Clarkesworld Magazine Issue 110

by Neil Clarke

  Frank came out from behind the desk and led them to the elevator. He got inside with them and set it with a card, and then slipped out.

  “Good luck, fellas,” he said as the door slid shut.

  “What a jerk,” Donny said on the way up.

  “Oh, he ain’t so bad,” Laurent said.

  Donny watched the LED display, 1, 2, 3, and he was feeling pretty tense by the time they reached the penthouse.

  “Here we go,” Laurent said, waiting for the door to open.

  The delay made it seem like an awfully long time. At last it opened, loudly and irrevocably. A woman stood right in front of the door. She was dark and had short raven hair. She was very good-looking.

  “Mr. Doyle and Mr. Therriault?” she said, adjusting a little electronic earpiece clamped to her left lobe.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Donny said. “That’s us.”

  “I’m Special Agent Hernandez,” she said.

  “Nice to meet you,” Laurent said, offering his hand.

  Donny shook hands with her, too. He’d never met a Special Agent before. He wondered if she spoke to the chambermaids in Spanish.

  “Please put all your change and keys in this bin and step through the metal detector.”

  The metal detector was behind her, and she stepped aside to let them go through. Laurent went first, followed by Donny. Special Agent Hernandez watched them as they picked up their keys and coins. So did two young men in suits down the hall, one of whom they’d seen coming out of the drug store that afternoon.

  “Please come with me.” She turned and Donny watched her shapely calves flex as she led them through the penthouse suite. All the doors were closed but one.

  The room she took them to was just like something in a movie, with windows on three sides so you could see the town’s lights and the white-capped water breaking on the rocks below.

  “Nice,” Laurent said.

  Donny didn’t say anything, embarrassed by his boots squishing.

  “If you gentlemen will wait here,” the lady said. “Mr. Towson will be right with you.”

  “Thank you,” Donny said.

  “Help yourselves to the refreshments on the table,” she said, and then left them alone.

  There were bagels, salmon, fresh fruit, bottled water, wine, and a coffee urn with cups and saucers, cutlery, and napkins. Laurent grabbed a banana, and Donny had a pumpernickel bagel, which he slathered with cream cheese using a butter knife. He bit into it and found it was as hard as a rock, but tasty. Both poured themselves some coffee into china cups and sat on the fanciest sofa Donny had ever seen in his life, holding their saucers in their laps.

  “Imagine the kind of money it takes to rent this place,” Laurent said, looking around at the fancy furnishings and framed paintings on the walls.

  Donny didn’t speak, because he was sure they were being monitored. He didn’t intend to say something stupid and blow this job.

  Towson kept them waiting quite a while. When he finally appeared, he proved to be a trim man with thick, silvery white hair, in his late fifties, wearing a very expensive suit and a blue satin tie.

  “Hi,” he said, extending a manicured hand. “I’m Jerry Towson.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mr. Towson,” Laurent said, rising to shake his hand. “Laurent Therriault. This is Donny Doyle.”

  Donny got up and shook with Towson, conscious of the dried chum blood under his fingernails and the smell of lobster battling with Towson’s cologne. Towson had a strong grip, though, and his gray eyes sized up a man in a hurry.

  “I understand you gentlemen have a boat you’d be willing to charter for a day?” Towson asked, coming right to the point.

  “Ayuh, a brand new Northern Bay 36,” Laurent said.

  “Just got her this week,” Donny added.

  “Do you have any objection to a thorough security check of your boat before the launch?”

  “Nope,” Laurent quickly said.

  Towson nodded at him, and then turned to Donny. “And you, Mr. Doyle? Do you have any objections?”

  “I guess not,” Donny said, remembering that this had been his idea in the first place. “Long as nothing’s damaged.”

  “I assure you we’ll be careful,” Mr. Towson said, showing his capped teeth as he smiled like a cable TV newsman. “Are there any questions?”

  “Yeah, what, uh . . . ” Laurent hesitated.

  “Please go on.”

  “What do we do if there’s trouble?”

  “Trouble?”

  “Yeah,” Laurent said. “What if it runs out of the stuff it breathes, or something like that?”

  “We’ll have a team there to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “How many people?” Donny asked. “It’s only a thirty-six footer, you know.”

  “Just three people, including me,” Towson said. “Is that too many passengers?”

  “No, that’ll be all right,” Laurent said, glancing at his buddy.

  “Fine,” Towson said. “How much do you charge for a charter cruise?”

  “This’ll be the first one,” Donny said. “Make us an offer.”

  “Five thousand dollars.”

  Donny thought his jaw was going to hit his collarbone. “Uh . . . ”

  “Yes, sir, that’ll be fine,” Laurent quickly said.

  “Excellent,” Towson said. “Will a check be all right?”

  “Long as it don’t bounce,” Donny said, recovering quickly from the shock.

  Towson smiled. “We’ll have a cashier’s check for you tomorrow morning, and we’ll have the visitor at the dock at five o’clock sharp. After a routine security scan, we’ll be off.”

  “You’ll find our boat moored right at the end of Water Street,” Donny said. “Can’t miss it. No name painted on her yet.”

  “I’m sure you understand how important discretion is in this matter,” Towson said. “We ask only that you tell no one about it until after the visitor is safely ashore.”

  “Okay,” Laurent said.

  “Right,” Donny said.

  “And just one more thing,” Towson said.

  “Ayuh?”

  “Are there any firearms aboard?”

  “Just a Very pistol—you know, a flare gun,” Laurent said.

  “Nothing else?”

  “Nope,” Donny said, “we don’t shoot lobsters, we just trap ’em.”

  Towson smiled. “Very good, gentlemen, you have a deal with the United States government.”

  “Good enough for me,” Laurent said.

  “And you, Mr. Doyle?”

  “Sure,” Donny said. He was thinking about the money this could bring their way after the deal was done—television, online interviews, magazines. . . . It could turn out to be very profitable. People would want to ride on the Gleezer boat, and they’d be willing to pay for the privilege.

  And even if he and Laurent didn’t make another penny off this deal, they could at least lay down a pretty hefty payment on the boat next month.

  “When you said we can’t tell anybody,” Donny said to Towson, “does that include my wife?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  Donny nodded. It would be hard to keep it from Beth, but it wasn’t unusual for a lobster boat to put out at five, so she wouldn’t be suspicious. He’d have a good story to tell her when he got home tomorrow, in any case.

  “It’s a deal.”

  They each shook hands with Towson to seal it.

  “I have some things to attend to, gentlemen,” he said. “But feel free to linger here as long as you wish, and please help yourselves to food and beverages.”

  “Can we take some goodies home with us?” Laurent asked.

  “I’d rather you didn’t,” Towson said. “It might raise questions.”

  “Well, I live alone nowadays,” Laurent said. “Nobody’s gonna question me.”

  “Then I see no reason why you can’t take all you like. Good evening, gentlemen.”

  He walked out
of the room.

  “And here I am with mouths to feed,” Donny said.

  “I’ll save you some,” Laurent said, gathering up grapes, apples, and bagels, which he wrapped in napkins and stuffed into his coat pockets. He gripped a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon in his meaty hand and started toward the door. “Give it to you when we come back tomorrow. Except for the wine, which I’m keeping.”

  “The food’ll be stale.”

  “Then don’t eat it,” Laurent said, as they left the panoramic view behind them on their way to the elevator. “See if I care.”

  “You’re all heart.”

  “Ayuh.”

  Chewing on a grape, Laurent nodded at the two young men in suits as they waited for the elevator. The ride down seemed much faster. Laurent waved at Frank as he and Donny walked through the lobby.

  “How’d it go?” Frank called to them, busting to know what had happened upstairs.

  “Can’t talk about it, Frank,” Donny shouted back. “National security.”

  In the parking lot, they looked up as a helicopter noisily flew over.

  “Government or news?” Laurent said, spitting out a seed and popping another grape into his mouth.

  “Don’t see what difference it makes.”

  Laurent dropped Donny off at the house, looking out for wildlife along the way. Dark as it was with the birches all around, Donny noticed that a couple more shingles had fallen into the front yard as he walked up to the front door. He’d have to work on the roof this summer.

  He heard the dog barking as he let himself in.

  “Hello, Bert,” he said stroking the Lab’s yellow fur as he entered. “I almost had some treats for you, but no dice.”

  “Did you get anything to eat?” Beth asked, coming out of the kitchen as Donny flung his coat over the newel post. He could hear the TV going in the living room.

  “Ayuh.” He kissed her on the cheek, his face tickled by her long hair. She’d stopped coloring it lately, calling it her “gray badge of courage.” It wasn’t really all that gray yet. He liked the way it looked, long and feminine.

  “How’s your back?” Beth asked.

  “Aching a little bit, but I’m okay.”

  “Little Donny called a short while ago,” Beth said. “He said he was sorry he missed you.”

  “Did he, now?”

  “Things are picking up for him,” Beth said, ignoring Donny’s sardonic tone. “He’s got a few gigs lined up and some time in the recording studio.”

  “So he’s gonna be a rock star soon?”

  “As long as he’s happy,” Beth said, looking at him with her green eyes.

  Donny grunted as he sat on the bottom step and Beth helped him haul off his short boots. Bert’s tail counted time, whacking against the bottom step.

  “I shouldn’t have had coffee,” Donny said, changing the subject.

  “Since when do you drink coffee at Salty’s?”

  He let the question pass as he stood up.

  “I still have some of that Ambien Doctor Blaisdell prescribed,” Beth said. “That ought to put you out.”

  “Ayuh.”

  He took a bath and the pill, and he was ready to go to sleep an hour later. Beth joined him, lying down next to him in their queen size bed and rubbing his back for a few minutes.

  “Everybody on the island’s talking about the Gleezer,” she said, pulling up the comforter and turning on her side to put out the lamp on the night stand.

  “Day before yesterday nobody around here cared about it.”

  “Kind of exciting, having it come here.”

  “Kinda.”

  “What do you suppose it wants?”

  “Wants? What do you mean, baby?”

  “Well, why this island of all the places on Earth?”

  “Same reason as summer people come here, I guess.”

  “For the rustic New England charm?”

  They both laughed.

  “Have you got something on your mind, Donny?”

  “You know there’s never anything on my mind.”

  “Oh, stop it.”

  “It’s just that we’re gonna have a long day tomorrow.”

  “Are you thinking about Little Donny?”

  “Nothing I can do about him.”

  Beth didn’t say anything. They’d been through it a thousand times. She believed that Little Donny was brave to be unashamed of the way he was, but Donny wondered if things might have turned out different if he had interested the boy in something besides playing the keyboard.

  Beth snuggled up.

  “Your nose is cold,” he said.

  “Cold nose, warm heart,” she said. “Did you find orange berries on the females today?”

  “Ayuh.”

  “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”

  “Well, sure it does,” Donny said. “What are we gonna do if the lobsters die off?”

  She touched his hair. “We’ll get by.”

  The Ambien was making Donny drift off, but he was thinking about tomorrow and what it might mean. He had to remind himself not to say anything to Beth about it.

  And then he was asleep.

  Beth was up before him, at quarter past four. She was making coffee, bacon, and eggs. Donny washed his face and came downstairs, trying to savor the delicious odors, but too worried about how things were going to go today to enjoy it much. He didn’t want Beth to notice his anxiety, though, so he talked about something he knew would prevent her from asking him any questions.

  “Little Donny still got plans to marry Alan?” he asked.

  “Oh, he mentions it every now and then,” Beth said, pleased to talk about their son as she cracked an egg and plopped its contents into the buttered pan.

  “I know you wanted grandchildren,” Donny said.

  “If they get married, maybe they can adopt.”

  It wouldn’t be the same, he thought, but he kept it to himself.

  They ate in silence.

  Laurent picked him up at twenty minutes to five, to make sure they’d be at the pier in plenty of time. Rolling down his window, Laurent patted Bert on the head, the dog’s paws resting on the pickup’s side panel.

  “Something wrong with the heater?” Donny inquired after he got in.

  “Give it a chance,” Laurent replied.

  “We’ll be out on the water before it warms up in here.”

  “Ain’t it awful?”

  It was still dark, but as they bumped down the hill from Donny’s house, the Atlantic was starting to reflect a quicksilver hint of light.

  “Think the Gleezer’s sun looks different than ours?” Donny asked.

  “That’s what they claim,” Laurent said. “It’s red all the time, not just at sunrise and sunset.”

  “All the time? No kiddin’?”

  “No kiddin’.”

  “So how does there happen to be life on its planet?”

  “Well, there’s water, and I guess wherever there’s water there’s life.”

  As usual, Laurent drove right onto the pier. Donny thought it was kind of nice that they wouldn’t have to tote any traps today if they didn’t feel like it. They were just going to take a little cruise out onto the bay with the Gleezer. He remembered movies about space monsters and alien menaces, and it made him chuckle.

  “Are you losin’ it?” Laurent said.

  “Well, you gotta admit this is kinda weird, Laurent.”

  Laurent laughed, too. “Can’t deny it.”

  They climbed aboard and got ready for the imminent arrival of the Gleezer’s team.

  A massive, black AIV—the one they’d seen in the hotel parking lot—rolled down Water Street and parked itself behind Laurent’s truck right on time, five o’clock sharp. Excepting its pristine paint job, it looked like it ought to be patrolling the streets of a war zone. Its headlights illuminated the boat and hurt Donny’s eyes.

  He didn’t like having Laurent’s truck blocked off, but they weren’t going to be using it until they got
back.

  Towson got out of the AIV and walked toward their boat. He looked as fresh as a daisy, wearing an overcoat, his silver hair glistening from the morning mist. He had so much hair that Donny wondered if it was plugs or a wig.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” Towson said, as two young Secret Servicemen climbed aboard and looked the boat over for Weapons of Mass Destruction. This morning, they were dressed in jeans and jackets, the guy they’d seen yesterday wearing a Cubs cap over his blond hair and the other one wearing a knit watch cap. Donny hoped they wouldn’t fall into the head when they went below deck.

  “Morning,” Laurent said, sniffling a bit.

  “Coming down with a cold, Mr. Therriault?”

  “Just allergies.”

  “So it’s in the AIV?” Donny asked. “The, uh . . . visitor?”

  “Yes.” Towson glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll lift it out in its environmental tank and put it on the deck whenever you’re ready.”

  “No time like the present,” Donny said.

  “I agree, but let’s give my men time to finish the security check first.”

  A couple minutes later, they were satisfied.

  Towson turned and pressed buttons on a remote. The back door of the SUV opened. Appendages that looked like they were assembled from a giant Erector Set swung a polarized glass tank over the roof and hood, depositing it on the pier. It was about the size of a coffin.

  “Pretty nifty,” Laurent said.

  “Do we have to haul it aboard ourselves?” Donny asked.

  Towson shook his head and directed his two men to do it. They grasped handles on the sides of the glass tank and lifted it without much strain.

  “The lady didn’t come?” Laurent asked, as the two Secret Service agents wrestled the tank aboard. The boat bobbed under their weight as they set it on the deck.

  “Special Agent Hernandez?” Towson said. “No, I’m afraid not. She’s in charge of the team back at the hotel.”

  “Too bad for you, Laurent,” Donny said. “I could tell she likes you.”

  “Funny fella,” Laurent replied. “You ought to be writing for Conan O’Brien.”

  “It’d pay better.”

  “Well, Special Agent Hernandez is a pretty woman,” Laurent said, “wouldn’t you say, Mr. Towson?”

  “I would,” Towson replied.

  “Are you coming with us?” Donny asked.