Alien Blues

by Lynn Hightower

  “Fiori?” Near Little Saigo, he thought.

  She sketched quickly, deftly, and a few bold pencil lines turned into a detailed sketch of the parking lot, complete with landscaping.

  David wondered what Judith Rawley had been like as a child. He pictured her at age eight. Long hair, of course, down to her waist. Eyes shy. Prone to reading and drawing, curled up in her room with a cat. He looked around. No sign of any cats.

  “You have a cat?” David asked.

  She looked at him strangely. “I’m allergic to cats. I used to have a dog, though. He played outfield for my T-ball team when I was a kid. He made tooth marks on the ball, and got slobber all over it. Drove the other kids nuts, but they left him alone or they’d deal with me. And I was their star hitter.”

  TWENTY

  By seven o’clock the sun was low in the sky, and the heat of the day was draining. The Arrongi bar was two blocks down from The Ambassador. The outside facade was black marble with gold lettering. Nowhere did it say private club, but the place had the familiar feel of an Elaki-only establishment. All the nicer places were getting that way. David remembered when the Arrongi had been a restaurant, and a bar mitzvah there had been a big event.

  Outside the Arrongi was a wood barrel full of healthy purple and white petunias. Two Elaki went through the door, swiveling once to stare at David. He heard a burst of music as the door opened and closed.

  He checked his watch. Seven-fifteen. A man came out of the bar. He wore a black tuxedo that did not sit well on the bulge of his muscles. His hair was black, cut short, and his neck was short and thick. His face looked like somebody had hit it with a shovel.

  “Sir?” The man’s voice was a surprising tenor.

  David folded his arms, one shoulder higher than the other.

  “Sir? Can I help you?”

  David cocked his head sideways. “Me? I’m waiting for somebody.”

  “Perhaps you would care to wait somewhere else.”

  “Perhaps you would care to explain why you’re running Saigo citizens off the sidewalk.” David flashed his badge.

  The man smiled weakly and held up a hand. “Hey, no problem. Sorry, Detective, really.”

  “You the bouncer?”

  “I’m employed by the Arrongi, yes.”

  “How long?”

  “Three years.”

  “You look like a cop to me. What’s your name?”

  “Nimenz. Ex-cop.”

  “This kind of thing standard procedure for the club, Nimenz?”

  Nimenz shrugged. “They don’t like hot dogs.”

  David grimaced. “Maybe we should go in together. Have a talk with the management.”

  “It’ll be my job, if you do.”

  David scratched his chin. “I’m coming in when my partner shows. I don’t want any trouble, particularly not from you, Nimenz. You might find an errand to run, if you don’t want to be caught in the middle.”

  Nimenz nodded. “Thanks. I’ll do that.”

  “I hope the pay is worth it,” David said to the man’s disappearing back.

  “What pay?”

  Mel’s voice was almost in his ear and David flinched.

  “I hope you weren’t too rushed,” David said. “Getting here.”

  “I took String here out for a beer. Go with his tacos.”

  “Very good the authentic.”

  “We’d of been here sooner, but it took a while to pick the pieces of taco shell out of his belly scales.” Mel pointed. “There, String, one we missed.”

  David jerked his head toward the Arrongi. “You sure Puzzle is in there?”

  “Not positive, no. But String here was pretty sure he’d show up tonight. Guy’s upset. Looking to get skunked, is my opinion.”

  David pushed the black-lacquered door and entered the Arrongi.

  The interior was dark, and the lime scent of Elaki was strong. Polished wood bars lined the floor at six-foot intervals and Elaki huddled around them, talking, drinking, their bellies rippling. A human woman stood on a riser in the corner and played a flute. Men in tuxedos and white gloves carried drinks on silver trays.

  The bar was cool, the carpet royal blue and thick. An Elaki in a khaki vest turned and looked at David.

  “Hello, hot dog. You looking for some Eggs McMuffin?”

  David felt the muscles tense in his stomach. He took a look at Mel and put a hand on his partner’s arm.

  “Easy, Mel.”

  “Easy, hell.”

  An Elaki scooted close to Mel.

  “Hey, hot dog. How ’bout them Giants? What think you of that new quarterback?”

  Mel glared silently.

  “What’s the matter, hot dog? The human loves football. Come, please, I buy the drink. I like talking sports with hot dogs—you people know the stuff, it is the fact of nature.”

  The bartender, a thin man with red hair and a pale complexion, leaned forward.

  “This is a private club, sir.” He looked at a waiter passing with a tray. “Get Nimenz. Hurry.”

  “What’s the matter?” Mel said. “I look dangerous? Why don’t you call the cops?” Mel pulled his badge and flipped it open. “Uh-oh! I am the cops.”

  The room grew silent. David drifted up and down the bars, hoping Mel was watching his back. The Elaki watched him, but went back to their drinks.

  “It walk like the Elaki,” came a voice from the back. “It talk like the Elaki. But it smell like a nose talker.”

  String swayed from side to side.

  David remembered his Little Saigo days, when he’d stare at the passing cars. People locked their doors when they drove through his neighborhood.

  Was that Puzzle at the far end of the last bar?

  “Detective S-S-Silver. How ’bout them Giants?” Puzzle leered at him over the edge of a glass filled with bright yellow liquid. “Can I buy you a drink? One for your rough edge f-f-friend? Ah, Mr. String. We meet again.”

  “Is that Elaki beer or piss?” Mel said.

  “Piss is precious,” Puzzle said. “You may have beer. Aronald? Bring my friends a beer.”

  The waiter hesitated. Mel glared at him and he left.

  “I am sorry for the remarks. Hot dog is not a term I care for.”

  David shrugged.

  “No,” Puzzle said. “I like humans. I do. All I wanted to do was help. Help you, help us, yes, I admit it.” Puzzle swayed and David realized he was very drunk. “Tell me, Mr. String. Why must these things become complicated, when there is so very much to do? Why?”

  Mel edged close to him. “Don’t you think it’s time to come clean, Puzzle?”

  Puzzle peered at String. “What do they mean by this?” He swiveled his eye stalk toward Mel. “You still think I am dirty, Detective Mel?”

  “I think you got something on your mind, Puzzle.”

  “Puzz … puzz … Puzzle. My name is Sheesha. Use that, not the handle.”

  “Handle?”

  Puzzle-Sheesha’s belly rippled. “Have you not figured it out? You should have explained, String, or whoever you really are. We l-l-love the names. Smith for what was blacksmith. Tell me so, why not whitesmith? John’s-son. At first we thought you were all named in the appropriate fashion, and we followed your lead. It began as a jokey way of accommodating you. Then it became … habit, I suppose. Insult. Ah, poor Liska. Who will be next? Me, no doubt. You are talking to one on the verge of eternal enlightenment.”

  David was aware that a number of Elaki were listening.

  “Come on, Puzzle.” He touched the Elaki’s back, surprised at the cool velvet smoothness of the scales.

  “Sheesha.”

  “Sheesha, then. Come on. Let’s go grab a hot dog.”

  “Naw.” Mel shook his head. “Let’s go out for Eggs McMuffin.”

  Sheesha followed Mel and David brought up the rear.

  String had taken the lead. “He might truly enjoy the genuine taco.”

  The black-lacquered door shut behind them.


  “Mel, where’s your car?” David asked.

  “I sent it on. Where’s your car?”

  “The same, Mel, I thought you’d keep yours.”

  “I have a car,” Sheesha said. “It is over there. And should be more comfortable for our interesting friend String.” He headed for the street, pausing to look at the sky. “I enjoy very much the nighttime on this planet.”

  He sidled to the driver’s side of the BMW. “Open,” he said, then looked up. “Are you really going to take me out for the hot—”

  Smoke and fire exploded from the driver’s side of the car, and Puzzle flew backward into the street. David was thrown up on the sidewalk. His head slammed against the concrete.

  TWENTY-ONE

  David heard a siren and the metallic groan of a large van braking. Red and blue lights flashed across his face.

  “Come on, Quint. This Elaki’s bad.”

  David felt someone lean over him and flash a light in his eyes.

  “Go on,” a voice said, close to his shoulder.

  “Quint, we may need you. Somebody called Euclid Central. They’re sending a team out.”

  “I’m not leaving this guy on the goddamn sidewalk, Franco. That Elaki hasn’t got a chance, anyway.”

  David heard a bitten-off curse.

  “Old lady Elmer’s going to fry your butt. How about you, sir? Are you sure you won’t let us take you in, have a doctor look you over?”

  “No please. You must see to the human.”

  David recognized String’s voice.

  “Sorry, pal.”

  A heavy door slammed and a siren growled. The noise of the engine was startling, then it faded. David felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Listen,” the voice said. “I need to get a look at your buddy over there. You’ll be all right if you just lie still. Okay? You okay? My name is Quint. I’ll be right back.”

  David sat up. His head hurt. He saw a knot of people standing to one side, staring. A fat woman in a blue dress smiled.

  “You okay, honey?”

  David’s vision blurred, then focused. Chunks of twisted metal were strewn in every direction. Broken glass glittered across the sidewalk and pavement. David rubbed his eyes, remembering, suddenly, that Mel had been closer to the car.

  He stood up quickly, grimacing at the ache in his head.

  “Mel?”

  David crouched beside String and Quint, laying two fingers by the side of Mel’s neck.

  “You mind?” Quint said mildly.

  The pulse beat strong under David’s fingertips. He sighed deeply.

  “He’s alive.”

  Quint rummaged through a red bag. “Yep. That’s more than I can say for the Elaki. The other one.”

  “Dead?”

  “Still jerking, but in way too many pieces. So long as the brain stem’s in place they can do a lot, but unless they regenerate jelly, that guy is history.”

  David studied Mel’s face. It was pale and smudged with black soot and blood. Quint wrapped a bandage around Mel’s blood-soaked thigh.

  “How bad is he?”

  “Early to tell, but he’s not missing any major pieces. What’s his name?”

  “Detective Mel,” String said.

  “Mel Burnett,” said David.

  “You hear me, Mel? You’re going to be okay. Everything’s all right.” Quint glanced at David. “What happened here?”

  “Elaki opened his car door and it blew.”

  “You knew this Elaki?”

  “Sheesha,” String said. “Puzzle.”

  David showed his badge. “I’m a cop. So’s he. We were questioning him.”

  “I too am working the case,” String said.

  “Oh yeah? Elaki cops, now.”

  “What happened to the ambulance?” David asked.

  “It took the Elaki to Bellmini.”

  “Why wouldn’t they take my partner, here?”

  Quint gave him a look. “I don’t like it any more than you do, friend. It’s an Elaki hospital, and they can’t take people there.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  A siren wailed, then stopped, and two uniformed patrol officers spilled out of their car, leaving the doors gaping open. David sighed and took charge of the scene.

  The sky was dark and silent when David stepped out into the hospital parking lot. Mel was okay—hurt, but okay. He had a concussion, a hematoma on the side of his head, several contusions, and a laceration in his right thigh that had taken two ounces of skin glue to seal. It was early to tell, but internal views showed no major injuries, and like Quint had said, there hadn’t been any parts missing.

  He heard the scrape of belly scales on asphalt.

  “Please?”

  David turned around.

  “Maybe best for me to accompany you to be safely home,” String said. “It might be better for you the hospital, instead of alone.”

  “My wife will be home, String. I’ll be okay.”

  “Ah, yes, you live together then?”

  “Um-hmm. How about you? You be okay?”

  String’s right eye stalk was swollen, and he looked like he’d shed a few hundred scales.

  “But yes. I am least injured. The best of the bunch, is that what you say?”

  “Usually about bananas. You got somebody at home, waiting for you?”

  “We do not marry, and we live separately.”

  “You be okay?”

  “I be okay.”

  “We could share a car, but …”

  “Most uncomfortable for one of us. I do not wish to ride sideways.”

  “And I don’t feel like standing up.”

  “Good night then, Detective David.”

  “Good night, String. Watch yourself on rooftops.”

  David tucked a package of pain pills in his pants pocket, and stood beside his car, thinking. He’d gotten rid of String, now he needed to go to the parking lot and get Dyer’s disks.

  He wished he’d called Rose. His head ached, and he was so tired he swayed where he stood. If Rose were here, she would drive him home and tuck him in bed, hug him and fuss over him. Naturally he would protest. Insult her for babying him.

  His head throbbed and he closed his eyes, shutting out the hospital lights. He couldn’t face the parking lot tonight—not that near Little Saigo.

  But he could drive if he had to. There would be grids to do the work most of the way home. He went back in the hospital to summon a car.

  Twenty miles away from the farm, David was wondering if he’d made a mistake. Headlights from other cars stabbed into his eyes, making his vision blur and halo. An oncoming car honked and hugged the shoulder of the road. David realized he was off the grid and drifting toward the middle. He overcorrected, and the car swerved to the right.

  David grimaced and cut his speed. He drove with exaggerated care, gritting his teeth against the tedium. Who had rigged the bomb on Puzzle-Sheesha’s car? Was it an Elaki sanction? It didn’t seem their style. Machete Man? Obviously not his style either, though it was too bad the lab couldn’t look for come stains on the door handle.

  When he turned, at last, into his own gravel drive, he was proud of himself for remembering to watch for the bullfrog. It wasn’t there. The house was dark, except for one lamp burning in the living room. Rose was waiting up.

  David stopped the car in front of the house and shut off the engine. He took a few deep breaths, and got out slowly.

  “Open,” he said.

  The front door swung open. “Good evening, David Silver.”

  He nodded, wondering why he could never get out of the habit of nodding at a voice-activated door. His kids didn’t, but they’d grown up with them.

  He heard a bark and a whimper and Dead Meat ran to him and jumped on his legs, raking his pants with her toenails. She licked his hand with genuine joy.

  “Hello, girl. Down, dog, down.”

  The living room was neat and empty. David looked for broken crayons, stuffed animals, boo
ks open and deserted on the floor. The room was quite clean. He wondered how his girls were doing. Asleep, now. Was Mattie homesick? Did she miss him at suppertime?

  The house was quiet.

  “Rose?”

  A pile of chocolate-smeared candy wrappers were scattered on the floor near the side of the couch where Rose liked to curl up. Dead Meat nosed through the wrappers, picked one up between her teeth, and settled down to give it a good lick. David bent over and picked up the book that lay on the arm of the couch. He set it absently on the side table, then picked it up again. Rose had drawn large black nostrils and blackened the teeth of the man and woman on the cover.

  “Rose?”

  He headed for the bedroom. The bed was made, the room silent and cool. The clock on the bedside table said four-thirty.

  “Rose?”

  The girls’ room still staggered under a load of toys, but the beds were made. David went in the kitchen and turned on the light. There was a note on the table.

  David. I can’t settle down worth a damn. Instead of shaping up, I’m eating the girls’ candy and watching old movies. Did you know that Elliot Bernal was in Mountain Gold? He was so young then, I hardly recognized him!

  Anyway, I’m going. If I sit around here I’ll get fat and will have to subdue you know who by sitting on them. I did try to call you. Did you get any of my messages? Feed the dog, and get the girls on Monday, if I’m not back. And, honey, I’m going to hit savings. Sorry, you know I’m on my own this time. You’re going to have to clear out your mom’s place. We have to pay her rent this month and our finances are up shits creek.

  What does that mean, shits creek?

  Love, Rose—P.S. I can’t get Mel, either. What are you two up to, anyway?

  There was writing on the back of the note, and David flipped it over. Rose had scratched out a budget, divided into liabilities and assets. The assets side was short. The liability column ranged to the end of the page.

  David took a pain pill with a glass of tepid tap water. He headed for the bedroom. Dead Meat followed him down the hall. The dog paused in front of the girls’ room and whimpered.