by Stanley Gray
“What’s the punch line?” Dale asked. His tone told the story of a man who was very close to the precipice of forgiveness.
“She told me she’s bi-polar.”
Dale expressed his amusement so vociferously, he had to hang up.
Alan drove the rest of the way to work without incident. He stared at the beautiful countryside as he passed. The drive normally took around 20 minutes, but traffic forced him to stall. After around 30 minutes of waiting and staring off into the distance, alone with his unwanted thoughts, he began to wonder. What was going on? Sure, congestion could be bad, given the city planning. Nonetheless, was it normally worse than the I-5 into Seattle on Monday morning?
Alan turned on the radio. He grimaced when he heard a country station. Switching the dial to AM, he twisted the dial until he found a local talk radio station. He groaned when he realized it was a Mormon religion station. Finally, he stumbled upon a suitable station. Alan didn’t feel surprised when they he discovered them discussing none other than the Shady Pines crash.
He collapsed back against his seat and listened for as long as he could stand it, then finally smashed a fist into the general direction of the radio repeatedly until finally silence descended. Alan felt his bulging veins fighting to pump blood. Thoughts played bumper cars in the county fair of his brain. He wanted a drink. Almost as if by some edict from a benevolent being above, Alan tilted his head as he drummed his long fingers on the steering wheel, and noticed a gas station.
The place appeared vacant. Wooden slats adorned in multi-colored graffiti covered one window. Weeds grew up around one of the two rusted tanks. Geriatric litter gossiped in groups along the edge of the road, some of the old fast food wrappers skittering across the pavement of the gas station with the wind. But, a tall man with a bulging belly covered in blackened, dirty coveralls stood leaning against an empty wire mesh propane repository. And, the faded sign jutting high into the air proclaimed that the station was open.
Alan looked at the traffic. He debated the idea for several moments, growing thirstier as he visualized himself indulging in a drink. But, he resisted. The fact that he could surprised him. Casting one last sad look back at the disheveled station, Alan offered a small salute and maintained his position in the flow towards Klamath Falls.
A green sign notified him soon after that he only had 3 miles to go, before entering the city limits.
When he inched up to the Welcome to Klamath Falls sign, Alan saw what had caused the delays. A number of people stood by the sign, waving pieces of cardboard and chanting. Some of them smoked dope. Many in the group wore UFO or alien costumes or paraphernalia.
Alan could only smile and grit his teeth. The irony amused him, despite the circumstances. Here he was, trying to get to work so he could investigate the people trying to investigate the crash…that he was supposed to be investigating. It seems he wouldn’t have to try hard to find them. It didn’t appear that they wanted to stay hide.
Police cruisers, lights flashing, sat just a few hundred feet down the road. Large men with buzz cuts wearing sunglasses held shotguns at the ready as they fixed their martinet gazes on these interlopers. Other than that, no other overt evidence of the tensions between the opposing sides seemed to present itself. One side was dancing and laughing, and the other just offered menacing glares. Alan wondered who’s side he would take on this one. He had to admit that the alien aficionados and hippies seemed to be enjoying themselves.
Alan felt a little jealous.
Once he moved past the spectacle, traffic picked up, and he was able to sweep into the office. He did stop off and purchase a box of conciliatory doughnuts and a bottle of cheap vodka before clocking in, however.
“Did you see all the protestors?” Alan asked, raising an eyebrow. He held out the doughnuts and smiled. Dale looked up from his computer and rushed forward. He opened the box and plucked a sugary breakfast treat out, crumbs falling onto the floor, his shirt, and into his reddish beard.
“Protestors?” Dales asked. The words came out garbled.
Alan could only shake his head and laugh. He perched on the edge of the man’s desk. He continued to watch the former Green Beret eat with casual interest. “You didn’t eat like that back when you were…what did you call it? A green beanie?” Alan asked.
“Depends.” Dale said, dragging the back of one hand over his mouth. He grunted. “You didn’t get milk? What kind of fuckin’ apology is that? Doughnuts without milk is just a tease.” Dale said.
“Depends on what?” Alan asked.
Dale scrunched his eyes together and tilted his head. He peered at Alan for a second. Then realization dawned in his eyes. “You’re still talking about that? I don’t know. Sometimes we ate MRE’s. Sometimes we ate great. Sometimes we were on R&R or whatever. If you’re out looting the Scottish Highlands, you eat whatever you can. If you are in the Syrian desert, you might have dates. But, yes. I have definitely allowed myself to enjoy the full array of civilian pleasures since I left.” Dale said. And, as was his wont, he took the moment to reach for another ball of fried dough.
“I wouldn’t call them protestors.” Dale said.
Alan shivered. He felt a draft. The burgeoning winter winds hinted at the cold to come. “We not have heat?” he asked. He stood. He looked at the paper bag containing his liquor. He remembered the familiar thirst, but didn’t want to start a new argument with his trusted colleague. Not right now. “Why? Why wouldn’t you call them protestors.” Alan asked.
“They aren’t really protesting anything.” Dale said. “I need coffee. With milk.” Dale stated on the heels of the original comment.
Alan shrugged. “Go get some. Get me a cup, too. What is it?” Alan snapped his fingers. “Dutch Brothers. That’s the big one around here, I think I heard.” he said.
“Well, first, let’s get debriefed. What’s up with all the…whatever they are. Protestors?” Dale looked towards the ceiling. “Water spot.” he idly remarked. “I guess I’m okay with protestors.” he decided.
“Thank you so much for the vote of confidence.” Alan said. He sighed. “So, the most I know at this point is, I turned on the news briefly this morning because I couldn’t sleep, and saw some guy…Aki. Aki Noro. He was on CNN, I think. Yeah. And…it seems like they want to know what we do. Why is the government trying to cover up this crash?” Alan said.
Dale took a few steps towards the door, then stopped. “Is that liquor in that bag?” he asked.
Alan shrugged.
“You better give me money if you want coffee.” Dale said. He held out one hand.
Alan looked at the other man, then reached back into his wallet. He extracted a 20 spot and handed it to Dale.
“We’ll talk more when I get back.” Dale said.
Alan retreated into his small office. He opened the blinds to allow some sunlight in. He stood at the window, looking out at the courthouse. The American and Oregon flags flapped in the breeze. A couple of people sat chatting on one of the benches in the front lawn area. There was something rustic and nostalgic about the building that transported Alan into a different mood.
Realizing he’d forgotten his liquid elixir, Alan walked back into the other room. As he picked up the bag, hearing it crinkle, feeling is heft, his eyes strayed over to the cramped and cluttered workspace of his underling. Curious, Alan walked that way. He furtively glanced around. Even the idea of invading Dale’s private work files seemed dangerous. Nonetheless, he felt compelled.
When he sat down, he jumped up, dropping the bottle of vodka on one foot. He moved his mouth as if to scream and glared down at the offending object. Standing, shaking his leg and foot, the Special Agent-in-Charge looked at the metal chair. A half-empty fast food wrapper sat there. Alan reached back and felt the back of his pants, then smiled at himself. He looked towards the door, then returned to his spontaneous internal investigation. Leaning over the metal desk, he typed in Dale’s password. Receiving a new prompt, he entered a second password. A
lan had always wondered if this level of security were strictly necessary for an office like theirs.
Alan bit his lower lip as he navigated through the open tabs and various files. At first, he found nothing, which felt reassuring. Alan liked Dale. He didn’t want to discover anything bad about him, his recent rants notwithstanding. But, the timing of the protests and alien enthusiasts appearing in town with almost the exact same complaints as Dale seemed too neat. Too coincidental.
He’d almost given up. He looked at his watch every few minutes, and sweat began to form on his palms. Alan clicked and moved the cordless mouse around, eyes darting around as he tried to speed- read and scan various documents and files. He heard a sound and jumped, shrieking. When he saw that the front door to the office remained closed and the office remained unoccupied save for himself, he sighed. He placed a hand on his chest. His heart rate soared towards the atmosphere.
Regaining his composure at least enough to use the computer, he tried a last-ditch effort. Opening the trash bin, Alan wanted to see if maybe his partner had tried to delete some files.
When he saw it, he gasped. He pointed at the screen, his long index finger jabbing at the flat surface as it silently accused Dale in absentia. Alan covered his mouth and again looked furtively about. He wanted to scream. There, right in front of him, was clear evidence of Dale’s betrayal.
Maybe not. Alan thought, trying to rationalize it away. He played out various scenarios, and tried to offer the man the benefit of the doubt. He so wanted this to part of some logical, reasonable plan that didn’t involve treachery. Because the doubts loitered like alley cats in his brain, Alan knew he had to find out. He needed to dispel them or feed them; there was no other option. He’d went to this trouble and risk to find something, based on his intuition, and now that it sat in front of him, beckoning, he didn’t want to know the truth. But, at the same time, he needed to know it.
Opening the discarded file, he saw that it was a saved email. Dale had emailed Aki Noro, and the contents of that email hinted at other emails Alan hadn’t dredged up yet. Dale had reached out to the author and paranormal investigator with the intention of getting him involved.
Wiping his hands on his khakis, Alan returned the work station to as close to normal as he could. He retreated into his office, feeling boxed in. He slammed the door behind him. He felt the wall shake.
Alan slumped down into his leather chair and closed his eyes. He rocked back and forth, trying to breathe. He felt more alone than he could ever remember. Even the presence of an alien that effectively ass raped him didn’t hurt as bad as this. He’d known Dale for…a very long time. The fact that the man would violate the sanctity of their relationship profoundly disturbed him.
He heard the front door open. Alan raised his head and looked, but then returned to his somber reverie. He struggled with how he should respond. He still needed the man, which made things worse. Pouring gasoline on a dumpster fire wouldn’t extract him from his current predicaments, plural.
Alan heard the man humming in the other room. He thought about it all. Ultimately, Dale hadn’t damaged anything other than his trust and their friendship. While divulging classified information to a journalist in that way was reckless and illegal, the leak would probably never make any difference in their careers, even if it did come to light. It seemed unlikely that it would, since the crash had attracted sufficient notice that a reasonable person wouldn’t necessarily think an insider had sent the minions into town.
He rubbed his temples. After several moments, he relaxed enough to walk back into the open area and talk to Dale. He paused at the door, hand on the knob. He reflected on how much his life had changed in such a short span. Shrugging, he surrendered it all to the esoteric forces of fate and exited his office.
The distinctive smell of grease and pink slime assaulted his nostrils. Alan felt a pang of hunger. He saw a pile of lumpy burgers swaddled in branded wax paper, and rushed to pluck one from the stack before the guardian of the beef could react and stop him. He smiled triumphantly as he bit into the single cheeseburger, squeezing a thick goopy glob of brownish-yellow condiments onto his face.
“What the heck?” Dale asked, smiling.
“+1 sneak, man. I’m a ninja.” Alan said.
Dale stared at Alan for a full second, then just grinned and shook his head. “You, sir, are a dork.” he muttered.
“Where’s my coffee?” Alan asked.
“Oh, yeah.” Dale turned and reached for a paper bag resting on the desk they’d set up for the various office equipment. He had to lean back, and he almost toppled the container and its contents onto the carpeted floor. Retrieving the coffee, he slipped a small cardboard sleeve up from the bottom, then handed it over to his boss.
“Thanks.” Alan said. He opened the lid and inhaled the scent. A layer of whipped cream dominated the surface, but even this amalgam of sweet foam couldn’t suppress the bold notes offered by the beverage. Rich and aromatic, the coffee was a raconteur, promising dazzling tales to his taste buds. He clamped the white plastic lid back down, then sipped. The warm liquid flowed into him, and he felt energized. “A lot of sugar, though.” he said, holding the cup up and examining it.
Alan pulled up a metal chair and sat down next to Dale. He leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, and sipped his expensive caffeinated drink. He embraced the opportunity to escape into something banal with gusto. Perhaps the coffee sucked, but at least his overworked mind allowed him to accept the fantasy of greatness. Silence loitered in the space between them, and it didn’t seem tense. It was an amicable quiet, a busy stretch that included the absence of spoken words. Dale moved into his work, and Dale went out on a date with his coffee.
After several minutes, Alan couldn’t ignore what he needed to do any longer. The superficial attraction to addictive beverages had played its part, and now it was time for Act 2. Alan inhaled, and scrabbled for the right words. A part of him still wanted to confront the man, to shake him and ask him why in the hell he’d done it.
But, instead, he started off the conversation by blandly asking if Dale had any suggestions on what to do.
“Well, could it really hurt to reach out to the protestors…or whatever they are? I mean, they are kind of doing what we wanted to, but couldn’t.” Dale said.
Alan wanted to laugh. He did. The man was barely trying to hide it. Maybe Dale thought he was stupid. Maybe. Nonetheless, Dale made a valid point. The protestors could play an important role in the case, depending on how they were used, and when. Even if they didn’t prompt a big response from the Klamath Falls police and other authorities, the lack of a response was itself significant. The protestors offered something tantalizing: leverage.
“Yeah. But, is any of this classified?” Alan asked.
“Boss, now, if I were not to state the obvious, and point out that you…are the boss, and, thus, it is your job to know such details, I would probably say it doesn’t matter. Twenty-plus thousand people at one point thought some sort of activity had occurred. What was the estimate for the damage claims? 7 million or something in that ballpark? So, when police and the media are suddenly on the same page, and that same page happens to be the fact that they suddenly didn’t see what they told you they saw…” Dale allowed the thought to trail off.
Alan had to admit the man had a point. He rubbed his chin. He looked at the ceiling. One foot stood rigid and outstretched, with much of his weight on it. He glanced over at Dale, and caught the amused grin on his face. “What?” Alan asked, eyebrow shooting up like a hostage’s hands in a robbery.
“You look like some kind of nerdy fucking pirate.” Dale said.
“Arrrgh.” Alan said, chuckling. “So, you suggest…just letting them be? What?” he asked. Dale held up a finger to stop any response Dale might have made in its incipient stages. “You’re a very smart man. You’re fluent in several languages. Did they teach you military strategy? Anything about intelligence analysis?” he asked.
A p
eculiar gleam arrived in the other man’s eyes. Alan couldn’t quite place it. Was it pride? Curiosity? Amusement? The latter seemed more in line with both his mood and his character, which could probably be summed up with two words: fuck you. Nonetheless, Alan waited for an answer, trying to analyze the odd display of emotion. It seemed such an innocuous question, to elicit such a response. Then again, the man was an…unorthodox guy.
“Now, that, my friend, might be classified. Why in the hell would you want to know something like that? Why now? We’ve known each other for a very long time, and you’ve never asked me that before.” Dale said. He leaned back in his chair, two of the legs hovering just above the floor.
“Well, it was just…look, Dale. This…situation, it’s all, well, it’s new to me. I have nothing to default on. You can’t really train someone for this. I have some book smarts, but I don’t have the kind of smarts you do. What you seem to be suggesting smacks of…the whole ‘ends justify the means’ type deal. Is it?” Alan asked.
He felt the sweat under his armpits. He wrestled away the alligator that was the proud smile he wanted to display so badly. Alan was improvising well today, and he knew it. But, he couldn’t show that. All he could do was hope he could somehow wiggle out of this whole mess. The mess that started because he let an alien into his home.
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s basically what I’m saying.” Dale said. He nodded his head, but his eyes remained fixed on Alan’s face. There was something cold in those deep orbs now. Something that might not have been there before.
Chapter 13
A drone hovered over his house.
Alan walked out the front door and saw it by accident. Bending down to tie his shoe, he’d caught a reflection moving on the ground, then followed the path towards…a drone. A mere speck against the dark midnight black expanse, the object seemed to merge with the shadows as it hovered there. Alan almost thought he could hear it, faintly buzzing in the cold air. A breeze sauntered by and hinted at the devious tricks it had in store. Alan could only stare at the offending object, standing immobile in his front lawn.