Alien Heat

by Lynn Hightower

  “What plans?”

  “It’s no big deal. Arthur saw one of those carnival things and thought we might ride some rides, eat popcorn and greasy pork sandwiches. Maybe get our fortunes told.” She winked at David.

  He thought suddenly what a kind woman she was, then remembered he did not like her. He wondered if she wore thong panties under the jeans.

  “Want to come with us?” she asked, like a woman who knew better.

  David looked at her. “Why not?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  David shoved his hands in his pockets, surprised to find himself whistling. Surprised to be standing in the middle of a carnival ground at the end of a working day playing hooky when the caseload was staggering. Surprised to be happy.

  Arthur was eyeing the roller coaster, and David well knew who would be drafted to ride along if the boy headed that way. Teddy swore she got sick on the twisty rides.

  “Another hot dog, Arthur?” David asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Teddy rolled her eyes. “Lord knows where he would put it. Would you look at that Ferris wheel?”

  It glowed neon-blue in the dusky twilight, and the seats looked like silver-coated leather. All illusion, David thought, thinking of the ripped upholstery and stark grey metal under the hologram.

  “Quit that,” Teddy said.

  He looked at her, frowning. “I will if you will.”

  Arthur looked from one to the other, only mildly curious, as if encoded adult conversation was an everyday part of his life.

  “I’ll try,” Teddy said. “But in return you have to ride the Ferris wheel with us.”

  Arthur looked at him anxiously.

  “It’s a deal.”

  They got stuck at the top, much to Arthur’s delight, just as the brown haze of twilight drained away and the night turned black amid glowing carnival lights.

  “Look, Arthur, there’s that man with the dachshund, see him?”

  David did not understand why Teddy and Arthur were so taken with the dachshund man, though it seemed to have something to do with an episode of “LaFarge and Groat.” He did not feel left out. He felt as if he had been asleep forever, and was wide awake for the first time in way too long.

  It was breezy this high up, almost cool, and David liked the warm press of Teddy Blake’s skin against his. He looked out at the people walking the hard-packed dirt and tufty grass between the rides and booths.

  Arthur said something that made Teddy chuckle, and David realized that this woman laughed a lot. She clutched the safety bar, and he wondered if heights made her nervous. He took her hand and turned the palm up.

  Her face was still soft, the way it got when she thought something was funny. “What?”

  “Want me to tell your fortune?”

  “You got the wrong hand.”

  “No commentary, I’m doing this.” He studied her pink palm, frowned, pursed his lips, said “ummm” three times.

  “Well?”

  “You’re afraid of heights.”

  “Nope. I’m afraid of two things—escalators and North Carolina. Nothing else scares me.”

  “Not even cynical cops?”

  “Nah, cynical cops are some of my favorite people. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “Patience. I see … I see a man in your future. A dark-haired man, a man with brown eyes.”

  She looked at his brown eyes and black hair. She did not pull her hand away. David thought that if Arthur had not been there, he would have kissed her.

  But Arthur was there. The boy swung his legs, making the seat sway back and forth. Teddy squeezed David’s hand before she pulled hers away, and then she clutched her stomach.

  “Arthur, cut it out!”

  Arthur laughed and stopped, and the seat rocked gently. The wind blew Teddy’s hair into David’s face, and he looked down at the Ferris wheel, seeing neon-blue and silver, thinking he had never seen a ride so beautiful.

  The temptation to ignore his radio when it went off was almost more than he could bear. Teddy’s face took on a closed and wary look, and Arthur ducked his head sideways, hunching his shoulders.

  The dispatcher was tense. Bomb threat and arson, Cajun Supper Club, 1202 Ellington and Walford. Mel and String were on the way; he was to get there ASAP. Grids would be held open for emergency vehicles.

  “What is it?” Teddy asked.

  He saw it in their eyes, the same look of disappointment, of pleasures interrupted, that he saw in the faces of his children when yet another family excursion was derailed by work.

  “Fire. Another supper club.”

  Teddy clutched his arm. “You go on, we’ll get home all right.”

  Arthur grabbed his other arm. “Let us come.”

  David shook his head.

  “No, please, sir. I saw all those pictures before—there were all kinds of people helping. I promise not to get in the way, but I might be able to do something. Some little thing.”

  “No dashing into burning buildings, Arthur. It’s not like that.”

  “I don’t mean that, honest. I’m fourteen, for God’s sake. I’m almost grown-up.”

  David looked into the face of a boy who was always left behind for his own good, and found he could not say no.

  “The most likely thing is you’ll wind up waiting in the car. You understand that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  David looked at Teddy, who nodded. They dropped their roller coaster tickets and went for the car. As they went, David heard the wail of concerted sirens. The all-city call had gone out.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The fire was a thing of beauty, arcing through the roof, backlighting the CAJUN SUPPER CLUB sign with hot orange flares and columns of oily smoke. Flames shone bright and deadly behind windows that were ready to explode.

  Teddy opened her door, and the safety kicked in, bringing the car to a halt in the grid.

  She pointed. “See the window on the side? No, David, over there. There’s a woman right by it. She can’t find her way out because of the smoke, and she can hardly breathe.”

  “How do you—”

  “I hear her, David. In my head. Arthur, come on, I’m going to need you.”

  The grids were giving trouble somewhere. David heard sirens, but counted only three fire vans, and a handful of uniformed officers. He clipped his ID to his belt. The scene was completely out of control, and all willing hands would be welcome. Ted was disappearing, Arthur at her heels. David ran after them.

  Thick black smoke billowed from the main doorway. As far back as he was, David could feel the intensity of the heat. Teddy shouted and veered left, and David followed, chest aching. So much for Arthur staying in the car.

  Why should he? David thought. Because his parents were rich?

  A window blew out just as they rounded the corner, and a tornado of glass showered them with shards and slivers. David took a quick look at Arthur. The boy had a smear of blood across his shoulder and was white-faced, eyes dark and excited.

  Teddy put her head through the window and shouted. David knocked the rest of the glass from the sill with the flat of his hand, got hold of an arm, and pulled. Whoever he had wasn’t budging. He crowded Teddy sideways, his eyes tearing, blinded by smoke and heat.

  At first glance, he thought the woman was enormously fat. He focused on the mound of belly and realized she was pregnant and unconscious. He called for Arthur, caught the woman under the arms, and pulled.

  The deadweight was impossible. He was aware of sirens, fire fighters, and police officers. His world narrowed to the smoke, the heat, and the weight of the woman.

  And then she budged. Teddy had one leg, and Arthur had one arm, and it took all three of them to pull her out.

  David checked, saw the woman was breathing. She was young, dark-haired, soot-stained—too young for the sleazy supper club, a child bearing a child. Her face was pretty and pale. David saw that she wore a stained apron. Worked there, then. Hell of a place for a young mother.<
br />
  He put a hand on the firm belly, hoping to feel the movement of the child within. Her muscles tightened beneath his palm; one hellacious contraction.

  He crooked a finger at Arthur. “Grab a medic, quick, she’s in hard labor.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened. He jumped to his feet and ran directly into the path of a police car, stopping just in time. David winced, and the boy was gone.

  He turned, saw that Teddy was half in and half out of the window, tugging an Elaki out. It rolled into David’s lap, surprisingly heavy, and David nudged it into the soft grass.

  Teddy put a hand on the woman’s belly. “Don’t be scared. Help’s coming.” She looked up at David. “Baby’s in distress.”

  “How would you—”

  “Who do you think I’ve been listening to?”

  David looked at her black-streaked face, at the line of blood running down her temple and thought, my God, this woman’s for real.

  “Hold my shirttail, David, there’s eight people in there, every one of them close, but they can’t see to get out.”

  There was no time for careful rescue. They cycled people through like fishermen with incredible luck, piling one almost on top of the last. People and Elaki rolled or crawled sideways away from the smoke.

  David held Teddy’s shirt, then the back of her jeans as she tipped forward. Behind him, the sirens were louder. On some level he knew when the paramedics arrived and carted the pregnant woman away. He knew Arthur left, manning the stretcher.

  Teddy went slack, suddenly, and slumped down by the window.

  “Any more?” David asked.

  “Not here.”

  “You hear anybody else?”

  He looked at her face, saw the tear tracks moving through sweat, blood, and soot.

  “I hear everybody.”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  This time the fire department ignored the bomb threat. There had been over two hundred people in the Cajun Supper Club, and the death toll stood at eight—six civilians dead of smoke inhalation, one cop dead of heat exhaustion, and a fire fighter who drowned when he stumbled into an uncovered sump in the darkness.

  David heard the drip of water, the beat of media choppers, hoarse shouts from people in charge who knew the worst was over but still had a lot to do before they could call it a day.

  He put a hand on his chest where the scar throbbed, noticed a gluey blue stickiness on the cuffs of his pants—likely it would be thick on the bottom of his shoes. Fire gel was harder to get out of clothes than the smell of smoke.

  Teddy sat quietly beside Arthur. Her braid had come completely loose, and her sweat-damp hair clung to her neck and back. A dried trail of blood snaked down her cheek.

  “There he is, I thought that was the car.”

  David looked up, saw Clements and Warden. A man in a crumpled business suit was wedged between them. He had a forlorn look. He was red-faced, hair blond and wispy, and he moved languidly, as if in shock.

  “Ah, Detective Sssilver is not to be hurt so badly?” Warden skittered close and peered at David’s hand.

  “Very minor,” David said.

  The Elaki had lost a patch of scales, and his eye stalks were caked with soot. Blue gel gummed the bottom of his fringe.

  Clements waved a hand. “Detective Silver, I want you to meet Mr. Cromwell. Give him your sympathy, David. Mr. Cromwell owns this place.”

  Cromwell hung his head. His eyes were blue and red-rimmed, teary. David assumed the tears were from the smoke.

  Clements put a hand on her hip. “David, Mr. Cromwell has a storage unit over on Abner—could you drive us over? Van’s blocked in by a fire jeep and an arson chief, or I’d do it myself. That way, Mr. Cromwell can get some idea of what’s actually in storage, and not in the club. Help him file his claim.”

  David wondered what Clements was up to.

  Cromwell took a step backward. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”

  “No, no, no, Mr. Cromwell. Unless you object? I mean, if you got some reason—”

  “I don’t want to put you out.”

  Clements looked at David. “Okay by you, David? We can borrow your car, or you can drive us.”

  David turned to Teddy.

  “We’ll get home.”

  It was Arthur who said it. Teddy met David’s eyes; he wished she would say something. He remembered the feel of her, beside him on the Ferris wheel. He remembered reading her palm.

  He wanted to take her home, but there was Clements, giving him that look.

  “Okay,” David said.

  They ran the air-conditioning and rolled down the windows, but the car was thick with the odor of smoke, fire gel, and human sweat. Cromwell and Warden were in the backseat, crammed miserably close.

  Clements put her elbow over the headrest and gave Cromwell a sympathetic look. “Got insurance, I assume? And I hope you didn’t go and do like my brother-in-law, because one, he didn’t get replacement value, and two, he was underinsured.”

  “No, no,” Cromwell said. “We just increased the coverage.”

  Yolanda Clements smiled. David began to understand.

  “Isss not like the last we did in place near the Little Saigo.” The wind coming in from the windows made Warden’s scales ripple violently. He shaded his eye prongs. “Thiss unfortunate human had just put in the order for numerous foodstuffs, and then all goes to ash in the flames.”

  Cromwell shifted in his seat. “We had a lot of liquor in stock.”

  “Tell you what, Mr. Cromwell, I’m going to make a list here, on the recorder, while it’s still fresh in your mind. Worst thing about fires is people got no update on their list of inventory, and they don’t remember half the things they ought to put on their claim.”

  “No, no, I have a recent listing in the office computer.”

  “Do you now?”

  David watched in the rearview mirror again, noting Cromwell’s proud apple-to-the-teacher smile. It was a pleasure to watch Clements work this guy over.

  “That’s good, Mr. Cromwell, real good. But now, you did tell me some of that was in storage. Or am I misremembering? I got no memory, do I, Detective Warden?”

  “Not the smallest.”

  Cromwell pursed his lips. “There may have been one or two things, but most of it was in the club.”

  “How long you had that storage rental?”

  “A long time. Years.”

  “How long since you put something in there?”

  “Couple months anyway.”

  Clements nodded, smiled like a cat.

  The storage bunkers were on the outskirts of the downtown area, well past the comingled overlap of residence and commerce. Marginal residential pockets were interspersed with cheap warehouses of corrugated metal and oddly shaped lots hidden behind barbed wire and makeshift plywood.

  David drove past a floral shop that did not sell flowers, and pulled into a parking lot next to a sign advertising STOR-BUNK. It was dark here, though a pale blue stream of light flickered from the sign.

  David saw movement across the street, in front of an empty shack that said PIZZA-N-B’CUE.

  “Alert,” he told the car softly.

  The door to the bunkers required a code to get in, or would have if it had not been wedged open with a block of wood. Inside, it was dark. Cromwell called up the lights. A dull yellow haze rose in the darkness, bringing the pitch-blackness up to a nightmarish gloom. David followed Cromwell down the sloping concrete walkway, finding the bunker built oddly like a pyramid. He wrapped his hand firmly on the butt of his gun, waiting for the chip to register his fingerprints. Having the weapon at the ready made him feel better.

  Warden skittered ahead, walking close to Clements. David brought up the rear, noticing old scales in the corner. Elaki had been through here, some time ago.

  It was hot inside, and humid. The lower they went the cooler it felt. David saw beads of condensation cling together and fall in droplets down the coarse concrete walls. He smelled mildew. His
shirt stuck to his back, and the odor of smoke clung to his skin and clothes.

  He wondered if Arthur and Teddy were safely home.

  Cromwell stopped, squinting. “I think we went too far.”

  Warden made a fluting noise that sounded amiable, but that David knew to be derisive. Cromwell backtracked and they followed him, uphill now, the slope rising gently.

  “Here, this is it.”

  He went to the sliding metal door and punched in a code. The door jerked, emitted a metallic hum that developed into a full-throated rumble, and began sliding up into the wall.

  David saw the hint of a complacent smile flicker across Clements’s face and a frown settle on Cromwell’s.

  Just inside the door were cases of liquor, and plastic tubs of smokes that looked like the pencil boxes David had carried to school as a child. He saw framed family pictures, stacked on top of the liquor, and large bundles of food packages.

  Behind was a hodgepodge jumble David could not imagine anyone wanting to keep. A broken wooden chair, cardboard boxes layered in dust, plastic bags, neatly tied. Clements ran a finger across the top of one of the liquor boxes.

  “No dust,” she said cheerfully.

  “I don’t get this.” Cromwell scratched his head, frowned, took a step inside.

  Clements crooked a finger at Warden. “You got the camera, baby?”

  TWENTY-SIX

  It was early when David walked into the lobby of the Rialto Hotel. A different desk clerk—Sam again—gave him a key to the security floor. His back ached. He had strained something, pulling those people out of the fire. He’d taken Tylenol Twelve caplets before leaving the house, and they were only just now beginning to take effect.

  Early as it was, Jenks and Arthur were wide-awake, their raised voices coming through the thick hotel room door.

  David’s knock was greeted by silence. He waited, knocked again. Someone activated the peephole.

  “Please state your business,” came the metallic voice from the door.

  David held up his ID for scanning. “Detective Silver, homicide, Saigo City PD.”