Out of the Box
Page 11
“Yeah, they were gone when I checked out last night.” Brett told him.
“Kids broke in and smashed a candy machine.”
“Did you call the cops?”
“They claim they’re understaffed this morning. Told me to document the crime myself until they could get to it.”
As he exited on the sixth floor, Brett hoped that was all the kids smashed. There was no one in the main lab, nor in any of the six side rooms. But everything looked like he had left it the night before, and, glad to be alone, he soon lost himself in concentration, buried deep in boxes and translations.
Armed with a few local addresses of beauty salons culled from the Yellow Pages, Emily went in search of a peaceful and relaxing day. She hadn’t gone two blocks from the hotel when she noticed that small groups of women were huddled in conversation along the sidewalks. She approached the nearest group and eavesdropped.
“He must have left in the middle of the night,” a weeping woman said.
“But you claim your door was locked from the inside.”
“I can’t explain it,” the tearful woman replied.
“Didn’t you say he was spending a lot of time with his best friend, Jason? It sounds like a romance to me.”
“I swear I saw two men outside, running around like ghosts, only half there, like you could almost see through them,” offered a third woman.
Puzzled, Emily tried another group, introduced herself as a newcomer to the city, and listened in on their discussion.
“Those poor kids. Both parents left them. Why would they do that? Did you talk to the wife much?”
“Sometimes. She was a man. They were both men.”
“Yes, but they were wonderful parents. It makes no sense. Do you want me to take care of the kids until they get back?”
“911 is overloaded. They aren’t answering,” a woman interjected.
An older woman responded, “There’s no sign of foul play, no blood anywhere. It’s got to be something awfully unusual.”
“No sense standing around twiddling thumbs.” A woman with organizational skills moved to take charge. “I’ll round up all the kids and get them to school. Myra, you organize a group of dog-walkers. The supers have the keys to the apartments; explain it’s an emergency. And Emily,” the woman said, turning to one confused pregnant lady, “you asked about a beauty salon. Go right down this block, turn right. ‘Walk-In Beauty.’ You’ll love it.”
Emily smiled despite her bewilderment. “Thanks, ladies, nice to meet you all, and this evening I’ll help with the dogs if you need me.”
“Not on your baby’s life, Emily. You enjoy yourself today. And welcome to crazy San Francisco.”
Mayor Zak Klein ran his fingers through his curly black hair, looked out his office windows at the city sprawled before him, and wondered what a nice Jewish boy like him was doing running a town full of meshugenah gays. After all, he could have become a doctor.
“How the hell can someone organize something this big in secrecy?” he asked a worried group of assistants. “Sephora, you’re best friends with Alan and Jeff. They didn’t tell you anything?”
“Not a word, Zak,” his Girl Friday answered.
“You can’t hide that many people. Where the hell are they?”
“The Chief of Police didn’t show up and neither did half his top officers. The Fire Department’s just as bad off,” an aide said.
“How are our neighbors faring?” Zak asked.
“There don’t seem to be any disappearances in Marin County or in East Bay. No reports of anyone missing from other locales.”
“Get on the phone, Sephora. Get similar organizations in neighboring cities to send us temporary assistance. We’ll foot the bill — all travel, housing, food, etc. And make sure Social Services has enough people to handle the kids. And the animal shelters — they’ll be overrun with impounded dogs.”
“Right away, Zak.”
“Greg,” he told his chief aide, “coordinate with the Folsom organizers. Find out how this affects them.”
The intercom buzzed: “Sir, the news services have it on the air, and the Vice President is on line two.”
“Get moving, people. I need answers,” Zak punched a button and lifted the receiver.
“Good morning, Mr. Vice President. How can I help you? No sir, no plague, no health emergency. No bodies, in fact… They’re just gone, Sir. No need to declare an emergency. We’re taking precautionary and remedial steps as we speak… Of course, Sir. If you think it would help, we welcome a visit. I consider it an honor. I’ll set up the motorcade as usual with your Secret Service. Looking forward to it.”
Mayor Klein slammed the phone down and threw up his hands. He turned to the two assistants who lingered. “Great! In the middle of a disaster, he decides to visit. Find out who’s behind this. He lands in six hours. Six hours, people!”
Emily didn’t get her spa treatment. Most shops on the street were closed, and the few open ones weren’t doing any business. The people who had shown up for work were outside conversing. A waitress was saying she worried when the chef didn’t show up, but then no customers did either. A girl from Ignition, the local coffee house, was astounded that, of her hundred regulars each morning, only eight showed today. Emily asked if anyone knew what the trouble was, but no one had a clue. The Ignition girl flagged down a passing patrol car.
“Is there a crime, or do you want to report a missing person, Miss?” the officer asked.
“Many missing persons.”
“It’s like that all over town. It’s on TV. Watch that for info. Half our force is out, so if you have no customers, close early. Play it safe.”
“Thanks, Officer. Good luck. Hey, ladies, close up your shops and keep me company. Coffee on the house, and we can watch the news.”
Twelve women and two men, bonded by adversity, gathered around the television set in Ignition. People around the world were being interviewed about their reactions.
Someone in Seattle thought it might be nice, like living in the 50’s — quiet and relaxed, fewer cars, not so crowded. A Georgia man, who misunderstood the Bible story, said it was sinners fleeing Sodom and Gomorrah. A Nevadan thought it had to be aliens, and that the mass exodus justified what he’d been saying about Roswell since 1955. A born-again Christian told the reporter it was as plain as the nose on her face: the rapture. A Japanese man summed his thoughts up in one word: Godzilla.
“Hey, are you OK?” the girl from Ignition asked Emily.
“I think so. Just a cramp,” Emily’s teeth were clenched against the pain. “The doctor said I’d feel a few of these. But that one was strong. I think I’ll go back to the hotel and lie down.” Outside the coffee shop, she cramped again. Something wasn’t right. She called the doctor her gynecologist in Salt Lake had sent her records to. His receptionist told Emily the doctor hadn’t shown up that day, but since it was urgent, she arranged for her to see his nurse, and Emily headed straight there.
Karen, the doctor’s nurse, was a sensible-shoe type woman. She reassured Emily that her baby was in good health.
“Show me my son, please.”
“His feet are right there.” Karen pointed. “But the monitor must be acting up. At this stage, his head shouldn’t appear so fuzzy. I think the equipment needs adjustment.
“Your cervix has started to dilate. That’s early. I suggest you go back to your hotel and stay in bed a few days. If you dilate more, or these pains persist, go directly to the emergency room. Anything we can do to delay a premature birth will be to everyone’s advantage, especially with the city in a crisis like this.”
Zak’s chief aide dashed into the mayor’s office. “It’s confirmed,” Greg reported.
“Every last one of them was gay, lesbian, or bisexual. We can assume the apparent exceptions were really deep closet cases, and I suspect there are some cross-dressers who were left behind.” Greg shrugged. “Most of them are actually straight.”
“How can you possibl
y know that?” Zak asked.
Greg covered his mouth with his fist, and cleared his throat. “I’m still here, Sir.”
“I see,” said Zak, taking the news in stride. “Now why would roughly 100,000 men and women walk out like that? This is their city. They built it; they make it run.”
“Well, if it’s not a sinister plot, they must have left by choice.”
“That’s nonsense. The gay and lesbian population is as diverse as any large culture. You’d have a hard time getting consensus to leave town if a volcano were erupting, especially if it involved abandoning loved ones.”
“About Folsom, Sir, the fair’s cancelled pending further developments. There’s no one to work on it and no one to attend. We should also consider that the number of vanished is far more than we supposed, when we take into account visitors who were here for Leather Week and the Fair.”
“And the visitors can’t have been in on any plot, so it’s got to be something else. Stay on it. I’m off to the airport. The VP’s plane lands in thirty minutes.”
Brett was in deep concentration over a set of parallel hieroglyphs when his cell rang.
He absent-mindedly answered it and got a jolt when he heard a shout in his ear. “Pussy boy.”
“Casey. Good to hear from you. What’s up?”
“A miracle, I’d say. It’s all over the news. San Fran is a ghost town. Your fire department needs help. I’m on the way there at triple pay!”
“But you hate San Francisco.”
“Not so, my fairy-loving friend. I object to queers; the city itself is hot. All I hear when I’m there is how there aren’t any real men around. I make out like a bandit in the bars. Plane’s boarding, gotta go; text me your address. Love ya, sweet cheeks. See ya in three hours.”
Vice President Morgan was sixty-eight years old and still hitting on the new Secret Service agents whenever he had the chance. They were much safer than Congressional pages because they had families and careers to protect.
“Agent Andrews, when we’re finished in San Francisco, I’m flying on to Maui for a dedication. Staying on a private island. Would you like to accompany me? You swim, don’t you? You look like you have a swimmer’s body.”
“Yessir,” Andrews answered, pleased his boss had noticed his build. “I was captain of my water polo team in college.”
“Great sport, son. Please stay on with the security team. You’re the only one who makes me feel safe enough to really relax.”
“Thank you, Sir, I appreciate that. Happy to do whatever will make you comfortable.” He touched the speaker in his ear. “Sir, we’re entering San Francisco airspace now. Sir, is something wrong?”
“I don’t know…I’ve got a cramp.”
Agent Andrews reached out to assist the Vice President and noticed his hands were translucent. He held them up to his face.
Vice President Morgan gasped in panic. “Andrews! What’s happening? My hands are disappearing!”
“I don’t know, Sir. The same thing’s happening to me.”
Mayor Klein, standing with a smaller than usual welcoming party, pasted a grin on his face when the Vice President’s plane door opened, but everything came unglued when agents, guns at ready, raced down the steps shouting, “Clear!” They fired questions at the airport security chief. “Was the runway closed? No cars on the tarmac?”
Zak broke in. “What’s wrong.”
“Vice President Morgan’s disappeared.”
“When?”
“He was in his seat over Oakland, then he was gone. We lost an Agent as well, just as we passed over water.”
The museum closed its doors early because of the lack of security guards, and Bergen Cobb never showed. Brett reluctantly abandoned his translations and looked for a taxi, completely forgetting he had driven to work that morning. No cab was in sight, free or taken, but he saw buses moving, so he walked to a bus stop and waited. From where he stood he could see several minor emergencies tended by groups of people who were milling about because they lacked the knowledge and tools to do the simple things required. A crying boy was comforted by a neighbor. A man and his wife struggled to keep a water leak from spilling onto their property. A realtor behind him, talking on her cell, was complaining how she wasted the afternoon because none of the people who had made appointments to see the apartment she was renting had shown up.
Brett slapped his forehead. Where was his head? He had promised Em to find an apartment today. That’s why he had driven the truck to work. “Wait up a sec,” he said to the realtor. “Did I hear you had an apartment to rent? May I see it? I look quick.”
She showed him a beautifully appointed two-bedroom apartment on the third floor of an elevator building. The kitchen had just been remodeled.
“And all four of the prospective tenants failed to show today?”
“Yes. I’m going on vacation, and I need to get this apartment rented before I leave. It’s a steal at two thousand a month.”
“I’ll take it. Here’s my information, my employment; you’ll find my credit is very good.” He looked around while she whipped out her laptop and started to run his credit.
“Now this is a firm commitment?” Brett called from a bedroom. “We won’t be bumped if those clients show up?”
The realtor smiled, obviously pleased by what she was seeing. “No, the place is yours. For whatever reason those people decided to leave, it’s hurting my business.”
“It’s a blessing for me.”
“Well, you may think that right now, but wait until you need something done. There’s no one to call. It’s getting scary. I’m beginning to feel very isolated.”
Distracted by the Sub-Zero refrigerator, Brett only answered, “My wife is going to love this place.”
Zak Klein held a video conference from his desk. He had no choice; the press was clamoring. He told them he still did not know the exact number of people missing, where they had gone, nor why. He announced the Vice President was now among the absent.
The facts were mystifying and required analysis. He pleaded for calm. He denied everything else, including the involvement of aliens. Then he broke the connection without taking questions.
His secretary buzzed the intercom. “Sir, your mother’s holding on line one.”
“Damn, what does she want now? Hi, Mom, what’s the emergency?”
“Zak, thank God. I just heard on the television, about all the gays missing.”
“Yes, Mother. It’s my big problem of the day. Stay calm. We’ll get it solved. Why are you calling?”
“I just wanted to be sure you were there.”
“Mom, how many times do I have to tell you? I’m not gay. I just haven’t found the right girl yet.”
“And I believed you. But now I’m sure. You see, Zak darling, there’s a good side to everything.” She hung up.
“You must call the President, Sir,” Greg advised.
“And tell him what? That the Vice President is gay?”
“If we figured it out, so will others.”
“They already have,” Sephora said, pointing at the flat-screen TV. The stationary banner at the bottom of the screen read:
BREAKING NEWS: GAYS VANISH FROM SAN FRANCISCO
The newscaster reported, “The disappearances occurred at 2 a.m. this morning when most people were asleep. Early claims that some persons vanished bit-by-bit, like sand pouring through an hourglass, are no longer considered frivolous. We do not know at this time why some disappeared in an instant and others faded out. The phenomenon was observed in both men and women; though clearly, a larger number of men seems to be targeted. Unconfirmed reports are trickling in that individuals, not known to be gay, are continuing to vanish throughout the day. Repeat: these reports are unconfirmed.”
The banner changed to:
BREAKING NEWS: VP MORGAN DISAPPEARS Brett burst into their hotel room, talking over the TV’s sound. “Honey, get your things. We’re moving.”
“Have you heard?”
“I had some cramps today and visited the new doctor. But that’s not as important as the news.”
“Oh wait, wait, wait. It’s the most important thing in the world.” He sat beside her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me.”
“The nurse suggested I stay off my feet as much as possible.”
In a teasing sing-song, he said, “I have a much nicer bed for you.”
“Fine, but the news…”
“Fine? I find us the best apartment ever and all I get is fine?”
“What? You found a place?”
“Hello. Earth to Emily. Not a place, I found us a palace—in the best part of town, near the Museum so we don’t need a second car. And a room for in-laws when they visit. It’s perfect for our perfect life.”
“But I just heard on the news that people all over are disappearing.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s a walkout of biblical proportions.”
“No. Like poof, into another dimension, disappeared.”
Brett looked at her without fathoming the deeper meaning. “Well,” he shrugged, “We’re safe. Whatever happened is already past.”
“How can you be so unconcerned?”
“I’m concerned, hon; but seriously, it has all the earmarks of an act of God. We can’t solve this. Let the government do its job. C’mon, Em, be happy. I want to get our stuff moved right away, tonight.”
“But you can’t handle the big boxes by yourself, and I can’t help even with small things now.”
“Solved. I’ve got help.”
“The two men at work?”
“Those flaming queens? No, Casey is in town. He came to fill in at the Fire Department.”
“Oh, fooh.” Emily’s pretty forehead furrowed. “I don’t think I can handle Casey right now.”
“He starts work tomorrow and he’s on his way here now.”
The dismay in Emily’s voice was clear. “Now?”
“We’ll move the heaviest boxes tonight. I’ll buy him some beers for his help. Meanwhile, you’ll be taking it easy like the doctor ordered.” He chuckled. “And you’ll just love the apartment.”