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“Could you make me some armor, sir?” Julie asked.
Dad fingered his laser pistol and in a rumbly voice asked, “Is the Force with you?”
“It is,” Julie replied, trying not to laugh.
I grinned. Few people realized Dad’s laser pistol and rifle shot real bullets.
“Let’s get the party started,” Hank interrupted. “We are attracting the wrong kind of attention.”
We started for the cafeteria.
“Wait!” The CIA thug yelled and ran after us.
A red-headed nurse tripped him.
The thug did a face plant on the floor and before he could get up, the nurse planted a knee in his back, pulled a syringe from her pocket, and injected him.
The thug’s struggles slowed, then stopped.
“You’ve got be Dorothy.” I held out my hand.
The nurse took it. “I am and you must be Gemma.”
“That’s me.” I pulled her to her feet.
Dorothy smiled. “Take care of Zorro. He’s special.”
“I know.”
Doc Halliday joined us. “What happened here?”
“He tripped and fell,” Dorothy answered blandly.
Doc Halliday eyed us. “That happens a lot around here.” He motioned to an orderly. “Get me a gurney.”
“Yes, sir.” He hurried off.
The Doc studied Dad’s armor. “Did you make the armor yourself?”
The Mandalorian nodded.
I bit my lip to keep from laughing. When Dad was in costume, he acted like the character would. It drove Mom nuts, but, hey, he enjoyed it.
“I’m surprised you didn’t bring the cat,” Doc Halliday commented.
“It wasn’t necessary, sir,” I replied.
Doc Halliday smiled. “With all these superheroes, I guess not. Try to keep the mayhem down.”
“We will,” Julie promised.
Dad warned, “Don’t make promises we can’t keep, Julie.”
“Yes, sir.”
A gray-haired elderly woman zoomed up in a motorized wheelchair. She was wearing a blue mumu, men’s tennis shoes and a face mask. “Let’s get this done. Grimes and his agents are heading our way.”
I eyed her hairy arms. “Grandpa?”