by Jay Cannon
“They’re already in town for their concert this weekend. How hard can it be?” The senator was a formerly good man who had been corrupted by the system. Being a senator meant promising to campaign for money. Not just for himself, but for others in his party. If you asked enough people for money, eventually you started owing favors. He didn’t want to become that person, but the system sucked him in. Now he faced the largest possible contribution of his career, and that meant giving his all to secure it.
“Langston, if you can’t pull this off for me I may have to take my business elsewhere,” the senator threatened with a smile. He stood to meet the director’s gaze.
“Sen. Rivera, you can count on me to make this happen. I would hate to see you go to a competitor.” Langston held out his hand, while urging the senator toward the door with another hand under his elbow.
“I believe you, Langston. Get back to me as soon as you can. I’d like to have some good news when I meet with my benefactor tonight,” the senator said, dismissing the hotel manager with a nod and walking away.
Rivera, who served on several powerful subcommittees on Capitol Hill, trusted Lewis, but he didn’t like to place all his faith in one person with so much at stake.
Thus, he decided to contact a few other people to hedge his bets. Those contacts made inquiries, which soon reached the ears of Daloi and Dholi. The aliens had settled in a comfortable spot on a quiet street in the Woodley Park neighborhood of D.C.
***
“This man must be nuts,” Pers Olsen told Daloi and Dholi who sat on a couch in his den, enjoying a toke in front of the fireplace. “He wants Rihanna and Beyoncé to be the special guests of some hotshot for the evening.” Olsen laughed as he coughed out some smoke.
“Why is that so strange?” asked Daloi.
“Because the guy wants them to be naked the whole time. I’ve been able to pull together some exotic trysts for the ambassador, but this guy is off his rocker. Even for $5 million he will have a hard time getting them to agree to do something so vulgar.”
Olsen had been assigned the position of personal bodyguard for the Danish ambassador to the United States. Except for the time that a Danish newspaper published an image of Mohammed, Danes had not made anyone’s hit list. As a result, Olsen’s job was easy and gave him plenty of free time to get into trouble, while the diplomatic immunity that he wore like a personal shield protected him.
“Call the man back and tell him you can do the deal,” replied Daloi, who lit up like a Christmas tree at the thought of getting her hands on all that cash.
“You can’t be serious. How am I supposed to make that happen?” asked Pers, looking at Daloi in confusion.
“Let us worry about that.” Daloi smiled as Dholi gave her a knowing glance. Dholi knew her sister well and just how she planned to pull off the stunt.
“That’s not good enough. I need confirmation before I can commit to something so outlandish,” Pers objected.
“Okay, give us until tomorrow afternoon to set this up,” Daloi said reassuringly, while rubbing his thigh.
Daloi and Dholi retired to the room they shared in Olsen’s house and hatched their plan. Impersonating Rihanna and Beyoncé would not be an easy task. They would be taking the place of two very famous entertainers, who have looks, mannerisms, and ways of speaking that are very well known to their fans. They also would have to answer the odd question about the entertainers’ pasts.
***
Later that evening, Adar and Ahmed left the NYC apartment and headed over to Toni’s place.
“Hello, Toni.” Adar hailed the club owner as he strolled into the Blue Note with Ahmed. “I hear you have some work for me.”
Toni concluded her conversation with the bartender and strolled over to the pair.
“Great to see you back on the block,” said Toni, extending her slim, manicured fingers. “I’d give you a hug, but I’m afraid you’d kill me.” She laughed, only half joking.
“Toni, I’m not that bad. I’m just focused,” Adar said, trying to sound less threatening. “I have a lot on my mind these days. A good assignment could help me relieve some stress, though.”
“I think I have something that will make us both happy,” Toni caroled, a sly smile painting her lips. “Since you left, I’ve been holed up here avoiding assassination attempts from Mason, one of Jerome’s lieutenants. Jerome called me for a truce, but Mason didn’t go for it. Jerome still has Aundria, but as far as I know, he hasn’t hurt her. I need you to take out Mason and his crew. I suspect Jerome will come around if Mason is out of the way. You have my permission to give any of them who want to join me instead a free pass. Just send them my way,” Toni said, lighting a cigarette.
“I will happily take care of that for you.” Keen anticipation lit Adar’s strange features.
“Feel free to launch a rescue attempt of Aundria, once you’re done.”
“That won’t be my priority,” Adar said, feigning disinterest. Adar fought against his feelings for Aundria, fearing she was distracting him from his mission. Still, staying involved with the mob gave him a greater chance of finding the Cheoili.
“Fine, suit yourself,” Toni replied, lifting an eyebrow at the alien’s apparent coldness.
Ahmed spoke up. “Toni, I’ve got a proposal for you, if you’re interested. The GFE Crew wants to join your team. Their pimp has been slapping them around and taking all their money. They like the way you run your operation and want to know if you would give them a good deal.” Ahmed rubbed his hands together.
“Oh, I’m definitely interested. We can house them here once I move back to Harry’s old place,” said Toni. “Way to take initiative, Ahmed! You’ll do well here.” Toni praised her new lieutenant, while tapping ashes from a cigarette into an ashtray.
“Adar, let’s go take care of Mason and the pimp. Once we are done, I may have some news for you about the twins.” The corners of Ahmed’s mouth lifted in a smirk.
“Okay, now you’re getting me excited. Let’s go.”
***
“Pers, this is Daloi. We’re at the Verizon Center. I need you to come here, to entrance 12B, as soon as you can. The guard will have your name on the access list. Ask him for directions to Beyoncé’s rehearsal area.”
“I’ll be right there,” Pers replied, quietly throwing a fist in the air.
***
Olsen approached the stage where Beyoncé could be heard rehearsing and stood next to Daloi just as she finished a set:
Say my name, say my name
You actin' kinda shady
Ain't callin' me baby
Baby say my name
“Okay, guys, let’s take five,” said Beyoncé, noticing Olsen’s arrival. “Daloi, is this your contact?”
“Yes, this is Pers Olsen.” Daloi replied.
“Okay, let’s go to my dressing room and talk over your deal,” said Beyoncé without acknowledging Olsen.
Unbeknownst to the bodyguard, Daloi and Dholi had used their powers of persuasion to convince Beyoncé to meet with Olsen.
“Everyone have a seat and let’s quickly go over this so I can get back on stage,” said the superstar.
“You don’t mind if I sit next to you and hold your hand, do you?” asked Dholi, taking Beyoncé’s hand into hers. “I just love your nails.”
“Go ahead, knock yourself out. I spoke with Rihanna earlier and she is down with participating in this little soiree of yours, but it’s going to cost you $5 million for each of us, payable in cash when we show up. No press, no recordings, no guests, and no mention of this ever happening. No exceptions,” Beyoncé stated, a no-nonsense, focused expression on her face.
“There will be two men involved in the event,” said Olsen. “I suppose they will have at least one servant there.”
“No servants! You need to work out the logistics before we get there,” Beyoncé insisted.
“We’ll make it work. Lewis, the director of the JW Marriott, will escort you to the private suite o
n the top floor of the hotel. That end of the hall, around the suite, will be completely blocked off.”
“Good. I’ll be bringing a security guard along as well,” stated Beyoncé.
“Is it okay if Olsen acts as your security guard?” asked Dholi. “He runs security for the Danish Embassy and can ensure discretion.”
“That works for me,” said Beyoncé. “See you tomorrow. And one more thing. We’ll be wearing G-strings. They don’t get to stare at or touch our coochies.”
“Understood,” said Olsen, walking out.
***
Adar and Ahmed waited until dark before making the sixteen-block trek to Mason’s place to take care of business.
“I’ll sneak up and take care of the guards at the door and in the entryway,” said Adar. “You watch my back.”
“I got you covered, Adar,” said Ahmed, screwing a silencer onto the nose of his 9mm Beretta.
“What’s that for?” asked Adar, eyeing the weapon with curiosity.
“You don’t want Mason to hear us coming, do you?” replied Ahmed, slamming a fresh magazine into the gun.
“Doesn’t matter to me. Either way he is going to die tonight.”
Adar approached the entrance to Mason’s building, a plush high-rise complete with a doorman at the front entrance. Using his spear, he chopped his way through the guards, while the doorman hid on the floor behind the reception desk.
Ahmed quickly shot other guards as they jumped out of their vehicles to join the fray.
Nodding at Ahmed, Adar moved into the building, fighting his way to the elevator with Ahmed at his back, a trail of dead bodies in their wake. He pushed the button for the penthouse. Ahmed endured agonizing moments until the elevator doors opened.
“Since I’ve got my personal shield on, I’ll go out first,” said Adar.
“I’ll be right behind you, buddy,” said Ahmed bravely concealing the trepidation that he felt.
The doors opened and Adar ran into the corridor amid a hail of gunfire. He proceeded to slice his way through the gunmen, directing the barrage of bullets his way, while Ahmed, crouching low, shot his way out of the elevator in an attempt to keep up with Adar. Once they cleared the hallway, the duo rounded the corner and began to clear the floor, room by room.
Adar sprinted down a hallway to the left, while Ahmed went right. Ahmed ducked into one office where he shot two of Mason’s men, but not before one of them drilled him with a .38 slug to the chest. As Ahmed lay bleeding to death, a door at the rear of the office opened to reveal the distorted face of Mason cowering behind one of his guards.
“Ahmed, you little traitor,” growled Mason. “You picked that bitch and that psychotic midget over me! I thought we had a deal. How did you think your betrayal would play out?”
“I’m thinking, with you dead,” Ahmed retorted. “You smell that aroma of cinnamon in the air?”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You want to bake me cookies?” Mason laughed.
With a whack and a thud, Mason’s guard’s head fell to the floor and rolled past him as Adar came into view.
“Oh shit,” cried Mason.
“Oh shit is right,” said Ahmed, panting as he tried to keep pressure on his wound. “My boy is about to slice you into some little cookies.”
“I’m unarmed!” Mason shouted at Adar, dropping his gun to the floor. “And remember, I still have your woman.”
“You think I care about that?” Adar grabbed Mason by the back of his shirt and flung him to the far side of the office. “Are you going to be okay, Ahmed?”
“I’m not sure. Do what you need to do,” the injured man replied, grimacing in pain.
“Look,” pleaded Mason, “I got money, I got connections. I’ll give you anything you want. Just don’t kill me.”
“All I want from you is your head,” said Adar, before proceeding to separate Mason’s head from his body with surgical precision.
“You could have asked him where Aundria is being held before you killed him,” Ahmed remarked.
“Oh, yeah. You know where Jerome lives, right?” Adar asked.
“Some house on Long Island, but he hasn’t been there since they kidnapped Aundria,” Ahmed gasped, clearly fading.
“That is not a problem. Let’s get you fixed up and pay the house a visit,” Adar replied.
Adar sent Ahmed to the attack ship, knowing Valera would attend his wounds. Adar, meanwhile, took some thin cable and strung it through the heads of the men he and Ahmed had killed and transported his creation back to the ship. Next, he checked on Ahmed.
“Are you better?” asked Adar, rubbing his friend on the chest.
“Yes, but I’m never going to get used to these strange aliens you hang out with. They tried to shove a probe up my ass,” Ahmed said, grabbing the back of his pants.
“What did you expect? You humans are always accusing us of wanting to do it.”
“What do you want to do next?” Ahmed interjected.
“We need to drop my present off at Jerome’s house,” said Adar, showing Ahmed his string of skulls. “Do you know where he lives?”
“That is just disgusting.” Ahmed turned away to keep from becoming nauseated. “He has a house somewhere on Long Island. I’ll get his address from Toni. Then we can go out there.”
Adar addressed the attack ship’s transporter tech in Euclidian. “Rookeley, transport us to some secluded spot on Long Island.”
The tech engaged the transporter and sent Adar and Ahmed to a wooded area on Long Island where Ahmed phoned Toni to get Mason’s address. Wylyy transported them to outside of the house and Adar placed his odd piece of artwork between two trees on the front lawn, along with a sign that read, “Release my woman, or your family is next.”
“Now what?” asked an exhilarated Adar as they strolled away.
“Can Wylyy take us back to the city?” Ahmed asked. “I want him to drop us off on the Upper East Side.”
“Sure, let me ping him.”
In a few moments the duo found themselves walking through a little known part of the Upper East Side.
“The pimp’s place is right there on the corner,” said Ahmed. “The front door is always open. It’s normally just the pimp and two bodyguards in the place.”
“Good. Let’s go in and extricate the annoyance,” Adar said, pounding his fists together.
When the duo entered the bordello, they saw that it had been decorated with Persian rugs, comfy leather furniture and gaudy light fixtures. The pimp, in the middle of a pep talk with his women, looked annoyed at the interruption.
“What the hell do you two want?!” he shouted at the two intruders.
“You have a piece of lint on your coat,” said Adar. “Let me get that for you.” The alien pulled out his short sword and sliced the pimp in half.
Adar looked at the two guards angrily. “You can join Toni’s team or join your pimp, your choice.” Slowly, he stalked toward the two men, blood still dripping from the tip of his spear.
“We’d be happy to join Toni’s team. We endured unspeakable horrors working for that asshole,” one of the guards said, holding his hands up to surrender.
“Great. Drag his body parts out back and go report to Toni. Ahmed, let her know they’re coming,” said Adar, wiping the spear on the pimp’s pants.
Ahmed made the call and then turned to address the women. “Ladies, you now work for Toni. She’s going to take lots better care of you than that asshole.”
“Thanks a lot,” said a slender woman in a blue nightie, walking up and kissing Ahmed on the cheek. “Would you like to stay for a while, so we can express our gratitude?” she asked, her smile inviting as she licked her lips.
“Unfortunately, we have some other things to take care of, ladies. Maybe next time. Adar, let’s move,” Ahmed urged. “I think you want to hear the news I have for you.”
***
Adar and Ahmed left the bordello, satisfied with what they had accomplished. The evening air cooled th
e perspiration on their skin from the altercation inside. Adar felt relaxed and ready to focus on finding the Cheoili.
“You did a good thing for me tonight, Ahmed,” Adar said, patting the Syrian immigrant on the back.
“Trust me, the good news is yet to come,” said Ahmed, returning the alien’s smile.
Chapter 22
End Game
Adar and Ahmed continued their walk south through Manhattan, quietly taking in the sights on the way back to the apartment. Adar enjoyed basking in the glow of the evening’s events, but he anxiously wanted to hear Ahmed’s news.
“So what’s the news you have for me?” Adar prodded, eager to hear what Ahmed withheld.
“While we were finishing up back there, I got a text about the twins,” Ahmed replied, light dancing in his dark eyes.
“What do you mean?” said Adar, pausing on the sidewalk.
“One of my contacts in D.C. told me about an incident he witnessed while he sat in his car waiting for a client in the garage of some fancy hotel, which was hosting a diplomatic event. This famous actor comes out of the elevator with two gorgeous women. Some groupie attacks the actor and one of the women pulled out some kind of weapon that she used to disintegrate the groupie. My contact saw the whole thing while sitting in his SUV waiting for the ambassador he was escorting to return. He freaked out, but never told anyone,” Ahmed said, ending the story.
Ahmed marveled at the change that came over Adar as he reported the possible sighting. The alien stiffened, becoming hyper-alert as his nostrils flared and his stare intensified.
“That has to be them,” Adar said, punching his hand into his fist.
“I agree. I figure we can catch the train in the morning and check out the story then,” Ahmed suggested.
“No, we’re leaving now. Do you know where to find them?” Adar asked, his impatience evident.
“I believe so. The text I received was the actor’s name, Mads Mikkelsen. He played in that first Bond movie with Daniel Craig,” Ahmed said, forgetting that Adar was not educated in Earth’s popular culture.
“Why is that important?” Adar asked.