* * * * *
"Four inches tall?" exclaimed Chet. His uncle nodded.
"During World War II, Pepe Garcia had served in the Pacific Theater as a Mexican fighter-pilot. But, he became a Company man, full-time, after making photo-recon flights during the Berlin Airlift.* In Cuba, he and his partner were to find out precisely where those Russian missiles were to be targeted. But, what they discovered is that those missiles wouldn't be carrying nuclear warheads, at all. The payload was to be a biochemical solution...capable of shrinking anyone exposed to the gaseous form of it!"
Unfortunately, while they were stealing a sample of this chemical for analysis, a drop of it spilled on Garcia's wrist. As a result, Garcia--who had originally been a foot taller than his partner--was the same height as the younger man by the time they reached Cozumel, Mexico.
"Twelve hours after that, they got busted by crooked local cops, in Tampico. At which point, Garcia was a foot shorter than his partner. And, by the time Juanita helped them escape, in a stolen police whirlybird, he was only a foot tall; period!"
It took six months for CIA scientists to isolate and duplicate the components of the biochemical (henceforth code-named Solution 62). Yet, to date, they had still not found a way to neutralize it. Let alone, reverse its effects.
"Juanita has been looking after Garcia, ever since. A combination partner and bodyguard."
"What about his other partner?" asked Chet: "The one who called himself 'Miguel.' "
"Sorry, my nephew. That is on a need-to-know basis, only. Suffice it to say, he was...reassigned."
"AHEM!"
Chet and his uncle looked down at the shrill voice that had interrupted them. It was Little Buck Fogarty, arms akimbo, glowering up at them from the top of their host's desk.
"I appreciate back-story as much as the next reporter, Jiro. But, what about Nguyen? He's still in danger from that Commie Bonnie and Clyde!"
The police detective replied that, if Chet swore out a complaint for attempted abduction, he could have the nightclub raided within the hour.
"Gladly! Who do I name in the complaint, though?"
"The manager of the club; an expatriate Chinese-American named Chou Sen Yi."
* * * * *
At that same moment, the aforementioned manager was raising the same point as Lt. Van Dinh. Only, at a much higher vocal pitch.
"The deal's off! I'm bound to be raided, any minute. And, all because you and your gook boyfriend couldn't keep that little bastard from escaping!"
Dolores glared at their host: "Park Kim Jung does not appreciate such language, Senor Chou. And, neither do I."
"Screw your preferences, bitch! My boss is going to have too many awkward questions, as it is. So, I want the two of you gone. Now!!"
"Mui bien," she replied: "But, first? Let me demonstrate precisely _why_ we had no control over Senor Fogarty's escape."
Chou Sen Yi tried to utter another heated comment. Before he could do so, however, he was hit literally right between the eyes. By a confiscated Superball, thrown by Park, at eye-blurring speed!
The nightclub manager staggered backward against the wall behind him. His bodyguards, stunned for that crucial second, quickly overcame their astonishment and went for their guns. Only to die, choking on their own blood, as Dolores shot each of them in the throat with her silenced H&K. By the time she had turned back, to survey Park's handiwork, he was already done.
Chou Sen Yi was now only an inch tall.
"Do you want him in your purse, my love?"
She shook her head: "I have someplace more...fitting...in mind."
Whereupon, she took off her left high heel.
tbc
Giantess World
Author's Chapter Notes:
ELEVEN YEARS LATER