21 Tales

by Dave Zeltserman

  “My name is Andy Lenscher,” I said. “This is Lena Hanson. Five months ago she stole two hundred thousand dollars from the People’s Credit Union of Wichita. She killed the man she stole it with. His body’s in the well.”

  The two officers exchanged glances. One officer kept his service revolver trained on me while the other flashed a light down into the well.

  “There’s something down there,” he said, his face as white as the moon.

  While we waited for the emergency workers to come I told the two officers the whole story. They looked skeptical but they put Lena in handcuffs. I could tell from her expression that for the first time she realized I wasn’t Dave Stevens.

  It didn’t take long for the emergency workers to get Dave Stevens body out of the well. While his face was mostly rotted away, there was enough left for me to see the resemblance. One of the EMT workers noticed it too and remarked to me about it. I asked him why I didn’t hear the gun splash when it dropped in there.

  “Well’s bone-dry. The gun must’ve landed on him.”

  I thought about the sound that distracted Lena enough to keep her from killing me. I know it probably didn’t come from the well. It probably came from an animal in the woods, or maybe it did come from Steven’s body adjusting a certain way. But as I looked at him, I’d like to think that it was some kind of cosmic settlement for all the grief he had caused me. That somehow he saved my life.

  As they carted away his corpse, I nodded farewell to Dave Stevens.

  Alternative ending (starting from the point where Andy is being backed against the well):

  The base of the well was stone, maybe two feet high. She backed me up until I was against it.

  “Do me a favor, Dave, his time die like you’re supposed to,” Lena muttered half under her breath. With her arm outstretched, her gun was only inches away from me. In the moonlight I could see the knuckles on her gun hand turn white. As she pulled the trigger, I fell backwards. She ended up taking off a chunk of my shoulder instead of shooting me in the chest like she intended.

  I tumbled in the air for what seemed like an eternity. The well must’ve dried up years ago, and when I hit the bottom I hit hard ground. My legs were twisted behind me in a way that shouldn’t have been physically possible, but other than the throbbing in my shoulder I felt nothing. I knew I was paralyzed from the waist down. Then the stench overwhelmed me. It was the most godawful thing I had ever smelled. Even though I was in shock I knew what that smell was. I fished a book of matches out of my pocket, lit one, and there he was waiting for me. Even with his face mostly rotted away, there was enough of him left for me to notice the resemblance.

  “Dave Stevens, I presume?” I asked the decomposing corpse. Then putting everything I had into it, I punched what the flies and other insects had left of his face. His head broke off and skidded along the dirt floor of the well before bouncing off the wall and rolling back toward me. I think that was when I went insane. I started laughing like a madman, laughing long after the match had burnt out, long after the cosmic joke that had been pulled on me made any sense.

  View From The Mirador

  This story was inspired by a trip to Acapulco. While the tone of the story has an almost old-fashioned cheery quality to it, this may be one of the sickest stories I’ve written.

  The maitre d'hotel ran to greet Oscar Heile. "It is good to see you!" the maitre d'hotel exclaimed as he pumped the fat man's arm. "We have been so worried!"

  A great wave of relief had broken over the maitre d'hotel's face, leaving a joyful smile. "And who could blame us?" he asked as he walked with Heile to the Mirador's entrance. "For eight months you have been a fixture here. Every day, every show you are here. We always have the very best table set aside just for you. And then what happens? You disappear for six whole days! Not a word! The cliff divers look up and see your empty table and they are heartbroken. We all are heartbroken!"

  Heile smiled apologetically, his lips almost lost on his large, pink face. "I am very sorry," he said stiffly. "But unfortunately, personal business kept me away."

  The maitre d'hotel, now beaming from ear to ear, gave Heile a clap on the back. "You are here now. That's all that matters." He turned and motioned to a waiter standing a few feet away. "Almondo, show Senor Heile to his table."

  The waiter, a small thin man with slightly stooped shoulders, approached and bowed politely. "It is very good to see you, Senor Heile," he said, a wooden smile intact on his face. "Please follow me." He escorted Heile to the table on the second level that for the last eight months had been reserved exclusively for the fat man. The best spot from which to watch the cliff divers.

  Heile waited until he had squeezed himself into his chair before asking the waiter whether Sunday was his day off.

  Almondo nodded. "Normally, yes. But how could I not come today worrying about you?" He gave Heile a sly wink. "The two ladies behind you were very mad that I would not give them your table. But I held it for you, hoping you would come."

  Heile glanced over his shoulder and saw two ladies glaring at him. They were both young, beautifully sculpted, obviously part of the jet set Acapulco crowd. One was honey-blonde and wearing a wide-brim gray hat, the other was a dark brunette with very rich red lips.

  Almondo smiled slightly at him. There was no warmth in his eyes. "I will get you your champagne right away, Senor."

  Heile nodded. "Bring a bottle to the ladies," he commanded. He watched uneasily as Almondo walked away. All he could think was damn him! Damn that little man to hell! The last six days had been torture for Heile. And it was all Almondo's fault. All because Almondo thought he saw something.

  Oscar Heile shifted uncomfortably, feeling a queasiness stir in his stomach. Almondo had been his waiter for eight months and like everyone else at the Mirador had treated him with genuine warmth and adoration. Until a month ago ...

  It was after Roberto had made a successful dive from the one hundred and thirty-five foot cliffs that Heile had momentarily forgotten himself. For a split second he had let his true disappointment show on his face, and during that split-second he noticed Almondo staring at him. He could see the little man's face grow dark and he knew the little man understood everything. Understood why Heile had become a patron of the cliff divers. Understood what Heile was waiting for. Since then all genuineness in the waiter's manner faded. His civility became a facade and his dull black eyes masked something Heile dreaded.

  Those dull black eyes were the reason Heile stayed away for six days. The thought of facing them became unbearable. But staying away any longer became even more so. Heile fidgeted uneasily and took out a handkerchief to mop away dampness that had formed over his upper lip. Somehow he had to ignore those dull black eyes. Somehow ...

  The four divers appeared on the rocks opposite the cliffs. They spotted Oscar Heile and began to jump up and down and wave wildly at the fat man. Heile acknowledged their attention with a short embarrassed wave back. Champagne was brought to his table. Dom Perignon 1986, a very good and very expensive champagne. Later, he would give the signal, and as had become the custom, Almondo would pour him a single glass.

  He heard a low murmuring from behind and saw that champagne had been delivered to the two ladies. They were talking to Almondo, and Heile knew what they were asking the little waiter and what he was telling them. That Heile was immensely wealthy.

  Heile gave the women a polite nod and introduced himself. "Please accept the champagne for any inconvenience I may have caused," he added, smiling demurely. From the corner of his eye he noticed Almondo staring vacantly at him before turning and walking away. The two women's faces were brightly lit. The honey-blonde remarked that the divers seemed to be good friends of his. "They were waving right at you," she said, awe-struck.

  "We have become very close," he explained. "I have bought them many shots of tequila."

  "I certainly hope they haven't had too many today," noted the dark brunette. She picked up her champagne glass, drank, and
slowly licked her red lips. "The waiter mentioned you have a spectacular villa in the Las Brisas area?"

  Heile nodded. Normally, a man like him would have no chance with two women like these, but money was the great equalizer. Even though layers of soft pink flesh hung loosely from his body, looking as if they could be torn off as easy as meat from a roasted chicken, he knew these two would be available to him. The thought of his grossly obese body sandwiched between their slender firm flesh seemed obscenely ludicrous. He would get little satisfaction from it, but it would be expected. "Just a small villa of twenty-two rooms. I would be honored to give both of you a private tour later," he offered.

  He noticed the divers had jumped into the water and were swimming towards the cliffs. He felt a rush of impatience. The two ladies told him they would love a private tour. "Tonight then," he said, bowed courteously from the neck, and hurried his gaze back to the divers.

  He tried to enjoy himself, but he couldn't—not with the unsettling feeling that Almondo was staring at him. He was afraid to look around, afraid he might catch the little waiter's eyes. It seemed so unfair. He had finally found a way where he could appear normal—actually be respected and admired—and also satisfy his morbid perversity. The dives were so dangerous! From one hundred and thirty-five feet into at most eight feet of water. And that was only when the tide was rolling in. Eventually there would be an accident, but in the meantime, each successful dive would be a delightful tease, building the anticipation. And when the fatality came, so would come the incredible release. And the fatality would eventually come—it would have to with all the alcohol Heile was inducing the divers to drink.

  But how could he enjoy himself with Almondo sneaking around, spying on him, acting as if he were some kind of fiend? Heile felt a hotness flushing his cheeks. It was so damn unfair! Before coming to Acapulco he lived a hellish existence, last trying to satisfy his perversion in Los Angeles. The movie showings he attended there did nothing but fill him with loathing, what with the operators and other patrons leering at him, considering him as one of their own. He had tried buying his own movies, but had always been overcome with a paralyzing fear that he would somehow be discovered. In Los Angeles he was nothing but a freak, in Acapulco he was normal—at least until Almondo had to think he saw something.

  He felt a presence and noticed Almondo standing next to him. The waiter was gazing at the cliffs. "I have bad news for you, Senor Heile," he said, his lips twisted up slightly. "This is the last day I will be able to wait on you. Tomorrow you and me will be very far apart. That is why I had to come tonight."

  Oscar Heile looked up, his mouth opening dumbly. An incredible wave of joy welled up within him, almost making him burst out in tears. "I will miss you," he said when he could finally talk. Then he pointed at his empty champagne glass. "Tonight I will drink in your honor."

  "Certainly." The waiter nodded, picked up the glass and filled it, his back partially turned to Heile.

  Oscar Heile sat back in his chair. The oppressive black cloud Almondo had brought had finally lifted. For the first time in a month Heile felt happy—truly, completely happy.

  He noticed the divers had finished their swim and were now climbing the cliffs. Roberto was already halfway up. The diver disappeared in a part of the rock formation where Heile knew a bottle of tequila was hidden. When Roberto reappeared, he turned towards the fat man and started waving his arms over his head, indicating through a private signal how many shots of tequila he had just downed. Heile counted eight waves. A burst of adrenalin nearly floored him. Eight shots of tequila! Roberto had only before worked up to six! He had added two more shots in honor of Heile's return.

  Oscar Heile felt dizzy. His hand shook as he reached for the champagne, Eight shots! He still couldn't believe it. Today could be the day. In his excitement he took most of the champagne in a single gulp and then stared at the almost empty glass, confused. It had an odd bitter taste. All at once it was like a hand gripped his heart and yanked. The champagne glass dropped from him, shattering onto the terra-cotta floor. The hand once again gripped his heart and almost ripped it out.

  He turned helplessly. Almondo was staring at him, his eyes shining defiantly. Heile knew the waiter had poisoned his champagne. Those black shining eyes were telling it all, damning Heile, damning him to hell ...

  The honey-blonde jumped up and screamed that Heile was having a heart attack. Heile opened his mouth but only a sick gurgling came out. One tremendous pull yanked at his heart and he fell out of his chair.

  A crowd gathered to watch him die. His eyes fluttered from one face to the next. All he could feel was envy. Then, as the last few convulsions rocked his body, he wished more than anything he had a mirror.

  Almost Human

  This is one of my very early stories, and Almost Human is every bit as much noir as it is science fiction.

  Robert Danby watched as the holographic image of his wife's head formed in the glass compartment. As it crystallized, the facial expression of the holograph suggested disorientation. Within seconds the expression changed, the disorientation shifting to fear.

  “It's so lifelike.” Danby uttered softly. “Nothing at all like the emulograms I've seen before.”

  “Uh huh." I nodded. "The ones you see in stores are fairly crude. They duplicate a few movements and phrases, but they don't really act or sound like the real thing.” I compared the alpha waves generated by the emulogram to those measured from his wife. They were an exact fit. “Right now," I continued, "its audio and visual inputs are being blocked. When I turn them on it will act and sound just like your wife. It will emulate her exactly. Are you ready?”

  He gave me a short, determined nod. I activated the sensory inputs and voice circuits. As the visual came on, the pupils within the holographic eyes contracted, as if they were adjusting to the light. One of the many things about emulograms that fascinate me.

  Its eyes focused on Danby, and as they did, shock and confusion flickered in them. “Robert,” it pleaded, its voice cracking, “What's happened to me? Where am I?”

  “N-Nothing's happened to you, Marcia, everything's just f-fine.” He turned to me, his face ashen and bloodless. “I don't think I'm up to this,” he whispered. “I didn't expect it to recognize me. I just don't know ...”

  I turned the emulogram off and Marcia Danby's image faded from the glass compartment. “It can be disconcerting.” I said, offering my most compassionate smile. “Why don't I handle the interrogation myself?”

  Danby was shaking his head. “How did it recognize me?”

  “It's a precise emulation of your wife. It will appear to act the same, think the same, and have the same memories as Marcia.”

  “It seems like such a violation of a person's privacy. I just don't know if it's right.”

  “Look,” I softened my voice. “All that is is computer circuitry and lasers. There's nothing human there. Nothing at all. And it's the best way to find out if your wife is planning to kill you. The only alternative I have is placing her under surveillance, which would be kind of foolish when we have this option.”

  “It's not as if I have any real evidence,” he explained, smiling weakly. “It's just a feeling I have. Sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, I catch her looking at me a certain way and—” He let the sentence die and held out his hand to me. “You're the expert,” he acknowledged sheepishly. “You do what you think's best.”

  We exchanged handshakes. “Maybe you could get out of town for a few days?” I asked. “Better safe than sorry.”

  He gave it some thought but shook his head. “No. Forget it. Just prove I'm acting crazy, okay?”

  He was looking a little green around the gills, trying his damnedest to smile. “Don't worry about this,” I assured him. “We'll clear it up soon enough.” I watched as he left and then reactivated the emulogram. As its sensory inputs turned on its eyes searched the room before settling on me. In a hushed voice it asked what was happening to it.

  �
�You're not Marcia Danby,” I explained. “Last night a sedative was slipped into her food. While she was unconscious I made a holographic portrait of her and performed a mind scan and took alpha wave measurements, all of which were fed into a computer. You're the result of it. A simulation of Marcia Danby. An image of a disembodied head floating in a glass emulogram box.”

  As it processed the information, its facial muscles relaxed. “That's all I am?” it asked.

  “That's all. You're not human, you're not real. You're only software. You're an it.”

  It winced as I said ‘it’. Usually the direct brutal approach was best with emulograms to help them orientate themselves, but this time it didn't seem right. “Please,” it asked. “Don't call me that. Could you call me Marcy?”

  “Sure.” I nodded.

  “What can I call you?”

  I was going to say something flippant, like ‘God’ or ‘Your Creator’, but its eyes stopped me cold. They touched me. “Paul Sanders.” I said.

  “Paul.” It gave me a slight smile. “I like that. Hello Paul. Please tell me what's happening?”

  “I'm a private investigator. Robert Danby hired me.”

  “I figured that much.” Its smile weakened. “What reason did he give for hiring you?”

  “Maybe you could tell me?”

  It started to say something but stopped itself. First helplessness and then resignation washed over the holographic image, leaving the eyes blank and distant. “I'm not sure,” it said. “But I think I have an idea.”

  “He suspects his wife is planning to kill him,” I said.

  There was almost no reaction, but if the holographic image had included a neck it probably would've nodded. “I'm sure he would say that, and to be honest, if I had the guts I think I'd even try to. At this point I'm almost desperate enough to try anything.”