9 Tales From Elsewhere 6

by 9 Tales From Elsewhere

  “I’m free to go?”

  “Soon as you’re strong enough to travel.”

  “And till then?”

  All three courtesans winked, less than horrified by their former master’s fate.

  Boyce laughed. “Well, until then I’ll share the attentions of these very pleasant young women with you—if you don’t mind?”

  Orem blinked, leaned back on the straw. The man before him was indeed a stranger. Yet Boyce’s essence was entirely familiar and comfortable.

  THE END.

  CLOSE CALL by Shawn P. Madison

  Vinny Testosa hung up the payphone and took one more look at the ugly little thing in the trunk of his caddy before slamming the trunk closed. A small cloud of sand settled around him and he wiped his forehead with the right sleeve of his shirt to clear the sweat from his eyes.

  It must have been one-hundred degrees out here in the desert and the heat rising off the pavement made it seem about twenty degrees higher. The small one-pump gas station looked deserted. He had poked around inside the office and found no one before going back outside to use the phone. The sun beat down on him relentlessly, there were no clouds at all to provide any shade and it was only 8:00am.

  Damn, but the thing was ugly, Vinny thought to himself and leaned against the rear driver-side door of his car. This lonely stretch of road leading out of Las Vegas and into California was a bad place to have to stop for any reason. Thank God he hadn’t hit whatever it was he had hit out here any harder. As it was, he had just about ruined the right front fender of his ‘68 powder-blue Caddy. He had moved the two suitcases containing large quantities of cash from the trunk to the back seat in order to fit that stinking, big-headed thing in the trunk. He knew it was a risk to have the suitcases out in the open like that but he was damned if he was going to ride with the creepy little sucker sitting behind him as he drove.

  Any minute now, he thought and took in a deep breath. What a close call...Vinny laughed out loud and felt good that he could laugh about it now. Four hours ago when this had all started he hadn’t been laughing. Hell, half-an-hour ago, he never even thought of laughing. But the shock of it was beginning to fade and Vinny felt much looser now that he was in control.

  A deep yawn came over him suddenly and he mentally commanded himself to stay alert. No sleep after driving through the night on a two-lane blacktop that went nowhere but straight was enough to make anybody drowsy. But now was not the time to let his guard down, who knew how many more of these little bastards were running around loose out here?

  Vinny pulled a pack of Marlboros out of the pocket of his shirt, fished one out and lit it, sucking in a deep lungful of the unfiltered smoke. Several seconds later he breathed it out in a blue cloud and immediately felt better. What in the hell was that thing anyway?

  He walked back around to the rear of the vehicle, slipped the key into the lock and opened the trunk. The overwhelming stench of the thing almost suffocated him and he had to turn his head to cough. This little guy smells awful, he thought to himself and almost began to chuckle.

  “You’re losing it, Vinny,” he said out loud and choked down the laughter. “Jesus, but you are ugly,” he told the thing as it squirmed against the duct tape he had applied to its wrists, ankles and mouth. The large black eyes seemed to bore into his own and he slammed the trunk closed again. “What in the world is that thing?” he said as he unconsciously clutched the small golden cross that hung from his thin necklace.

  What were all of those things, he thought and shook his head to clear the memories of just a few hours ago. He had been driving down this same road about two-hundred miles back when he had almost fallen asleep at the wheel and had left the road to the right by about ten feet. When he had popped awake with adrenaline pumping through his body, flooding his muscles and causing him to overreact, he had jerked the wheel to the left and crossed the entire road all the way to the other side. The wheels had once again left the pavement and he tried to apply brakes, keep control of the steering wheel and watch what he was doing in the almost pitch black of the desert night all at the same time. He had just about regained the road when his vision went blurry and the sand showing through his headlights seemed to shimmer as if from a reflection. That was when he’d smashed into whatever it was he had hit. He still didn’t know what it was because he never actually saw the thing. But it was big and it was metal and it chewed up his right front fender pretty good. The three year old Cadillac was made of stern stuff though and seemed to bounce right off the thing. By the time he stopped skidding he was back on the road.

  Vinny had gotten out of his car, chambered a round into his forty-five automatic and headed back on to the sand, his oversized flashlight shining off of something that was too blurry to see. When he got close enough to where the so-called “accident” had occurred his jaw had dropped open with shock. The first one had clearly died when his Caddy plowed into it doing about sixty. From the looks of it, he had probably clipped one or two others with the car also but they weren’t dead yet when he had approached. A high-pitched twittering noise had filled his head and the stench which wafted over him almost made him retch but the sight of the small creatures writhing in pain on the desert sand held him transfixed. The one which had died on impact was bleeding profusely into the sand, the thick dark liquid showed no color even when he shone the flashlight directly on it. Something very large which was close by was still reflecting the light of his flashlight and no matter how hard he had stared at it he could not get a clear picture of just what it was.

  That was when one of the injured ones shrieked in pain. The shock of that horrible sound almost made him drop to the sand, his ears pounded with the intense shrieking that came from the thing’s small mouth. He had lifted his head enough to stare at the creature and noticed that it was pointing something at him with its one remaining hand. Vinny acted on instinct and shot the thing right in the center of its huge head three times. Instantly the shrieking had stopped but was instantly replaced by fearful bleats that seemed to bounce within his skull. The sharp terrified cries seemed to come from everywhere and Vinny couldn’t think of any other way to stop that awful noise but to shoot at each of the writhing things. When the gun came up empty, the sound was gone and there was only one of them left alive.

  Vinny had sat in the sand then, probably for close to half-an-hour, while the lone survivor tried to drag itself toward where his vision stayed blurry. Once he’d regained his senses, he’d walked quickly back to his car, reached into the glove compartment, replaced the empty clip of his gun with a fresh one and grabbed the roll of duct tape.

  Now it was four hours later and he could hardly believe that he had even touched the thing let alone carried it back to his car. He had a nagging suspicion of what it might be but he wasn’t ready yet to believe in little green men, or in this case, little gray men. Although the proof was seemingly there before his eyes, he needed more. He needed confirmation.

  That was why he had called that FBI guy who had contacted him just several months ago. The bureau was on to him and the role he’d been playing in the Sanzano family, the agent had told him. Vinny laughed at the memory, those FBI guys always tried to play hard-ass, always tried to make it look like they knew more than they did. The truth was he never would have walked away from that original meeting if the Bureau had anything solid on him. Either that, or they were letting him know they had made him just to keep him on his toes. Vinny had been extra alert over the past month or so, looking real hard for tails, checking the usual places for bugs or hidden cameras. He had yet to find any evidence that the FBI was looking closely at him. They had to know that he was nothing but a pawn in the overall scheme of things. There were bigger fish to fry between Las Vegas and L.A. than Vinny Testosa.

  It’s funny the things you remember in situations such as these, he thought to himself. Although he had not given it a second thought back then, he had remembered while driving through the desert with that thing in his trunk that th
e FBI guy had given him his card. A business card of all things. What amazed Vinny even more was that he had held on to the thing, had slipped it into a small pocket in his wallet. Which is just where he’d found it after he pulled into the old gas station.

  Out of nowhere, the distant whump-whump of chopper blades became barely audible. Vinny dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it with his toe. He checked absentmindedly for the automatic stuck into his belt, now hidden by the button down which was no longer tucked into his jeans. The feel of cold gun-metal always made him feel better, more secure. He had to be careful with these FBI guys, he knew. Never trust a G-Man, old man Sanzano was always telling all of his boys that. The government could promise you all it wanted to but you were a fool to believe any of it, another of his favorites.

  The shape of the helicopter grew closer, mostly in shadow with the sun behind it. Must have flown out of Nellis, he thought at first, then realized how much ground it would have had to cover in such a short time. Hell, he had hung up the phone barely five minutes ago.

  Vinny could feel himself tense up. He never liked to put himself at a disadvantage. Now he was cursing himself for doing just that. But what was he supposed to do with the thing squirming around in his trunk? Other than putting a bullet in its oversized brain too, the only other answer had been to contact the government. He thought for a fleeting instant that he might be able to gain something out of this, then realized that the U.S. Government would never let him breathe a word of something this huge for the rest of his life. He also realized that he had to come clean about the others and whatever it was he had smashed into on the road back in Nevada. Maybe there would be some type of reward for handing something like this over to the Feds, maybe a substantial cash incentive to keep his mouth shut. A smile began to creep over Vinny’s face as the chopper hovered over the empty gas station and slowly lowered itself to the ground.

  A side door opened on the helicopter and he could just make out three men, rather large men, drop to the asphalt amid the swirling sand and begin to approach him. Vinny remained leaning against the trunk of his Caddy and watched through squinted eyes as the three men approached. Although all three wore sunglasses and suits he recognized Agent Adams immediately.

  For several seconds the four men stood in silence as the wind being kicked up by the chopper blades blew through their clothes, creating the illusion of movement where there wasn’t any. Vinny noticed that the chopper blades weren’t slowing down and that the engines had not yet been turned off. It meant that these agents weren’t planning on staying long. This was fine with him, the sooner they were out of here with his unwanted extra passenger the better.

  “Mr. Testosa,” Adams said as he pulled off his sunglasses. “You told me that you had something important to show me.”

  “Yeah,” Vinny said and slowly got out his car keys. “It’s in the trunk, boys.”

  “Could we move this along please?” one of the other men added.

  Vinny fixed him with a glare and shook his head in amazement. “Try to help somebody...” he muttered and turned the key in the lock. The trunk popped open and Vinny stood aside to let the men have their view.

  Adams leaned in close and stared hard at the small gray thing for several seconds before looking at each of the other two men and nodding in approval. The FBI Agent took Vinny lightly by the left arm and led him several steps away as the other two leaned into his trunk. “I have more to tell you about how I found that thing,” Vinny offered and Adams smiled at him.

  “I bet you do, Mr. Testosa,” he said and in one fluid motion cleared a large black weapon from beneath his suit jacket and fired five quick rounds into Vinny’s chest.

  Ted Adams watched as Testosa hit the gas station parking lot hard. The small time hood was pretty good, he had almost gotten to the butt of his gun before the first shot went off. Nevertheless, he was dead before he hit the ground. “Fool,” Adams muttered and walked back over to his fellow agents.

  The small gray creature had been freed of his duct tape bonds by Keller and Green and was still rubbing its very small mouth with impossibly thin fingers when Adams approached. “I deeply regret this entire incident, Ambassador Taosila,” Adams said and could see the flush of anger on the face of the four foot tall humanoid. “It is with our deepest apologies that we did not get to you sooner after your ship malfunctioned.”

  Taosila mumbled incoherently in a high whiny tone for several seconds before remembering that these beings could not understand his native tongue. Switching to his minimal grasp of English he said, “Insanity this human, murder crew, destroy ship with machine! Amazing I survive!”

  Adams turned his head momentarily from the stench of the little figure and then bowed in a formal show of respect. “Please accept the humble regrets of myself and my government for this unfortunate incident but let us remember that it was your ship that came down unexpectedly in this vast desert area. If not for that malfunction, all would be well and none of this would have happened.”

  “Save politics for President,” Taosila said and shooed his frail hand at Adams before heading off to the chopper.

  Adams hurried to catch up and got up the nerve to ask the alien Ambassador one more question. “Is there any hope for your crew?”

  Taosila came to an instant stop and swore an oath to his ancestors in order to control his raging emotions. “Family all crew, dead all crew, ship damaged, no repair, you retrieve!”

  “Yes, Ambassador,” Adams replied quickly and bowed again as the small gray being easily lofted itself through the open side door of the chopper. Adams climbed into the machine as well and yelled toward the other two agents, “You know what to do! When you’re done, send a signal and we’ll pick you up!”

  The other two agents were nodding at him as the chopper lifted off and headed quickly for Nellis Air Force Base. Adams watched as they lifted Testosa’s body into the trunk of the Cadillac and then climbed into the vehicle. Turning toward his fellow passenger he tried to smile but the stench made it look more like a grimace. “President Nixon is looking forward to this sixth Great Meeting between your people and ours,” he said. “We hope in all good faith that this little incident will not jeopardize our otherwise healthy relationship.”

  Taosila turned slowly to look deep into Adams’ eyes. “Easy call family murder little incident?”

  “Absolutely not, Ambassador,” Adams stammered. “It was just a figure of speech, I deeply apologize...”

  “STOP!” the high whining voice slammed into Adams’ head, making him wince. “Get meeting President over quickly. Talk Soviets next time likely. Maybe better security other side Earth.”

  Adams knew when to stop talking and the rest of the way was flown in silence. He would have an awful lot of explaining to do once he got back to base and briefed the President on what had happened to the Ambassador’s ship and crew. He stole a glance at Taosila and saw the small alien staring intently out the window of the helicopter, doing its best to ignore his gaze. Great, he thought, just when my career was beginning to take off. The President was going to have a fit...

  THE END.

  ESCAPEMENT, OR THE CONTEMPORARY COPPELIUS by Judith Field

  London, November 1888

  Two days after Uncle Eric’s funeral, there was another murder in Whitechapel. I am ashamed to admit that I felt relief at the knowledge that he could not have been the Ripper. I had hardly dared consider it, but I had been forced to ask myself why he would never allow me to accompany him when he went to his workshop, in a cellar somewhere in east London.

  I sat in the parlor, reading aloud from The London Daily Post to my mother. ‘...and Her Majesty has urged the police to do all they can to protect these unfortunate women.’ I spared her the stomach-turning description of the butchery. At least the poor victims were strangled first.

  The doorbell rang. Mother grasped the arms of her wheelchair and pushed herself upright. ‘No more flowers, I hope, Euphemia!’ She dabbed her eyes with a bla
ck-edged handkerchief. ‘Everyone has been most kind, but the house resembles The Royal Botanic Gardens.’ I patted her hand and proceeded to answer the door.

  I caught movement on the stairs in the corner of my eye. It was my silver tabby, Loki. Mother had named him after a mischief-making character in some opera. He wound himself round my legs, his tail swishing against the skirt of my black dress. I felt my shoulders droop. Never again would Uncle Eric lean over the banister and call me to see his latest construction. He had come to live with us ten years ago, after the carriage accident that killed my father and crippled my mother. He was a watchmaker but his delight was constructing musical automatons; a piano-playing bear, a dancing clown. His had been working on a fluttering, singing bird, the voice created by a tiny bellows, but during his peregrinations to find feathers for it, he caught typhoid and died.

  I opened the door. Two men heaved a wooden crate, about six feet long, off a cart and banged it onto the pavement next to a Saratoga trunk. One of them took an envelope out of his trouser pocket. ‘Miss Thorniwork?’ I nodded. He took off his bowler hat and fanned his face with it. ‘Sign here.’ He shoved the envelope, a scrap of crumpled paper and a pencil stub into my hand. With much sweating and puffing, the men deposited the trunk and the crate in the hall. I gave them the few coins I had in my reticule and shut the door.

  Mother wheeled herself into the hall.

  I opened the envelope. ‘This appears to be a letter from Uncle Eric. “Dear Pheemie”-’

  ‘Must you ask people to call you that... housemaid’s name?’ Mother said.

  ‘Would you prefer Effie?’ I said. ‘“If you are reading this, I must be dead. Consequently, my gift to you wears a black hatband for form’s sake. In the trunk are my notes, they will show how I constructed the gift and the alloy from which the trunk is made. I am sure you will find a way to unlock it. In the crate is a toy that may amuse you. Once a week be sure to wind, until you feel the spring come to a stop.”’ I looked up. ‘There’s a bit for you, here, Mother. ‘“Agnes – remember Coppelia?” Who is she?’