Paper or Plastic

by Mackey Chandler

  The jacket itself probably would not rot if it could stop bullets. And it had very incriminating holes through both front and back. He decided it would have to be burned back at his cabin. Having it with them to drive back home was almost as bad as having a body, but there was no help for it.

  The pants, he decided, would not rot either. He slit them down the outside of each leg with the man's knife, rather than struggling to work them off. Whatever their tech, the knife seemed quite normal, if fine quality. The shoes thankfully rolled off the heel easily.

  Sure he had stripped everything vital, he pulled the tarp closer, until the edge was over the lip of the opening and straddled the man. He pulled until his legs started in the hole, then he got behind and shoved the body upright until it slid in. The opening was tight, but once gravity caught hold it slid out of sight. The corpse’s arms caught on the edge and lifted over its head in a gruesome parody of live motion, the raised hands being the last thing to slide from sight. It would have been impossible to do, he realized, once the body developed rigor.

  Roger manhandled the plug back in place and rolled the clothing back up in the tarp. At the truck he had some wet antiseptic wipes in the glove compartment and he had Martee pull some off and hand to him to wipe his hands, where he had a few smears of blood. He tucked those just inside the flap of the tarp and inspected himself in his outside mirror.

  He went through the groceries until he found the roll of aluminum foil. Both the man’s PDA and pistol he wrapped carefully in three layers of foil. After a moment’s thought he did the same to the pocket knife and asked Martee for the electronic weapon to do the same to it. He was pretty sure no signal would get through the foil.

  Maybe I should fold us up some beanies too, he thought.

  He stuffed the wrapped items under the seat and put the foil back in with the groceries.

  He didn’t like the fact the tall grass was disturbed around the septic tank plug, but from the parking lot you couldn’t really see the area matted down. You could see somebody had walked off into the grass but not unless you were already off the pavement. Even if somebody saw it was all lodged down around the cap, someone might assume the service had been here to pump it out, even if the place was shut down. He decided without a rake and other tools there was not much he could do about it. If he tried to groom it he might just make it more obvious.

  "OK, let’s get out of here," he suggested to Martee. He held the door for her and she eased past to get in the truck, but he looked past her through the cab and could see a car coming into the drive.

  "Just go along with this," he instructed her and pulled her back to him with an arm around her waist. She stiffened up, not sure what he intended, but when he had both arms around her he spoke calmly in her ear: "Don’t struggle, don’t fight. There is a police car coming up the drive and I want them to think we are here for other reasons. Keep your face close to mine and hold me. After his words she relaxed, comprehension dawning on her face and brought her arms up behind his neck. Thank goodness she wasn't too freaked out to listen.

  The big Black and White had one deputy in it and he seemed amused when they broke apart. He stopped well away from the truck and ran his window down.

  "Get in the truck. I’ll be back," Roger told her. He walked around the front of the truck and the cop waved him over even though he was obviously complying already. Uh-huh, a bit of a controlling personality, he thought. Looking for every detail he could gather to defuse the situation. As he crossed the parking lot he smoothed his hair down, even though it wasn’t really mused and wiped his mouth on the inside of his shirt like he was afraid it had lipstick on it, all an act to look like the embarrassed boyfriend caught necking with his girl.

  "Afternoon officer," he said doing his best to look chagrined.

  "I’ve seen you in town," the cop said. "You live out the other side of the Falls, don’t you?"

  "Yes sir, I live out ‘bout fifteen miles north of town, have for a couple years now, ever since I got out of the service." It didn’t hurt to mention that. Roger found more often than not, military service cut him some slack with cops.

  "What you doing down this way?" the cop asked, looking over his shoulder at Martee in the truck.

  "Well, I meet the lady at Keith’s this morning. She’s new in town and we shared a table at Keith's. I ended up buying her breakfast and she wanted to ride around and see the area. I bought some groceries in town mostly for later, but we made a little picnic out of it too and we were about ready to leave, but when I opened the door for her there, she was telling me so nicely what a good time she is having. I think she really appreciates a little gentlemanly gesture like when I held the door for her. Yes sir, we’ve hit it off real well, I have to say," he told the cop with a grin.

  The cop snorted through his nose, but couldn’t hide a smile.

  "Well I suggest you take this sudden camaraderie back home, or if you have to, get a room over by the Interstate, where half the town doesn’t have to see it. You’re technically trespassing here, even though it isn’t fenced off. I don’t want to swing by in a half hour and find you on a blanket in the weeds like a couple teenagers, understand?"

  "No sir, No desire to get burrs in my hair and a bunch of chiggers anyway. I’ll move on out right now, if that’s OK with you?"

  "That’s a fine idea, you do that," he agreed sternly and was running the window up before he was even done talking. He didn’t wait to see Roger leave, but made a long turn, going out the lane marked in, headed back for the highway. He hadn’t even asked to see Roger’s ID once he recognized him as a local.

  Rog went back to the truck and got in. He couldn’t sit here too long now. The deputy might wait down at the end of the campground access, or sit down the main road a few minutes to see that he really left. But at the moment his hands were shaking so badly he couldn’t drive. He took some deep breaths to calm himself. Martee didn’t say anything, she just looked concerned.

  If the cop had driven up just five minutes earlier, he would have been right in the middle of shoving a bloody corpse upright, to send it sliding to hell. What were the chances he’d check on this place right now? He thought about it as he forced himself to start the truck and grab the wheel like a zombie, to take the short drive back to the highway. It was only a couple hundred yards.

  At the entry the cop car was not there to check on him, but he saw something else. Where the campground road left the highway there was a fine band of dirt across the pavement, because of runoff from the shoulder. His tracks were in the sandy soil and the cops double set in and out were obvious too. He was irritated with himself for being so oblivious. If it had been snow on the ground he would have thought of tracks immediately. No wonder the old boy pulled in, when he saw one set of tracks leading in.

  "I want to drive out north of town to where I live," Rog explained to her. "You’re welcome to come along if you want. I bought food to invite you to eat supper with me. But if you come I expect you to answer some questions. If you are scared to be with me I understand. I’ll drop you back off in town and I suggest you go as far away from here as you can quickly. If they figure out what happened and find the body they are going to consider you an accessory to murder, after you didn’t ask the deputy for help back there."

  "No please, take me back home with you. I don’t have any way to leave town safely, if my police were looking for me here. I can’t go back to my ship and I can’t use this money safely. You convinced me of that and that I can’t pass for native unless I learn a whole lot more about your world."

  "OK, just consider this for a moment and answer so maybe I can understand. If I accept you are an alien and this fellow we just disposed of is an alien, why was he trying to fry you, with what appears to be a pretty advanced Taser sort of weapon?"

  "Because I shouldn’t be here. I wanted to come here ever since I was a little girl. You should be able to get a permit and come, but every year they have make it harder and harder to get a permit
, until now even the academics that want to study you can’t come, much less anyone to do business with you. They have made it illegal to bring anything off planet and even gone around and tried to confiscate the things from here in some of the museums and collections. So I snuck in.

  I wanted to see everything here so bad, but now I wonder if it was wise. That policeman you shot - he shouldn’t have or used the second gun he pulled out. That is against the rules, but apparently they are so desperate to isolate this world they will break their own rules. Do your policemen ever do anything like that?"

  "Oh yes, I have to explain some things to you. Ask me later to explain about plausible deniability and black operations."

  "OK, I will," she said and made a notation in her little computer.

  "Roger, I have no transportation and I can’t pay for a safe place to stay. I’m not one of those people that know how to go off out in the trees and mountains and live off wild plants and make grass huts. Can I stay with you for a little time, even though I don’t have any way to pay you right now?"

  "Yes Martee, I wasn’t going to kick you out after supper and expect you to walk back to town in the dark. I just expect you to tell me more and I’ll try to help you. If you don’t think I am treating you right you just tell me. We may have very different ideas of right and wrong and hospitality and being a guest."

  "Would you tell me what the local custom is then?"

  "Well, if you are a guest in someone’s house you still respect their privacy. You would not look in their private areas where they have their clothing or papers. You wouldn't walk in where they closed a door behind them, without asking. You would keep the house safe. For example you would not unlock the door at night, or take it upon yourself to let somebody in. You would not take things away without asking." He thought about it silent a moment.

  "A lot of people feel they should not argue with a man about what he believes under his own roof. But given the circumstances, I hope you tell me freely with what you disagree," he invited.

  "Some would say a guest should actively help defend the home from danger. I’m not sure I could ask that. And even if I could, I’m not sure what your capacity is to do so."

  He had a sudden uneasy feeling he should make one thing clear. "Just because it is my house I certainly don’t expect you to feel you should display any affection for me, that doesn’t come naturally. Do you understand what I mean?"

  "No, I’m not sure I do at all," she said with perfect innocence.

  "What I mean is, I would never use you needing shelter, as a way to pressure you to be intimate." he said and could feel himself blush.

  Martee pecked at her computer for a few minutes and then smiled. "You mean you are not a rapist. Am I right?"

  "Yes," he said, face hot. "I want you to feel safe."

  "Oh I do. Roger and about the agent you had to shoot - I don’t think you are a murderer either," she assured him generously, "but there is one thing I really want to ask you."

  "Sure Martee, want do you need to know?"

  "Do you believe me about not being from here?"

  "We may both be crazy Martee, but yes. I believe you."

  Chapter 4

  The drive home was thankfully uneventful and they were temporarily talked out. When they got to Roger's cabin, he started a fire in an outside pit he used just for enjoyment in the evening. After it was well caught he put down another layer of wood, then the folded tarp and weighed it down with more wood on top.

  The truck bed liner he washed, well away from the cabin with soapy water, then a second rinse with a generous amount of bleach. He took his clothes off on the porch and put them in a plastic trash bag. He hated to do it – he really liked these shoes – but he tossed them in too.

  Once he showered and put on fresh clothing, he brought the groceries in, before he stirred the fire with a poker and pushed a few pieces of unburnt tarp into the heart of the embers. He added more wood and put the bag of his clothes on to burn too. Martee was sitting on the lawn chair he usually left by the fire pit. The fire was obviously a novelty to her and she seemed introspective and happy to sit quiet for awhile after the rush of events. She didn't offer to help at all.

  After the bed was cleaned, he washed the cab of the truck as thoroughly as he could, including the carpet and outside door handles. Only then did he bring the truck back up close to the cabin, where he normally parked it. By then the sun was getting low. He had not seen the smallest speck of blood on the carpet or elsewhere in the cab, but he knew a good lab could find infinitesimal traces. He had found what he thought were a few flecks on the left leg of his trousers and a smear on top of his shoes undressing.

  "I'm getting hungry, Martee; do you think you could eat a bite if I make us supper?"

  "You've killed before haven't you?" she replied with a non sequitur, but it didn't feel like an accusation.

  "Yes, I told you I was a soldier, but if what you are asking is - How can I eat? – then yes, I've had to get past this before and won't put on a show of being upset, for you to feel better about me."

  "No, I don't expect that. I'm a little upset, less than I would have expected. Maybe I am a fast learner. I think I can eat something, even so soon after everything today." She looked up at him. "I never saw a dead body before today and I never saw a fire of trees, out in the open like this. He was really ugly, but this is beautiful."

  "Once cut it is wood, not trees. A lot of English words change like that with the state. It's a cow when it is an animal, but it is beef when cut up for food. That's what we are having for dinner, if it doesn't smell bad. It sat in the truck unrefrigerated longer than I planned, but it was a pretty cool day. I'll go see."

  The steaks passed his sniff test and he fired up the small grill he kept on the porch. He put a couple potatoes in the microwave and got a container of three-bean salad from yesterday. There was half an apple pie in the fridge and ice cream in the freezer, so that should be enough. After he went out and put the steaks on the grill, Martee came in and watched him set the table.

  "If you remember what I set out and where I got it, you can help me do this in the morning," he suggested. She nodded. Sometimes she seemed to pick up the gestures better than the words.

  When they sat he could sense she delayed, to let him do things before her, so she could see what the custom was. Beside that, she craned her neck all around, looking at everything in the cabin. He was amused. He could picture if he took her to one of those over decorated theme restaurants, with antiques and junk all over the walls. She'd break her neck trying to see everything all at once. She watched him butter his potato and followed the example. He thought she might use her utensils European style, but she copied him again. She didn't really have many questions as long as she could just watch - until she tried her steak.

  "What is on this?" she demanded, strangely intense.

  "Oh, just a dash of spice. They call it Montreal steak seasoning. It's a little salt, a little garlic, some black pepper the way I already knew you liked and a few other herbs. I'm quite partial to it, though I do them different sometimes, with a jerk rub or mesquite. You like it too?"

  She looked at him like he was daft. "If you opened a restaurant where I call home and sold this, they would line up outside the night before, hoping to get a seat and it would be something they recounted to their friends, like a vacation to see the ocean, or to look down on a world from above."

  "That's, uh, nice," he said a little overwhelmed. "Bet you like the pie then."

  The potato acquired lots of the coarse pepper he'd just bought and the salad she ate even if she didn't praise it, but the pie was the real hit, A deep dish apple pie with lots of cinnamon and a big scoop of French vanilla ice cream on the side. He went ahead and split the half-pie between them. After one bite with a little of both on her fork, she stopped and covered her face with both hands overcome.

  "So much," she muttered. He wasn't sure if she was crying or what.

  "Hey, hey, your
ice cream is melting," he said gently. He hadn't even heated the pie before serving it. It kind of scared him to see her reaction. It reminded him of an outing to the beach with some friends. Their little girl had agoraphobia and the reaction she had to the wide open beach was very much like what Martee seemed to feel.

  After supper he showed her how to wash the dishes. Maybe he could get a little help with that, if he was going to be the cook. He'd never bothered to buy a machine for the few dishes one person dirtied. She did fine, except for becoming enchanted by the dishwashing soap bottle and apparently reading the whole label before she could proceed. From the way she acted he was pretty sure he'd be cooking. He seriously doubted she had a clue, how to whip up an apple pie.

  By then it was dark and he called the security program up on the living room screen. He changed the level of the sensors and the alarm, to tell him about a much lower level of disturbance than before. Martee was watching him and commented:

  "You know, you have had computers now for such a short time, but already yours are almost as good as ours. That's really started to worry some of our people. They wonder if in a few more years they will have to take one of yours apart, to see how to match it. There are only a few who think like that, but I agree with them. But please, you must have some questions and I doubt how good our computers are is first in your mind. Before I talk too much, what do you want to know?" she offered.

  Roger closed the computer screen and took a chair, scared if he sat too close on the couch it would be intimidating.

  "Biggest question in my mind is, why do you look just like us? Have you had a whole lot of work done to you to pass as native and if you have, can you change back when you want to go back home?"

  "No changes at all. What you see is how I was born," she assured him. "We don't even do cosmetic surgery. That was a new idea to us. It seems a terrible waste of resources."