by Jay Cannon
Chapter 18
The Cheoili are Cornered
After the meeting with McKee, Adar once again felt on the verge of catching the Cheoili. He had agreed to join forces with the police captain, but didn’t like relying on humans. Still, he felt certain that joining forces with the human authorities would improve the chances of snaring his quarry. Captain Shisal was breathing down his neck, but more than that, he feared the hit his pride would take if he let the twins slip through his fingers again.
McKee felt his own frustration. He knew he was smart and good at his job. But he now had two murder investigations that appeared to be getting the best of him. Moreover, he needed to unravel the strange circumstances surrounding the mayhem at Max’s and the attack in Times Square that left a crowd of people temporarily immobilized.
The rash of murders seemed to be perpetrated by a couple of women who appeared to show up in two places at once.
Could the two series of incidents be related? He wondered. Have aliens been infiltrating our society all along, and we just ignored the evidence? McKee viewed himself as being conservative and not easily seduced by flights of fancy. Still, the evidence made it clear, to most of his staff at least, that the person they recently arrested in connection with the crimes came from another planet.
McKee kicked back in his chair and started shooting rubber bands at a picture of Mike Hammer that he had hung on the wall to his right, all the while ignoring Adar. What do you think, big guy? McKee spun a rubber band around his index fingers for a moment, considering. Then he jumped up from his chair. “Let’s go, Adar!”
“Peters, I’m leaving now for Sonny Foster’s apartment with a team of officers,” said McKee, when he paused at his subordinate’s desk in the squad room. “Adar will be joining us as a civilian consultant. I want you to stay here to help coordinate any assistance we may need from the precinct.”
“Forgive me for asking, captain. But two days ago we had this guy in custody, and he escaped. Now he’s a civilian consultant–” Peters used air quotes. “Do we need to be worried about undue alien influence here?” Peters once again used air quotes.
Before McKee could respond, Adar stepped forward to explain the circumstances of his involvement.
“Excuse me Sergeant Peters, but the only alien influence is being exerted by two women, who are wreaking havoc on your city,” Adar said gruffly. “They have the power to force any human to do their bidding, even your United States president. I shudder to think what would happen if they got access to the White House.”
“Sergeant, these are extraordinary circumstances that call for drastic action,” McKee interjected. “I assure you, I’m in complete control of my faculties and this situation. Now I expect you to remain here and assist me as needed, Sergeant.”
“Will do, Captain,” Peters said, nodding and returning to his paperwork.
“Wylyy, I need you to be alert and monitor me with the ship’s scanners,” Adar said, speaking Euclidean into his communicator. “I believe we are closing in on the Cheoili.”
“What’s going on, Adar?” asked McKee, noticing Adar speaking a foreign language he didn’t recognize into a small, flat, gray box that fit snugly in his palm.
“I’m having my ship monitor us in case we need backup,” responded Adar.
“I don’t want an alien attack on our city,” said Captain McKee, icy dread making the hairs on the back of his neck stiffen. “I only want you involved if we get overwhelmed and the safety of the city is at stake. You know our military is tracking your spaceship? If they start moving their troops into the city, it could trigger a panic that wouldn’t help your efforts any.”
“I’m not worried about your military tracking us, and I don’t want to risk losing those escapees just because you are afraid of panicking the city. Your team doesn’t have the capability to take on the two aliens without our assistance. Believe me when I say those two aliens will obliterate your city if you piss them off.”
“I hear you, and want your assistance, but I’m asking for restraint,” the captain insisted, as they crossed the police parking lot and climbed into an unmarked sedan.
Reluctant partners for now, McKee and Adar headed out of the parking lot, with McKee driving. The police captain turned on the car’s flashing lights but not its siren. A police van full of officers, led by Officer Ming Chow, followed them closely.
‘I hear you?’ What does that mean? I should just kill these people and finish this job myself, Adar thought.
An awkward silence fell between the pair as the little convoy raced down the street toward Foster’s place.
“Okay, we’re here,” said McKee, about 10 minutes later, as he parked the vehicle at the corner of Foster’s building. The police van also parked a few cars back on the side of the street and eight officers piled out.
“Officer Chow, establish a perimeter around the building,” McKee ordered. “No one gets in or out. I don’t care what they look like. Adar and I will go up to Foster’s apartment.”
“Got it, Captain,” replied Officer Chow.
“Are you ready, Adar?” McKee asked, turning to the alien.
“Yes, let’s go,” Adar responded, checking the placement of his weapons.
McKee pulled out his service weapon as he and Adar approached Foster’s apartment. He signaled that he would shoot the lock.
Adar waved him off, and then pointed at his head. He proceeded to ram the door, his skull making contact with a loud thwack that popped the lock and forced the portal wide open.
Dholi, disguised as Sheila, stood across from Adar.
“Hello, Cheoili. Where’s your sister?” asked Adar, with a sneer on his face.
“Right here, Ossie!” shouted Daloi, disguised as Sharon and standing in the corner of the room. Aiming the photon gun in her hand, she blasted him with an energy charge, flinging him against the far wall. Adar’s shield diffused the blow, protecting him from certain death, but not from intense pain.
“Don’t even think about it,” said Daloi, pointing her blaster at McKee, whose grip tightened on his gun. Dholi moved quickly to her side, and they both disappeared.
Adar then disappeared as Wylyy transferred him aboard the ship, worried about his condition. “Adar, are you okay?”
“Me?” shouted Adar. “Don’t worry about me. Where are the Cheoili?” Adar looked around the ship.
“They transported themselves to the other side of the city,” replied Wylyy, confused by Adar’s anger.
Adar grimaced, intense frustration distorting his features. “Send me back to the apartment,” he growled. “Next time grab the Cheoili first, then worry about me.”
At the apartment, a baffled McKee stared around the room.
“Ming, get your men up here to search the premises,” he ordered over the police radio. “Sergeant Peters, I need an update on the location of Foster’s phone.” McKee jumped when Adar reappeared in front of him.
“Oh, Adar, you’re back. I would love to know how you do that,” he said, staring at Adar in wonderment.
“It would be better if we didn’t discuss that,” Adar said dismissively. He still looked a bit shaken from the twins’ attack, but pushed through it. “According to my people, the two women are still in the city. They recently arrived in Times Square. I suspect they are on the move.”
“Good. I’m having one of my people get their location now,” said McKee, touching his earpiece.
“Captain, we located the phone. It appears to be in a car heading south on Seventh Avenue away from Times Square,” said Peters. “Officers on the scene said they saw two women appear out of nowhere and jump into a yellow cab going in that direction.”
“Have every unit in the area block off that section of the city,” McKee ordered urgently. “Ming, you can have your people stand down. This place is clear. Adar, our data seems to corroborate what your people said.”
“Wylyy, are you tracking what they’re saying?” Adar murmured into his UCD.
“No! I don�
�t speak their language,” the alien pilot replied. “You’ll have to translate for me.”
“What’s going on?” asked McKee.
“I’m trying to get my people to help track the car,” said Adar.
“What do you mean by that?” screeched McKee. “I don’t want an alien ship flying around the city. It would just cause panic.”
“Be calm,” said Adar impatiently. “My ship can monitor the traffic without flying around. If we spot the fugitives we can transport them to our ship without causing harm to anyone else.”
“What about the cab driver?” asked the captain, still worried the aliens might do something awful.
“The driver won’t be touched. If he starts talking about aliens and people vanishing, you humans will just think he is another nut,” explained Adar.
“So you aliens do this a lot?” McKee asked, now concerned that other aliens might be roaming the Earth.
“No, at least not us,” Adar said, shrugging.
The NYPD, meanwhile, blocked off Seventh Avenue and began a car-by-car search of traffic. They noticed a cab make a U-turn in front of the roadblock and drive away, and gave chase.
“Sergeant Peters, can you give me a quick update on that phone!” Officer José Gonzalez called from the roadblock.
“Gonzalez, we have the phone now going north on Seventh Avenue. How is that possible?” asked Peters, knowing that Seventh Avenue is a one-way street, going south.
“We just spotted a cab making a U-turn on Seventh Avenue. I sent some cars after it, but will continue to check cars here,” reported Gonzalez.
“Okay, Gonzalez, I’ll send you some additional support,” replied Peters, switching frequencies on the radio to speak to the captain. “Captain, we located the phone. It appears to be in a cab heading north on Seventh Avenue against traffic.”
“Have every unit in the area block off that section of the city,” McKee ordered, before switching radio frequencies to order a helicopter. “Crnekovic, take the police helicopter to Seventh Avenue near West 30th Street and assist Sergeant Peters with chasing down a cab.”
“Right away, Captain,” replied Officer Crnekovic, pulling on the controls of the helicopter to steer it towards the action.
“Sergeant Peters, I need you to manage the search while I cover the investigation of Foster’s apartment,” said McKee.
“I’ll take care of it, Captain!” replied Peters, eager to be in charge of the situation.
***
In Manhattan, a cab driver navigated the stream of cars around him, hoping his fare, two middle-aged people, wouldn’t grow impatient with his slow progress down Seventh Avenue. The radio blared, a Bob Marley tune, filling the interior of the cab: “We’re jammin’, jammin’, and I hope you like jammin’ too.”
“Is the music okay, you two?” asked the cabbie.
“Oh, yes,” said his female passenger. “We love us some Bob Marley. I used to listen to him in high school. We would smoke doobies behind the gym and listen to his tunes on a jam box.”
“Dig that. Jammin’ on a jam box. Hah! And he passed so young, along with Hendrix. And now we got MJ, Bowie, George Michael, Al Jarreau and Prince all gone,” said the cabbie, shaking his head.
“Yeah, that is so sad. I could use a doobie right now, to tell you the truth, Albert,” the female passenger told her companion, holding her mouth as she thought about a close friend who recently died.
“Honey, I think you’re saying too much there,” said her husband, Albert.
“Don’t worry about it. He still affects me like that, too,” said the cabbie. “He’s been dead over 35 years and his music is still dope. He certainly smoked plenty of it himself. Ha, ha!”
“What’s that up there?” Albert asked, pointing at police cars blocking the road.
“Damn police roadblock. They won’t leave me alone,” said the cabbie.
“How do you know they’re after you?” Albert threw a confused look at his wife, before again eyeing the scene outside the cab’s front windshield.
“They’re always hassling me about parking tickets, Ganga smoke, or my papers. I’ve been here eight years and they continue to treat me like some Syrian refugee,” the cabbie groaned, slamming the vehicle into reverse. “Hold on, I’m going to make a U-turn.”
The cabbie made the Uey, climbing the curb to dodge cars.
“Wait, this is a one-way street! Wow, okay, you made it,” said Albert excitedly, while clutching his chest.
“Officer Moss, you and one of the other officers take squad cars and go after that cab,” Gonzalez said, pointing to a cop standing near him. “I’ll call Sergeant Peters for backup.”
“What should we do with the expired licenses we pulled over?” another officer asked.
“Tell them it’s Christmas and to fix them before they get caught again,” Gonzalez replied. “I’ll stay here in case they head back this way.”
Two police cars drove away in pursuit of the cab, now two blocks away but still in sight.
“Sergeant Peters, this is Eric Crnekovic in the police chopper. The cab is headed for the Lincoln Tunnel.”
“They cannot get to the tunnel! You hear me! I want all available cars to ram them if they have to. I don’t care if it crushes their gonads. I want that car stopped!” shouted Peters.
“Got it, sergeant,” replied Crnekovic.
“You see all those cop cars after us?” The cabbie’s gaze kept returning to his rearview mirror.
“Shouldn’t we pull over?” asked the male passenger, nervously leaning forward in his seat.
“No, they’ll just hold us up for questioning, and you’ll never make it to your dinner,” said the driver, looking back at them.
“What’s that bright light?” asked Lisa, Albert’s wife.
“It’s a police chopper. I told you they had it in for me,” said the cabbie, hunching over the wheel and looking up at the helicopter. “The 99 percent never get a break in this country. Hold on, we’ll be in the tunnel in a few seconds. Oops, change of plans.”
“Look, they’ve turned north onto 12th Avenue,” said Peters, who was monitoring the cab’s progress from a screen in the squad room. “Why wasn’t that turnoff blocked? All available cars, close off 12th Avenue north and all side streets.” How hard is it to keep one damn cab contained?!
“Wylyy, have you spotted the yellow vehicle?” asked Adar, still at Foster’s apartment.
“There are several yellow vehicles in the vicinity,” replied Wylyy.
“It has the numbers 447 on the roof!” Adar shouted into his UCD.
“And what do those numbers look like in their language?” Wylyy queried.
“Damn you, Wylyy!”
“No, damn you, Adar. Give me some coordinates.”
“It just turned north near the tunnel entrance,” said Adar, attempting to calm himself.
“Oh, that one. We have a lock on it,” Wylyy said, setting his tracking system to follow the vehicle.
“There should be two Cheoili in the back compartment. I want them transported out of there as soon you confirm their identity,” instructed Adar.
“Hold on, let me check– There are only humans in that vehicle. No Cheoili,” replied Wylyy.
“Are they carrying any of our devices?” Adar asked, feeling frustration building up in him.
“Nothing. It’s clean,” said Wylyy, scanning through the cab again.
“Adar, what did your people find out?” asked McKee. “Can they stop the cab?”
“They are not in that cab,” replied Adar, holding his head down in deep thought.
“What do you mean? We’re tracking their phone,” said the captain, with a confused look on his face.
“They obviously dumped the phone in the cab to throw us off. I’m leaving,” said Adar, heading towards the door of Foster’s condo.
“Can we at least check the car before you go?” pleaded McKee.
“Okay, I’ll wait until you can check the car,” Adar said, leaning
back on the wall next to the door and putting a foot up. He quickly scanned the room as he stood there, spotting a joint on top of a book in a bookcase, but nothing else out of the ordinary. He quietly grunted to himself, before focusing on McKee as he worked with his officers to stop the cab.
***
“Damn it, another roadblock!” yelled the cabbie as he looked for another escape route.
“What are you going to do?” Albert asked.
“Hold on, I’m taking another shortcut.” The cabbie spun the steering wheel, and the vehicle veered sharply to the left.
“Uh-oh, this might be a hard landing,” he cried, trying to regain control of the cab, but failing miserably.
“Sergeant, he just made a hard left on West 48th towards Pier 88. I don’t think he’s going to make the ramp,” shouted one of the cops in the police helicopter. “There they go. They’re not going to survive that fall.”
“Peters, what’s going on down there?” yelled McKee, listening in to the radio chatter.
“Adar, the car is plunging off the road,” Wylyy reported via Adar’s UCD. “The impact will probably kill the occupants. We’re holding it in place for now. Should we let it fall?”
“Let me check,” replied Adar, who looked forward to McKee’s reaction. “Captain McKee, my people momentarily stopped the cab from falling to its destruction. Should we just let it drop?” he asked, flashing McKee a sarcastic smirk.
“You really have to ask that?” an incredulous McKee retorted, staring at Adar.
“I thought you didn’t like us aliens interfering in your humans’ lives,” Adar said mildly.
“Please don’t let them die, okay?” pleaded McKee, holding his hands up in resignation.
“Wylyy, set them down gently,” Adar murmured into his communicator. Turning to McKee, he continued, “It’s done. I’ll check on you in the morning. You’re on your own for now.” The alien then turned and walked away.
“It would be great if you could come by the office at 9:00 tomorrow morning,” McKee requested humbly. Adar merely waved and kept walking.
***
As the cab gently came to rest on the pier, several police cars surrounded it.