Maybe not.
“Fine,” he says as we round the corner. “There. Happy?”
I stare at the building across the street, my almost-home—and frown. “Huh.”
“What?” Now he turns and looks as well. “Damn,” he mutters, suddenly all tense and man-of-action-y, and I know he’s seeing the same thing I am.
There’s the apartment building, just as handsome as ever.
All four floors of it.
Except that I clearly remember there being five. And I’d know, because the darn place didn’t have an elevator—about the only flaw it had—and I protested all the way up every single one of those five flights.
“So they were so serious about not renting to me—” I cross my arms and glare at the truncated building, “—that they threw out the entire floor?”
Tall opens his mouth as if to say something. Then he shakes his head and snaps his jaw shut with a loud click. “Let’s take a closer look,” he grumbles instead.
“Yeah, I’m gonna give them a piece of my mind!” I agree, and together we march across.
We reach the front door, step through into the little entryway, get to the next door—and it’s locked. Of course. It was open last time we were here, but naturally they wouldn’t normally do that, just for something like an apartment viewing.
Tall is scanning the row of call buttons on the wall. “No forty-two,” he says. “Nothing past thirty-eight.” He runs his finger along the rows. “Three floors, eight apartments per floor. Then another four on the first floor, that’s thirty-eight.” He shakes his head. “So where did the fifth floor go?”
“Let’s find out.” I reach past him and buzz number one. In most apartment buildings, that’s the manager’s if there isn’t a separate one labeled “M” or something like that. After a second, a woman answers.
“Yeah?” One word and she already sounds like a peach.
“Hi, I’m here to find out about the apartment,” I tell her, injecting as much good cheer into my voice as I can. It must work because a second later the door beeps. We push it open and hurry into the lobby before she can change her mind.
She comes out to meet us—I’m guessing it’s her from the thrilled expression on her face. “What apartment?” she asks. Then she sees me and her jaw drops. “You’re—”
“Stunningly handsome, I know,” I tell her. What? I have healthy self-esteem! When you’ve got the head of a duck you have to—either that, or spend all your time staring at pigeons and cardinals and wishing your bill was that small. “So, about the apartment—we were here last week to look at it.”
That brings her out of her stupor over my good looks. “We don’t have any openings right now.”
“It was apartment forty-two,” I explain, and now she’s gone all the way over to glaring.
“This building only goes up to thirty-eight.” She says it like you’d tell somebody “water is wet.” While they were standing in a rainstorm, wondering how they got drenched.
“Yes, we can see that,” Tall cuts in, his tone sharp and coldly official. Her snarl instantly vanishes, replaced by that vaguely helpful look people often get when speaking to someone in authority. Kind of like a naughty kid who’s hoping not to get called out for his misdeeds. Not that I’m speaking from experience or anything. “Nonetheless, my friend and I were here yesterday, and we did view apartment number forty-two. On the fifth floor.” He glares down at her with the full weight of an entire legal system behind him, even though technically he no longer has a badge or official status beyond being my MiB liaison. “You’re saying you know nothing about that?”
She shakes her head—she’s got short, curly reddish-brown hair that doesn’t even move when she does that. It’s like a helmet, and I wonder how it does with getting bonked by the occasional hailstone or a falling comet or that plate you accidentally bump loose from the top shelf when you’re struggling to extract the soup bowls from under a dozen other things.
“No, nothing,” she insists. “This building’s only got four floors, always been that way.”
“Who owns this property?” I ask her. She glances at me for half a second, but speaks to Tall instead. Which is fine, I’m happy to let him play the heavy. He’s ridiculously good at it. Heck, he has a hard time turning that off—when he orders food it sounds like an interrogation.
Still, it does mean I tend to get extra fortune cookies and a free soda, so I’m not complaining.
“It’s Lancaster,” the manager tells us. “Lancaster Management.” She points toward a plaque on the wall, which says exactly that.
“Have you ever heard of C-Ten Easy Day Realty?” I can see the answer in her face even before she shakes her head. Figures. “Okay. Thanks.”
I guess Tall doesn’t have any more questions either, ’cause he releases her with a look—she pretty much bolts out of pure reflex, same as any lowlife who was just grilled by the cops and then cut loose, and I can’t say I blame her. I’ve been on the wrong end of his stare before.
“So we’ve got a fake realtor,” I say once we’re back outside, “and a fake realty firm, and a fake-and-now-missing floor. Maybe it’s a good thing I didn’t get the place!”
Tall looks like he wants to smack me again, and I can hear his teeth grinding from here. “You didn’t,” he points out, “but somebody did.”
“Oh. Crap.” I hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah, you’re right. And their lease would have started three days ago, so odds are whoever did get the place has moved in already.” Something else occurs to me. “Hell, if it’s the whole floor, who’s to say they didn’t rent all those apartments at once?” I ask. “That’s eight people, maybe more if we’re talking any couples or families.”
“It could be,” Tall agrees. “Doesn’t make much sense to have eight spaces and only rent the one. I’ll double-check, but I’ve got a feeling we’re going to find those other would-be tenants are all missing now.”
This has officially gotten a whole lot bigger than me not getting a cool new pad. I straighten up and puff out my chest, which doesn’t have much effect other than to dislodge a few remaining crumbs from lunch. “Okay, let’s track down this missing floor and see what we can do to get those people back.”
The nod he gives me is like if most people had handed me a medal. I’m such a sucker for approval. “I’ll call it in,” he announces, whipping out his cell phone. “Something like this, if it isn’t alien it might as well be.”
“Good idea.” I glance around, and my eyes land on the bodega across the street. “I’ll get us some brain food.”
What? I think better on a full stomach! And with my eyes closed. You’d never know it, but when I nap I’m practically a genius!
Tall is just tucking his phone back into his pocket when I return. “Feel better?” he asks, eyeing the big bag of Cheesios I’m munching from. “Ready to lend a hand?”
“I already have,” I answer, offering him the bag. He declines, turning his nose up at my junk food as usual—until I reach into the shopping bag looped over my wrist and extract a bag of O-nions instead. He can’t help it, his eyes light up and I swear there’s a little drool leaking from the side of his mouth. “I had a really nice chat with Manny, he owns the store,” I explain. “Seems I wasn’t the only potential renter the other day. There were eight of us, just like I thought. And most of the others looked sketchy, he said.” Which makes sense, since Tall found the listing for this place on the DarkWeb. At the time I just thought that meant it was cool and underground and counter-culture. Now I’m not so sure. I toss some more Cheesios into my mouth, reveling in salty, cheesy, orangey goodness, and continue after I’ve swallowed. “I’m the only one who didn’t come back this past weekend with a truck or whatever, toting all my worldly possessions.”
Tall scratches his jaw, which produces a sound like stone on stone. “You were right, then,” he muses aloud. “It was the whole floor at once. Eight apartments. Eight candidates. And the only one they didn’t take—wa
s you.”
“Yeah, what’s up with that?” I demand. “My money not good enough for them? My taste in furniture not hip enough? My musical tastes not eclectic enough? They’ve got no idea what they’re missing.” Which is true enough. I can’t think of anybody with more eclectic taste in music than me. Some of the stuff I listen to, even I don’t think it’s music.
My best buddy is already shaking his head. “You spooked ’em,” he suggests. “Something about you made them worry, so they left that one vacant.” Good for me, I guess. Bad for the other seven. Still, Tall’s giving me that look of almost-approval again. “That’s good work, though,” he admits like it was dragged out of him with hot pincers. “Smart to ask the locals.”
That’s me—thinking and eating.
“What’d you get?” I ask him, finishing off the Cheesios and tossing the empty bag in a nearby trashcan. I pull two drinks from the bag next—the cola is mine, the radiator fluid is his.
“This isn’t the first time,” he replies after cracking the top and taking a long swig. “Been a string of these, turns out. Every other month, in fact. Same story, awesome apartment opens up on the DarkWeb, move-in ready, listing’s gone a day later—and none of the people who applied have been seen since.”
“So they take eight people every eight weeks,” I point out. “Like they’ve got a quota or something. Only right now they’re one short. Which makes me think they’re gonna list again, and soon. But only for one spot this time. Mine.”
That stops him mid-swig, and he lowers the bottle to stare at me, only this is one of those good stares, the kind that says, “Wait, you really do have a brain!” “I’ll check the DarkWeb again,” he says. “If you’re right—”
“All we have to do is get in there,” I finish for him. “Be lucky number eight, get taken to wherever they’ve dragged the others, and then bust on out.” I reach into the bag for the last items I purchased, and offer him one. “Choco-disc?”
“Got it!” Ned declares later that day. We roped him in on this mission, too, both because we needed his tech savvy and because he’s just a good guy to have around. Mary had to beg off, some last-minute mission on one of the Epsilons, which is a shame because if she’d been here it’d be the whole gang back together again. I promised I’d fill her in when she got back, though. And that we wouldn’t eat all the sesame crackers.
At the moment Tall and I are crowded around Ned, who’s sitting at my computer. Most of the time he doesn’t even need one—his gadgets tend to look more like horribly mutilated toothbrushes and LED-laden crazy straws—but in this case it was easier to access the DarkWeb from my home system. Now he’s got a post pulled up on the main screen, and we all read through it: “Apartment for rent. Move-in ready. Great downtown location, great old building, great price. Call now—this one’s going fast!”
“I’ll bet it is,” I mutter. “Fastest disappearing floor I ever saw!” I clap Ned on the shoulder. “Okay, now how do we make sure nobody else beats us to the punch?”
He grins without looking up, his stubby fingers flying over the keys. “Easy,” he answers. “I’m walling off their post, creating a little virtual blockade around it. Nobody else’s replies will get through before ours.”
“Perfect! But we’ll still need to lure ’em in,” I point out. “What were all the other candidates like last time?” I look over at Tall. “For that matter, what was I like? Since you responded for me.”
Tall actually grimaces at that. “Yeah, that may’ve been my fault,” he admits. “I’ve got a DarkWeb alias or two, we all did.” By “we” he means the MiBs, of course, which makes sense—if you’re trying to track aliens through that network, you can’t have them knowing you’re “The Law” every time you post or text. “It’s totally clean, looks like your standard loner, no connections, no family, no nothing.”
“Nobody to miss him if he goes missing,” I counter.
He nods once, grudgingly. “Yeah. Same as the other candidates.”
“Okay, you said you had one or two?” He nods again. “So we’ll use the other one this time. Same profile, different name so they won’t connect the two.” I rub my hands together. “It’ll be like our own little bear trap. Or duck trap. Or bear trap by ducks. Or something.”
Tall ignores that as best he can and turns back to Ned. “Can you find out anything about the poster?” Ooh, good point! That’s why he was the MiB, I guess. Always thinking like a cop. I tend to think more like a giant three-toed sloth. With a penchant for daytime television.
It takes Ned a minute to respond, and when he does he shakes his head, which sets the little broccoli-like stalks on either side thrashing about like trees in a monsoon. “They’ve covered their tracks pretty well,” he admits finally. “I’ve cracked their ID but it’s a fake account, and all the contact info is fake, too. I can tell you the last place they logged in from, in about a four-block radius, if that helps any.”
“Don’t bother,” I tell him. Tall gives me a funny look. “Come on, you know Manhattan as well as I do,” I say. “Four-block radius, that’s, what a few thousand people? Assuming it’s not rerouted somewhere else?” I shake my head. “We’re not gonna catch ’em that way.”
He glowers, but finally nods. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. For now.”
“Sweet.” I reach down and pull the keyboard from Ned’s hands. “You mind?” He pushes back to give me room as I craft the most perfect “Hi, you really want to rent to me” email ever.
Looks like all those years trying to convince girls’ parents I was a good guy and professors that they should give me another chance are finally paying off!
“Yes!” I practically shout a few minutes later. “I’ve got an appointment to see the place first thing tomorrow!”
Tall is frowning, which is dangerous—I’ve seen whole mountains crumble under that stern gaze. “And then what?” he demands. “You disappear like the rest?”
“No, then we shut him down,” I answer. I rub at my bill. “Somehow.”
He shakes his head but doesn’t offer any suggestions. I’m thinking furiously—that’s actually something I’m really good at, especially if I’m already angry. “They keep nabbing people,” I remind us both. “And once they do, poof! No more people. So where do they go? For that matter, where does it go? You can’t just pick up a whole floor and walk away with it.” If nothing else, the people from the floor below would complain about the draft.
“Could be they’re eating the people,” Ned offers. “Bones and all.”
“Could be,” I agree. “Or maybe they’re taking these people somewhere first. Them and the floor both.”
“Like a teleporter?” Tall asks. “That’d make sense. Takes one hell of a power source to do something that big and that complicated.”
I meet his eye and grin. “Well, if it is a teleporter,” I assure him, “I know just the thing.”
“Tell me again why it isn’t me in there,” Tall asks over the tiny bone-conductive earpiece I’m wearing—I can’t use a regular headset but this one we’ve got sort of nestled into my feathers right above my auditory canal, and it’s working pretty well so far.
“Because he’s already seen you,” I point out. “He’d know you right off.”
“And he won’t recognize you? You’re not exactly inconspicuous.”
“I am now,” I assure him, and switch on the little doohickey I’m holding. It’s one of Ned’s inventions, and I got him to loan it to me for this sting. I don’t remember all the technical details, but basically it makes me look normal while it’s on. It feels more than a little wrong to look in the mirror and see the guy I used to be before the Grays got hold of me, cleft chin and beaked nose and receding hairline and all. But at least there’s no way Satore will connect this me with the duck-headed guy he met before. And unlike Tall, I don’t radiate “Cop” in a three-mile radius.
Sure enough, when I walk in—this time the building’s in Midtown, just a block or two from Union Square—t
he so-called realtor doesn’t bat an eye. “Hi, I’m Satore S’mia, C-Ten Easy Day Realty. Come on in, Mr. Turnevar.” He still looks like he stepped right out of an ABC Family special, perfectly neat and clean and wholesome.
“Thanks,” I reply, shaking his hand. It occurs to me that, even though my hand looks all normal and fleshy, it might still feel like it’s covered in down, but if so he doesn’t notice. “So, tell me about the place.”
He gives me the spiel, same as before—two bedroom, two full baths, full kitchen, separate living room and dining room, fully renovated but all the classic touches like hardwood floors and high ceilings, lovingly renovated—except now the place is available immediately and he’s looking to sign a lease on the spot. “Works for me,” I assure him, and hand him my card for the credit check. Only this one’s a regular old American Express, made out to A. P. L. Turnevar. And it must go through without a hitch, because Satore looks up from the card reader with a big, hungry smile and says, “Great, let’s get you signed up and moved in!”
I scan the paperwork but get bored after the first few lines, so I just pretend to read the rest. “Looks fine,” I assure him, and scrawl something like a signature down at the bottom.
“Congratulations,” Satore tells me, handing me my copy of the lease, my receipt for the first month’s rent and security deposit I just paid, and a set of keys. “It’s all yours.” He bolts like he’s just remembered he left the stove on at home. With a full roast in it. Basted in kerosene. Studded with lit matches. In the midst of a baby shower.
Mystery! Page 21