Alien Blues

by Lynn Hightower

  “What you got on the break-ins?” Mel asked.

  Della wiped crumbs off her mouth. “Guy is a pro.”

  “Ex-cop maybe?” Ridel said.

  Dawn shrugged. “That, or worked security. Lots of these boys are police groupies. Take a look at the ones who tried to hire on with the police, but got turned down. Or maybe ones who got fired after a few months on the job. Particularly if they’ve got a rent-a-cop background. And look for past enrollment at EKC—anywhere there are law enforcement classes. Or law school. Mainly the ones who didn’t make the grade, or didn’t stick with it.”

  “Pete,” Halliday said. “Cover that, okay? Della, you stay on method of B and E, account for things missing. He may take souvenirs—a lot of them do. Keep trying on some kind of connection between the victims. Maybe they all order from one pizza place, I don’t know. Might be a good idea for you and Pete to go back through arrest records, right when that three-month calm started.

  “David, you and Mel stay with this Dyer business. It may be a whole other case, but check it out.”

  “And how may I assist?”

  “Pardon?” Halliday said.

  “I would be pleased to help.”

  “Mr. String, your offer is appreciated. But your function is strictly advisory. You’ll leave the investigation to experienced professionals.”

  The Elaki swayed backward and sagged. “If as you say.”

  Mel grinned and licked his finger, chalking “one” in the air.

  “Captain,” David said. “We could use some uniforms on the legwork. Help cover the Elaki restaurants.”

  “Sorry, David. Wish I could.”

  “Could have a cop killing here.”

  “Confirm it and I can swing the people. Until then, no. Dyer was working maverick and his people are pissed.”

  The Elaki inched closer to David. “You said Elaki restaurants. I would be valuable there. To help in this work of legs.”

  Halliday spread his hands. “I don’t think—”

  “You ain’t got legs,” Mel said.

  Halliday glared at Mel and took a deep slow breath. “You know, Mr. String, I appreciate your being willing to help out. I think you might be a big asset in this area of Elaki restaurants, and I think Detective Burnett in particular would be glad of your help.” He stood up and stacked papers. “Okay, people. You got work to do.”

  Chairs scraped across the floor and loud conversations broke out. Mel followed Della out of the office, admiring the bracelet on her wrist.

  Pete Ridel was talking to Dawn Weiler and David waited for them to finish. He had a question for Dawn.

  “David?” Halliday motioned him over. “Hey, Pete, shut the door on your way out, okay?”

  Pete and Dawn walked out into the squad room. David saw Dawn laugh, then head out. Damn. He’d call her later.

  Mel stuck his head back in the door. “I forget, Captain. You said stay around?”

  Halliday leaned back in his chair. “Sit down, Burnett.”

  Mel shut the door, but did not sit. He held up a hand.

  “Look, Captain, you don’t got to apologize about the Elaki. I already know what you’re going to say—you know what I’m going to say. Let’s just cut to the chase and consider it said.”

  Halliday scratched his chin. He looked tired.

  “Anything else?”

  “No, Burnett.”

  Mel slammed the door shut behind him.

  David leaned back in his chair. “You’re lucky he decided to be big about this, Roger.”

  Halliday smiled.

  “It may be a mistake, you know.” David stared at the wall.

  “What?”

  “Letting that Elaki in on the staff meeting. Sending him out with me and Mel.”

  Halliday shrugged. “He’s not hurting anything. He’s only on the edges of the investigation, something I have no choice about, so neither do you. We have to make sure nobody can accuse us of not cooperating. We got sensitive information to discuss, the Elaki won’t be at the meeting.”

  “Why send him out with us?”

  “He might be able to help on Elaki turf. The restaurants.”

  “I don’t understand his interest, Roger. That worries me.”

  Halliday nodded. “Okay, David, that’s a point. I don’t understand his interest either, and the official justification is crap. Take him along and watch him. See if he helps, or gets in the way. Give you a chance to check him out.”

  “Something comes up I don’t like, I’m ditching him.”

  “Your call, David.”

  “I won’t jeopardize Dyer.”

  “Point taken.”

  David stood up, but Halliday waved him back to his chair. David sat. He didn’t like Halliday’s look of concern.

  “I just want you to know, I appreciate the work you been putting in on this Machete Man. You didn’t take your week when your mother died. How are you doing, by the way?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Halliday leaned back in his chair. “See, here’s how it works. You’re supposed to get a week, compassionate leave. When you don’t take it, the computer red flags the department shrink, not to mention the union guys.”

  “Captain …”

  Halliday held up a hand. “It’s just procedure. Machete Man isn’t exactly a thing you leave behind to clear up after vacation. I know that. I have no problem that you didn’t take the time. In fact, I appreciate it. You want to catch this boy and so do I. I’m just letting you know, I fielded all the bureaucratic horsecrap for you. That way, if anybody approaches you, you’ll know what’s going on. You tell me, and I’ll take care of it.”

  Halliday rocked back and forth in his chair. “You know how they watch cops. Seems like the whole system is set up to hassle the ones who do a good job. And listen, after this is over, you can have a week of compensatory. Whenever you want.”

  “Not necessary. Look, I can see it’s a sin not to be totally broken up here, but frankly, my mother and I were just not that close.”

  “Fine. Whatever. But think twice about that time off. You might take those girls of yours fishing.”

  NINE

  They were heading for the third Elaki restaurant and David’s feet were hurting. Mr. String did not seem tired. And he was still talking. His voice was muffled because he was folded into the back seat.

  “So the whole family and many friends were to go there.”

  Mel yawned. “To this river?”

  “Yes.”

  “With the beautiful waters,” Mel said. “Like red eye gravy.”

  “Yes.”

  “What you do there, get drunk?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Eat?”

  “Very much.”

  “Take a dip in the lake?”

  “A dip?”

  “Swim,” Mel said.

  “Certainly not.”

  “Don’t swim? I mean, it’s hot, the water looks good. Thought that was the big thing at Elaki gatherings.”

  “Fringe wetting only. Elaki do not swim. I suppose, if there was much drink, it could happen in private corners with lower types, but my family—”

  “Sorry, hey.”

  “May I finish the story?”

  “There’s more?”

  “I am getting to the amusing section. When my pouch-sib is swearing by the blue maker.”

  “Who is the blue maker?”

  “Must you be interruptious?”

  Mel shrugged. “Trying to make sense out of this.”

  “The blue maker is an idiomatic term for the one God who does not exist. It is used as term of great and vicious vulgarity. Illegal reference, in strict communities. And here is my pouch-sib, sitting on back of the lika—”

  “The what?”

  “Lika. It is similar to a … a … car-wagon. And it is blue maker this, and blue maker that.” String stopped talking and his belly rippled. “And the Mother extrudes and knocks him off the lika, into the red dirt.”

&nb
sp; “You’re right, that’s funny.”

  “Not yet. So, my pouch-sib gets up slowly, hurting, and gets back up in the lika, and we start up again, and he says—‘What, honored Mother, by the blue maker did I say?’”

  David and Mel exchanged looks.

  “Quit encouraging him,” David said.

  String peered over the back of the seat at their bellies.

  “You do not find this amusing?”

  David parked by the curb. He opened the back door of the car. The Elaki looked at him sideways.

  “Can I … give you a hand?”

  “It would be best, I think, for the back to turn.”

  “The back of what?” Mel asked.

  “Of us,” David said.

  “Oh, like, for the dignity to be preserved. We’re going on in, Gumby. Meet us inside.”

  David heard a thud.

  “No. Please, wait … there. I am with you now.”

  The Elaki owner was friendly, but not helpful. He eyed String curiously.

  “But you do have people—humans—come in here for dinner?” Mel asked.

  “Not very often, no. They don’t care for our menu.”

  “Really?” David said. “Somebody’s cooking something back there, smells pretty good.”

  String nodded.

  The Elaki seemed pleased. “It is a new item, we trying it out on our lunch crowd. We are very fond of Cajun cooking.”

  “Oh yeah?” Mel said. “I like Cajun. What is it?”

  “Muskrat.”

  “You kidding?”

  “It is not difficult to prepare. Simmer the muskrat in salted water, along with onion, garlic, bouquet garni. The secret is to simmer until the meat is so tender it falls from the bone. For the sauce, you use mustard, pepper, sherry, a little egg yolk—and some of the stock, of course. Perhaps you would care to sample?”

  “God, no,” Mel said. “Muskrat? Only Elaki would eat something like that.”

  The restaurant owner turned his body to Mel. “You think so? Essentially all of our recipes are local. Our people come here to try Earth food. And muskrat, I must tell you, tastes very like cow. Indeed, it is better than rabbit. You eat rabbit, don’t you? Southerners eat rabbit, is my understanding.”

  “My sister offered me one just last night.”

  “There, you see. But your reaction is typical. Few humans will eat here. And yet I see many balding men and I understand the loss of hair is mentally painful. These men would do well to come in and eat stewed cane rat, maybe once a week. I would not mind more human clientele.”

  “Stewed cane rat grows hair?”

  “It is the rat meat. In fact, we serve a very nice grilled rat bordeaux every other Wednesday.”

  David handed the Elaki a picture of Dyer.

  “You see this man yesterday, last night?”

  The Elaki studied the picture. “I … I do not think so. We do not get many humans—and usually those for the novelty of coming in. But I must admit …”

  “We all look alike,” Mel said. “Yeah, Mr. String here tells me that all the time. I don’t believe I introduced him. Mr. String is aiding in our investigation.”

  “Unusual,” the owner said.

  “Good for human/Elaki relations,” String explained.

  “Sure is,” Mel said. “Get to know one another, all that. String’s promised to take us swimming.”

  The Elaki restaurant owner scooted backward. String arched his back.

  “The human is joking you.”

  “By the way,” David said. “You give out those little brushes, you know, for crumbs? Kind of a souvenir for my daughter. She’s very interested in Elaki things. Collects them.”

  The Elaki’s eye prongs swiveled. “You see, Detective, this is a family restaurant. We encourage our clientele to bring their young ones and we try to keep our prices down. We could not afford to hand out such things, and with the young ones it would be like trying to hold water. We do not worry for crumbs.”

  David held up the brush he’d found in Dyer’s car. “You know of anyone who gives these out?”

  The Elaki looked at it. “Surely. The Ambassador, on Short Street. But they are not open this early and … they do not encourage humans. It is unlikely your man was there. But if he was, they will remember him.”

  “Thanks,” David said.

  Out on the sidewalk, String stopped in front of the car.

  “I cannot face to fold myself into the back again. I also must return to my work. Regret that I will be unable to further help. Good of the day.” He glided away down the sidewalk.

  “He seem upset about something?”

  “Get in the car, Mel.”

  The double doors leading into the Ambassador had been redone to accommodate Elaki height. They were also locked. Mel beat on the glass. The inside was lit and David could see a man running a vacuum cleaner. An Elaki female came to the door. She wore a short plaid vest—one of the few Elaki David had ever seen wear clothes. Perhaps it was a habit for the rich and trendy.

  “We’re closed,” the female said. Her side pouches were smooth and almost closed. No children, David decided.

  “How about reservations for tonight?” Mel said.

  “I’m sure we’re full.”

  “Next week?”

  “Perhaps if you call and check tonight. I am afraid we book most quick.”

  David looked at Mel. “You done?”

  “Yeah.”

  David flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Silver, Ms.…”

  “Cook,” she said.

  “Ms. Cook. May we come in, please? I need to ask you a few questions.”

  She unlocked the door and let them in. A phone rang.

  “Excuse.”

  She headed for the hostess station and they followed.

  “Yes?” She tapped an inquiry into a terminal. “Yes, the private arrangement can be made. Would the seven-fifteen be okay? Good. For many? We do look forward to seeing you.”

  “I thought you were booked for tonight,” Mel said.

  “What for you gentlemen need?”

  There was a stack of brushes next to the terminal.

  “Those brushes,” David said. “You give those out?”

  “Of course.”

  “Just to Elaki? Or your human clientele?”

  “I’m afraid we do not cater much for the human palate. Most of our patrons work in the government. They come here for relax, be among their own kind.”

  “You cooking rats in the kitchen?” Mel asked.

  The vacuum cleaner shut off.

  “Thank you, Claude,” Ms. Cook said. “Please see for the floor in the kitchen.”

  “No!” Someone was shouting into a microphone.

  David looked up. Two Elaki were on a small raised stage. Rehearsing?

  “You use yours from the right,” said one of the Elaki on stage. He wore a tie and nothing else. “I use mine from the left.”

  The Elaki produced fake hands and shook hugely, a parody human handshake. Ms. Cook’s belly rippled. She looked back at David.

  “We do not cook rodents. We specialize in seafood.”

  David pulled out the photo of Dyer. “This man come in here last night?”

  The Elaki studied the picture. “No. We had no humans in last night.”

  “I see.” David picked up one of the brushes. Exactly like the one he’d found in Dyer’s car. “Mind if I keep this? Souvenir?”

  “Feel free.”

  Mel tapped the counter. “’Course you weren’t on duty all night.”

  “I took a couple of breaks, but mostly …”

  “How about your waiters?”

  “They are off duty. Except Mr. Slyde.”

  “Where’s he?”

  “In the kitchen.”

  Mel headed toward a pair of folding doors. “Let’s see what he has to say.”

  Ms. Cook was annoyed, or so David thought. It was hard to tell with Elaki.

  The kitchen had white tile floor
s, stainless-steel sinks, and microwave ovens. Two Elaki, wearing white chef hats, argued in low murmurs over a simmering pot.

  A voice—human, David decided—came from behind a closed door.

  “Not your problem, Peanut.”

  David heard a low mutter, then—

  “Just stick to your cooking. Everything else is taken care of.”

  The mutter again.

  David gave Mel a look. Mel turned to one of the Elaki who stood over the boiling pot.

  “What you making?” Mel asked.

  David edged closer to the door. Storeroom?

  “Shark curry.”

  The muttering stopped.

  “Smells pretty good. Which one of you guys is Mr. Slyde?”

  The door opened. A small Elaki came out. “I am … Slyde. Who be looking for me?”

  David pushed past Slyde. The storeroom was small, the floor dirty, the shelves laden with tablecloths, utensils, cans. The walls were red brick, the light supplied by one dimming fixture. There was no one there, but a door on the left wall hung ajar. David pushed it open.

  He looked outside, to a narrow alley. Green garbage lined one side of a white cement gutter. There was a strong sweetish-sour smell. And no one in sight. David went back to the kitchen.

  “You on duty last night?” Mel was saying.

  “Who are you?”

  Ms. Cook slid down the floor toward David, her eye stalks on the entrance to the storeroom. David was aware of her cool lime scent. He wondered if she was bothered by his human cheese smell. He shifted weight from one foot to another.

  “These are policeman, Mr. Slyde,” Cook said. “They are looking for a human. They do not seem to understand they are looking in the wrong place.”

  “Is it Claude they want? He’s taking out garbage, but will soon be back.”

  David held up his picture of Dyer. The Elaki’s eyes were on Ms. Cook, not the picture.

  “Look at it,” David said. “You don’t get too many humans in here. Surely you’d remember if he came in.”

  “No, Detective. I did not see him.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “I am certain, yes.”

  David did not like the feel of the Ambassador, or the waves of contempt that emanated from Cook and Slyde. More so than the usual reaction? Could he blame them for not wanting cheesy people in their restaurant?