drink White Zin?”
    Although I knew Harry equated alcohol-free beer with hydrogen-free water, I didn’t know he had wine fetishes. “Well, yes, but—”
    “Ken, if people see me drinking White Zin, it’s all over. They’ll start thinking that I can’t walk and chew gum at the same time.”
    “Harry, they already think that.”
    “I mean it’s the end, Ken,” Harry said hoarsely, shaking his head. “People catch me drinking this and I might as well buy a cat and register Democrat. You won’t tell, will you? Promise me you won’t tell!”
    “I promise,” I said soothingly. “Pour it down the sink and no one will ever know that zinfandel sullied your fair lips.”
    He poured the wine down the sink and glared at me. “Where did the Macdonalds get the idea of drinking this stuff?”
    “Well, I guess the Contact boys taught them how to make it.”
    “God! What foul fiends in human form!” His eyes blazed. “Don’t you see,” he said eagerly, “it all fits. The fanaticism, the envy, the hatred the Macdonalds have for human beings—it’s from drinking this! Ken, we can save these people!”
    “I had no idea,” I said. Then reality kicked in. “Wait a minute. No. No. No. Harry, you’re overreacting. Are you seriously trying to tell me that the Macdonalds are upgrading themselves to become the scourge of the galaxy because they’ve been drinking cheap wine?” Harry drew on his professional expertise. “White Zin makes for a mean drunk.” He shook me by the arm to emphasize his point. “Have you ever heard of… yuppies ?”
    “Well, yes, but—”
    “This is what they drink.” He motioned across his chest. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
    I coughed. “Maybe we can come back to this White Zin thing later. What did you want to talk to me about?”
    “Well, it’s about Muffy. I want to help her, Ken.”
    “Have you talked to Wyma Jean, your g-i-r-l-f-r-i-e-n-d, about this?”
    “Well, no. She won’t mind, will she?”
    “Harry, I know Wyma Jean likes vegetable oil, but I don’t think she’s into threesomes.”
    Harry puffed his chest indignantly. “You don’t understand. My relationship with Muffy is all business.”
    “Harry, I don’t care if it’s all business—whether you’re paying Muffy or Muffy’s paying you, Wyma Jean is still going to take a hacksaw to your genitals.”
    “It’s not like that at all, Ken. Like, Muffy is a revolutionary, and I want to help her.”
    I sighed. “A revolutionary.”
    “Right!”
    “And she wants to overthrow the government.”
    “Yeah.”
    I sighed again. “I liked it better when I thought you were screwing around with her.”
    “Well, that, too, but I want her revolution to succeed. That’s why I need your help.”
    “Stop! Let’s backtrack. I thought you said your relationship with Muffy was all business.”
    “Well, yeah. It’s all business, but it’s not all business,” Harry responded, obviously perplexed by the question. “All right. What is Muffy revolutionary about?”
    “Well, I’m not exactly sure. Her English isn’t so good. But I really want to help.”
    I buried my face in my hands. “All right. Exactly what do you want from me?”
    “I’d like a leave of absence so I can help out, Ken.”
    “Done. The Macdonalds have impounded our ship, so we’re going to have to delay our departure anyway. What else?”
    “Uh, do you remember those blasting charges we keep for light salvage?”
    “As I say, the Macdonalds have our ship, so you’re welcome to take a few if you can figure out how.”
    “Thanks, Ken. You’re a true friend.” He pumped my hand up and down.
    “Have you seen Rosalee?”
    “Oh, she’s around. Do you remember that big highspeed chase through the city yesterday?”
    I buried my face in my hands again. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
    There was a furtive tapping at what was