The black-furred alien slowly approached the seated man, his voice again taking on a harder edge. “Yes, I killed a lot of people, hundreds and hundreds of people. And after I killed them I started thinking about things that I’d never thought about before. Maybe a killer shouldn’t think, maybe that was a mistake, but perhaps as a result of the terrible things I did I ultimately became capable of helping far more people than I killed.”
D’jiin stood looking grimly down at the old Mossad agent, and after a few moments he coldly said, “And that brings us back to you, Tzvi. Taking a cheap shot at me doesn’t change the fact you’ve been treating F’haan like shit since you signed her contract. An occasional poke in the puss and a pat on the head does not qualify as a ‘loving relationship’, which is the very thing you pro-mised her months ago. Jack Ross was there, or have you forgotten that, too? Your constant demands for her to cook and serve you meals of animal flesh—knowing full well how much it upsets her—doesn’t sound much like a ‘loving relationship’, either.
“She’s shy, Tzvi, not dumb,” the H’kaah stated, “and it won’t take much more of your ‘human-superior’ attitude to convince her to simply opt out of the contract and go home. After all, your former wives did—all four of them.” The man cringed like he’d been stabbed through the heart. D’jiin looked strangely at him, then added, “However, like your ancient Hebrew ancestors, H’kaah males on occasion take multiple mates. Perhaps—” his golden-irised eyes narrowed to slits, “—just perhaps S’leen might welcome another female into the household.”
Shapiro was speechless, only this time it wasn’t because he had someone sitting on his ribcage.
“It’s ironic as hell,” D’jiin stated in disgust before the man could protest, “that the public head of humanity’s first alien business partnership treats his own alien companion worse than he would any human under similar circumstances.” He jabbed a accusing, claw-tipped finger toward the man’s nose in stern warning, saying, “And don’t you dare try to deny it; you’re as guilty of it as I am black.”
Shapiro had tried to interject a comment, any comment, into D’jiin’s tirade, but finally he could do nothing other than open and close his mouth like a fish.
One that had been hooked, gaffed and landed.
Chapter 14
*Dead Men Don’t Have Tails*
Theodore “Teddy” Shapiro took one of the longest, most difficult walks of his life as he made his way to the private quarters he and F’haan, his russet-furred, French lop-eared H’kaah companion, shared. His once-human partner, Jack Ross, now reborn as a black-furred male H’kaah named D’jiin and sporting an even stronger sense of purpose, had verbally flayed him to the bone with criticism about his relationship with F’haan.
The fact that every single word had rung true made the flaying hurt even worse than the physical punishment he’d endured.
“Do you want to stay on as Patrons’ front man?” D’jiin had demanded, shocking Shapiro like a sudden drenching of ice water. “I won’t let Patrons go down in flames, Tzvi,” the alien stated angrily. “While I’m grateful as hell that you helped give me a second chance at life, now that I have that chance I won’t stand by and watch all our work go down the toilet because of one person’s shitty attitude. You were brought into this project to be its official public head, chaver, but even though I’m supposed to be ‘dead’ I guarantee that if you don’t clean up your act you’ll find yourself on the outside. All it’ll take is a couple of quick phone calls and in less than a day you’ll be standing in the unemployment line.
“Word gets around fast among the H’kaah, and since I’ve been back the word I’ve been hearing about how you treat F’haan isn’t good.” The dark alien frowned at Shapiro and growled, “But that’s going to change, isn’t it?”
Shapiro looked beaten, and he nodded. “Yeah, it’ll change if…if there’s still time.”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out, hmm?” D’jiin offered, nodding curtly toward the door. “If things get squared away there’ll never be reference made to this conversation.” The dark figure looked ominous, adding, “If, however, I have to refer to it again, it’ll already be too late.”
Shapiro hesitantly opened the door to his quarters, not knowing what he would find inside the modest suite of rooms. “F’haan, Dear, it’s me,” he said lamely, then the aroma of cooking meat (chicken under the broiler, if his nose wasn’t misleading him) made his stomach twinge and his mouth water. He hadn’t realized how hungry he’d become, and before he could catch himself he boomed, “Oy! You read my mind, Dear. ‘Poor man’s pheasant’ is one of my fav—”
That was when the full impact of two statements D’jiin had made hit home. Rich, aromatic leather upholstery in his office, their living quarters and in his big Chrysler, and requiring his vegetarian H’kaah companion to prepare animal flesh for his consumption—dear God, how obscenely cruel could he be? At that moment F’haan came obediently padding out of the kitchen, a white apron festooned with a bright floral print adorning her otherwise unclothed russet-furred body, a quickly-hidden look of revulsion at the ghastly-to-her meal she was having to prepare momentarily clouding her soft features.
“Your dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes, Teddy. Would you like for me to fix you a drink?” She managed to put on a smile, but Shapiro could see that she had to force it.
He held his hands out to her and motioned for her to come to him; she approached slowly, her eyes wide with apprehension. How did I ever let it get this way? he silently cried. I’ve never hit her, but she looks like she expects me to. God help me, how could I be such a mamzer?
She saw a strange, pained expression on his dark, craggy features, and it gave her further cause for alarm. “Is there something wrong?” she timidly asked. “Have…have I displeased you?”
Tears suddenly blurred his vision as he fully realized just what kind of miserable life he had been providing for his gentle companion. “Beautiful F’haan,” he softly rumbled, “nothing you’ve ever done has displeased me, but I’m terribly ashamed knowing that…that I haven’t been so kind to you.” By this time she had approached close enough for him to tenderly fold her trembling form into his embrace. “Dear, I’m sorry, so very sorry for being such a…a clod,” he crooned. “Please forgive a foolish old man this lapse in…in common decency. If you believe nothing else, believe me when I say that from this moment on you will have a better life, a much better life.”
She tilted her head back to look up at him in bewilderment, and that’s when she spied a row of four bruises on one side of his neck, with a single bruise on the other side. Each round bruise had a small bloody puncture wound near its edge. “What…what happened, Teddy?” she squealed, struggling to pull away. “You’re hurt! Let me get something to treat those!” But he wouldn’t let her go.
“Hush, child,” he soothed. “They’re not a problem, they’re just a not-so-subtle reminder of…of my incredible stupidity.” Remembering D’jiin’s actions on the surveillance video Shapiro carefully stroked her silky ears, then slowly ran his hand down her back, ending at the tip of her plush tail. F’haan immediately responded with a shudder and a deep sigh of pleasure, and she seemed to reflexively press her warm softness against his body. He’d had no idea! “If you’ll give this old schmuck a chance to change his ways,” he gently rumbled, “I’ll try to convince you that becoming my companion wasn’t such a mistake after all.”
“Teddy, I…I don’t understand,” she said, looking up in confusion at his wry, craggy smile. “I’ve never said—”
“Someone else said it for you, Dear,” he explained, “and to celebrate our…our ‘new beginning’ I’d like to take you to my favorite little restaurant where they make the most wonderful Greek salad I’ve ever had. Interested?”
Even though she was still baffled by his change in attitude, her curiosity was piqued. “You’ve never taken me to a…a restaurant, Teddy. And what is a ‘Greek salad’?”
&nb
sp; “I’ve been spending far too much time on work-related matters, F’haan, and unfortunately the only places I’ve taken you have also been work-related. This old world has so many fun places to go, fun things to do! It’s long past the point we started having some good times together. And as to what a Greek salad is—” He grinned mischievously. “There’s a world of tasty things in a Greek salad, and all of them are things I think you’ll find most delightful.”
“But your chicken is almost ready,” she countered. “Don’t you want—?”
He shushed her with two fingers against her velvet lips. “Go put on your favorite outfit while I dispose of the chicken,” he said. “I promise you’ll never again have to prepare animal flesh for me to eat, and tomorrow I’ll get rid of this…this hide-covered furniture as well as replace the car’s seats with some covered with fabric.” He smiled at her shocked expression, adding, “Anything else that bothers you, my dear, anything at all, you just let me know.”
* * *
Shortly after lunchtime the following day one of the town’s respected businessmen was laid to rest under stately old oak trees at a small country cemetery. All of the employees of Ross Chevrolet were in solemn attendance, as were numerous local politicians, grim-faced law enforcement officers, a wide cross-section of business people as well as shocked friends and acquaintances of the well-known man.
A small contingent of exotic lapin aliens stood slightly apart from the human mourners. As was proper, S’leen, Jack Ross’ H’kaah companion, was seated with the family members and close friends, all of whom were perched uncomfortably in folding chairs under the portable funeral home canopy that shaded Jack Ross’ grave. None of the immediate family wore black; Ross hated to see somber-dressed mourners, and many years earlier he had been very vocal about his wishes: Wear pleasant, attractive clothes to his funeral or stay home.
His daughter, Trudy, was dressed in a fashionable red dress, while her husband, Wes, looked sharp in his blue blazer worn over a white Henley shirt and cool khaki slacks. Their two little girls were dressed in Easter-bright clothes, and were far more interested in the living bunny-person sitting on the other side of their father than anything else. S’leen wore one of her sky blue shorts-and-halter outfits, complete with a blue ribbon in her long, brown hair, but in deference to the occasion she also wore an abbreviated gauzy blue jacket. Captain Cory Ross was resplendent in his crisp gray and black Space Navy dress uniform, while Lieutenant Nolan Green wore starched police blues. Shapiro chafed in an ill-fitting brown tweed coat and Looney Toons tie (all he could find at the last minute) while Lisa Thomas and a heartbroken Tony Wilson filled the last two seats under the small canopy.
Retired Lutheran minister Harry Harriston had known Jack Ross since before Ross’ children were born, and while the man had officiated at hundreds of funerals he never found them easy. This one bothered him more than usual, not because of the presence of the aliens—Reverend Harriston actually liked the H’kaah—but because of the circumstances surrounding the death, and the person who had died. Jack Ross had been a genuine friend, and considering how few and far between such friends were, losing one really hurt.
“Please move in closer,” Reverend Harriston implored, after the lid of the strange-looking metal coffin had been closed and sealed. “My voice isn’t what it was twenty years ago, and I’d rather not have to shout over the final resting place of our departed friend and family member Jack Ross.” Everyone complied with his request, and even the small group of aliens—C’maat, L’niik, F’haan and an alert, unusually confident-looking mostly black-furred male whom most of the humans had never seen before—was made welcome as the mourners surrounded the canopy.
What followed was a short but sincere Christian burial service. At its conclusion a contingent of Army riflemen performed a traditional twenty-one gun salute as a pair of machine-precise soldiers carefully folded the full-sized American flag that had covered most of the dead veteran’s coffin. It was formally presented to Cory Ross, who then solemnly presented it to his tearful sister, Trudy. A young police officer who asked Ross’ son to grant him the honor played taps. While most of the aliens didn’t understand the symbolisms and traditions of a Christian, military funeral, there were few dry eyes among the human mourners. Jack Ross had been both well-known and respected in the community; he would be missed.
Ross’ son and daughter, and even S’leen to a lesser extent, weren’t entirely acting as they participated in the funeral. The father, grandfather and human patron actually was dead in the sense that he would never live as Jack Ross again. So while in their hearts his children knew their father lived on in another form and under another name, Jack Ross had, indeed, died.
Ross was fond of his daughter’s husband, Wes, and it hurt him knowing that neither Wes nor the two grandchildren could ever know the truth about the dark-furred alien standing so close. Life was tough enough as is; unnecessarily complicating it for innocent bystanders, especially beloved family members, was something Jack Ross (aka: D’jiin) refused to do. Still, there was one old friend whose nose the alien couldn’t resist tweaking.
“Pardon me, Reverend Harriston,” D’jiin said to the man as the crowd of mourners began thinning out.
The minister was surprised that an alien would want to speak to him, yet he felt an immediate affinity for this particular H’kaah. “Yes, my son? Although—” he suddenly grinned at the incongruity of his statement, “—perhaps my choice of terms isn’t the best.” The dark alien cheerfully returned his grin, and the minister again had the feeling that this individual was somehow different from the rest. “Nevertheless, young fellow, what can I do for you?”
“I just wanted to thank you for conducting such a warm, heartfelt service in memory of our friend Jack,” the alien said with apparent sincerity. “I believe his spirit would be pleased.”
Harriston blinked in momentary confusion, then said, “I…I don’t understand. I was told that none of your people are Christians, and—”
“My name is D’jiin, Reverend Harriston, and while it’s true that we H’kaah follow a spiritual calling somewhat different from yours that doesn’t necessarily mean that our souls are damned.” The H’kaah smiled knowingly. “Theologians of both our people and yours appear to be having a wonderful time debating the possibility that the higher powers we both acknowledge are, in fact, one and the same.”
The minister was stunned to hear that remark issued by a non-human, since he had last heard it phrased exactly that way by none other than the recently deceased Jack Ross. Harriston’s confused feelings showed plainly on his aged features.
“However,” D’jiin said, still smiling, “I didn’t come here to discuss such weighty matters; I just wanted to thank you for being Jack Ross’ friend.”
“How…how long,” Harriston weakly asked, “have you known Jack?”
“Why, it seems like I’ve known him all my life,” the H’kaah said with a wink. “Perhaps some day after the dust settles you and I can toast his memory. I’ll even bring the Glenfiddich.”
Once again the minister was shocked; Glenfiddich malt Scotch whiskey was a masculine luxury he and Jack Ross had shared with almost religious reverence, yet this black-furred alien— No, Harriston quickly thought, his wrinkled face going pale with shock, it can’t be. I just buried Jack Ross, and there’s no way this…this overgrown jackrabbit—jack—NO! Dear sweet Jesus, it CAN’T be!
L’niik and F’haan hesitantly approached the unusual tableau. “We’re ready to leave,” L’niik politely stated in English into the strained silence, “and Lisa wanted us to remind you that you’re riding with her, Trudy and Cory. Trudy’s husband and children will not be going to the dealership.”
“The rest of us,” F’haan said, “are going on to…to Jack’s house, so maybe we’ll see you there later.”
D’jiin nodded, then said to the minister, “Reverend Harriston, I wish you well,” and he shook the man’s hand with a solid grip, exactly the way Jack Ross had
done for more years than Harriston cared to remember. “We’ll meet again, possibly sooner than you think.”
As the three lapin aliens walked away the Reverend Harry Harriston stood deep in thought, and not all his thoughts were spiritual in nature.
* * *
“—And so,” Cory Ross said to the somber, assembled staff gathered in the showroom of Ross Chevrolet, “Trudy and I decided not to fix what wasn’t broken; we’re not going to sell the dealership.” A look of relief was obvious on the faces he saw. ‘But since we both have lives far removed from here we have to make one fundamental change.” That brought out a fresh crop of frowns on the faces of the staff. “Don’t worry,” Ross stated with a disarming grin, “we’re not going to make your lives miserable by bringing in some hot-shot manager full of flashy, unworkable ideas. In fact, we’ve selected a new general manager from within the rank-and-file.” That got some muttered comments and a few smiles. “Since our present management staff is doing just fine we felt it best to keep them doing what they do best.” This fueled the muttering from the staff, and into the middle of the low noise Cory Ross dropped his bomb.
“Throughout the years, through the bad times as well as the downright horrible times, one person in particular stood solidly behind my father,” Ross stated. “This person never asked for favors, never took advantage of my father’s temporary weaknesses—and those of you who think Jack Ross never faltered didn’t know him very well—and this person probably knows more about the day-to-day operation of Ross Chevrolet than any other staff member here today.” He swept his gaze over the people like an evangelist sizing up a crowd of true believers. Then he glanced theatrically toward the open doorway to the internal staircase leading to his father’s loft-style office, and in a TV game show announcer-type voice he called, “Lisa Thomas—come on down!”
Redeeming Factors (Revised) Page 33