Alien Nation #3 - Body and Soul, Page 8

  “Yes. A shocking business,” said Tivoli.

  Sikes glanced around to see River’s reaction. His face was immobile. He turned back to Tivoli. “Do you have any idea what Perkins was doing the night he was murdered? Who he was with?”

  “I have very little contact with the security staff,” replied Tivoli. He indicated River. “Hudson might know.”

  But River shook his head slowly. “Perkins was off duty. His time was his own.”

  Weil, River certainly didn’t sound all that choked up, Sikes observed. Guy just learned one of his underlings was killed, and handled it pretty damned well. Could be that Tivoli had already filled River in on what the investigation involved, and River was just being coy on the elevator. Or maybe River just didn’t like humans and really didn’t care about Perkins’s demise.

  Now George stepped in. “Witnesses say the man who killed him was a huge Newcomer. A giant. They say that two other Newcomers and Perkins were chasing him.”

  Tivoli looked at them skeptically. “A giant?”

  Sikes was still not quite willing to move his attention away from River. “Was Perkins ever seen with anyone fitting that description? Did he ever mention anyone?”

  “No,” said River. “I’m sure I’d remember. A conversation involving a Newcomer giant . . . that would stick in my mind, I know.”

  George sensed his partner’s interest in River’s responses. He’d generally learned to trust Matt’s instincts when it came to such things. “The suspect was carrying a Newcomer infant that was left at the scene. Do you have any idea who that child might belong to?”

  River looked a bit bored by the whole thing. “No.”

  “Haven’t the parents come forward?” asked Tivoli with genuine concern. It reminded George of the true humanitarianism that flooded through the veins of this very great individual.

  “Not yet,” said George. “The child is . . . unusual.”

  “How so?”

  “Her head is disproportionately large with no spots. She appears highly intelligent, but she doesn’t move or make any sounds.”

  Tivoli leaned back, giving it some thought. His fingers steepled under his chin. “Has she been examined? Maybe it’s a congenital syndrome.”

  “We’re still waiting for a doctor.”

  Tivoli rose from his chair. He turned his back to them and walked slowly toward one of the large windows that overlooked Los Angeles. He stood there, staring out, his hands clasped behind his back.

  The esteemed doctor appeared to have zoned out for the moment, and Sikes took the opportunity to pursue his questioning of River. Every question had been a dead end, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something there. “You ever have any trouble with Perkins on the job?”

  River shook his head. “He was a model employee.”

  Sikes tried to frame a follow-up question, but nothing came to mind. Neither River nor Tivoli had really given him a useful enough answer on anything to develop a follow-up question. It’s not that they had been hiding anything that he could tell, or had stonewalled him. It’s just that they had not been especially helpful in providing information.

  He pulled his card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to River, “If you think of anything that might help us, give me a call.” He didn’t hold out much hope for it. River didn’t strike him as the kind of guy who would suddenly say, “Wait! How could it have slipped my mind? I completely forgot to tell Sergeant Sikes about Perkins’s ties to organized crime!”

  “Sure,” said River, taking the card.

  Tivoli, meantime, turned back and said slowly, “If the parents aren’t found, we could provide care for the infant here. Our research is focused on genetic defects in both humans and Newcomers. Perhaps we could help her.”

  George smiled gratefully. It was exactly the sort of thing he had expected Tivoli to say. “That’s very kind of you. The baby’s going to be placed temporarily in a foster home. But I’ll tell Social Services of your offer.”

  “However you wish to handle it, Sergeant,” said Tivoli. “After all, you are the professionals.”

  “ ‘You are the professionals.’ Wow,” said Albert. His eyes were wide as, back at the police station, George related the details of his meeting with the esteemed Dr. Tivoli.

  Sikes, for his part, was busy doing his system of filing, which consisted of taking all the papers that he didn’t know what to do with, and shoving them into a desk drawer until he could get around to it.

  “Thoughtful and yet humble,” George intoned. “That’s how the truly great ones are.”

  “Yeah, and right after that, he turned water into wine,” said Sikes.

  George looked at him reprovingly. “Sarcasm wasn’t called for, Matt.”

  “Well, something was,” replied Sikes.

  George picked up a phone message that had been left on his desk. “I think this is for you, Matt. Put on my desk by mistake. Someone named Kris is asking about your date for the Perelli dinner?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Sikes.

  “I assume you’ll be sitting with Susan and me.”

  Sikes looked up and couldn’t quite hide his surprise. “You’re going?”

  “Certainly,” said George.

  “But you’ve never even met the guy!”

  “You’ve spoken most respectfully of him,” said George, reasonably. “Also, his reputation as a police officer precedes him. I think it only proper that every able-bodied ranking officer turn out for his retirement dinner.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Sikes seemed very distracted by the entire notion, and George was about to ask why when Albert interrupted with an amused, “Whoever Sergeant Sikes’s date is, I bet it won’t be the Newcomer he was trying to copulate with last night.”

  George looked at him curiously. “Will you be taking Cathy as your date, Matt?”

  “I didn’t say I was trying to copulate with her last night, George!”

  “There was someone else?” George asked in surprise.

  “For the last time, I—”

  “Slipped on a bar of soap in the shower,” Albert and George intoned together. Albert grinned and moved off to complete his duties for the day.

  “As for Cathy, well . . .” said Sikes, “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “I hope you won’t be holding the difficulties you encountered last night against her.”

  Sikes leaned forward, almost into George’s face. “I’d watch what I’d say if I were you, George. You gotta go home and tell Cathy about your little mercy boff with May. And we’ll just see how your jaw looks in the morning.”

  “You,” said George calmly, “have no faith. None at all.”

  “Oh yes I do, George. I just have faith in different things than you.”

  “I have faith in Susan.”

  “So do I,” replied Sikes. “So what we got here, George, is a crisis of faith. And woe to you, unbeliever, for most surely, you’re gonna be in over your spotted head.”

  C H A P T E R 7

  LIKE A HOMING pigeon, he had returned.

  Through the streets of Little Tencton lurched the giant. Returning to the site where he had lost his precious cargo had been easy. The truck had gone a far piece on the interstate before pulling over to a rest stop. And while the trucker had been inside, the giant had simply climbed down from the freight area and climbed into the cab.

  The cab of the truck had been even smaller than the cab of the vehicle he had previously driven. But he had managed by the simple expedient of ripping out the seat so that he had extra room. It had required that he drive in a semicrouched position, his back up against the interior of the cab. But he had barely even noticed the physical demands put upon his huge frame. Nothing was important to him except recovering the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

  He had ditched the truck by the side of the road a mile before arriving back at Little Tencton. Some deep need for stealth had kicked in, warning him that driving the stolen vehicle an
y longer than necessary meant possibly attracting the notice of the police. Not that being seven feet tall was the easiest thing to hide either. But at least he could hide among alleyways and shadows. You couldn’t hide a truck, no matter how clever you were.

  Now he roamed the night streets, driven by the irresistible, all-consuming need to find what he had lost. He stumbled about aimlessly, lost and alone. He knew better than to try and bang on doors or seek help from other Newcomers. They had already made painfully clear to him that there was no one he could turn to.

  He had not come to Little Tencton with any sort of plan. Instead, he was only motivated by a craving he could not fulfill. And as hours passed, and it became more and more evident to him that he did not have the tools or resources to satisfy that craving, he became seized by black and blinding despair.

  He stumbled down the darkened streets and then, shaken by helpless rage, he lashed out at the first thing that was at hand. In this case it was a steel mesh trash can. He grabbed it up, wielding it high over his head, and then turned and threw it. It sailed through the air and crashed into a parked car, cracking the windshield and scratching up the paint job on the hood.

  It also set off the car alarm. The car began to scream, a high-pitched, annoying shriek. The sound assaulted the giant, and he staggered momentarily under it.

  Everything had turned against him. Humans. Tenctonese. And now even inanimate objects like cars were tormenting him. It was too much for him to take. With an infuriated bellow, he grabbed the underside of the vehicle.

  It was a small car, which didn’t do anything to diminish the strength involved for what happened next. The giant grunted, roared, and then pulled his full strength into it. The car tilted slightly, and then faster. The axles squealed, and the giant flipped the car over. It landed, like an inconvenienced turtle, on its roof, amidst a grinding of metal. Its wheels were facing upright and were spinning slightly from the impact.

  The alarm continued unabated. If anything, it had even more to howl about now than a mere broken windshield.

  A block away, Hudson River and Bic Penn—no longer in their security guard uniforms—turned away from the side street they were about to go down. They had heard two things, the shrieking of the car alarm combined with the unmistakable bellowing of the giant. The alarm seemed to be echoing everywhere, but the scream of the giant had pinpointed it.

  “Over there!” shouted River, and he dashed in the direction he’d pointed. Penn was hot on his heels.

  They arrived in time to find a Newcomer bum poking tentatively at the overturned car. He was examining the destruction with the fascination of a child discovering a dead animal. Penn and River looked around desperately. They knew that only the giant would have been capable of such a feat of strength and anger. But their target was nowhere in sight.

  River pointed and said, “Let’s try down there.”

  They took off at a fast run down the side street. River knew it was a long shot. The giant might already be a mile or so from the scene.

  They did not notice the alleyway that they ran past. An alleyway that was filled with garbage and debris . . .

  And in the darkness of the succoring shadows, the giant sat. His long legs were curled up against his chest, his massive arms holding them close. He stared up at the night sky . . .

  And sobbed piteously.

  C H A P T E R 8

  GEORGE FRANCISCO ALWAYS looked forward to the family interaction that occurred around the dining room table. After a typical workday of dealing with—as Sikes so generously called them—the scum of the earth, George needed these nightly groundings back in the simple virtues of family.

  Yes, that was all they were. A nice, simple, typical family.

  George emerged from the kitchen into the dining room, a plate of raw meat carefully balanced on one hand, silverware clutched in the other. He called over his shoulder to his son, “Buck? There’s a jar of thymus sauce in the fridge. Would you bring it? Oh, and a spoon for the roundworms,” he added as an afterthought.

  He glanced around. “Where’s your mother? And Emily?”

  Upstairs in the bedroom, Susan checked her appearance in the mirror one more time.

  All that discussion about the loyalty of husbands had gotten Susan somewhat edgy. She knew, beyond any question, that she had every reason to trust George and no reason not to. Still, the problem that women had with their husbands straying was certainly not something that Jessica had fabricated. Before she’d gotten a job, Susan had seen many daytime television programs—talk shows, soap operas—and spouses sleeping with people other than their mates appeared to be a preoccupation.

  She wondered if there wasn’t something that she should be doing to make sure that George didn’t get—what was the word?—a roving eye.

  Originally she had put on a totally comfortable sweatshirt and jeans. But now she had changed to one of her shorter skirts and a loose green blouse that she knew George liked in particular. It wasn’t exactly a come-hither outfit, which wouldn’t have been appropriate during a family dinner. But it was enough to draw some appreciative looks from her husband, that was certain. And later on the evening, well . . . who knew?

  She smiled into the mirror and then walked out of the bedroom and down the hallway.

  She heard George’s voice floating up the stairs. “Susan, are you up there? And Emily?”

  “Coming down, George!” she called back, and paused at the door to Emily’s room. She rapped authoritatively. “Emily. Dinner.”

  Instead of the door to Emily’s room opening, the bathroom door opened instead. Emily emerged with a towel wrapped around her, having just stepped out of the shower. “Two minutes, mother. I’ll be down in two minutes.”

  Emily seemed to be walking a little oddly, as if reluctant for her mother to see her back. Susan frowned and said, “Are you all right? Have you injured yourself?”

  “I’m fine. Really.” She sidled past her mother, and then Susan saw them. The startled gasp from her tipped Emily to the fact that her secret was out, and she turned to face her mother.

  “I know, I know.”

  Susan’s hands went to her mouth. “My little girl!” She spread her arms out. “Come here. Let me—”

  “Aw, mother,” pleaded Emily, stepping back. “Let’s not make a big deal about this, okay? Pleeeease?” She entered her bedroom and closed the door firmly, leaving Susan feeling flushed with mixed emotions—a little sad, a little joyful, and a little old.

  George looked up as Susan trotted down the stairs into the living room. He noticed immediately that she looked very alluring this evening, and was about to say so when he was distracted by the expression on her face. Usually he could read whatever mood she was in, but this time he was getting very conflicting messages.

  She did not leave him in confusion for long.

  “You’re not going to believe this. I just saw Emily getting out of the shower . . .”

  “I don’t find that difficult to believe at all. Emily is a very clean child,” said George.

  She gestured impatiently because George wasn’t understanding immediately. “Her potniki spots are coming in.”

  “No!”

  The potniki spots were something very crucial for every Tenctonese woman. Matt Sikes had discovered that the previous night. His close encounter with Cathy’s potniki had ended up with his getting a stiff neck and blackened jaw.

  Susan indicated the small of her back. “She has a beautiful little swirl right here.”

  She sat as George finished putting out the silverware. He had totally forgotten to compliment Susan on how good she looked. By this point he was caught up completely in this startling new development. “What color? The same as her head?”

  Buck walked in. He was cradling his baby sister, Vessna, in one arm. Vessna, her firm little grip already well-developed, had her tiny fingers wrapped securely around the spoon for the roundworms. Buck was carrying a jar of thymus sauce in his free hand, and he set it down on
the table. He worked on pulling the spoon from Vessna’s grip, and was amused when the infant wouldn’t give it up immediately.

  In answer to George’s question, Susan said, “No. More auburn.”

  George sat opposite her and said wistfully, “Just like my mother.”

  Emily trotted in, her body still damp from the shower and her clothes sticking to her. George looked up at her and said proudly, “Our little girl is becoming a woman.”

  Emily moaned loudly and shot a furious glance at her mother. Susan shrugged and smiled.

  Buck, having placed Yessna in her bassinet, glanced around. “What do you mean, Dad?”

  He pointed at Emily. “Her potniki are coming in.”

  The young Tenctonese girl stomped her foot in irritation. It was so aggravating. Here she was, genuinely annoyed, and her parents found her annoyance . . . cute.

  “It seems like only yesterday you got your droonal flanges,” Susan said in a melancholy voice.

  Emily sat down with enough force to rattle the silverware. “Could we please talk about something else?”

  Her mother reached over and rested a hand atop hers. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  Not to put too fine a point on it, Emily repeated, “Puh-leeze.”

  George took some food, scooping it onto his plate, and decided to take his daughter up on her pleas. Besides, there was certainly something of interest to everyone to be discussed. “All right,” he said agreeably. “I have some wonderful news.”

  Emily looked heavenward and breathed a silent Thank you for her father’s decision to change the subject.

  “Albert and May,” continued George, “want to have a baby.”

  “Oh, that is good news!” said Susan cheerfully. “Are they going to adopt?”

  “No,” said George. He remembered Matt’s warnings, but ignored them. After all, who knew Susan Francisco better? The unmarried, divorced, and bruised Matt Sikes? Or Susan’s own husband? “They’ve asked me to father the child.”