It was a big task to take on, Spock had to admit. Trying to encapsulate the entirety of knowledge on earth was not an easy feat. However, when it was initially proposed to him, he couldn’t refuse. He would be happy to share his knowledge in any way he could. And that’s how he ended up living in a house with 7 others, each with their own niche to fill on the research team.
They all got along well enough. Most of them were bachelors, with the exception of Nyota Uhura and Janice Rand, who were the only women on the research team and Ben Sulu, who was married. However, his husband was gone most of the time. Hikaru was a captain, after all. There was a wide range of ages in the group, with Pavel Chekov as the youngest of the group, and Montgomery Scott as the eldest. They each did their job, and they did it well. Over the span of 9 years, the eight of them had managed to cover every topic from A to S. Everything was going steadily, until the day that Spock realized he had made an error.
The day had started out the same as any other. In the morning, the researchers went on their daily walk, going through their usual path throughout the park. They were about to begin the route around the park one more time when Spock spoke out.
“Gentlemen, ladies.” He said, trying to get their attention. “Professors, it is 8:46.”
“Oh Spock, just once more around the park.” Said Professor Rand.
“The weather is so nice today.”
“Yes, I saw a scarlet tanager that must have flown all the way from Florida, just to enjoy it.” Ben stated.
“1500 miles.” Added Professor James Kirk, the geographer.
“Our constitutional has taken too much time already. I must remind you, we are working under pressure. Three more years and we finish our encyclopedia. We must not let ourselves stop in the middle of the letter S. Now I, for one, will be going back to work.”
With that, Spock turned and headed in the direction of the house, the other professors following suit.
The house itself was relatively large. The room where the Professor’s worked being the biggest room in the house. Shelves lined the walls, filled to the brim with many books on various topics. Each professor had their own desk with their current work, along with whichever research materials they were using at the time. As the professors walked in, the housekeeper, Ms. Bragg, was there to greet them. Many salutations of, “good morning,” echoed throughout the room as they went to their respective work stations.
“Professors, before you begin your work, I have something I need to say. One of you took off with the jar of strawberry jam from my pantry last night. I located the empty jar on the shelf, behind a book on the rise and fall of the Roman empire. That seems to indicate our historian, Professor Rand.” She said, looking pointedly around the room.
“I did no such thing, Ms. Bragg.” Janice stated, sitting in her chair.
“I’m not accusing anybody, however, until we’ve cleared this up, I think we’ll dispense of jam with breakfast.”
Protests were heard throughout the room, but they were quickly silenced as Ben spoke up, “Ms. Bragg.”
“Yes, Professor Sulu?”
“It was me,” He admitted, “I was studying strawberries last night when I suddenly got a horrible craving.”
“A crime confessed is half atoned.” She said, nodding as she began to head out of the room, stopping when she heard Professor Rand calling her.
“Ms. Bragg, Ms. Bragg! I had some material here, what happened to it?”
“What happened? I blushed for my duster when I did your desk,” She answered, a slight blush forming on her cheeks as she spoke. “You’ll find all the materials in the middle drawer. Faced down.”
“I’m just beginning my article on sex, Ms. Bragg. Any objections?”
She rolled her eyes, “No, I trust you have more self control than Professor Sulu.”
Janice, almost laughing, turned to Professor Sulu who had focused back on his work, looking affronted. Ms. Bragg was about to leave, again, when she noticed something.
“Professor Chekov, your window shade again. It’s a crime to carelessly expose this good carpet.”
“You just committed a more serious crime, Ms. Bragg.” Spock spoke up. “You have split an infinitive. Never to “carelessly expose”, always to “expose carelessly.”
She sighed. “I’m not here to juggle words, it’s my job to conscientiously see that this house-”
“You just split another one, Ms. Bragg.”
She looked at him as if she was about to say something but Professor M’Benga, the physiologist, spoke up from his position near the window. “Oh! Here’s whachamacallit.”
Everyone looked towards him. “Who?”
“The lawyer from the foundation and Miss Chapel’s with him.”
“And this place is looking like a flicker’s nest.” Ms. Bragg sighed and hurried out of the room.
M’Benga came down towards Spock’s desk, “Yes, we’re in for our semi-annual wigging, I suppose. Spock, you better put your coat on.”
Spock looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “Why? What…” He trailed off as Chekov walked over to his desk as well.
“Better fix your tie.” Chekov muttered, as he and two other Professors began to fuss with his hair and clothing; their words overlapping.
“Fix your tie.”
“Fix your hair.”
“What is all this nonsense?”
“This nonsense is Miss Chapel.”
“And will you please smile at her?”
“This is all very undignified. And Vulcans do not-” Spock was cut off by the other professors shushing him as Miss Chapel walked into the room.
“Please, sit here Miss Chapel.” Said Professor Rand, gesturing to one of the cushioned chairs in the room.
“It’s a very nice morning Miss Chapel.” Professor Sulu added; as the rest of the professors gathered around her.
The lawyer looked at her. “Would you like to speak today Miss Chapel, or shall I?”
“You please, Mr. Larson.” She said, looking around the room at the professors.
Mr. Larson grabbed his briefcase and pulled out a small pile of papers. “I'll make this as brief as possible, ladies and gentlemen. To date, 283,000 credits have been expended in the writing of this encyclopedia. You all realize that Miss Chapel's father, the late Daniel S. Chapel,” He gestured to a portrait of the man, which was hanging on the wall behind him. “Left only a quarter of a million credits for this project. Every additional credit will have to come from Miss Chapel's own pocket. We are simply here to ask for a brief estimate of how much longer this will take.”
“Oh, I would say around 3 years, don’t you think?” Asked Professor Uhura.
“Perhaps 4.” Added Professor Montgomery Scott, contemplating.
The lawyer shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. It cannot be, it just cannot.” He sighed. “All we ask is that you bring this to a close somehow. Slap it together, get on with it, that sort of thing.”
Spock stepped forward at that moment. He knew that if they wanted to continue their research, it was Miss Chapel that had to be convinced, not the lawyer. He was also aware of the fact that Miss Chapel harboured a particular affection for him. “Mr. Larson, may I have a word?” The man nodded.
“Hello Professor Spock.” Miss Chapel said, bashfully, turning to him.
“Hello Miss Chapel.” He said, nodding at her. After a brief moment, Spock turned his attention towards the lawyer, “Mr. Larson, you have requested that we ‘slap it together.’” The air quotes were audible. “However, I must inform you, we are not the ‘slapping together’ kind. We have endeavoured to finish this project and we aim to be as thorough as possible. If the work goes slowly, it is simply because of the rapid pace in which things change in the world. For example, Professor Kirk, our geographer. He is required to rewrite 63.4% of his articles. Then there is Professor M’Benga-”
“I’m not interested.” He said, cutting Spock off mid sentence. Miss Chapel looked at him accusingly. “Don’t interrupt Mr. Larson.” She turned towards Spock, the affection plain across her face as she looked up at him. “Go on, Professor Spock.”
He looked towards her, a plan forming in his mind. “I am certain that it is your wish that this monument your father has begun be finished as nobly as it begun, Miss Chapel. I am…” He paused for a moment, contemplating his words. “I am… appealing to you, Miss Chapel. To your vision and to your love for your father. Perhaps I am a little inarticulate, but I have always regarded you as…” He trailed off, the tips of his ears turning a light shade of green. It wasn’t often that Spock was out of his area of expertise, but this was certainly one of those times. Miss Chapel turned towards him.
He continued. “Always regarded you as-” Spock let out a noise as Kirk subtly ran a hand along his spine.
“Oh Professor!” Miss Chapel look at him, happily surprised, if not slightly embarrassed. Spock’s own blush had grown, his cheeks turning a darker shade of green with embarrassment. He tried to tamp it down.
“I… You know what I mean, Miss Chapel.”
She smiled and looked away. “Yes.”
Mr. Larson spoke up then. “But Miss Chapel, 4 more years with this, and-”
“Yes, well, it was father’s wish, after all.” She replied. She stood up and looked pointedly at him before turning to the Professors in the room, “But Professors, please. Try to finish this up soon, will you?” Choruses of confirmations echoed around the room, and with that, they said their goodbyes and she left. As soon as she was gone, the professors gathered together, laughing and making small comments of how well the meeting went. Spock turned towards Professor Kirk.
“That maneuver down my spine was unnecessary, Professor.”
Jim chuckled, “Was it? It worked.”
“Hi.” The group turned toward the door as a man walked in. “I hope you don’t mind. I came through the kitchen.” He said, gesturing behind him.
The professors looked at him curiously, “But who are you?”
The man walked further into the room. “I’m the garbage man. I had a question about Cleopatra.” He wrung his gloves in his hands, “This is some kind of a library, or a school, innit?” He asked, looking around the room at the men. They shook their heads.
“Neither, we are writing an encyclopedia.” Answered Professor Rand.
Spock stepped forward, “An encyclopedia. A work that endeavours to compile and catalog all of earth’s knowledge.” The man grinned.
“Say, that’s just what I need!”
“Young man, did you come through my kitchen?” An annoyed voice said from the doorway.
“That’s right, sister.”
“I’m not your sister. And get out.” She told him, gesturing with her duster. Protests from the professors were heard around the room. Spock walked towards her. “Please Ms. Bragg, we find him very interesting.”
“Fine, but you can’t tell me he’s not infested with germs.” She said haughtily, leaving the room.
“Please, go on. Won’t you take a seat?” Scotty asked, motioning to the chair Miss Chapel had recently vacated.
The man began to explain. “I seen all the books through the window, and I figured, maybe you could help me.” He looked around the room at all the curious looks and continued. “You see, they got a quizzola on the radio.”
“What is this ‘quizzola’?” Spock asked, tilting his head in confusion.
“Korn Krunchies Quiz-Quiz.” He explained. “You send in 100 box covers and you stand to make a little dough. And I figured, with my opportunities, I got like 3,000 box covers together. But some of the answers you gotta send in to the questions. Like true or false, that type of thing.”
“You have these questions here?”
“Oh yeah.” He pulled a piece of folded paper and a pencil from his pocket. “Question 1. How did Cleopatra die? A. From swallowing a needle. B. From a snake bite, or C. From hiccups.”
Professor Rand stepped forward. “That’s history! That would be my province.” She chuckled. “The correct answer, is B. Cleopatra, queen of Egypt, daughter of Ptolemy Xlll, born 69 BC, killed herself on the 29th day of August, 30 BC, by placing an asp to her bosom.”
“A small snake.” Professor Sulu explained.
“Oh, what’s next?” Asked Uhura excitedly.
“Well, patch my pantywaist.” The man scribbled the previous answer onto his paper. “Which way would you say it; two and two is five, two and two are five, or two and two makes five.”
“Well, Professor Spock covers English.” Professor Kirk said, waving in Spock’s direction. “Did you hear the question Spock?”
“I did. As the verb is always governed by the subject, the correct answer is, ‘two and two are five’.” He stated. Light chuckles could be heard around the room.
“Oh no, Spock.” Jim shook his head. “Correct for a grammarian perhaps, but not for a mathematician.” He smiled, “Two and two, are four.”
“Hey! That’s a good one. Nobody’s gonna get that.” The man stood after he finished writing, preparing to leave. “Well, I certainly am obliged. I could use a bundle of scratch right now on account of I met me a mouse last week.”
“A mouse?” Spock looked at him curiously.
“What a pair of gams. A little in, a little out n’ a little more out.” He chuckled.
“I apologize. I am still completely mystified.”
“Well, with this dish on me hands and them giving away 25 smackaroos on that quizzola.”
“Smackaroos?” Spock pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped to an empty page. “No such word exists.”
“Oh?” The man turned towards Spock. “It don’t, huh? Well, a smackaroo is a dolla’ pal.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. “The accepted vulgarism for a dollar is a ‘buck’.”
The man looked at him, stating matter-of-factly, “The accepted vulgarism for a smackaroo is a dollar. That goes for a banger, a fish, a buck or a rug.”
“And what of the mouse?”
“The mouse is the dish.” He explained. “That’s what I need the moolah for.”
“Yeah, the dough! We’ll be stepping, me and this smooch.. I mean, the dish. I mean, the mouse! You know, hit the jiggles for a little rum boogie. Brother, we’re gonna have some hoytoytoy.” By this time, the man was gesturing wildly and Spock was furiously trying to write down what the man said.
“Please, not so fast.”
“Hoytoytoy?” Jim and Janice both repeated after the man, looking at one another.
“Yeah, and if you want that one explained, you go ask your papas.” The man turned to the window as a horn honked outside. “That would be Archie. His water’s gettin’ hot. Well, thanks again ladies and gents.” He said as he began to head the same way he had entered. “And hey, if you ever need to enter a contest sometime, you can call on me. You may have the brains, but I got the box tops.” The man left, the professors calling farewells out after him as he retreated. The professors faced each other again.
“Well he seems like a breezy fellow doesn’t he?” Asked Scotty, murmurs of agreement passed through the room. “Seems like a very likeable fellow.”
“Indeed.” Spock paused. “Gentlemen, ladies, it appears I have made an error.” He said, looking down at his notebook.
“What? What error?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
Spock began to pack up his things. “I had recently completed my article on slang. 26.3 pages long, written using 14 different reference books. From the illogical use of the word ‘absotively’ to the pejorative use of ‘zigzag’; 832 examples and it is incorrect.” He called to Ms. Bragg to bring him his coat and to put his lunch in the pocket. “I have written the entire article on outdated information. I have made an inexcusable error, and now, I must correct it. You heard the way the man spoke. ‘Dish’, ‘smooch’, none of which is in my article.” He headed towards the doorway, the other professors following behind.
“But vhere are you going?” Asked Professor Chekov. Spock took his coat and hat from Ms. Bragg.
“Out to collect new data. If the encyclopedia is to be correct, the information must be accurate. Now, I must depart and make up for lost time.” He put on his coat and headed to the door. “Leave the key under the mat, I will not be home before 9 o’clock.” And with that, he was gone.
Jim rolled his eyes. “I’m writing about the planet Saturn, but do I insist on going to the planet Saturn?”
“Maybe my article on sex is a little outdated as well.” Janice said, laughing. The professors then moved to their desks and finally, got back to work.
Sorry for the wait! The next chapter is almost done as well, so that'll be up soon.
Huge thanks and credit to A-Chan for giving me the best jazz name for Bones!
Spock called out to the man that had just left as he exited the house.
“Pardon me, but would you be willing to come back tomorrow morning? I’d like to have a roundtable to discuss different slang words, and you seem to be knowledgeable in the subject.”
Once getting the man to agree, Spock left the house at a brisk pace, heading towards the busiest area in the city. He planned to tap into all and any place that seemed to be a worthy source. The streets, the ‘slums’, allied and theatrical professions and the like. It was just reaching mid-morning when he arrived.
The main square was filled with many different people, all going about their day. From newspaper salesmen (for those who still read newspapers), to little shops along the streets. There were street vendors, and children playing; a wealth of information. After a small moment for speculation, Spock figured out the most efficient route through the streets. Starting with the newspaper salesman. He walked over and stood close to him, writing down anything that was unfamiliar to him.
Dogs dunked in cement
It was soon after when the boy turned around to face Spock. “Hey, you checking up on me or somethin’? Blitz it, mister. Blitz it, will you?” He asked, his hands making shooing motions towards Spock. “You give me the mimis.”
Spock just looked at him. “Mimis?”
“Yeah, the screamin’ mimis.” He nodded his head slightly, moving to walk away.
“Indeed. Excuse me sir, but would you be interested in a research project?”
The boy looked at him, suspicious. “What are you promotin’? Some kind of school?”
Spock shook his head, “No, but if you could just come to this address,” he said, handing him a small business card. “At 9:30 tomorrow morning, you would be doing us all a great service.” The man still looked skeptical as Spock moved on, but he was quite confident he would show up the next morning. Spock travelled to many places in town that day. From public transportation, to a sports game, to pool halls, or even just walking down the street. He wandered all over the city, writing frantically as he listened to the many conversations around him. Everytime he found someone who was particularly vocal, or spoke in a way that caught his attention, he had the same conversation. He would hand them a card and ask each of them if they could come to the house at 9:30 to have a discussion. They all seemed particularly knowledgeable in the subject, and, thankfully, many seemed willing to help out.
Nearing the end of the day, Spock only had one stop left before he was going to turn in for the night. A small jazz club on the corner of West 4th and West 10th street.
As he neared the club, he could hear soft sounds of music coming from the building. It was one of the older buildings in the city, restored to keep some of the original qualities and aesthetics. At first glance, stepping inside felt almost like taking a step back in time. Whoever owned the club had done a great job at keeping the appearance like jazz clubs from the 20th century. There were three levels of tables, each with their own light and various people occupying them. Drinks were scattered about throughout the room, waiters carrying trays, bringing drinks and taking empty glasses. The area for the audience circled the room, surrounding the main area reserved for performances, with the exception of the area directly behind the performers. The tables on the top level were small, made for people who came by themselves, and for each level below, the tables got larger, making space for those that came in bigger groups. Spock walked through the club, weaving between the tables as he made his way to an empty table on the top row. There was already light jazz music being played in the background as people filtered in and took their seats.
He pulled out his notebook in preparation as the crowd began to applaud. Spock looked to the stage area to see the source of the audience’s applause. Just to the right of the band, there was a curtain covering a doorway, a split down the middle. The curtain was closed, but the barest glance of a hand could be seen, fingers tapping along with the rhythm. It wasn’t long before the curtain was pulled back by that same hand and the man attached to it was revealed.
Spock watched, enraptured by the man as he moved to the center of the stage. He couldn’t take his eyes off of him. Notebook all but forgotten, Spock could do nothing but watch as the man began to sing — somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he recognized the tune. Drum Boogie , he realized belatedly. A classic jazz standard. He watched as the man sang, stepping side to side, moving with the beat. It was captivating, to say the least. Had Spock looked around the room, he would have seen many people bouncing along to the song, feet tapping along, heads nodding. Instead his eyes were focused only on the singer, making a mental note to write down the words in the song he didn’t understand after the performance. The man moved to sit on the edge of the band’s stage as solos moved throughout the band, tapping his fingers with the beat. The singer moved in a way that only a seasoned performer did, carrying with him the confidence that came with experience. Soon after — too soon, in Spock’s opinion — the man stood, singing the last lines of the song before retreating back behind the curtain. Spock grabbed the attention of a passing waitress as the audience clapped.
“Pardon me, but do you know the name of that singer?”
“Sugarplum McCoy.” The woman answered.
“A fascinating specimen.” Spock murmured to himself.
“He jives by night, root, zoot and cute. And solid to boot.” She added before walking away, over to a couple who were requesting drinks.
He nodded, writing the name down in his notebook, along with the other words from the song that he warranted necessary. Spock looked up as the audience’s applause grew louder. It hadn’t stopped since the singer — Sugarplum, his brain supplied — had left the stage, but as the curtain opened to show his return, their enthusiasm doubled.
He gestured to the crowd as he sauntered out, a giant grin on his face. “Okay, what do you want hep cats?” Shouts of, ‘More!’ and ‘More of the same!’ could be heard around the room. “Same thing?” He shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “Alright, alright. But we’ll mix it up a little.” He called the drummer down from the stage, moving to one of the tables closest to the performing area. “I’ll need you to be awful quiet for this one. Can you help me out?” The audience nodded, some of them beginning to head down to get closer to him. “Okay, I’ll need this chair, and let’s get this table cleared off.” Many hands reached around, taking the glasses and the tablecloth off of the table.
“What’s cookin’ Sugar?” The drummer, Krupa, asked.
“Matchbox boogie. Does anyone have any matches?”
“Oh, I do!” Someone from the crowd offered, the matchbox getting handed from person to person until it was handed to the man.
“Okay, so you two go with me and the rest of you take boogie with the orchestra, right?” At this point, everyone in the room had gathered closer to the table. McCoy turned to the drummer, who had sat down on his left. “Okay Krup, here we go. Like buster’s gang. Very quiet. One, two...”
Soft singing followed, with Krupa playing an underlying rhythm on the matchbox. McCoy and the two spectators he had asked to join him sang the main melody, the rest of the audience adding in ‘boogie’ intermittently. Though it was the same song, it had a much different feel to it when done like this. However, like the last song, it didn’t last long, much to Spock’s disappointment. At the end of the song, Krupa lit the two matches he had been using, and when him and McCoy blew them out, the crowd roared. After McCoy had retreated back behind the curtain once again, Spock made the decision to invite him to his roundtable discussion. He then packed up his stuff and headed out to find the illustrious singer.
When McCoy left the stage, he was immediately flanked by two of Jocelyn's men. Pastrami on the left and Anderson on the right.
“C’mon Sugar, quick.” Anderson said, grabbing his arm and pulling him a couple of steps.
“Yeah, quick is right.”
“Woah,” McCoy said, pulling them to a stop. “Where’s the fire?”
“Listen Sugar, you gotta take it on the lam.”
“Yeah, they’re lookin’ for you.”
McCoy looked between the two of them, “Who?”
“The District Attorney’s office.”
“C’mon you’ve got to get dressed and get out of here before they slap a subpoena on you.” They tugged McCoy again and this time he followed them as they led him to his dressing room.
“Subpoena?” He asked, incredulous. They opened the door, shushing him as they ushered him inside. “Come on, we’ll talk about it in the dressing room.”
Once inside, McCoy pulled out of their grasp and turned to face them, folding his arms across his chest. “What’s all this subpoena business?”
Pastrami went and closed the door while Anderson stood in front of McCoy. “It’s on account of Benny the Creep had an accident.”
“I’ve never heard of Benny the Creep, who is he?”
“One of the boys.”
“He was on some kind of an errand.” Pastrami added, coming to stand next to Anderson. “When he grazed into a police car.” He rolled his eyes. “The dope.”
“And because of that I’ve got to hide out?” McCoy shook his head, and moved to sit on the table behind him. “That doesn’t make sense, Pastrami.”
Pastrami shook his head. “Nah, you see, when the bulls gave Benny a ticket, they saw Kinnick in the back of the hovercar.”
“Dead.” Anderson added.
“In the accident?” McCoy asked, looking at the two of them, confused.
Pastrami nodded. “That’s what Benny was trying to tell ‘em, but they saw Kinnick’s feet.”
“Caked in cement.”
“Benny was going to dump him in the river.”
“That was the errand.”
McCoy stood up. “Now wait just a damn minute. What does this have to do with…” He paused. “Wait is Jocelyn involved with this?” They nodded in confirmation.
“The DA picked her up half hour ago.”
“Which is why we’re here. And why you’ve,” Pastrami pointed to him. “Got to beat it.”
“She’s mixed up in a murder?” More nods. McCoy shook his head, “I don’t believe it.” He sat down again.
“She was framed, Sugar, honest. May I drop down dead.”
“And there was those pajamas they found.” Anderson piped up. McCoy just looked at him quizzically. “That’s where you come in. Remember that bunch of pink pj’s you gave her before you realized she only wears lilac?” He nodded. “Well, we gave a pair to Benny. He wanted to give them to his girl, you see, and in the suitcase beside Benny the Creep when he was caught, was a pair with a big JD monogram on ‘em.”
All heads looked towards the door as someone knocked.
“Who is it?” McCoy called out.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. McCoy about a current investigation I’m conducting.” A man answered, voice slightly muffled through the door. The three in the dressing room looked at each other before Pastrami nodded to Anderson, muttering a low, “We’ll take care of it.” The two of them then posed themselves on either sides of the room, hidden from view of the door as McCoy opened it.
The man on the other side of the door, only slightly taller than McCoy himself, took off his hat. Vulcan, McCoy realized with a start, once he saw the ears.
“How do you do, Mr. McCoy?”
“Hello.” McCoy answered tersely.
“I’m very sorry to intrude like this, but mine is a very -”
“Cut the corners. What is it?”
“Well, this inquiry is one of considerable importance.”
McCoy almost sighed. “Stop beating your gums.”
The man just looked at him, inclining his head slightly. “What was that?”
Now he really did sigh. “Look, I don’t know anything.”
“I must disagree with you. Every word you say proves this much. Now where is that paper...” He mumbled that last sentence to himself, searching through his pockets for what most certainly had to be the subpoena. McCoy looked briefly in the direction where Pastrami had hid before looking back at the man, who had pulled out a notebook. “Subpoena? Well, suppose you tell the DA to take a nice running jump for himself.”
“Fascinating. And you want to to tell me you’re not the person I’m looking for.” He continued to write things down in his book.
McCoy raised an eyebrow. “So.. how many of you are on this job, anyway?”
“On the entire project, eight.”
“And the other seven are waiting outside?”
“No, they are at home. Sound asleep, I imagine.” More writing.
McCoy looked at him, disbelieving. “Asleep?”
“Indeed. They go to bed at 9:00 every night.”
“You mean to tell me, with crime what is it in…” McCoy trailed off. At hearing McCoy pause, the man looked at him. McCoy looked back, eyebrows crinkling. “So are you a bull or aren’t you?”
The man raised an eyebrow. “If ‘bull’ is the slang word for professor, then indeed I am a ‘bull’.” He turned back to the notebook then, resuming his writing.
“Professor?” McCoy asked, confusion clear in his voice.
“Of English.” The man nodded, pausing for a moment. “I believe there was some confusion here.”
“Sure was.” McCoy nodded, relief flooding through him.
The man stood straighter. “You see, I am conducting an investigation on slang. I was wondering if you would object if I used you for observation and study?” McCoy, no longer worried about getting a subpoena, took hold of the door and began to close it. “Yeah, I would.” The man didn’t budge, so McCoy ended up holding the door half closed.
“If I could just have your assistance for a few days…”
“Out, Professor, out. Shove in your clutch.”
“‘Shove in your clutch.’ That is precisely what I’m looking for. Perhaps I could return at a better time- ”
“Save the gas Professor, I won’t be here after tonight.”
“Then if you could just take this card, it has the address of the foundation, should you happen to change your mind.” He said, handing McCoy the business card, who took it, if only to get him out the door faster. “It is my residence as well.”
“Okay, now scrow, scram, scraw.”
“The complete conjugation. Fascinating…” The man let himself be ushered out the door, writing down what McCoy had just said. “Alright, I will ‘scraw’.” And he left, McCoy shutting the door behind him.
As soon as the door was closed, Pastrami and Anderson started fussing around McCoy, handing him his coat and straightening up the table.
“You haven’t got time to get dressed.” Said Anderson as he helped him pull his coat on.
“We’ll go out the window.” Said Pastrami, pulling the window open. It was on the ground floor, so there wasn’t much of a jump from the fire escape to the ground. Once they had taken what they needed - which essentially came down to his coat and his communicator - Pastrami and Anderson led the way out the window, McCoy following.
“I think you’re a pair of cracked dice.” He muttered to himself, pulling the window shut behind him.
As they piled into the hovercar, McCoy in the middle with Pastrami and Anderson flanking him, the driver turned around to face them, “Where to?”
“Just keep driving, Jack.” Said Anderson, turning to Pastrami who was closing the door. “Well?”
“How about that warehouse she’s got on West 11th?”
“Nah, too many rats.”
“Now wait just a minute.” McCoy interjected, looking between the two. “Where are you taking me?”
“It’s just for the night, Sugarplum. We can’t take you to your place because they’re bound to have it covered, and they got Jocelyn’s apartment sealed up like a can of coffee.”
“Right… Well you live someplace, don't you?”
“Yeah, and the cops know where.” Pastrami explained. “We thought about a hotel, but they’re gonna look at every hotel in town.”
“I could change my name?” McCoy suggested, running a hand through his hair. He really didn’t want to spend the night in a rat infested warehouse.
“Why take chances Sugar, it’s an awful nice warehouse. He says rats,” Pastrami gestured to Anderson, “Big mouth. And I mean, maybe a few itty bitty mice.” McCoy shook his head. “No? Okay then.” Pastrami shrugged. “Tomorrow we’ll get a lawyer and figure out something with more class. Hey, hand me your communicator, will you? I gotta make sure they aren’t tracking it or anything.”
“Say,” Said Anderson, raising a hand. “I got an uncle who’s an undertaker, with a business like that, he’s always got an extra slab.”
McCoy rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s all I need. Keep thinking.” He pulled his communicator out of his pocket, a small card falling out as well. “What this?” He handed to the communicator to Pastrami absentmindedly, picking up the card. “S’chn T’gai Spock… Oh! That’s that professor jerk.” In the fuss to get out the window, he must have put it in his coat without thinking about it. He looked up to find that both Pastrami and Anderson’s heads had snapped toward him, grins on their faces.
“I have an idea.”
Upon Spock’s return, the other professors came downstairs, all too excited to hear about his day out. They stood around the kitchen, listening intently as Spock told him of all the different people he met that day. He talked about each of them briefly, with the exception of McCoy. Once Ben had finished making his tea, they all congregated to the main room, Spock grabbing a book off the shelf before sitting down.
“I never would believe it. But how do you account for the name?” asked Rand, sitting next to Spock.
“‘Sugarplum’ dates back to the early 17th century.” Spock flipped through the book until he got to the page he was looking for. He had remembered reading about sugarplums briefly in his research, but he hadn’t looked into it extensively. “It was previously used as a name for a candy that was created in the 1600’s, however it later on became a common nickname for loved ones.”
“Never mind the etymology. What was he like?”
“His vocabulary, even in ordinary conversation, was -”
“Wait, you spoke to him?”
“Yes. In his dressing room. I-”
“You were his dressing room?” Jim looked at him, curious.
“Yes. Unfortunately, he disclaimed any interest in our project. He used the most fascinating words. ‘Shove in your clutch’, for instance.”
“It’s too bad he won’t help out, Spock.” Jim gave him a small pat on the shoulder.
“Indeed.” Spock stood. “It is getting a bit late. Perhaps we should go to bed.” The other eight stood as well, and they all headed to the stairs to go up to their rooms, but they stopped short when the doorbell rang.
“Is that our doorbell?” asked Uhura. The doorbell rung again, answering her question before anyone else could.
“But it’s 12:45.” said Ben, looking at the door in confusion.
Spock was closest, so he went to answer the door, unsure of who it could be. Even if he had run the possibilities of who was at the door, and the likelihood of them coming at 12:45 in the morning, he wouldn’t have come to the right conclusion. Because standing there on the other side of the door, was none other than Sugarplum McCoy.
“Don’t tell me I’m too late for class, Professor.” McCoy joked, stepping into the front hall. The other professors looked him, gaping. “Who are they?” He asked, motioning towards the crowd of professors.
“My colleagues. Please, come in.” Spock stepped back to let McCoy further into the house, shutting the door behind him. “Frankly, you coming here is the last thing I expected. Your ‘no’ was very explicit.” They walked towards the main room, and Spock turned on the light he had only just shut off.
“I got to thinking it over and well, I thought to myself, ‘who am I to give science the brush?’” He shrugged following Spock into the room.
“I take it you have reconsidered?”
He nodded. “Yeah, that’s the big idea.” He looked around the room at all the books and the older stylings, and raised an eyebrow. “Who decorated the place? The mug who shot Lincoln?”
“This is our work room. The late Mr. Tutton decorated it. The living quarters are upstairs.”
McCoy let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of books. All of them different?”
“I trust.” He watched as McCoy walked around the room. “Can I take your coat?”
“Sure, thanks.” He took off the coat and handed it to Spock, who hung it on a nearby chair. He turned around to find McCoy picking up one of the books on Uhura’s desk.
“Greek philosophy. I think I’ve got a set like this at home.” He put the book down before walking over to a nearby chair and sitting down. “So, how do we start Professor? Do you have some kind of machine, an x ray, or a vacuum cleaner maybe to sort out the words you want?” He asked, a joking glint in his eyes. “What’s your method?” He leaned over the arm of the chair and looked at Spock.
“It is quite simple.” He faced McCoy, clasping his hands behind his back. “If you will be here tomorrow morning, no later than 9:30-”
Spock nodded. “Yes, I have arranged a roundtable discussion with a few people of various backgrounds.”
“You don’t, uh..” He gestured between the two of them, “You don’t think we could sort of, begin the Beguine right now?” He rested his head on his hand, smiling up at Spock.
“It is four minutes to 1, Mr. McCoy…”
“Ah, c’mon, Professor,” He waved off the comment. “Let’s get ourselves a couple of drinks, settle down, and you can start working on me right away.”
“I wouldn’t think about opposing upon you at this hour.” Spock said with a minute shake of his head.
“Listen, I figured on working all night.” He leaned back in the chair.
“Any hasty, random discussion would have no scientific value.” Spock argued, “I need to have my notes thoroughly prepared for the discussion in the morning.”
McCoy shrugged, conceding. “Okay, where do I sleep?” He knew he had to convince him to allow him to stay if he was going to avoid a much less desirable location to spend the night. He knelt down to undo his boots.
Spock raised an eyebrow. “I don't know. Where do you live?”
“Up on Riverside.” McCoy answered, pulling off one of the boots. “But I’m going to sleep here.”
Behind them, the other professors has begun to creep closer, hovering outside the door and listening in.
“If you want me at 9:30 tomorrow…” He trailed off, taking off his other boot.
“I do, Mr. McCoy, however-”
“Come here.” He said, waving Spock over. When Spock only took a step closer, he waved him over again. “Come here.” Another step. “Closer.” Another small step. “Closer…” He let the word drag out as Spock took another step. “C’mon, give.” He tugged Spock’s shirt, pulling him close enough that he was standing over McCoy. He looked away to say a small “Oh hey kids.” to the others, who were now crowding around the back of the chair, before looking back at Spock. “Look down my throat. Go on, look.” Spock obliged, leaning forward to look down the other man’s throat. Some of the others came around the chair to have a look too.
“I am not sure what it is I am supposed to be looking for.” Spock said, pulling back.
“There is a possible slight rosiness in the laryngeal region.” Piped up a voice from Spock’s left.
McCoy looked over at the man. “Slight rosiness? It’s as red as the Daily Worker, and just as sore.” He stated, leaning forward. “Who are you?”
“That’s Professor M’Benga, our physiological expert.” Spock answered. He then began to introduce the others before McCoy interrupted him.
“Not so fast, just let it creep up to me.” He looked around the room at the professors, “I’ll get to know them.” He gestured to M’Benga,“Physiology, come here.” He took M’Benga’s hand and placed it on his forehead. “For all I know, I’ve got a fever. Feel.”
M’Benga nodded. “It’s quite possible.” He smiled and gave McCoy’s hand a pat.
“Certainly. And he wants to throw me out on my tin.” McCoy shrugged and looked over at Spock. “There’ll be no 9:30 for me if you let me go out in the rain now.”
“Naturally not.” Ben jumped in from his position behind McCoy.
“Not with the cold streets, and the monorail stations hot and full of germs.” Rand added.
“Oh, and I’m a pushover for streptococcus.” He looked up at M’Benga and nodded towards his hand, which was still holding McCoy’s. “Can I have this now, kid?” M’Benga nodded and let go, not realizing he had still been holding onto it.
“We’ll call you a heated hovercar and supply you with woolen socks and warm slippers.” Spock answered.
McCoy looked at Spock briefly, before looking around the room at the others as they protested, adding his own, “How do you like that?”
“I don’t understand. Vhy take chances?” Chekov asked, looking at him.
“You should think of your article, Spock.” Jim added.
“See? They get it.” McCoy said, nodding towards the others.
Rand stepped forward, raising her hand a little. “If I might venture a suggestion, why doesn’t he sleep in my room?” The others looked towards her, incredulous, with many exclaims of “What?” and one “Well!” from McCoy, who was grinning in his seat, seemingly amused by it all.
She raised her hands in defence, “I can bunk with Nyota. I sometimes do if there’s a storm.”
“She’s afraid of thunder.” Uhura explained to McCoy.
McCoy grinned and got up, collecting his things. “Well, I guess it’s all settled then.” They all headed towards the door.
“I’ll show you to my room.” Rand said, motioning for McCoy to walk in front of her.
“Just rough out the directions, I’m sure I’ll find it.”
“Upstairs, third door on the left.”
“Thanks.” McCoy was about to head up the stairs, until Spock called out, running ahead of the group.
“Professors, this is all highly irregular. What if this should come to the attention of the foundation?”
“Well, this is just research, isn’t it?” McCoy asked, and got a chorus of ‘yes’ in reply. He was so close to being able to stay, he wasn't about to give up now. “Who was that guy that learned so much from watching an apple drop?”
“Isaac Newton. 1642 to 1727. The law of gravity.” Rand supplied.
McCoy motioned to Rand, nodding, “Yeah, that’s him.” He turned towards Spock. “I want you to look at me as another apple, Professor Spock. Just another apple.” He said before he turned and headed up the stairs, the others following close behind.
The next morning, McCoy woke with a start, a smattering of knocks pulling him from a deep sleep.
“Alright, alright. Just a second.” He yawned, going to answer the door. On the other side were the professors, all but Spock. “What time is it? This is worse than being in Starfleet.” He muttered, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“Spock started the roundtable discussion 10 minutes ago.”
McCoy raised an eyebrow. “Did he? Well that’s the best he’s getting.”
“Aye. And this came for ye.” Scotty said, holding a small suitcase out to McCoy, who immediately straightened up.
“Who brought it?” He asked, taking the case.
“A few lads.”
“Well,” Uhura spoke up, “They spoke very picturesquely.”
“Yeah, very.” Ben nodded. “They said, ‘it’s getting hot and hotter, and to stay in the icebox like a good little salad’. And this is the dressing.” He said, nodding towards the case. “We were wondering what that meant.”
“Oh, well…” McCoy started, but before he could finish, Ms. Bragg called up to the other professors, calling them down. If he was being honest, he’d admit he was relieved at the timing. “Sounds like mother calling. You kids better go.” He said, retreating back into his room and nodding his goodbye as they rushed downstairs. McCoy went back into his room and opened the case to reveal a few changes of clothing and a note reminding him that he needed to stay put and they’d figure out a plan later. McCoy wasted no time changing into some fresh clothes. It was nice to finally change out of his performance outfit. He tucked the note into his pocket before heading downstairs, stopping when he heard an annoyed voice speak up.
“What’s going on in this house? No constitutional this morning, and you hardly touched your breakfast.” McCoy peaked around the corner to see a small, stocky woman looking around at the professors. “Professor Spock has a conglomeration of dubious characters in the dining room, and you, not at your desks!” She said, gesturing to the group. “What were you doing upstairs anyway?”
“Well… you see…” Ben trailed off, running a hand through his hair nervously.
Kirk spoke up, stepping forward. “We took up a suitcase.”
“A suitcase?” Ms. Bragg asked, a questioning look on her face.
“We’re very busy Ms. Bragg.” Rand cut in, beginning to usher the group into the other room.
“I said, whose suitcase?”
“Well, now, there’s…”
“There’s someone staying with us.”
The professors looked at each other nervously, before Uhura spoke up.
“Professor Spock didn’t tell you?” Ms. Bragg shook her head. “Well, under the pressure of a very trying assignment… He’s… He’s taken a temporary assistant.” She explained, looking sheepishly at the other woman.
“Oh, so we’re running a hotel now?”
“Not exactly.” Uhura shrugged.
“Well it seems to me that--”
McCoy chose this moment to make his entrance, approaching the group.
“I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“This is Ms. Bragg.” Uhura said, gesturing to the woman, who reached out and shook McCoy’s hand.
“How do you do?”
“Just peachy. Now, where is this little clambake of Professor Spock’s?” He asked, looking around at the group.
“In the dining room, just across the hall.” M’Benga answered, pointing in the direction of the room.
“Thanks.” McCoy nodded, heading towards the dining room. He opened the door to find a group of four people, including Professor Spock, sitting around a table, various papers covering the surface. Just behind Spock was a white board, which would soon be used to map out different slang words.
“Shut the door please, Mr.McCoy.” Spock said as he entered. McCoy complied, turning around the shut the door before heading to the only open spot around the table. “You are late.” Spock spoke, the barest hint of annoyance in his voice. Though he would deny it, if asked. “I won’t waste time with introductions. These are our collaborators.” He motioned to the others in the room. McCoy nodded towards them, various greetings overlapping before Spock spoke up again. “As I was saying, I’ve worked out a series of cross references, which I believe would be the best approach to our subject.”
“Going like gangbusters, isn’t he?” McCoy murmured, nudging the man beside him.
Spock’s eyes flicked towards him. “I don't think you’ll find our venture dull, Mr. McCoy. The scientific conquest of an important subject is never dull.” He shuffled the papers in front of him. “Then, let us get down to work.”
The next three days breezed by. Most of McCoy’s time was spent in the dining room, going over various phrases that Spock had written down during his conquests in town. They spent many hours each day connecting different words, and explaining to Spock what they meant. By the end of the third day, Spock had written pages upon pages of research, and though they weren’t even close to being finished, Spock was impressed with how far they had progressed.
“We have accomplished a lot in the past three days, and I want to express my gratitude for your help with this endeavor. There’s another word I would like to take up now.” He turned towards the table from where he stood in front of the board, placing the PADD he has been holding on the table. “It’s been a recurrence in several of our discussions, and yet it’s meaning still eludes me. I think it was Mr. McCoy who used it yesterday, in reference to the cufflinks that I wear. The word is ‘corny’.”
“Yeah, wouldn’t you say they were corny?” McCoy motioned in Spock’s direction.
“Because of the cornstarch in them?”
“Because it’s 2255.”
“Then the logical assumption would be that corny means old fashioned.”
“There’s other kinds of corn too.” Added Kosah, a male Trill. “When you give your partner your pin. Well, if they say ‘I’ll keep it forever’, that’s corny too.”
“Is it synonymous with ‘baloney’?” Asked Spock, writing down what the man was saying on the board.
“It’s anything that gets ‘em in the sticks.” Explained the garbage man, whose name was Norman. “Like when a guy comes to see a girl and says, ‘Let’s turn off the lights, it hurts my eyes’. That’s corn.”
Spock paused for a moment to ponder the sentence. “The implication is that he’s trying to pull some ‘hoytoytoy’.” He looked at the others for confirmation.
“You’re catching on, Professor.” McCoy said, shaking a finger in his direction.
“Countrified, old-fashioned, sentimental.” Spock said to himself, jotting the notes down. While he was writing, McCoy looked below the table, spotting the newspapers that Jack, the salesman, had brought. He recognized Jocelyn’s face immediately, and saw, lower down, a picture of himself, with the headline ‘ Widely sought Jazz Singer ” underneath.
“Business kind of peaked, Jack?” McCoy asked, looking over at the boy. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice.
The boy nodded. “Yeah, it’s taking up a lot of time, helping out here.”
“I’ll buy the heap.”
“There’s no call for you to do that.” Jack replied, waving the offer off.
“Why not? I want to line my drawers. I’ll just transfer the credits.”
“Well gee, thanks.” Jack smiled, scratching the back of his head. McCoy leaned down, picking up the stack of newspapers, and headed towards the door. “Be back in a second, Professor.”
“Oh. Yes, alright.” Spock nodded absentmindedly, not looking away from what he was writing on the board.
McCoy went up the stairs to his temporary room, and threw the newspapers in his suitcase. He stopped short when he heard someone calling him from downstairs.
“Just a second!” He called back. He shut his case, and came face to face Professor Kirk when he opened the door. “What can I do you for?” He asked, shutting the door behind him.
“We saw you passing the library arch, and we were wondering if you could help us out with something.”
“Well, I don’t see why not.” McCoy answered and followed Jim down the stairs to the library, wondering what they could possibly need his help with.
Sorry it's taken 7 years to update, I had midterms, and I got a job and its all been crazy busy. But in any case, I know this chapter's short, but there's a much longer one coming soon!
Chapter 6: Update: May 2nd, 2019
Hey, I know I haven't updated this in forever but, I'm finally finished school so I'm going to start writing again, and this is where I'm starting! I also made a Tumblr where you guys can send in requests and things for drabbles: sponesdrabbles.tumblr.com
Update coming soon!
Chapter 7: Chapter 7
Hey, so I know it's later than I said, but finally! A new chapter! As it turns out, when I finally looked at my document, I had actually already written the new chapter (I think I had been planning on making it longer, and that's why I hadn't posted it but, rather than keep you waiting any longer I'll post it at the length it is). New chapter to come soon!
McCoy walked into the library to see the other professors watching as Ben tried to do a dance that McCoy had shown them earlier in the week. They had pushed the desks back, and drawn with chalk on the carpet showing the direction they were supposed to go. He chuckled to himself as he watched Ben try to do it again. They looked up as he laughed.
“Finally!” Ben said, exhaling with relief. He stood up and walked over to where the others were standing. “Could you show us how to do that dance again? We can’t seem to figure it out.”
“Chekov has been trying to reconstruct it using compound fractions.”
Chekov shrugged, “I can not find the common denominator between the steps and the music.”
McCoy laughed. “You bet you can’t. I taught you a conga, and you’re playing a polka!” He walked over to the group. “Can we get some light in here?” He asked, pointing at the window. Ben went over and pulled the curtain back as McCoy stepped over to a table, tapping a rhythm on the top.
“Okay kids, this is the tempo. Bum, bum, bum bum.” He repeated the pattern a few times, the others joining in soon after. “There you go!”
He moved into the middle of the group and demonstrated the dance, the others following along.
Lost in the dance, they all turned around, surprised as they heard a voice at the door.
“Guess who I bumped into on my way back?” Rand asked, moving to reveal Sulu in the doorway behind her.
Ben gasped, and ran towards his husband, pulling him in for a brief kiss. Rand walked over to the others.
“I picked up the music.” She said, pulling out a microdisk. She put the disk in and stepped back, letting it play.
“Now, watch us go!” McCoy exclaimed, beginning to dance again, the others soon joining in.
“Thank you gentlemen.” Spock said, nodding at the group. “Same time tomorrow, for those that can.”
The group sent various farewells over their shoulders as they left. As the door shut behind them, Ms. Bragg spoke behind Spock.
“May I have a word with you, Professor?”
Spock nodded, walking over to her. He paused. “That music, is it coming from next door?”
Ms. Bragg shook her head, “No. And that’s what I would like to talk to you about. Either he goes, or I go.”
“You are referring to Mr. McCoy?”
“I am, Professor Spock. It has always been my pride to scrupulously, untiringly, efficiently…”
“Now, now, Ms. Bragg, you’ve split that infinitive three times.”
She sighed. “I repeat, either he goes, or I go.”
“I do not appreciate ultimata, Ms. Bragg, but I will look into the matter.”
“Don’t look into the matter, look into the library.” She muttered, walking away.
Spock opened the door to the library, shocked at the sight he saw.
Chapter 8: Chapter 8
When Spock entered the library, shock flitted across his face at what he saw. All the professors, plus McCoy, were dancing joyfully to the upbeat music playing throughout the room. McCoy called out to Spock, waving him over.
“Hiya Spock! C’mon, hook on!” He broke from the line, Ben muttering a small, “I feel so abandoned.” as he left. Ben didn’t have to worry for long though, as McCoy soon rejoined the line. Spock on the other hand, strode across the room, his lips tilted down in the slightest of frowns as he turned off the music. McCoy stopped short, just in front of Spock.
“Hey! What’s the big idea?”
Spock ignored the question, addressing the rest of the room. “As soon as you have caught your breath, we had better have a conference.” He turned his attention to McCoy. “Mr. McCoy, would you please leave the room?”
Protests floated up around the room, but Spock cut through. “If you please, Mr.McCoy.”
McCoy shrugged. “Loose-tooth again.” He said, gesturing to Spock as he left the room. He could just hear Spock say, “Now, if you would be kind enough to get together all that you have written over the past three days…” as he left.
McCoy entered the front hall, startling as he heard a knock at the front door. He looked over, spotting Pastrami and Anderson peering through the window. He quickly slipped out the door, facing the two men.
“Well it’s about time! I thought you two had amnesia and forgot where you parked me.” He whispered, trying to keep his voice low enough to avoid the attention of those inside. Pastrami protested as McCoy continued. “Dropping me on the doorstep like a throwaway for a credit dentist. You said it was for one night!”
“Hold on, Sugar, for snaps sake.” Anderson cut in. “You’re as hot as a pistol right now! The DA’s got a hundred men on the job, and they’re squeezing this town through a sieve, borough by borough. Tell her Pastrami.” He said, nodding to the other man.
“They’re tailing us, Sugar. Took us three hours to get here from 48th street. Detoured through Jamaica, Long Island to shake ‘em off.”
McCoy nodded, running a hand through his hair, “Alright, alright. You wait here, I’ll get my things together. Shouldn’t be too long.” He turned to head back inside.
“Now, wait a minute, Sugar!” Anderson said, catching McCoy’s attention. “We got a surprise for you.” He looked at Pastrami, then back at McCoy. “You’re not leaving. Not just yet.”
McCoy turned back to the men. “I’m not? Joss’ out, isn’t she?”
Anderson shook his head. “Yeah, but for how long? They’re just layin’ low to find you so they can get him back.”
McCoy sighed. “That’s the surprise? I’m supposed to stay in this stuffy professor’s home till the moths eat holes in me?”
“Sugar, when I say a surprise, I mean it!” He held out a small box, opening it for McCoy to see. Sitting perched inside the box, is a ring. It’s a simple, but clearly expensive ring. McCoy gaped at the ring, taking it from Anderson.
“Joss doesn't have to bribe me just because I do her a little favour.” He said, pulling the ring out of the box.
Pastrami chuckled. “It’s not a bribe, don’t take it like that. Say, it’s not your size, it is?” He said, reaching for the ring. McCoy pulled back, holding it close to him.
“Let her try and get it back though. It’ll do, even if I have to whittle down my finger.”
“Third finger, left hand, Sugar.”
McCoy looked at the two of them in disbelief. “Who do you think you’re kidding?”
They shrugged, “The future Mr. Jocelyn McCoy.”
“Wedding bells, sweetheart. Joss and the lawyer got it all figured out.”
“Yeah, a husband can’t testify against wife, see?” Anderson gave Pastrami a smack.
“Don’t put it like that, you dope.” He turned to McCoy. “Say, she’s been thataway about you ever since she first picked you out.”
McCoy laughed dryly. “Yeah, but it took the DA to make her pop the question.”
“She sent you a love message.” Said Pastrami, pulling McCoy’s attention back to him. “She says to tell you, she gets more bang outta you than any man she ever knew. The weddings gotta be a fast one though, over in New Jersey someplace.”
Anderson pulled a pile of papers out of his coat. “Now, this is the application for the license, and you sign it right here.” He pointed to one of the lines on the paper.
“Will I? You got a pen?” Pastrami handed him one, but McCoy hesitated. “Y’know, I can’t make up my mind. Will I continue with my night club career? Or bust in on the Helen Hayes racket. Say, shouldn’t this be signed in front of a public notary?”
“I’m a notary public.” Anderson pointed out. “Permission expires in two years.”
“You’ll get the final dope in the morning.” Pastrami mentioned as McCoy signed the papers. “Joss will call around 10.”
“Now, lay low and stick close to the Ameche.”
McCoy looked at him in confusion. “Okay, the what?”
McCoy nodded, before looking towards the door as someone calls his name inside.
“You’d better duck.” Anderson said, putting the papers away.
He looked towards the door again, as he hears someone calling once more. “Okay, okay. 10 o’clock. I’ll be waiting.” McCoy nodded at the two men, before ducking inside.
“Mr.McCoy!” His name rang throughout the house. McCoy entered the house to find all the professors, save for Spock, looking for him.
“Here I am.” McCoy announced his presence behind the professors, who were looking up the stairs. “Just getting a little air.”
“Mr.McCoy…” The professors gazed at him sadly, McCoy looking back at them quizzically.
“What’s buzzin’, cousin?”
“Professor Spock… He would like to speak with you.” Explained Ben. “He’s waiting for you in the library.” The others nodded solemnly.
McCoy flashed them a smile. “Don’t worry, kids, cheer up.” He clicked his tongue, then headed into the library.