Hank dodged the bullet that flew by. Al-mar Kedebbar had a dead aim, but he hadn’t counted on Hank’s precision timing. But Hank knew pluck would get him justso far and that luck would run out. So where’d he stash the time machine in this furnace of a rat hole?
He darted into the narrow alleyway and ran down the flume. It opened up into the marketplace and he ran into a women’s scarf stand. He heard these cackling voices in French – you’d think he’d landed in a Parisian sewing circle rather than in Algiers.
So what if he’d accidentally boinked Mrs. Kedebbar? So what if she’d winked at him and pulled out his wee-wee? Did that give Al-mar the right to shoot at him, even if he was the village’s grand poobah? He ran through the market to the other side – and yes, there it was, the room where he’d stashed the time machine.
He ran in the entrance, but tripped over a vase and landed, head first, in a pile of manure. The time machine stood in the corner behind a bamboo fence. Hank dashed for it – but before he reached it, he felt the arrow coming from behind him, he knew Al-mar had found him, he prayed the end would come quickly –
He woke up in his bedroom at Aunt Emily's Presidio estate, lathered in a sweat, his bed sheets soaking. His fever had broken.
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