A Killer's Secret

by Stanley Gray

  Alan sat back. His mouth moved from a grin to a frown, then settled somewhere in between a grimace and a scowl. Longing pulsed inside of him, and he felt heat rising to his cheeks. The delicate fragrance of her perfume assaulted his nostrils with the cloying presence of her femininity. It felt hard to focus; he had an erection stronger than a papal bull. He tried diverting his attention from her soft, thin lips. He raised his glass to his lips to try and sip alcohol. The grunted when he discovered it was empty.

  “Sharon Stone.” she said.

  She beamed. Her face looked younger, brighter, and her green eyes seemed to twinkle with the delight of a kid sharing a secret. Her shoulders were back, loose, and her supple tits prodded the thin jade fabric of the blouse begging to be ripped from her perfect frame. The contours of those delicacies presented themselves as a tempting solicitation of the carnal delights that could be had.

  Alan gulped. He ignored the line of thick sweat that traipsed down the side of his head from his quickly vanishing hairline. He cast a stray, errant glance around for the bartender. “No shit.” he said. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a little dizzy.

  “Are you okay? Can I buy you a drink?” she asked him.

  Alan laughed. The snort of sardonic mirth just happened, an inadvertent, cynical clue into the muddled mind of a man high on lust. He clenched his right fist, grabbing his khaki pants and holding the bundled fabric tight for a long second. His arm trembled, and his leg continued to bounce of its own accord.

  “I…I…I, uh, was just telling the last girl I was talking to some really dumb, largely made-up story about how a bear bit me in the woods.” he said. He smiled weakly and tried to avoid eye contact.

  “Do you have any scars?” she asked, raising one eyebrow.

  Alan looked at her. He blinked. What did she just ask me? Then he really laughed, this one unrestrained and genuine. He felt tickled by the fact that she could surprise him. Especially in such a finessed way. As a NASA researcher with the highest security clearances known to humankind, Alan Grunke had encountered a fair share of…unusual people and events. Beyond his professional life, Alan lived the stoic, monastic life of the academic. A cerebral man, his parents had been lawyers and union activists in his native Vermont, and he’d gone on to Dartmouth, then M.I.T. before landing a job that required he continue living in the abstract worlds of theories and ideas. It seemed amusingly ironic that much of his work was to understand and help the people he desperately tried to avoid.

  It can be easier to study people from a distance. They can’t bully or hurt you that way. Academics, science, they possess both a higher ideal to strive for and a certain order not present in the seeming chaos that is interpersonal relations.

  It was hard to surprise him. The fact that she could pleased him.

  “None that would come close to a bear attack.” he said, chortling.

  Sharon Stone giggled. She tilted her head back and erupted with superficial mirth.

  As she ordered drinks, a thought struck him. No one should laugh at his dumb jokes, certainly not that way. He shifted in his seat and stiffened. All vestiges of a boner disappeared.

  The fact that this woman seemed so into him. The fact that she seemed so adept and graceful at conversation, especially with a stranger. It began to click, but in an ominous way. This woman presented an attractive picture. A potent mix of sexuality and charm. She wasn’t one of the odd women with slight mustaches from the reservation, a little thick around the middle and sloshed after one drink. In fact, it didn’t take an outsider like Alan to realize this beautiful creature did not belong in southern Oregon at all.

  Alan began to wonder. He sensed that ulterior motives impelled her to act in this odious and forward way towards him. He smiled as the bartender delivered their beverages. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to try and divine just what, exactly, those motives were.

  She leaned closer to him. Again, a bold hint of cleavage assaulted his senses. She smelled like lemon zest and sunshine. “It was hard to find you.” she said.

  Alan blinked. Gulped. He glanced around and made special note of where the glowing red exit signs were, in relation to him. He tried to find any crowds that might help disguise any escape attempt. His mind felt numb. Tired. Besieged by stimuli, the NASA scientist felt disoriented and unable to concentrate. He always had been awkward with women. The fact that this one was pretty, potentially dangerous, and into him made things substantially more difficult.

  “How did you know what to order for me?” he heard himself asking, the words sounding slow and garbled, like the speech of a stroke victim.

  His heart began to gallop in his chest like a chariot horse descending into the chaos of battle. He felt his jaw muscles twitch.

  The stoic bartender once again did his best wraith impression, vanishing before one even fully realized he was there. Drinks sat on the polished mahogany bar. There, in a glass, a single ice cube doing a jig on the surface, was a generous serving of Canadian Mist. He’d preferred the Canadian whisky since…he had started drinking. Which was long before he’d turned 21. He’d grown up only a few hours from the border. How could he not enjoy the fine spirit?

  Alan didn’t feel threatened by the woman. He started to relax. He became more curious as the sense of danger waned and faded to black.

  Chapter 2

  “Ow!” Alan exclaimed.

  He looked down at his foot, blinking repeatedly. His mouth felt dry. His head pulsed and his eyes felt heavy. The room smelled…odd. Off, somehow. Something citrusy lingered just beneath the surface, and the presence of that aroma seemed laughable at the moment. Alan chuckled. Why would anyone try to cover up a horrible smell? he thought. It was like trying to douche a toilet stall after someone left a particularly noisome dump with a mass of cheap chemicals. The cloying ordure still asserted itself, but you became more aware of it by the very fact that someone tried so horribly, so unsuccessfully to conceal it. Glancing up, he sighed.

  Boxes dominated the room. A seemingly endless vista of vaguely dirty-brown cardboard formed a sadistic maze to nowhere.

  Allowing his gaze to travel back down to his feet, he connected the dots. He’d stubbed his toe on one of the many boxes littering his new living room floor. Alan giggled. A high-pitched, unhinged titter. Navigating his way through the labyrinth of cardboard, he went into the kitchen. At least the coffee maker was plugged in.

  Going through the motions of making coffee helped. Six scoops of Peruvian blend, add water, flip the switch. The monotony, the banality, the relative smallness of the task offered him an escape from whatever acrid cloud that stalked the sun in his mind. Normally, he would have programmed the device to auto-start. Of course, normally, he wouldn’t try to bone hookers at an Indian casino on a work night after the liberal consumption of liquor.

  He stopped. His hands gripped the cool granite countertops. He looked outside, barely noting the regal mountains and fir-topped hills in the distance. “What. The. Fuck.” he said. Alan smirked, despite himself. He’d said fuck. His parents would be revolted.

  Then he giggled. This time, the anxious mirth cascaded, becoming an uncontrollable force that impelled the man to the ground. He rolled onto his side, tears flowing from his eyes, his pudgy belly quaking. He slapped the wood-paneled floor and wiggled around in a sort of circle. Hyperventilating, he finally began to regain his senses, and tried to calm his breathing. This only helped Alan laugh more.

  In stages, gradually the NASA scientist and famed author began to collect himself. A strange cocktail of hormones distorted his senses as he fought to get past the giddiness that had taken him for a joyride to the edge of the Mad Canyon.

  The memories flooded back. He propped himself against the soft brown wooden cabinet under the sink and focused on his breathing. Inhale. Exhale. I got wasted. Inhale. Some fan stalked me all the way out into the middle of nowhere. Exhale. I tried to convince some random chick I was bitten by a bear. Inhale. He thought about what his stoic, pent-up pare
nts would think of THAT. Little Alan Grunke, sloshed at the casino. Hee-larious.

  Slowly, trembling arm extended to provide some level of stability, Alan stood. Warm, rich aromas emanated from the coffee pot, and he again sought the refuge monotony provided. Order so often brings meaning to chaos. Glancing down, he noticed the green glowing numerals on the sleek black coffee pot’s clock. “Fuck!” he said. He stamped his foot on the floor. This time, the profane term garnered no laughter.

  Looking down at his watch, he grimaced. He looked around, heart beating faster than b-grade horror movie music. “Where the fuck is my phone?!” he asked no one.

  “I’m sorry. I do not understand your request.” Alexa said from her small black cylinder in the corner.

  Alan glared at the Amazon device. He fought the urge to rush at it and clobber it into oblivion. Clenching his fists, sweat forming under his arms, Alan walked around, fumbling through the boxes he could easily access. Finally, he surrendered. He retreated into his bedroom, again weaving his way around the stacks pf boxes hectoring him. On the small ivory bedside table sat his thin Samsung Galaxy S-9.

  Sinking into the bed, rubbing his temples with one hand, Alan took a deep breath. Looking upwards, he thanked a god he didn’t believe in. It’s much easier to dodge questions and skip out on responsibilities when you are the boss. He tapped a picture of an overweight man wearing a too-tight Superman shirt that exposed his hairy belly. Despite the goofy avatar, Dale offered one of the brightest mind’s available when it came to logistics, public relations, money…pretty much all of the stuff that mattered. Though he wasn’t much good at any one thing, and seemed a crude and indolent brute trying too hard to pass himself off as a nerd, the man could make things happen. As Alan listened to the tinny sound of the phone ringing, he began to wonder about his go-to man in their little traveling carnival act. How did he do it?

  Without Dale, Alan would have no job.

  On about the thirteenth ring, just as Alan rolled his eyes and began to contemplate hanging up, Dale answered. “Yo.” he said, by way of introduction.

  “This is Miss Meyers from down the street, and I just wanted to complain about all the noise I hear coming from your…office after hours.” Alan said, pinching his nose and doing his best to disguise his voice.

  Dale laughed. The sound brought a smile to Alan’s face. “I have known you for too long.” Dale said.

  “Where are you?” Alan asked. He went to a different screen on his phone as he talked. Laying on the bed, he put one leg up. Checking his emails, he blinked. He sat up suddenly. Holding his finger just above the surface of the phone, allowing it to hover there in contemplative silence, Alan felt his body growing warmer. His mouth felt dry.

  He opened the email. He waited for it to load. The damn internet in Klamath Falls offered much to be desired. Finally, he tensed when it opened. His eyes scrolled the screen even as he felt vaguely aware of sounds emanating from his distant interlocutor. He blinked rapidly. His hands shook, and he had to wipe each one on the sheet because they quickly were growing too damp. Finally, after the third try, he managed to fully re-read the digital correspondence.

  He had spent over 800 dollars at the smallish single-story casino.

  After the ringing in his ears subsided, Alan realized there was a strange and taut silence on the other end of the line. After a beat, Alan understood that Dale had been talking, and was now waiting for some sort of response. Alan licked his lips. “I’m sorry. What?” he asked. He got up, checking his reflection in the mirror above his faux mahogany dresser. Clothes sat in disheveled piles all over the floor, and the drawers for the piece of furniture rested together against the wall. He felt hot, so he opened a window. The breeze fluttered the delicate white curtains.

  “I said that our new congressman is going to be in town.” Dale said. He paused. Alan could picture his, brow furrowed, lips puckering as he hankered for a cigarette. “I’m pretty sure he’s here because of us.” Dale said.

  Alan pondered this for a second. He still clutched his phone in one hand. He glanced down at it, and fought back the urge to panic. He focused. “Why would you think Paul Harris is in town because of us?” he asked.

  “Ostensibly, Harris is here to support some Chamber of Commerce thing. He certainly is trying to make himself visible. He scheduled the art walk, for Christ’s sake.” Dale grumbled.

  “Okayyy…but, none of that answers my question.” Alan said.

  “The man hasn’t been here for at least 6 years, as far as I can tell. He only staffs the local office for three months every other year…during election season. He doesn’t even respond to interviews from the paper here.” Dale said.

  Alan sighed. “Just get on with it. Okay? Why do we care that Congressman Paul Harris is in town? Why would it matter if he were here to talk to us? We’re federal employees. Sometimes that means talking to federal politicians.”

  It was Dale’s turn to sigh. “Harris is a Republican? He’s been somewhat vocal about cutting spending? He called on Trump to eradicate NASA altogether?” The man’s voice rose as he talked, and when he finished, he seemed to be panting.

  “How are we on the office set-up?” Alan asked.

  “We’d be better if the boss actually showed up. But, it’s going, I guess. The copier they sent was incorrigible, so I had to drive to some place called Medford to get parts. Did you know they have an In -N- Out Burger there? Fuckin’ love In -N- Out.” Dale said.

  Alan looked at his watch. The old brown leather band had been with him for some time. A gift from his mother, he’d possessed the timepiece for at least a decade. He frowned. The date glared at him. September 26. They had 4 days. On September 30, if things didn’t change, there was going to be yet another government shutdown, and their office would be closed during that time. If they didn’t have some reason to justify their own existence before the 30th, their office might not even re-open.

  “How is the internet?” Alan asked, just to try to jumpstart the conversation and his brain.

  “Horrible.” Dale answered.

  Alan thought for a moment. He wanted to address the credit card email, and do any damage control for his rare alcoholic excesses. But, he needed to get Dale off the phone, first. “How are we on that one case? The from…” he blinked. Snapped his fingers.

  “Spokane?” Dale supplied.

  “Yes!” Alan said, smiling. “Spokane. How is that case going?” he asked.

  “Ummm…” Alan could hear typing on the other end. He smirked. One of Dale’s biggest pet peeves was when people didn’t mute the phone when they were doing something, like typing. Yet, here he was, typing with alacrity as Alan listened.

  “Yeah. Okay. So, the video footage was inconclusive. Could be consistent with a P-791. Lockheed has an office near Seattle, and they are working on the new civilian version. Actually, rumor is that the LMH-1 was supposed to start commercial ops this year.” Dale said.

  “P-791 or LMH-1?” Alan asked. He knew the answer, but wanted to keep the other man talking.

  “They’re the same thing. One was military, the other is an updated civilian craft.” Dale said.

  “Anything else? Can you close this one?” Alan asked.

  “I mean, yeah. I could. People aren’t going to be happy.” Dale said.

  “They never are. No one is ever happy. But, hey, our job isn’t to make people happy. It is to investigate UFO and alien claims. Can you take lead and make the phone calls? We need to wrap something up, quick.”

  Silence filtered through from the other end as his interlocutor dwelled on the unpleasant request. Alan frowned. He knew that Dale hated that sort of work. It wasn’t exactly fair. But…Alan had just apparently blown through a good chunk of money on booze and blondes, and he wanted to figure out why. How. Alan lived a relatively monastic life most of the time, and liked to pride himself on his frugality. Part of him just didn’t believe he had actually gotten wasted on what had to have been the most expensive liquor on the menu
.

  “Sure, boss. I’ll do your job for you. This time.” Dale said. Then he hung up.

  Alan sank down onto the bed. He rubbed one hand through his hair. He sighed. The silence of the room seemed deafening. He experienced the weight of his burdens as they pressed their immense weight down onto his shoulders in that moment. He felt alone.

  Slowly, he returned his attention back to his phone. He reread the email that had triggered him not so long ago. The words remained the same. His credit card company still wanted to know: had Alan Grunke spent $814.32 at the Fun Lakes Casino? The harsh reality was that Alan Grunke didn’t really know the answer.

  He tried to mentally retrace his steps from the following night. He vaguely remembered slumping into bed with his clothes on. The incisive night air howling as it hurled insults at any exposed skin had forced him to turn the heat on. He’d stumbled up, winding his way over to the display to dial up the warmth. He recalled meeting a gal at the bar, just after…

  He laughed. Then he stood, getting up with a quick, jerky motion. He began to pace in small, tight lines, back and forth on the beige carpet. He jumped when the tree outside the window tapped the glass with one slender limb.

  Scrolling through his phone with one slender finger, he found pictures from the previous night. He paused. After a moment of staring, he became aware that his mouth hung open. He closed it. It felt suddenly dry, even itchy, and he tried unsuccessfully to swallow. For some reason, at that exact moment, the fact that his mouth seemed desiccated angered him. He balled up one fist and marched towards the bathroom. Stuffing his head under the rusted faucet, he turned it on and gulped the fluid as it cascaded out.

  “Shit!” he said. He reached up and touched his lips. He stared down at the water still flowing menacingly. Then, deliberately, he toggled the handle off. He smiled. He’d turned the hot water on by accident. “Guess I know the hot water heater works.” he said.