by Andrea Allen
Every few weeks, he made sure to slide them a white envelope or two. Keep the gears greased. And the oil right. No sense waiting for something bad to happen before you started shelling out cash. It was that little bit of extra help that a man in his sometimes delicate positions needs. There would never be enough allies. And the enemies would continue to spawn daily.
As he stepped out into the sunlight, he lowered his shades. Another scorcher. He could already feel the sun tickling his skin.
Tires skidded. A door swung open. his badass ride shined and purred. This bitch was ready to take on the world with him. She didn’t care how rough he rode her, how far he pushed her past her supposed limits. She never flinched when he threw her headlong into danger. He slid into the cockpit. The door slammed shut and the lights flared. He reached out and gripped the steering wheel. He revved the engine several times and then zoomed off into traffic.
Fifteen minutes later, as he pulled off the A-10, he noticed swirling lights and sirens shooting in his direction. He pulled over to the side of the road, expecting them the past. Much to his surprise, they began slowing down and directing themselves towards him. Within seconds they surrounded him. Directly above him, helicopters—at least two of them—swirled.
He swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel.
Chapter 2
Samantha
It was one of those days when she was forced to wonder if the world was spinning completely out of control. But she was most concerned with how things were progressing, maybe regressing was the right word, in her own country. Her whole life she had been taught to fight for the underdog. But the fight seemed impossible. Every year it became more difficult for people to survive.
During the long, brutal and relatively shocking presidential campaign, no one had believed that the loud talking, arrogant, narcissistic bigot running for the highest office was anything but a complete clown. Insane Clown Candidate, they called him. But she glimpsed something different. No matter how often she was told not to take his word seriously or literally, she stayed quiet, biting her tongue as words of rebellion roiled inside of her. He wouldn’t actually do that, they told her. And besides, he's not going to win. He doesn't have a chance.
Now that he had won, now that he had defied all of his critics and vanquished his enemies, there was no longer anything to laugh about. He was a con man, liar and crook, who skillfully manipulated the anger of average people to finally attain the one position of power that had eluded him.
Bastard! There was no telling where he would take the country. No telling how many laws would be destroyed for the enrichment of his family and cronies.
As if she didn't have enough contempt for him, the president spent nearly every day attacking the people in her profession. As a young journalist, she could clearly see the major problems in her industry. It's not quite the heroic profession that it used to be so many years ago. These days it seemed like most people who called themselves journalists spent their time trying to be friends with powerful people, instead of holding them accountable. Most up-and-coming journalists seem desperate to land the next celebrity puff piece. She hated all that stuff. It made her sick. No matter how much she struggled to make a living writing articles, she refused to ever give up her dream of doing serious work—the kind of work that changes people's lives. That kind of work that was remembered years, decades later. Every week Samantha made sure to dust off the awards, she won as an undergraduate and graduate journalism student. What had been the point? At this rate, she would never manage to pay back any of her loans.
And for some reason, she could never stop believing in the country and in human beings. She greatly enjoyed living around them. Living among them was all that She had ever known. Sure, there were times, far too many lately, when she felt like the last thing that she possibly wanted was to see another human being.
She stared out the window, watching the smoke stack spit into the air. Pretty soon she wouldn’t be able to even afford living in this area. Sex and cash. She had heard about this theory. It was all the rage among young artist, the millennial creative types. This theory basically advised you not to get so damn attracted and rooted to how you think that you’re wonderful, compromise free artistic career is supposed to turn. Certain jobs “cash” you worked in order to pay the bills, eat and generally handled the basic shit that kept you from you getting kicked out onto the street. She guessed for someone coming up in her line of work this would have meant chasing down those very celebrity puff pieces that she so despised.
So many writers wasted their energy and enthusiasm chasing just those kinds of stories. And even if you did write something that happened to go viral, then what? It wasn’t your voice that people had paid for. Your purpose was to celebrate the rich and famous, fawn, worship and grovel at their feet as if you were some worthless serf.
They were the winners. You were a mere loser. Follow them. Favorite them. Like them. Retweet them. Buy the products they buy.
As you might be able to tell, I’ve never cared much for the rich and famous, the prissy and the privileged. That disdain probably came from her father—a gruff whiskey drinking, cigar smoking, Union man. She used to listen to angry but insightful ranting, sitting at his feet, staring up into his whiskey reddened face with nothing but complete admiration and love.
When she came home from Berkeley after freshman year and declared that she wanted to be a muckraking journalist, she expected him to be thrilled. Instead, he seemed rather disappointed and confused. His living room political diatribes had been her inspiration. He had taught her to mistrust the corporations that sought to wreak such havoc on ordinary people.
She was determined to make him proud no matter what she had to do. She would have a wonderful successful husband, the kind you see in television commercials, who does everything that she wanted, enjoyed eating her out and had a larger than average penis that he wielded like a French fencing master. She found the man—a successful lawyer with a civil rights background. He was handsome, attentive in bed and made well into six figures. Perfect! This was just how things were supposed to turn out! They were going to build the ideal, affluent yuppie family!
She never would have suspected that her husband, who fought relentlessly for truth and justice in court, was deceiving her for months with another woman.
Chapter 3
Colin
Helicopters swirled overhead. Sirens blared. Lights flashed. He looked through the side mirror. A large pair of black leather boots slowly approached. He had the sudden urge to jump out of the car, stand toe to toe with these assholes and let them know what he really thought. No more being nice. And trying not ruffle any of their delicate human feathers.
He closed his eyes and sighed, trying the quell the rebellion rising in his spirit. Things couldn’t keep going on like this for much longer. Anger simmered in his chest.
A fist banged against the window. Twice. Asshole!
He rolled it down, flashed his pearly whites.
“How are you, officer? What can I do for you?”
“Everything is just fine, Mr. Swartz. The chief just wanted us to check on you that's all.”
“That's excellent, officer. Have you gentlemen spoken with the mayor lately? He assured her that whatever issues we may have had in the past, all of that is behind us now. Isn’t that, right?”
The crude, burly cop started laughing. His double chin quivered. He half expected crumbs and critters to come spilling out the folds in the flesh. A few of his buddies got off their bikes and walked towards him. Within moments all three of them were laughing.
Well at least somebody was having fun. Assholes. He didn’t know why he’d ever thought that a career in law enforcement would have suited her.
If they didn’t have her completely surrounded – – two helicopters still buzzing above – – he would've fired up the engine and taken off. That would've sent them scrambling to save their overstuffed asses. The long black boots stomped in his directi
on.
“Thank you for the laugh, Mr. Swartz. I guess a busy man like yourself doesn’t always get a chance to keep up with the latest news.
“Officer, what exactly is so funny? I happen to consider the mayor a great friend of his.”
“I guess you haven't heard…”
“What?”
“Your great friend, Mr. Mayor, got caught in a slightly compromising situation last night. He'll be stepping down.”
“What?”
“Effective immediately.”
“This can’t be true. This must be fake news.”
“No, sir. I would never go around spreading fake news. And do you know what this means?” He snarled and pointed a finger in Colin’s face.
Colin’s first instinct was to grab the finger, separate bone from socket, leaving him howling in primal pain. Thankfully, he was able to restrain his baser instincts.
“No, officer. What does that mean?”
A sadistic smile spread across his face. He waved the patrol cars stationed in front of her away. Their siren shouted, then both vehicles spun and shot away from the scene. The two helicopters pulled 180s as well, disappearing from view within seconds.
“Be careful, Mr. Swartz. There are aliens among us.”
Chapter 4
Samantha
She clicked on several headlines, mouth gaping open as she stared at the picture of the mayor and handcuffs. He’d been busted making a huge heroin and meth deal while wearing expensive women's clothing—Nordstrom’s. The story was an international sensation. How could anyone so visible get themselves caught up in such an absurd situation? She looked at the byline. She didn't recognize the writer. That didn’t stop me from being a little bit jealous.
But why? This wasn't the sort of crap that she wanted to report on. This was precisely the kind of shit that she hated. Yet, she couldn't turn away from the story.
As it turned out, there was actually more to the article than sensationalism. The mayor’s arrest could have serious repercussions. Everything centered around a list of people of a supposed alien race who were living among human beings. This list, which had been allegedly compiled by federal agencies, had been submitted to mayors of the large US cities. The mayors had the power to use the list as they saw fit. The mayor of San Francisco had so far refused to target anybody on the list. But that could all change if a new mayor was brought in.
“Samantha? What have you been up to?”
She smiled and opened her arms wide. Jacqueline was the perfect person to see in a moment like this. They met while in graduate school. Samantha was at NYU getting her degree in Journalism and Jaqueline was studying Design at Parsons. They both enjoyed tequila shots and ranting about the sad state of the world, while they laughed, giggled and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.
“I’m great,” Samantha said. “I’ll never get tired of coming back down here.”
Jacqueline rolled her eyes and sat down. “This neighborhood might end up being one of the last true bastions of freedom.” They stared at each other in silence. Then they burst out laughing.
That was usually the kind of thing that Jacqueline would say.
She didn’t expect that talking with Jacqueline would bring back so many of her good memories of graduate school back on the East Coast and end of making her feel even worse about how her life had progressed over the last couple of years out on the West Coast. She'd come here so full of hope and ambition. San Francisco was the place to be. That’s where the real action was going down. New York was overrated. All hip, super creative and soon to be super rich, were getting the hell out.
Those days, when her parents still helped out with her expenses and before she had to start paying back college loans, seemed blissful and carefree when contrasted with her current struggles. In those days, she still had the luxury of thinking about things like trust and justice and making the world a better place. Samantha didn’t have to worry about whether or not she would have to sacrifice her principles in order to quell the rumbling in her stomach.
That magical life had drifted so far into her past. But now Jaqueline’s tired face, bags under eyes, lines around her mouth, was bringing it all back. She double-shifted as a barista and double-fisted as a bartender. That’s what her prestigious design degree had prepared her for. Were they both failures? She couldn’t help wondering. She was a lowly assistant reporter. She went around telling people that she was a journalist. What a joke! She couldn't get within 100 feet of any real journalism action.
And her friend who had dreamed about becoming an important fashion designer, her work moving up and down the runways of Paris, Milan and London was serving caramel macchiato’s and vodka tonics, making barely over minimum wage with no benefits. Was this the life that they had signed up for? What sense did it make? Where were they going? None of these things made any sense to Samantha.
She'd done everything right. She'd been an honest person. She'd worked hard and earned good grades. Yet it seemed like there was this huge mountain that she had to climb every day, this huge and ever-increasing debt. There was no way she would ever reach the top of the mountain, no way she would ever conquer this obstacle, throw its weight off her shoulders triumphantly. It felt like she was trapped, locked in a life of low-wage living, spending eighty percent of her money on rent, and the rest on food and just enough alcohol to make me forget, to make the pain go away, to make it all not seem so miserable. So worthless. What was the point? How much longer could she go on living this solitary life? Pretending like she was happy? Like she was really seeking fulfillment in her work and not just trying to fill the holes in her soul?
Everywhere she looked, Samantha saw happy people smiling, kissing, cuddling, loving each other, people going home to houses and lives and children. A life.
“Is everything okay?” Jaqueline asked.
Samantha shook her head from side to side. She must've zoned out. She didn't know how long they were there at the table and she was looking to her phone and she was just looking around, grasping at things, trying to make sense of her life.
“I’m fine,” she said. “It's really nice to see you.”
Jaqueline stared back at her with a blank expression, as if she didn’t care one way or another.
They talked for a few more minutes and then said goodbye. Shortly after she left the cafe, Samantha’s phone started ringing. It was her boss at The San Francisco Chronicle. For a second she worried that she had forgotten to do something the day before.
Her boss talked excitedly, hardly taking the time to breathe. It had to do with the mayor and the list of potential aliens that he had in his possession. According to her boss, some of the names were being leaked to the press. And as it turned out, some of the people who belonged to this supposed “alien race” were major players in real estate and finance.
“Colin Rafferty,” her boss said. “I want you to go to his building and start asking questions.”
Chapter 5
Colin
He fixed his eyes on Ian's gut. It seemed to expand each time he looked at it. Once again he blathering on and on about the latest improvement in his golf game or his newest piece of golf equipment that was guaranteed to make him a more competitive player.
When he talked about that foolish human game, requiring long pieces of metal or wood to strike a tiny ball, all he could do was shake his head in confusion. He'd never been able to understand the appeal of that particular human ritual. And of course, the men would say that they were making one deal or another, while they trudged their overweight, out of shape asses from one hole to the next.
And every now and then, things would really ridiculous when the play and the lackey who had been assigned to him had to go deep into the woods in search of the tiny white ball. Tiny balls. Long, powerful sticks. Sometimes the symbols that these European-descended men clung were too damn obvious. And if all those reasons weren’t enough to denounce this silly human game. There was the absurdity and naivety of conducting an
y sort of business in an open air environment. No serious person would expose to potential spy—not to mention killer-drones in such a reckless fashion.
But there were more pressing matters weighing on Colin’s spirit. This situation with the mayor could very quickly spiral out of control, putting their entire race in danger. For centuries they had lived harmoniously with human beings. There was no way to know how long that would be the case. Yet things did not seem promising.
“Any more news on the mayor?” Colin asked.
Ian immediately stopped talking. His body became rigid. Colin sensed that Ian knew something that he wasn’t disclosing. That pissed him off. For the second time in the last few hours, he felt a tide of anger rising within him.
Their eyes locked. “What is it?” Colin asked, standing up, and walking around his desk. He put both his hands on Ian’s shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes.
Ian’s head dropped. Then he slowly raised his eyes. “It started a few hours ago.”
“What?”
“Someone’s leaking the names to the media. I think that’s why the cops pulled you over. Did they say anything?”
Colin thought back to the dramatic pull over the police department had prepared for him that morning. He tried to remember if that jerk who’d taunted him had said anything about the list. All he could see was that smiling, arrogant face.
“The guy was an asshole but he didn’t say…”
Colin went silent. His eyes opened wide. Then he remembered: “Be careful, Mr. Swartz. There are aliens among us.”
He told Ian about the ominous words that the policemen had said right before letting him go.
“Shit,” Ian said. “It’s only a matter of time now. I don’t think that we are safe here anymore.”
It was a reality that they would have to deal with. But this wasn’t a time to panic. They needed to be cool-headed and iron fisted. If they were going to be attacked, then they would have to fight back. The police had been flexing their muscle showing what they were capable of.