Hawaiian U.F.O. Aliens

by Mel Gilden

  Edgar Allan began to walk again, but before I moved, I said, 'What was that?'

  'One of the changed horses.'

  I made an interrogative noise. Maybe I was just clearing my throat.

  'Medium Rare will tell you about, it, if you like.' Edgar Allan said.

  I walked down the black velvet runner, listening to Whipper Will's breath rasp in quick gasps, knowing mine sounded the same. I wondered if Medium Rare always welcomed her guests with the same little wildwest show. Just because she somehow had seen a corner of T'toom didn't mean I could not trust everything she did or said. It might mean I could not trust her at all.

  We came to the wall through which the horse had first jumped, and Edgar Allan slid it open as he had the wall downstairs. He stood aside and bowed. I thought of a fat white bot who made similar gestures. I led the way into an octagonal room hung with more velvet. In the centre of the room was a white octagonal table. On either side of the table was an octagonal stool. The table and the stools glowed with their own milky light. On top of the table was a glass ball on a golden tripod. The glass ball also glowed, but with smoky shadows that almost became things and then decided against it. I had never been in that room, but it was familiar.

  I looked back. The door was closed and gone as if it had never been. I chuckled, just to keep up my courage. Whipper Will looked as if he needed a chuckle himself. Bill said, 'I thought there would be more horses in here.'

  I was going to suggest Bill shut up when all the light in the room went away. Two gasps. I fumbled for Whipper Will in the absolute blackness and tripped over Bill. When the light came back on. I was on the floor blinking up at Medium Rare, who was sitting on the octagonal stool across the table from us. Her wrists were resting on the table. The milky light made her face look like a single nugget of gold. She might have been sitting there since the trees outside were saplings.

  'Amthor,' I said.

  Medium Rare said, 'Is that a greeting where you come from?' It was as if stone were speaking.

  Will said, 'Amthor is the phony mentalist in Farewell, My Lovely. He had a place just like this. I knew it looked familiar.'

  Medium Rare frowned. 'Mentalist? Phony mentalist?' I stood up, feeling better, and said, 'You shouldn't have let Gone-out Backson help you design this place. He's too much of a Chandler fan.'

  'You know Gone-out?' Medium Rare said with surprise. 'We've met. He's a big fan of yours as well as Chandler's.' Medium Rare nodded, a statue nodding. 'He suggested I read this Chandler. It appears I should have done as he suggested for my own protection.'

  'We all need protection from guys like Gone-out.' I glanced at Will and guessed what he was thinking. I said, 'Speaking of needing protection, we ran into some of your stock.'

  'What stock is that?'

  'Edgar Allan called it one of the changed horses.' Medium Rare laughed too loudly for that small room. The velvet drapes absorbed some of it, but the raucous sound banged around like a tractor in a toll booth. She laughed alone, and so did not keep it up for long. Still smiling, she said, 'This place is called Changehorses because this is where the stagecoach line used to change their tired horses for fresh ones. It was also the land that was sacred to the local Indians, so there was a disagreement. When the owners of the stagecoach line would not see reason, the Indians felt it necessary to curse the land. After that, the horses that came through here still changed.'

  She paused long enough for me to assume she had finished the story. I was about to say something clever and ignorant when she said, 'But now, they changed into frogs.'

  I guess the three of us looked stupid because she said, 'The horses changed into frogs. Not all horses. Not all the time. But just enough. The Indians were subtle. The apparition you saw is the spirit of a horse that lived out its life as a frog.'

  Will tried not to laugh, but the laughter burst out of him. Medium Rare was not pleased by it, but she waited for him to stop before she said, 'This story is of more than passing interest to me. It is the reason I came here. This is still sacred land. One can do things here, spiritual things, that one can do at few other places.'

  'Things with blowfish spine necklaces?' I said.

  'Perhaps. Please sit.'

  'There doesn't seem to be room for all of us.'

  'It wasn't meant that there should be. Gone-out got that right, anyway. I will consult with only one of you.'

  'You're the detective,' Whipper Will said.

  'That's what I keep telling people.' I sat across the table from Medium Rare. She didn't do anything, but the door behind me opened, showing the length of hallway and Edgar Allan waiting motionless in the centre of it.

  Whipper Will said, 'If anybody wants us, we'll be downstairs watching the car go by.'

  'Hey, Boss,' Bill cried.

  'Go with Whipper Will. That's an order.'

  Bill followed Whipper Will out, and the door closed on a room that looked like one where bad things had once happened to a guy named Marlowe.

  Chapter 21

  I Ain't Got No Body

  MEDIUM Rare said, 'Suppose I were to tell you I am interested in blowfish spine necklaces only as a collector?'

  'I guess I'd ask to see your collection.'

  'I am not required to show it to you.'

  'Look,' I said, 'We can play Ask Me Another all day long, but you didn't invite me up here for that, and I didn't drive all this way for that.'

  'Why did you drive all this way?'

  'Because every time I turn around, somebody connected with you is showing an unhealthy interest in blowfish spines. First it was a very delicate and tentative kind of guy in a dive bar in Malibu. He had one of your flyers and said he worked for you. Then it was a clerk at a souvenir distributor. He actually went so far as to knock me cold for my spine necklace, even though a shipment of hundreds of similar necklaces would be coming in soon.'

  'What has this second gentleman to do with me?'

  'He was wearing a honk.'

  'I see. I suppose it would do me no good to tell you that many people wear honks, and that some of them have nothing at all to do with me.'

  'No good at all. It seems to me that somebody who was collecting blowfish spine necklaces would be collecting real ones, not fakes, no matter how good the fakes were. It seems to me that somebody so interested in blowfish spine necklaces is probably interested in one particular one that looks a lot like all the others, but is different enough that she would know it when she saw it. Do I interest you at all?'

  'Slightly. How do you become involved in this?'

  I leaned on the table, and the smoke in the glass ball seemed to gather on my side like a school of fish hoping for food. I said, 'I figure if I find the necklace for you, I'll have a little peace. That, plus a hundred a day and expenses.'

  'You are not very convincing as a detective.'

  'You don't read enough Chandler.' I smiled and said, 'Besides. I found you.'

  Medium Rare nodded, and studied the smoke swirling inside her globe. To me it was just smoke. She concentrated as if she were reading the morning paper. The room contained no noise but the sound of my own breath, and no smell but the light machine oil inside Medium Rare. Time did not exist. I could have been waiting for minutes or hours.

  At last Medium Rare said, 'Very well. I will pay you a retainer of two hundred dollars. You can pick it up at the emporium down the hill.'

  I nodded, and said, 'I told you my interest in blowfish spine necklaces. What's yours?' I assumed she would tell me the same kind of quarter-truth I'd told her. Still, her story would be entertaining.

  'I'll show,' she said, and began to make rubbing motions over her glass ball without actually touching it. Music came from somewhere, the same three note figure over and over again; it was not as interesting as what the surfers generally listened to, not as interesting as trucks changing gears.

  Medium Rare said, 'The music will lull you to sleep. Please do not fight it.'

  The music was boring, but sleep s
eemed miles and centuries away. There was a hiss that was not part of the music. The smell of an orchard full of oranges came to me. I did not quite feel my nose hitting the table.

  And then suddenly, I wasn't asleep any more, I was wide awake, and very tall. Then I saw I wasn't tall, but floating like a kid's balloon near the ceiling of Medium Rare's consultation chamber. Very far away, very thin bells tinkled in a breeze from another world.

  Below me, Medium Rare sat motionless across the table from somebody who looked a lot like me, except his head was resting on his nose, which looked a little crushed and wrinkled. I wanted to each down and make him comfortable, but I was having a little trouble with my own body just then, having no more control than a baby who'd just discovered his fingers. The more I looked at this guy, the more I was convinced it was me, I was in two places at once. Of course, Malibu and Hermosa Beach are in two places at once, and nobody thinks anything of it.

  'Do not be afraid,' Medium Rare said. Her voice didn't come from the body on the stool, but from a point near me, near the ceiling. It sounded tinny, as if it were broadcast from a great distance through an old lo-fi radio. I would find that all voices sounded that way here. I managed to turn my head, and saw another Medium Rare. This one was floating next to a woman I'd never seen before. They were transparent, no more than smoky suggestions of being. I wasn't all there myself.

  The new woman was chunky and wore practical shoes just right for hiking. Her matching coat and skirt could have been a uniform. A ruffle of white no bigger than a hand hid the top button other blouse. Hanging around her neck below the ruffle was a string of pearls that, at the moment, she was twisting around the fingers of one hand. Her tongue searched her lips, which moved in and out as if she were constantly about to say something but hadn't yet chosen her word. Her eyes moved quickly, looking at nothing and everything, as if she were a little bewildered.

  'This is Rupee Begonia,' Medium Rare said.

  'Charmed, I'm sure,' Rupee Begonia said in a voice that was none too sure of itself. She never stopped playing with the necklace.

  'Rupee Begonia is my spirit guide. She will take us to Pele and Lono.'

  I had enough control over my new body now that I didn't stiffen or jump when Medium Rare mentioned Pele. But Pele's name made me more interested in whatever was going on.

  'Take my hand,' Rupee Begonia said. We rose through the ceiling of the room, through dusty attics full of ancient trunks and clothing, through wooden beams, through rats' nets, through termite colonies, through genuine lath and plaster, and at last hovered over Medium Rare's house. Her roof needed fixing.

  We lingered there for a moment. Except for the tinkling of the tiny bells, all was quiet. I could see the Belvedere and the side road and a few lights below that must have been Changehorses. I couldn't see Bill or Whipper Will, but they may have been under the roof of the veranda or under the trees.

  Then, without effort. Rupee Begonia was pulling us through the air. There was no cold, no wind, though we flew fast enough to smudge details on the ground as we rushed over them. Soon we were nowhere near Los Angeles, not on any map at all.

  We were flying over patterns of torch fire, then hundreds of camp fires, then a smooth blue ocean whose ripples glowed with light coming from the penguins who played in the water. We were not interested in any of these things. The ocean became smoother yet, smooth enough to reflect the three of us. The universe was a funhouse full of mirrors. I caught glimpses of myself pinched in two, with legs like a couple of Vienna sausages, with no nose at all. Not soon enough, the mirrors were obscured by scarfs of colour that swirled around us. But we were not interested. Beyond the scarfs, an array of black holes stood before us like a wall that extended to infinity in all directions. Rupee Begonia drew us down into one of them, and suddenly we were not moving at all, but hanging near the ceiling of a room.

  It was a nice room, if a little old-fashioned. I'd seen ones like it in old Westerns. The wallpaper was green, flocked in a sedate floral pattern. Brass lamps hung from the wall, and enormous ceiling fans turned above round tables where people in evening clothes sat drinking, talking and doing magic at each other. Out through the window, I could see the lights of a great city. Nothing told me which city it was, which time zone it was, which planet it was.

  Two Polynesians were sitting alone to one side of the room, drinking from coconut shells. The man wore a black tuxedo. The woman wore a white gown that started at the top of her boobs, then swept to the floor like a theatrical curtain. Her creamy bronze skin made the white gown seem to be made of neon, and the white of the gown made her smooth, dry skin seem mysterious and in need of touching. She was a blonde, a blonde Polynesian. Scarcer than hen's teeth, Busy Backson had said.

  I had no doubt that they were the ones who had stolen the Pantages truck from Harry's loading dock. A similar pair had been seen on the beach near the top hat. Another pair had taken a taxi to Kilroy's. I tried hard to believe that there were three pairs of crazy Polynesians in the Los Angeles area, each pair containing one blonde woman. I tried, and failed. It was easier to believe that there was only one pair of crazy Polynesians around.

  I had an idea. At the moment it was a small, weak thing, barely able to crawl, let alone stand. But it was an idea worth having.

  'There they are,' said Rupee Begonia with relief.

  'Can they hear us?' I said.

  'If you want them to.'

  'Not just yet. Where are we?'

  Medium Rare looked at Rupee Begonia, who swallowed and blinked a few times. Her hand was back at her necklace. She said, 'Well, you know, there seems to be some question about that.' She explored a cheek with one finger. She was as cute as a paper flower. 'I can find my way here through the spirit plane, but I really have no idea where we are in the mortal plane.'

  'Our mundane location is of no consequence,' Medium Rare said. 'You asked me what my interest in blowfish spine necklaces was. Here it is. I am looking for them on behalf of these spirits.'

  I have never been good at reading the faces of bots, not even ones as sophisticated as Medium Rare. Was she lying? Was it possible for her to lie? Asking seemed pointless. I didn't know why she might want that special spine necklace herself.

  'Introduce me,' I said.

  Medium Rare closed her eyes for a moment and spoke as if she were addressing a group; her voice was not really different in volume or even tone, but in a thing I can describe only as focus. She said, 'Good evening, Pele and Lono.'

  The two Polynesians looked up at us. A few of the other people in the room looked up too, saw nothing, and decided not to get involved. Pele and Lono smiled, using all their big, square teeth. Pele said, 'Have you found it?' Her voice bent the English a little, but the result had a lot of charm.

  'No. But I brought someone who claims he can.'

  I waved. Pele and Lono looked in my direction, but a little high and to the right. I wondered what they were seeing. I said, 'I'm Zoot Marlowe. I'm a detective.' They heard me. Focus is everything.

  'You will find our spine for us?' Lono said. It was a voice deep as one of Pele's portable holes.

  I said, 'I'd be kidding both of us if I promised something like that. But it would be helpful to know why this blowfish spine necklace is different from all other blowfish spine necklaces.'

  Lono glanced at Pele before he said, 'It floats.'

  'It is a spirit necklace,' Medium Rare said.

  Pele said, 'We won't go home without it.'

  My idea was a little stronger now, kind of wobbling around on its own. Focusing like mad, I said, 'Won't or can't?'

  Pele got a little hot then. Colour rose in her cheeks, and her hair actually seemed to take on a reddish glow. Calmly, Lono said, 'A detective who can ask questions like that can think up his own answers.' His eyes bored into me, wanting me to understand. Maybe he was being vague because he didn't want Medium Rare and Rupee Begonia to know any more than they had to. Maybe he just enjoyed playing games. He wasn't vague enough
for me.

  'I believe I can,' I said. My idea had hair on its chest now. It could bellow from the tops of mountains.

  'You are very good at understanding the knowledge of the spirits,' Medium Rare said. 'I would not have expected it.'

  I focused on Medium Rare and said, 'I can also pick my nose with either hand.'

  'Your patter is offensive.'

  'Absolutely,' I focused on Pele and Lono and said, 'I have a little problem of my own that you might be able to help me with.'

  Grimly, Medium Rare said, 'You are not here to make deals with them. Only to gather information.'

  I said, 'What difference does it make as long as I help them?'

  She bit her lip in a spot where there was already a tooth mark.

  'What is your problem to us?' Pele said.

  'I thought we might work a trade. If I find the spine necklace you want, maybe you can see your way clear to curing my friend of being a magician.'

  That surprised them. Lono leaned across the table to whisper into Pele's ear. She didn't like what she heard. To me, she said, 'We are sorry about your friend. The barrier works automatically. Still, your idea of a trade is a good one. You find the proper necklace, and we will speak further. Until then, whoever has the necklace will have bad luck.'

  'Fair enough,' I said. 'Where are you two at the moment?'

  Medium Rare moaned. Suddenly, as if we were at the end of a stretched rubber band, we were snapped through a confusion of lights and sounds into the place with the coloured scarfs. Medium Rare, Rupee Begonia, and I hung at the edge of a green rift as the scarfs crawled like high clouds from nowhere to nowhere. I was a little dizzy.

  'What happened?' I said.

  'I don't quite know—' Rupee Begonia began, Medium Rare said, 'The interview was at an end. I severed the connection.'

  'Mighty thoughtful, but the detective normally does that. It's all part of the service. The detective or the client. Or are you the client?'