Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  “What do you mean?”

  Acevedo stared through the windshield, his calm facade finally cracking. Shaking his head, he said, “Forget it.”

  “No, I want to know.”

  He turned to her, eyes welling up, jaw clenched, “Well, I don’t feel like sharing. Let’s just say your father damned us both. And now we’re the only ones standing between these aliens and the end of all that we know. So pardon me if I don’t get worked up over the loss of some spoiled rich asshole and his bodyguard. It’s a small price to keep the world breathing.”

  Marina stared out the window, lost for words.

  This is a man of God?

  They arrived at Salty’s just before dinnertime, and parked outside.

  “So, what are we going to do? Go in and ask for Beef?” Marina’s first words in a while felt odd on her tongue.

  She tried not to laugh at the absurdity her life had become in the last three weeks. She was about to enter some seedy pool hall with a killer priest in search of a “chemist” named Beef so they could find a vial of alien life.

  Her personal world had become a surreal parody of what people already believed about her church.

  “Pretty much,” Acevedo said as he killed the engine and loaded his gun.

  “Aren’t you worried about police or anything? They’re going to trace those bodies to you, right? Hell, there could’ve been hidden cameras, filming the whole thing!”

  This fresh fear terrified Marina; she would be on camera as an accomplice to two executions.

  “Oh, my God, they’ll see me on the video!”

  “Maybe, but I’m sure your fancy lawyer guy can get you out of trouble. He could say I kidnapped you or something. But if we don’t tend to these vials, cops will be the least of our worries. Understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Good, let’s go.” Acevedo got out of the car.

  Marina followed.

  Salty’s Pool Hall was the sort of place where hope went to die. Its best days looked they had been back before the bar had last changed its decor, or its jukebox selection, judging by the hair metal assault on their ears.

  Despite the early hour, people packed the pool hall and filled it with the scent of desperation: people looking to forget, score drugs, or get laid, or perhaps all three.

  Acevedo led Marina to the bar. The bartender, a stout guy in his thirties with a friendly, chubby face said, “Hey, what can I get for ya?”

  Acevedo slipped a fifty dollar bill onto the bar and slid it toward the bartender.

  “Looking for a guy named Beef.”

  The bartender looked down at the cash, then back at Acevedo and Marina, as if trying to figure out if they were police.

  The bartender shook his head. “Don’t know anyone by that name.”

  “Listen,” Acevedo smiled, “we both know that you know who I’m talking about. I just need a word with him. Nothing that’ll get you in trouble.”

  The bartender returned his eyes to the money, then shook his head again.

  Acevedo reached into his wallet, peeled off another fifty from a thick stack of bills, and laid it on the counter.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “My name is John White, private investigator. Seems Beef has come into some money from a dead relative. I’ve been asked to find him.”

  The bartender looked down at the money again, clearly tempted. But then shook his head. “Sorry, can’t help you.”

  Acevedo kept his eyes on the bartender for another long moment, then gave him what looked like an unfortunate nod. He took his money, then approached the jukebox, yanked the cord from the wall, and murdered the music.

  The entire room turned toward Acevedo, angry brows and white knuckles wrapped around pool sticks.

  “Good, now that I have your attention. My name is John White, and I’m a private detective hired to find someone you all know as Beef. Seems our friend has come into some money from a dead relative. I’d like to find him so I can collect my cut. Whoever helps me first will get a share of my spoils. I’ll give you two grand right now, hard cash.”

  Marina stared at the people in the bar, watching as they considered Acevedo’s offer. Hushed whispers rolled through the room. She couldn’t believe that he’d turned a hostile crowd receptive, and wondered if anyone would step forward.

  Marina supposed it depended on whether Beef was a low-level dealer or someone with power. If he were powerful, she didn’t think two thousand dollars would be enough to buy a rat, unless he was a competitor.

  “Anyone?” Acevedo asked.

  Marina’s heart pounded as she waited for someone to step forward, but the crowd remained silent.

  Acevedo sighed. “Anyone?” he repeated to the still-silent bar.

  Still no response.

  Acevedo returned the money to his wallet and headed out of the bar. “All right, your loss.”

  Marina quickly followed.

  Outside in the sunshine, she said, “Wow, you’re terrible at this, huh?”

  He winked at her, a sly smile creasing the priest’s lips.

  “What are you up to?”

  “Notice anything while we were inside?”

  “Like what?”

  “The windows are all painted red on the inside, so you can’t see the parking lot.”

  “OK, and your point?”

  “Just wait.”

  Acevedo walked to his car, leaned against the driver’s side, pulled a yoyo from his jeans pocket, and started walking the dog.

  “A yo-yo?” Marina could barely hide her smile.

  “I stopped smoking twenty years ago and needed something to do with my hands.”

  She burst out laughing, unable to hold it in.

  “What?”

  “Sorry,” she said, “it’s just one minute you’re doom, gloom, and murder. Now you’re playing with a child’s toy.”

  “I’ll have you know that yo-yos aren’t just for children.” Acevedo allowed himself to smile.

  “Yeah? I suppose you’re going to tell me you can do more than walk the dog?”

  “As a matter of fact, I can. Want to see?”

  She shook her head. “No, that’s OK. I’m not seven.”

  “Hey, it’s better than smoking. I’m sure you must have a vice or two. Lemme guess …” Acevedo looked her up and down. “You don’t strike me as someone into marijuana. A bit too high strung.”

  “Me high strung?” Marina laughed. “Oh my God! A few weeks ago, you had your lips sewn shut! And you’re calling me high strung?”

  Acevedo shook his head. “That had nothing to do with my being high strung.”

  “Then what was it?”

  Before Acevedo could answer his eyes grabbed something behind Marina.

  She turned and saw a tall and skinny man the shade of flour with a giant head of dark, curly hair leave the bar. He was wearing jeans and a black tee with a skull smoking a blunt on the front, clearly nervous as he headed toward a beat-up green pickup truck. He nodded at them and got inside.

  Acevedo said, “He wants us to follow him.”

  “How do you know that?” Marina asked as they got into the Mustang.

  “Because the windows are blacked out. I figured someone would come for the payday if we waited, but they didn’t want anyone seeing them.”

  The Mustang chased the truck from the lot.

  Marina tapped her foot on the carpet, trying not to feel as high strung as she was.

  A block away, the truck pulled into a gas station and up to a pump. The guy got out and started filling his pickup with gas.

  Acevedo pulled up to the opposite pump, then got out and mirrored the lanky man from the other side.

  Marina stayed in the car, though Acevedo had rolled his window down so she could hear the two of them talk.

  “You wanna know where Beef is?” the guy asked.

  “Yes,” Acevedo said.

  “Who you is?”

  “I said, I’m a private investigator, and … �
�

  “Bullshit, you ain’t no P.I. Now tell me who the fuck you is.”

  Marina couldn’t see the man’s face, but his voice sounded vaguely threatening.

  “I’m a priest,” Acevedo said.

  The guy started laughing. “No, for reals.”

  “For reals,” Acevedo said.

  “What you want with Beef?”

  “He has something of mine. I’d like it back.”

  “Like what? Some religious artifact or somethin’ ?”

  “Something like that,” Acevedo said. “So, do you want the money or not?”

  “Hell yeah. I just wanna make sure you keep me out of shit.”

  “I don’t even know your name,” Acevedo said. “But I will need you to take me to his place. You drive, and I’ll follow.”

  “I dunno, man, he might have people watchin’ and shit.”

  “Well, I’m not trading two thousand dollars for your word.”

  “Fair enough,” the man said. “I’ll lead you to his block.”

  “OK,” Acevedo said. “You’ll get half now and the other half when I come back.”

  “I dunno, man. He might not let you leave.”

  “Then my associate here will give make sure you get your money.”

  The guy looked down in the window and waved at Marina. He looked mid-thirties, and clueless, though not enough to ignore a probable payday.

  They filled their tanks, and Acevedo passed the guy a handful of cash. “Now take me to Beef.”

  Thirty

  Edward Keenan

  Ed watched as the red Mustang pulled up beside the green pickup, parked on a quiet cul de sac of middle-class homes built in the eighties.

  Luther had parked the van about ninety yards behind them, in the swale of a house with a foreclosure sign in the front yard.

  Ed pulled out the long-range microphone and aimed it at the pair of vehicles.

  “OK, Beef is in the beige house, right?” the priest said.

  “Yep, that’s where he’s stayin’.”

  “Thanks. You’ll get the rest of the money when I come out.”

  “No, man, I get the rest of the money now, or I’ll blow the horn and get everyone’s attention.”

  “That wasn’t the deal,” the priest said.

  “Fuck the deal. It’s a new deal now. I ain’t waitin’ to see if you come outta there alive.”

  “Fine,” the priest said. “But if he’s not in there, I’m going to hunt you down.”

  Acevedo handed cash to the man in the green truck, then the man left, leaving the priest and Marina alone in the car.

  “So,” Marina said, “what now?”

  “You wait here. I’m going in. If I’m not out in ten minutes, you take the vials and go to the most remote place you can find.”

  “Then what?”

  The priest was quiet for a long moment.

  Ed wondered if he’d missed his response.

  “Pray,” he finally said, then got out of the Mustang and headed toward the house at the end of the block.

  “Ten minutes,” Luther said. “Now’s our chance to get the vials.”

  Ed nodded. “OK, let’s do this real quiet, eh? I’m going to approach the car. You get the van ready to stop her if she makes a run for it. Hopefully, it won’t come to that. Last thing we want to do is alert the block.”

  “And what do we do about this Beef guy and the priest?”

  “Once we secure the vials, I’ll wait in the car with her. The tint on those windows is pretty damn dark, so he shouldn’t expect me. But I want you to train the rifle on him just in case he makes us. Take him out if he tries to run.”

  “Affirmative,” Luther said.

  Ed popped out of the vehicle, Glock behind his back, and strolled up the sidewalk toward the Mustang.

  He’d been following these two for long enough. They’d nearly gotten themselves killed back at the rich kid’s house. Ed had called Black Island to run interference with the local police, calling in favors to squash the investigation before it could start.

  Right now nothing in the world was more important than securing the vials.

  Thirty-One

  Thomas Acevedo

  Acevedo approached the house, turning back to make certain Marina was still waiting. He hoped she’d listen to his advice and take off if things went south, but the car was still there.

  It was odd how little terror the moment had left him.

  Acevedo had locked himself in the monastery for the last two years, living in fear of what was coming, and what the vials might make him do.

  Something clicked inside him when Marina appeared. At first, he was frightened, dreading that the day had finally come. But then, just like that, the fear disappeared. Perhaps it was because he knew that action was his only option. Doing nothing would mean the end of everything. It was easier to be brave with nothing to lose.

  That’s what Acevedo kept telling himself, standing on Beef's porch, his heart a piston as he waited for someone to open the door.

  He had the gun in his right hand, but it wasn’t his only weapon. He’d taken one of the vials back when Marina was distracted. Just in case.

  The alien form in the vial began whispering in his head as it had before he’d locked it under his home’s floor two years ago.

  “Open me. You won’t survive unless you open and drink me.”

  Acevedo ignored the whispers. He couldn’t lose himself to desire. Not now.

  “Well then why did you bring me? If you’re not going to use me?”

  I don’t know.

  “Yes, you do.”

  Get out of my head!

  More than the temptation, Acevedo hated the alien peeking inside him, peering into his thoughts enough to pull his strings. It had to be worse than drug addiction. His brother, Samuel, died of a heroin overdose in 1979. During one of their many fights over his use, Samuel begged Tommy not to judge him as a sinner, but to try and understand how addiction worked. Heroin wasn’t evil. Right and wrong meant nothing when something was always in your head, ever present to claim your attention.

  “No, Sammy, you’re just making a weak man’s excuses. You choose to live this lifestyle, to consume these evil drugs. I don’t want to hear your damned excuses anymore. I can’t stand them. Get clean and stay clean or steer clear of our family.”

  Those had been Acevedo’s final words to his brother. The next morning, he got a call from a cop friend. Sammy’s body had been found in an alley, dead of an overdose, heroin kit beside him.

  Acevedo had never understood his brother's temptation until the alien seeped inside his thoughts.

  Considering what the alien had already made him do, Acevedo had no right to judge anyone, ever again. That’s why he’d buried the damned thing.

  The front door opened and yanked the priest from his thoughts. He saw a dark apartment with black sheets draping the windows to banish the sun. A large, muscular-looking Hispanic man appeared behind the door. An intimidating scar scraped his left cheek above a mile-long black beard. His large hand rested on a gun holstered in his belt.

  “Who are you?” he asked in a thick accent.

  Acevedo was quick, his gun in the man’s face before he had a chance to draw his weapon.

  “Where’s Beef?”

  “It’s OK,” a man said behind him, stepping into the doorway’s light and wearing a smile. “I’ve been expecting him.”

  The man was fat, at least 350 pounds, pale as a ghost, with shaggy, dark-red hair draping his eyes. He was wearing a giant black tee and matching track pants. This had to be Beef.

  “You Beef?” Acevedo asked.

  “Well, my given name was Eugene, but that doesn’t exactly command fear or respect from customers or coworkers, ya know what I’m sayin’? And you are … the priest?”

  Acevedo wanted to ask how he knew his identity, or that he had been on his way, but then felt the answer as a splinter in his mind.

  Because the vials told him.r />
  “Then you know why I’m here?” Acevedo stood in the doorway, his gun still trained on the first man.

  “Yes, please come inside, I’ll show you where the vial is.”

  “First, he gives me his gun.”

  The large man surrendered his gun without so much as a grunt, to Acevedo’s surprise.

  “Here, Padre,” the man said, staring into Acevedo’s eyes.

  This was almost too easy.

  “Anyone else in here?” Acevedo asked.

  “No, Father, just us two.” Beef waved Acevedo inside. “Hey, Hector, take a seat on the couch, this won’t be long.”

  Hector did as instructed, again without a whiff of complaint. Acevedo had never seen a tough guy so willingly agree to surrender control to a stranger, gun in his face or not. There was something else happening here, but Acevedo had yet to figure it out.

  The alien in his vial was also strangely quiet.

  Acevedo followed Beef through the dark house, noticing its immaculate condition. He wondered why they were here. Were they hiding out from the rich kid, or was there something else going on?

  Beef led him into a bedroom in the home’s rear.

  The bedroom was lit in a soft red glow, and sex music played on a stereo. The California King was lumpy. Something lay beneath the thick, white down comforter, writhing as if anticipating the big man’s return.

  Acevedo felt an uncomfortable chill and wanted to get the hell out of the house before things got any weirder.

  “Just one sec, lemme see where I left it.” Beef leaned over, shuffling through the nightstand.

  Acevedo watched the bed, trying to figure out how many women were under the comforter. It seemed like two, at least. He wondered how many drugs Beef needed to get them in bed. Or did guys like Beef, who presumably had money, drugs, and some amount of power, make getting women — even multiple women — easy?

  “Hmm, doesn’t seem to be here,” Beef said, his back still to Acevedo, looking down into the open nightstand drawer.

  The comforter started to rise as someone beneath it sat up.