Crime Rave

by Sezin Koehler

  Jason Mars is spitting mad. He’s sure the other operatives are talking about him. He’s the laughingstock of this place: the great castrated wonder. He sees it in their eyes, hints of derision and sideways sneers behind his back. Gods damn these Institute fucknuts. How could they not have fixed me by now?

  The shark girl Tiburona watches veins throb in her teammates’ necks. Fresh blood, coming soon.

  The other hybrids, Gustave II, the croc boy; Spiederman, the multi-limbed human-spider hybrid; Growl, the werewolf synthesized from Chamelia’s DNA; Jekyll, only survivor of The Hulk Project; and the coyote god Trixter, pace back and forth, seeing who can draw their weapons fastest. Spiederman wins every time, and with each of his six different hands.

  The Dolph Lundgren-looking clones Tranq, Meat, Smash, Junk, Glock, and Buffalo Bill run in place and occasionally drop to the floor for sit-ups and push-ups just as Colonel Randall “Ripper” Ransom taught them.

  The rest of the unit is human, everyone handpicked by Colonel Ransom, who oversees the controlled chaos of the extraction team preparing for its mission. Former soldiers all, dishonorably discharged for excessive cruelty and a host of other crimes. The men are heavily muscled and tattooed, though only one individual venturing into face and head territory, thick black lines accentuating his steroidal musculature.

  Shark girl Tiburona sees much on which to feed. Not now. Well, not yet.

  Lieutenant Alden, a wiry man with features sharp enough to cut glass, okays the black suitcases accompanying each of the soldiers. The weapons are one-of-a-kind, specifically created to bring each of the three fugitives—Chamelia, NRG, and Colonel Ransom’s daughter Secrete—back into Roswell Institute custody without affecting the specimens. Other cases contain Institute standard tranquilizer guns also locked and loaded for whatever other freaks they might dredge up. Finally, gamma ray machine guns are fully charged for maximum potency, weapons that will vaporize human flesh.

  Colonel Ransom brings the blueprints that Julie Keaton hacked from the Spruce-Musa system, along with photos of the LAPD’s security detail on the fourth floor—the target destination—as well as the roof and basement.

  “Alright, soldiers, they’ve called all entrances and exits covered with police detail. We’re gonna have to shoot to kill to get in.”

  “You point, I’ll shoot, boss,” Smash chortles. Junk high fives him.

  The hybrids roll their eyes, not needing to overcompensate.

  “This is the first time we’re trying out the poisoned armor piercing rounds. I want a full report on effectiveness upon return.” Ironic: One of the targets this motley group is on its way to collect—Secrete—provided the substance that now fills the bullets. Ransom’s trigger finger itches, not from rage, but rather from desire to go into battle with these men. The calm that’s settled over him is familiar. It’s what got him through Iraq, Afghanistan, and Colombia, though he wasn’t officially on the books. Battle face on.

  “Lock and load, people!” Ripper Ransom shouts.

  The team unpacks weapons arsenals, snapping barrels, serums and tasers in place. Tiburona smiles and Ransom catches her ravenous look. He has the good sense to feel disturbed.

  The Ethereals

  Your first mistake was underestimating the Smog Goddess, Kaleanathi. Your next mistake was siphoning power from neighboring Dimoni Overlords. Your biggest mistake was ignoring the signs that Mother, The Ancient One has awoken.

  In the stone temple of the Elders, you—Maga, goddess of magic; Amaria, she of love; Ganza, goddess of vengeance; Veritas, she of truth; and Lastyme, deity of sadness—call the circle to life again, protection from the approaching Overlords. But to no avail. Your powers have been exhausted, and there is no way to avoid the consequences of all you’ve wrought now.

  The divine stone structure glows in green phosphorescence as you pull yourselves together, bracing for the wallop that Mother will bring when she arrives, metaphysical rod in hand. All on account of a non-entity born from smog, one who should never have been given warrant to exist. Kaleanathi is ruining your lives and how could you not have stopped her? How could you have failed so miserably?

  A rumble disrupts your group-think. You all look around, wary, waiting to see who will arrive first—Mother or The Overlords—bracing yourself for the tidal wave of fury on its way.

  5:00 PM Spruce-Musa Hospital

  Out in the fourth floor hallway after their interview with violet-eyed rape survivor Tashi Lhamo, raised voices meet Red Feather and Günn coming from the nurse’s station. The Countess Barona, ensconced in a fur stole, diamond-studded gold bangles rattling up and down her arms as she maniacally waves them about, hurls insult upon insult at Nurses Pratchett and Jonelle.

  Nurse Pratchett’s usually level voice is raised. “I’m sorry ma’am, but we cannot release any of these survivors without a court order. You can certainly visit with your great-niece after the detectives are finished with their interviews, no problem. But we can’t let you take her now.” Nurse Pratchett relays this as if speaking to a non-native English speaker.

  “Why you incompetent piece of human refuse! Do you know who I am? I’ll have your head on a platter! I’ll see you never find a position anywhere in the United States! The world!” The Countess shrieks and punctuates each statement with a stiletto finger in the air.

  “Excuse me,” Red Feather says. “I’m Detective Red Feather, can I help you?”

  “Detective.” Barona gives him an eye over and remembers him from earlier in the morning. The fellow who was laughing at her with his insubordinate partner. Barona’s eyes are slits as she turns her glare Red Feather’s way. “My grand-niece is being held here. Like a prisoner. And I want to take her home. Here, I have documents to prove it.” Barona flings the sheets in his general direction.

  Günn’s shackles go up and she smells blood. Lots of it. Finally, something real.

  “That’s all well and good Countess, but she is a material witness in a mass murder. I’m afraid you can’t just come and take her. Not to mention, everyone on this floor is under observation for 36 hours. Hospital policy,” Günn says, stern is as stern does.

  Barona harrumphs and gathers her papers. “We’ll just see about that!” She whirls around and storms to the elevator, a trail of Chanel No. 5 and the sharp stench of bleach in her wake.

  “That woman!” Nurse Jonelle fumes, for the first time today not smiling. “Nobody speaks to me that way.”

  “Prepare yourself,” Red Feather responds. “She’s got friends in high places. She’ll be back sooner rather than later.”

  “Let’s pray for later!” Nurse Jonelle clucks and fusses with paperwork.

  “I’m with you,” Red Feather says, shaking his head.

  With only two survivor interviews left, Red Feather can’t quite wrap his brain around it, all that’s happened in a matter of hours. His life is in fast-forward mode and every time he blinks he’s in new uncharted territory.

  Günn, on the opposite side of the spectrum, finds herself drifting out of her body, the same way Tashi Lhamo described her rape. Günn floats in and out of herself. Returning makes her feel dizzy, like she got up too fast.

  “Let’s just get this over with. I’m not feeling very well. At all.” Günn breaks out in a light sweat. “Come on.”

  Red Feather feels the twinge of worry about his partner start growing teeth and beginning to gnaw.

  5:10 PM Spruce-Musa Hospital

  Before the Countess Barona leaves the hospital elevator, she gets Mayor Ellis on the horn.

  “What do you mean you’re taking one of the survivors?” Ellis’s whiskey headache returns in full force.

  “That girl with one eye is my grand-niece and I want to take her home,” Barona shrills.

  “Why didn’t you say anything when we were over at the medical center this morning?” Ellis
’s suspicions rise even amid the throb of his tired head.

  “I’m just supposed to tell you every little thing? That’s not how our relationship works, Mayor.” Barona’s hands are shaking. She makes a fist, her nails cutting into her palm.

  “Countess, this is a federal case now, nobody will go anywhere without a court order.” Ellis wants nothing more than to crawl back into bed and pretend this day never happened.

  “So get it. Or else your dirty little secrets will be front-page news tomorrow. Might I remind you I have photographs of you dressed as a princess, getting whipped by an underage Prince Charming. Among others. You have twenty minutes.” Barona hangs up. Furious. Wishing it weren’t a cellphone, but a rotary she could slam down.

  Mayor Ellis sighs, thinking. Takes another pull of whiskey to help it along. He knows an appellate judge who owes him a favor, big time. Just about as big as Barona’s scoop on him. He’s gotta find a way to get out from under her poison thumb, but first to deal with this goddamn mess. Ellis sends a local blue stationed in front of City Hall to deliver the court order to Spruce-Musa, where the Countess Barona waits, tapping her foot.

  “You the Countess?” The cop asks in a southern drawl.

  “Of course I am. Give me that.” She snatches the paper from his hand, he pulls back.

  “Sorry, ma’am, I am to present this to the hospital myself. Boss’s orders.”

  “Very well. Hurry up!” Hirsute lout!

  The cop doesn’t take kindly to orders from civilians, so he takes his damn time.

  5:25 PM Spruce-Musa Hospital

  While the Countess waits for her machinations to fulfill her newest twisted desire, Red Feather and Günn walk into their penultimate interview. Red Feather doesn’t recall such an exhausting day since Günn and he were tagged for the serial killer who was dismembering children and scattering parts all around the city in public places. It was one of few times he’d seen his partner as rattled as she is now.

  Red Feather and Günn walk into the room of Lola Calavera, IDed by Karma Devi, Kevin Danville’s suspected castrator. The room’s empty as a church on Thursday.

  “The hell?” Red Feather says and looks in the bathroom. Günn rushes to the nurse’s station.

  “One of the witnesses is missing!” The panic bubbling under Günn’s surface rises to the top, threatening to spill over.

  “That’s impossible.” Nurse Pratchett makes trails to Lola’s room, where they find Red Feather chatting with her.

  “She can disappear!” Red Feather is a six-year-old boy. “Do you mind showing them?”

  “Fine by me,” the curly haired Latina woman says in a thick Mexican accent, and vanishes. Nurse Pratchett and Detective Günn gasp in tandem. They gasp again when Lola reappears. “And watch this.” Lola’s nails begin to grow until they’re claws, a good six inches from the tip of her finger. “These nails could cut someone. And good.” She retracts them with a wince. “And that completes our show for today.” She does a half bow in bed.

  Günn’s head throbs, making her heart pound harder. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. There’s no such thing as werewolves and vampires and invisible girls and vaginas dentate. There’s no such thing as ghosts. There’s no such thing. No such thing.

  Red Feather claps. He’s getting used to this new world, and loving it. “Incredible!” He looks over at Günn, who has that blank look in her eyes again. The niggling worry still has a base camp in his belly. Günn sets up the camera, vacant, going through the motions.

  “Can we ask you some questions about what you remember from the rave last night?”

  “Course. But I remember basically nada. Last thing I remember is getting my nails done for my costume. Catwoman. Mira, tiger stripes! So cool, right?”

  “Very. Who did you go to the party with?”

  “My friend Karma. She was Poison Ivy. We looked awesome.” Lola pauses. “I’m afraid to ask, but is she okay? I saw on TV that we survived an explosion. I mean, wow.” Lola crosses herself.

  Red Feather hands Lola the stack of Polaroids and she holds up Karma’s photo.

  “You’re both very lucky to be here.” Red Feather says. Lola squeals with happiness and briefly goes invisible, “Díos se bendiga.” Lola crosses herself again, this time kissing her fingers when done, badly wanting to go to church and give confession.

  You’re not really here, Günn says to herself. You’re dreaming. This is a dream. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening.

  “So what mierda happened last night?” Lola tucks her legs under into a sitting pose and puts her elbows on her knees, hands under her chin.

  “We’re still putting together all the pieces, but as you said, there was an explosion. You don’t remember anything about last night at all?”

  Lola shakes her head. “Lo siento.” I’m sorry.

  Red Feather thinks of Tashi Lhamo and her date rape confession. “Do you maybe have anything else you might want to tell us?”

  “Um, I don’t think so,” Lola pauses, goes invisible and then reappears again, like she thinks better when nobody is looking. “You know what, since you ask. There’re these guys on campus, I’m pretty sure they’ve been roofieing and raping girls. I stopped three of them, but I got the feeling it wasn’t their first time and that they weren’t the only ones.”

  “What school do you go to? Can you give me their names?”

  “Western College, in Eagle Rock. You know, near Pasadena? I don’t know those guys’ names, just their frat. ATD. Alpha Tau Delta. I can find out more and call you?”

  “Leave this to us. If nothing else, I’ll discuss with your campus security and have them keep an eye out on our behalf.”

  “Gracias. It’s a really small school, so nobody reports rapes, like ever. I was lucky to be there to help that one chica out, but I’m not Supergirl, you know?”

  “No, more like the Invisible Girl,” Red Feather cracks a smile and Lola responds in kind, fading in and out as she does.

  Günn examines her nails. Damn, need another manicure already.

  “It’s a pretty cool power, isn’t it?” Lola straightens her legs out and leans back in bed.

  “It sure is.” Red Feather wonders who’s gonna write this book. Lab tech Stacey Chang called dibs hours ago.

  “Though, I’m not exactly invisible, I just make myself look like whatever’s around me. To the naked eye it’s all the same, no?”

  Red Feather nods. “Thanks again for the tip about your school and you call me if anything comes back about the rave last night. Okay?”

  Lola’s turn to nod. “You got it, Detectivo. Sorry I wasn’t more help about the party. I hope you catch those pendejo rapists. You let me know if I can help you guys with that. Nothing more I hate than fucking rapists.”

  Red Feather hands Lola Calavera his business card. Günn packs up the video camera and they head out for their final interview with the Motel Crane Massacre survivors.

  Lola shifts back into invisible mode and memorizes the detective’s number, just in case.

  Lola Calavera, aka Glamour

  They told you to stay put, but you’ve never been one for following rules. You shimmer into the background and peek out the door. How far could you get before they’d even notice you’re gone? Probably all the way to abuela’s place in Aguascalientes! You giggle and it unsettles the nurse walking by who can’t see you.

  You rematerialize when Nurse Jonelle turns away. “Hey, is there a taco truck nearby?”

  You’ve given her a start, but she smiles anyway and says she’s been taking outside food orders all day. “Now skedaddle back to your room! And stay there.” She grins and sends a bored policeman to get you a breakfast burrito con chorizo with extra hot sauce and as many carnitas tacos al pastor he can carry.

  Your mouth wate
rs at the thought of the oily, spicy goodness in your belly, your first real meal since the resurrection.

  In spite of being raised Catholic, strict at that, you always had your doubts about Jesús actually rising from the dead. The detective said you were nothing but a hand when they found you. What will this do to the church? You’re no profeta. You can be a protector of women, as you were before. But this milagro is going to be a problem for everyone, you can feel it.

  There will be people who will want to kill you to see if you’ll rise again.

  And you wish this all hadn’t been so pinche público. What will Mamá say? How will she reconcile the faith that runs every aspect of her life to you born again? Or will she consider it ultimate proof in Padre Diós?

  Your musing is interrupted by the rich smell of chorizo and pork in a corn tortilla. The hot sauce is spicy enough to burn a hole in the bag. Unlike usual, you eat slowly, eyes closed, savoring each delicious bite.

  Questions of faith can wait. Right now, the body craves the divine sustenance only a taco truck can provide.

  6:00 PM The Roswell Institute

  As the sun sets miles above, the extraction team of hybrids and humans waits in a holding dock for their ride to Beverly Hills. Colonel Ransom heads back to his control room. From there he’ll oversee the operation: Institute policy deigns that higher ranks refrain from combat, much as he’d love to see it again. Thankfully this cock-up hasn’t caught the eyes of The Institute Founders. At least not yet. Here’s hoping we’ll keep it that way. In spite of their name, which reminds Ripper Ransom of wig-wearing old dudes signing the Declaration of Independence, The Founders are nobody to trifle with. In fact, they’re the only things that put the fear into Ripper Ransom and make him wish for his mommy.