Poison Glove

Has tiny metal barbs on the knuckles pointing outward, almost invisible. There’s a plastic pouch filled with a fast acting nerve poison on the index finger, with a tube running inside the glove to the barbs. Pressing the pouch with the thumb breaks a seal and sends the poison to the barbs.

If attacked, break the seal, hit the attacker, and within seconds he is helpless at your feet.

You may then kick him a few times. Barbs extending from the tips of the matching shoes contain a slow acting antidote, giving you plenty of time to get away.

So, go ahead, kick him. You’re saving his life.

* * * * * *

She just sat there in her pink bathrobe, stunned.
“So you just kick them...how many times?” she said.
“Well, the more you kick them, the faster they get up,” I said.
“And if you don’t kick them at all?”
“They might die.”
She rolled her eyes. “Pluter, you’re about the craziest bird ever built a nest around here.”

I didn’t like Charlene then. Heck, all I was doing was bringing stuff back from the future. Everybody wears death gloves a hundred years from now—that’s what they call them, death gloves, not poison gloves, because very few people bother to do the kicking part.

So I bring stuff back, I make a few bucks, that’s not so bad, is it? But Charlene tells me I’m bird crazy. I’m thinking maybe I’ll steal Charlie from her. Not much of a catch, but it would teach Charlene a lesson. I studied her through my steepled fingers as she babbled on. Or maybe I could send Charlene to the future. She’d probably be mistaken for a flamingo in that pink robe of hers, skinny legs and all.

That’d be quite fitting, yep, then she’d be the crazy bird.