Outside, past Sunset Avenue, smog hung over the city like a burial shroud.
“... and so, I would say in conclusion,” said Davis, tapping his lips with a napkin for a moment as he thought. “I would say that while I am most fascinated with the content of the material recently published by Jake Camden, I cannot totally agree with it.”
“Are you preparing your own article?” said the attractive young dark-haired woman.
“If there are articles,” said Lowell Davis, a gleam of amusement in his eye, “then they will be drawn from my book on the subject.”
“I understand that Everett Scarborough is working on his own book on the subject,” said Kate Ennis.
“Yes, though with his attitude lately, I think that the more serious attention will be paid to Jake Camden’s—which leaves the avenue wide open for a truly authoritative volume on the subject.”
“I must say, Mr. Davis—you sound awfully arrogant about the whole thing! I mean, it is their story!”
“Yes, but they are now plowing a territory that I have been toiling in for years! Making the way for the future...”
“Extraterrestrials amongst us.”
“Yes.”
“I must say, you’ve been profiting from the whole business. That is why you’re here in Hollywood after all ... A great deal of interest has been expressed in your books by the studios. Exactly what is going on in that area, Mr. Davis?”
“I’m afraid,” said Davis, his face becoming closed off and inexpressive. “I’m not at liberty to disclose any of that information.”
“Is it true that with the death of Maximillian Schroeder there is now a power struggle between the various UFO experts for claim to authority in the field?”
“There may be differences amongst us, but I think we all agree that ultimately we desire what is best for the welfare of humanity and the universe.”
“How philanthropic of you, Mr. Davis.”
“I have always been known for my altruism. “ He reached over and turned the tape machine on the table off. “Now then, Ms. Ennis—I happen to have been invited to a very swank premiere this evening. Would you care to come with me?”
Kate Ennis’s eyes flashed with amusement. “Sorry, I’d love to, but I’m married, Mr. Davis.”
“Please ... call me Lowell ... And I’m sure your husband won’t mind. I’ll take you right back to your hotel as soon as it’s over!”
“Well. ..”
In a booth some feet away, two men eavesdropped on the conversation.
Although they were dressed in the casual elegance of movie or television producers or agents, they were visitors to the area. The taller of the pair was clearly the older, with grey brushing the sides of his razor-cut hair, and a spider web of wrinkles just beginning to show below his eyes. The other was younger, athletic—but his blue eyes shone now with a newly gained maturity.
In the booth between them was a Gucci suitcase, propped partially open. Inside, multicolored lights blinked.
The younger man leaned over his duck’s liver pâté and spoke to his companion in a whisper.
“So, this is Lowell Davis,” he said.
“Yes. We have been working with him as long as with Everett Scarborough,” said the older man.
“A most satisfactory conclusion, Scarborough.”
“He will suit our purposes.”
“And this Davis?”
“We shall see!”
“The Cause proceeds.”
“It proceeds well.”
“We shall have a good time with this Davis, I think.”
Something like a smile touched the lips of the older man. A smile that was not a smile. “Yes.”
They continued their meal, the lights in the Gucci briefcase glittering and winking like a Christmas tree in the midst of nothingness.
The night that Lowell Davis was abducted by aliens, he was sitting on his toilet with the World Weekly News and a bad case of constipation.
He was by no means ready for the experience.
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