Alien Blues

by Lynn Hightower

  “Man. Yeah, guy tried to chop up his grandmother.”

  “Grandmother. A family relation?”

  “Mother-One to Mother-One.”

  “Winston works on Project Horizon,” David said.

  “And you also feel this project makes illegal use of human subject?”

  “I think so, yeah. And something’s gone wrong with a cure they call Black Diamond.”

  “Which probably means it’s the new drug on the streets. That the way you read it, David?”

  He nodded. “That’s where Dyer came in.”

  “How does the Machete Human relate?”

  “Don’t know,” Mel said. “That’s why we need to see Mr. Winston. And, Gumby?” Mel turned around in his seat. “Just watch, okay? Let me and Detective David do the talking.”

  “As you say.”

  There was a Jeep in Winston’s driveway. The small patch of ground by the sidewalk was covered in ivy, and two birch trees twined together in the small space.

  Mel squinted in the sunlight, and there was sweat on his forehead, though the heat of the day was cooling. David heard a thump and a moan and turned to see String scuttling sideways from the car to the grass.

  Mel gave him time to get to his fringe, then rang the bell.

  “Good evening. This is the Winston residence. State your name and business.”

  David leaned against the jamb. “David Silver, Homicide Task Force.”

  They waited. David thought he saw movement, though it was hard to tell, the blinds were shut. Someone peered at them through a peephole, then started undoing locks. There were clicks and twists, then a buzzer.

  Mel looked at David. “Heavy security.”

  “Yeah. One good kick would splinter the bottom panel of that door.”

  “He’d know you were coming.”

  The door swung open.

  If anything, Winston looked thinner, in sagging grey sweats and a white T-shirt. He had dirty tennis shoes on, and an oversize fork in his left hand. David smelled fish. String made a small noise.

  “Excuse the interruption, Mr. Winston,” he said. “You remember me, don’t you? Detective Silver.”

  “Of … of course. Beard’s new, isn’t it?” He eyed the Elaki. “I read about how you caught that guy. Saw it in the paper. Good work.”

  “May we come in? We have a few details we want to discuss.”

  “Don’t worry,” Mel said. “Gumby’s house broke.”

  “Come on in.” Winston stepped back and Mel went in first.

  The entranceway was oak parquet, polished. A dark hall led straight to a bright white kitchen. David heard the pop of sizzling oil. Winston led them into the living room. It was dim, unlit. The couch and chair were shabby, but comfortable-looking, and one side of the room was taken up with exercise equipment.

  “We don’t mind talking in the kitchen,” Mel said. “So you can cook your dinner.”

  The corners of Winston’s mouth turned down. “Okay.”

  The kitchen was small, but streaming with light. The tile floor was white, the cabinets imitation cherry. Accent lights were set in the woodwork, illuminating dust balls and crumbs.

  A huge cat sat in the center of the glass table. He was white with patches of grey tiger stripe, and he probably weighed sixteen pounds. His belly was enormous, lying in folds on the table, and his face was small and triangular. His eyes were slightly crossed. He purred loudly and beamed contentedly at David. He lifted his head slightly and sniffed. He was on his feet, suddenly, back arched and fur swelled. He glared at String and hissed.

  Winston turned the fish. Grease popped with vigor and hostility.

  “Actually,” he said. “It’s not my dinner. This is for Alex.”

  “Alex?” Mel asked.

  “The cat,” Winston said. “It’s not good for him—settle down, Alex—but he loves fried food.”

  “I believe it,” Mel said.

  String backed away. “The animal—”

  “S’okay, String,” Mel said. “Just a little kitty.”

  “It does not like me.”

  “Highly evolved intelligence.”

  David ran a hand down the cat’s back. Alex settled on the table, but kept an eye on String.

  “Can’t believe you caught that guy. So quickly, I mean.” Dennis glanced at them over his shoulder. “Can I get you guys something to drink?”

  “No thanks,” David said.

  Mel straddled a chair. “So, how are things with Project Horizon?”

  Winston glanced warily at String. “Project what?” He turned the burner off, and placed the fish on a napkin to drain. The napkin grew sodden, and grease pooled out from under it.

  “Any more threats?” Mel asked.

  Winston grabbed a dish towel. He turned and faced them, wiping his hands nervously. “What do you mean?”

  String edged around the room, steering clear of the cat. Alex’s ears went back.

  “I understand,” String said, easing back into a corner, “that you have unusual knowledge of Machete Human?”

  “What’s he talking about?”

  David smiled gently and pulled out a chair. “Why don’t you sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

  Winston sat. The cat stood up and stretched, then jumped off the table. He hit the floor with a loud thud, and stood under the counter sniffing. He miaowed and looked at Winston.

  “Too hot, Alex. In a minute.”

  David rummaged through the cabinets and selected a plate. Winston watched out of the corner of his eye.

  “This one okay?” David said.

  “What? Sure.”

  David put the fish on the plate.

  “You have to cut it up,” Winston said.

  David picked up the fork. “Machete Man went after your grandmother, and he went after Mishi Toyobi’s cousin, and Edna Yarby’s aunt. And you, and Toyobi, and Yarby, all work on Project Horizon.”

  “I been doing some checking,” Mel said. “’Bout you guys. Little Saigo—”

  Winston jerked in his seat.

  “… Black Diamond.”

  Winston looked at the floor.

  “It’s time to talk to us, Winston,” David said. “Past time.”

  The cat yowled and David set the plate next to a ceramic water bowl that said ALEX. No one spoke. Alex purred, tonguing delicate morsels of fish into his mouth.

  Mel shook his head. “Cat eats better than you do, Dennis.”

  “I don’t … I’m not so hungry, these days.”

  David sat down and leaned across the table. “Tell me.”

  Winston sat back in his chair. His chin jutted forward and there were lines around his mouth. “I don’t know why this killer went after these people. Why would it concern Horizon? If it was connected with us, why didn’t they go closer? Think about it. Edna has kids. Toyobi’s newly married.”

  “And hell, you got Alex.” Mel stood up and wandered around to the back of Winston’s chair. “But you said ‘they,’ Dennis. Not him. And you’re right, it is a they. Is that what they told you? Nobody will know, ’cause the first time we don’t get that close. First time is a warning.”

  “You don’t make sense.”

  “I think I make perfect sense. What’s next, Dennis? You got a girlfriend? Think they’ll come after you?”

  “No.”

  “Why? Did Edna cooperate? Her records show a miscarriage two months ago.”

  “They couldn’t have done that!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because they wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t they? What do you do, on this project?”

  “I’m a chemist.”

  “So you know it’s possible. Was Edna cooperating? Are you cooperating?”

  “I …”

  Mel leaned over him. “What did they threaten you with, Winston? What did they say? Maybe they offered to pay you.”

  “I didn’t have a choice, Detective. You saw what happened to my grandmother, in spite of all my prec
autions. They said they’d go back for her. So I went along, long enough to let her die in peace.”

  “To hurt a grandmother is lacking in moral integrity.”

  “You tell ’em, Gumby.” Mel sighed. “So what now, Dennis? You going to let them get away with it?”

  Sweat slipped down the taut pale face. “They haven’t asked me anything in a while.”

  “What kind of things do they want you to do?”

  Winston licked his lips.

  “Sit down, Mel,” David said. “I think Mr. Winston has had a pretty bad time of it. I think you stood up to them pretty well, Dennis. Machete Man is dead, but there are more where he came from. I understand that.” He leaned closer. “But, Dennis, you don’t want this hanging over you. I’ll bet you’re good at what you do. I’ll bet you’d just like to work in peace, go on with your life.”

  “The project was supposed to help people.”

  Mel snorted. “By using them as lab rats?”

  David looked at Mel, then back to Dennis. “What went wrong?”

  Winston leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

  David folded his arms. “Tell me.”

  Alex miaowed and put a paw on Winston’s leg. Winston pulled him into his lap and stroked the cat’s wide white belly. Alex purred and shut his eyes, dangling his left hind leg over Winston’s knee.

  “We were working with the Elaki.”

  String muttered something.

  “They were trying to understand drug addiction, and were running into some walls. So they set up what they said would be a controlled study. They—we—came up with something called Black Diamond.” Winston stared into space. “It stimulates endorphins. Gives a quick, incredible rush. Better than runner’s high, more intense than sex. It’s like what a baby gets at birth, going through the birth canal. Happy hormones. Babies come out wide-eyed and alert, then zonk for days. It’s a very interesting substance, chemically. Unlimited potential. It can be refined so that it … let’s just say eventually it will be harmless. Right now, it’s addictive as hell.” Winston scratched his ear. “And bloody cheap to make. The Elaki were interested in all aspects of addictive behavior. Not just the chemistry, but the, I don’t know, the sociology. The forces in society that pressure the individual to … partake. So they set up a dealer, and sat back to watch.”

  “And you didn’t object?” Mel said.

  “The stuff they were selling was dilute—very. And it brought funds into the project. They just sold it to people who’d use something else anyway.”

  “Little Saigo throwaways,” David said.

  “Nice little circle.” Mel shook his head. “What went wrong?”

  “Working with the Elaki …” He glanced at String. “It’s like being a grad student all over again. You get told what to do, and no one lets you know everything that’s going on. But I got suspicious. They were too good, these Elaki. Their predictions were too close to the mark. They didn’t make enough mistakes. I decided they were using the stuff full force under controlled conditions. I’m talking about people used like you said, like lab rats—caged, the whole nine yards.”

  “What did you do?”

  “About the time I started questioning their methods, I got my first threat.” His hands curled into fists. “I didn’t want to just quit or walk away. I’d been a part of it. I wanted it stopped. I was friends with this Elaki. Grammr. He and I … he admitted to me about them taking people.”

  “From where?”

  “Little Saigo. But he said things were out of hand, and that their own police—I can’t remember what he—”

  “Izicho,” String said.

  “Yeah, that’s what he called them. And he was scared of somebody named Cho.”

  “Izicho had nothing to do with death of Elaki on Horizon Project.”

  “Grammr said they did. And Grammr’s dead.”

  “Is not from Izicho. That is for I am here. To understand Elaki death.”

  Winston looked at David. “Grammr said the drug network they’d set up was functioning on its own—it was a nightmare, way out of their hands. Like you say”—he looked at String—“even Elaki started dying. Black Diamond was hitting the streets, and Puzzle was going to shut us down, but the network people said no. We were the source. We were to go on with the research, and supply them with Black Diamond. And the Elaki were divided. Some wanted to keep on, some didn’t. Puzzle decided to quit production. Then Puzzle died.”

  “Names,” Mel said. “I need names.”

  “I don’t know any!”

  “Come on. You must know some.”

  “They talk about S. And they’re funny too. Not he, not she. Just S. Or sometimes … it.”

  “You want protection?” Mel asked.

  “Last cop who asked me that, he turned up in pieces.”

  “Why don’t you take a vacation, Dennis.” David stood up. “You and Alex, go off somewhere. And give me a number. I’ll call you when it’s over.”

  “He can’t do that, he can’t leave town,” Mel said.

  “I didn’t tell him to stick around. Did you, Mel?”

  “But—”

  “He won’t do us any good dead. Just be sure I get that number, Dennis.”

  “Look,” Winston said. “I can’t disappear right now. We did some good work, and I’m keeping on with it. The Black Diamond can be formulated … look, trust me on this. It can solve more problems than it causes.”

  “They’ll come after you, Dennis.”

  “No, listen. Why do you think I haven’t talked before now? I’m not kidding about the Diamond. The Elaki have done it! I may not agree with their methods, but they’ve made incredible progress. They should announce a cure anytime. Think of that. A cure not just for drug addicts, but for addictive behavior, across the board. Societal cure.”

  David sat back down. “Suppose, for reasons I won’t go into, suppose I believe you’re right. Why don’t they announce now?”

  “Look, this isn’t what you may expect. We’re not talking about a magic pill here. It’s a whole concept of a balanced mental state and a balanced life. They have to go through the proper channels, have to maintain credibility. That’s why I haven’t blown the lid on this. I could have gone to the press any day I wanted, torn the whole thing wide open. Can you imagine—Elaki using humans as lab subjects? They won’t even let us have mice these days and hey”—he held up a hand—“I’m all for simulation models. But you tell John Q. Public they got people in cages and that’s it. People will want to kick butt. Nobody will listen, and nobody will care.”

  “We’ll do what we can,” David said.

  “Just think on it. Think what your job will be like—no addicts, no drugs.”

  “First they take away traffic, then they cure the schizos, now you say the addicts will be gone.” Mel stood up and stretched. “What the fuck am I going to do all day?”

  THIRTY-SIX

  David sat beside Mel and tried to pretend that his co-workers weren’t taking surreptitious looks at him. He could thank Rose for this.

  Captain Halliday sat at the end of the table, his head back on the edge of the chair, fingers making a tent. His eyes were closed. String stood quietly in a corner. Someone had put a podium in front of him, so he could stack his notes.

  Pete Ridel was handing everyone a piece of paper.

  “This the stuff on Machete Man?” Mel asked.

  “Naw, that’s not up yet. This here’s the list of what everyone’s bringing to the department picnic. Labor Day, remember? Hey, everybody, captain’s springing for the meat this year. Thanks, Roger.”

  “Yeah, Roger.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  Captain Halliday waved a hand, his expression glum.

  “Mel, you going to be able play in the game this year? Your leg okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll just hobble from base to base. You’ll have to make allowances.”

  “We always do.”

  “David, you bringing Rose and the
girls? I swear, Rose pitches like a son of a bitch.”

  “We’re not pitching this year. Gonna use a tee so the kids can play.”

  “Aw, shit, whose idea was this?”

  “Yours. Last year, remember? So nobody has to sit on the sidelines and watch.”

  “Bring the Elaki. He can be the tee.”

  “Yeah, String—why don’t you come?”

  “Della’s boys will knock us out of the ball field.”

  “Just make sure the beer’s cold this time. Man, this is going to be pitiful.”

  “Dawn, you bringing that Mannelli guy this year? He’s a hell of a hitter. What’s he do, anyway?”

  “He’s a gangster.”

  “So long as he don’t pack a machete.”

  The room grew silent. Halliday looked at his watch. “I have to be at a departmental meeting in twenty minutes.” He cleared his throat. “The results are back from the lab. The suspect apprehended by Rose Silver was our boy. Machete Man. What we don’t understand is what motivated him to show up at David’s place.”

  It wasn’t a question and David said nothing. Halliday had accepted his story quietly, with unusual seriousness. There was a wedge of discomfort between them.

  Dawn Weiler cleared her throat. She sat between Pete Ridel and Della Martinas, and she looked through some notes.

  “There’s an old case file, some of you may have read it, on one Rory Hardin.”

  David frowned. The name was vaguely familiar.

  “Rory Hardin spent a little time in Austin, Texas, and parts of Mexico. Used a machete.”

  “Same M.O.?” David asked.

  “No. Just the machete. But there’s another one, a Clifton Webber. Sexual sadist, very fond of a butcher knife. He took hands, feet, placed them over the victim’s abdomen, et cetera, et cetera.”

  “Jacked off,” Mel said.

  “Yes, Mel. Jacked off, shot his wad, got his rocks off.”

  Somebody laughed.

  “Is this in the realm of normal sexual behavior?”

  Dawn gritted her teeth.

  “Not for people, String,” Mel said slowly. “I can’t account for Elaki.”

  Halliday’s tone was cutting. “Both perps dead?”

  “Executed,” Dawn said. “One by electrocution, that was Webber. Hardin’s was lethal injection.”