“Good idea.” He led me to a phone in a private office. I asked Eddie to make sure the good doctor notified the local cops. I called Syndacorp Imports collect and asked for Joe Lorena. He came to the phone, I told him exactly what had happened. He remained calm and told me the lizard people must have traced Rusty Wilson to the hotel and struck the minute I was out of the room. He warned me about any of several things that could happen, but at any rate, I’d best consider my ex-client dead. He also urged Eddie and I to get back to California as soon as possible. We spent all of the morning and most of the afternoon jumping on possible leads—like had anyone seen a gorgeous naked woman running down the street chased by a bunch of lizard men who were six-foot-six or taller? Or how about a woman wrapped up in snake-skin being carried into a hearse by very tall men who all happened to look alike? I kinda liked that one.
Finally we were directed to the main police station and met one Captain Mendoza. He had a pencil-thin mustache, dark burning eyes and nice silver temples with salt and pepper hair. “Señores…welcome to Mexico! I am sorry for your predicament.” We thanked him and he presented us with a piece of paper written in Spanish. “Tristemente, aquí we have a young mujer close to your description lying quietly in the morgue downstairs. She died just one hour or so ago. Lo siento, such a mujer bonita, también.”
Mendoza took Eddie and I down three flights of concrete steps. When we reached that place where the stiffs hang out, I could smell the unmistakable mix of rotting flesh and formaldehyde. “And you’re sure she died just an hour or two ago?” I asked, my gut senses bugging the hell out of me. “And what did she die of?”
“Ay, señor, misterioso—we cannot find a mark. Venga, señores, you will see.”
We entered a dimly lit room where four autopsy tables stood. A kindly looking little Mexican man with a clean-shaven face and green smock greeted us. The two Mexicans exchanged some fast Spanish lingo and then the pathologist turned to us and led us to a table where a body lay under a sheet. With the large stand-out breasts and the distended stomach, I could tell before he lifted it that it was Rusty Wilson. When he uncovered her, both Eddie and I were taken aback. She looked absolutely lovely, as if she were asleep…not too pale and everything seemed untouched. “We cannot explain the swelling aquí,” the little man said, pointing to Rusty’s stomach. “She is not carrying un bebé. También, in the pasaje vaginal we find abundant remains of spermatozoa.” Eddie threw me a knowing look, but I kept shut on that one.
“It is as if she está muerta…pero…ella se ve pacífica—and asleep,” Captain Mendoza said.
“And you’re sure there’s no pulse, heartbeat, low-scale breathing or any other sign of life?” I asked.
The little pathologist covered Rusty’s body with the sheet. “I am sure, señor. Sometimes young people stay fresh for several hours.”
We thanked the men, stopped by the hotel for our bags and got a ride out to the dust-blown airport. It was getting dark by the time the mad hatter’s ride from hell was over and we got out of the car, somewhat shaken but alive. Eddie Contino had been obviously shaken by the day’s events. It wasn’t exactly my favorite day, either. Not only did I lose a client—but my very first goddam one! And when a guy makes love to a gorgeous dish the night before and they have some fun times together—and bam! suddenly she’s lying face up in the local morgue, it can take its toll on life’s expectations.
“Gees, Denning,” Eddie was saying. “How in the hell do you live your life on the edge like that? I thought she was a babe, too—and when a tough break like that comes along—”
“—she’s not dead, Eddie.”
“She’s not? Coulda fooled me, buddy. I’ve seen a lotta stiffs in my time. She looked pretty, but she looked dead, too.”
“Call it a hunch. You came in at the middle of the movie, Eddie. What I already went through with this dame before we got to Mexico is a whole book’s worth.” I looked at him as we started walking toward the plane. “How much do you know about—about things in the Dragna gang, or Joe Lorena? Or are you just a pilot…a lackey?”
“Yeah, that’s me. See nothin’, hear nothin’, say nothin’. It ain’t a good idea to be too curious in my line of work.”
We got to the airplane, but when Eddie checked the fuel gauge from inside the cockpit, he came out storming. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Son-of-a-bitch Mexicans! I told ‘em to fill ‘er up before we got back tonight.”
“Well, there’s still a guy hanging out at the tank truck by the tower.” We walked over and found the man didn’t speak any English. We hunted down the one clerk left in the terminal and he translated we wanted fuel and fast. But, it seemed in Mexico, there’s no such thing as fast.
Finally we rode out with the tank truck to our twin-engine silver bird. The attendant began pumping the fuel into the wings. Just as he finished and Eddie got into the cockpit to fire up the engines, I thought I saw some figures coming toward me. Only the sweep-light from the airport tower provided some light, but it seemed to me the figures were running toward the plane. I called to Eddie and he jumped out of the plane, this time with his .38 in hand. A chill went down my spine as I beheld what looked like a tall naked woman being pursued by three very tall hooded creatures. But just like my dream, as the female approached, I could tell it was Rusty Wilson and she was heading right for me full speed. I had one of those rare moments in my professional life—I froze. I couldn’t even draw my gun as Rusty approached. But as she got closer I saw her mouth open wide and two deadly viper-like fangs extended from her eye-teeth, her eyes had turned a luminous green and she hissed a low, guttural sound at me. For a split second she hesitated, as if some old part of her remembered who I was—but it didn’t last, for as the three creatures behind her stopped to observe, the tall, lithe female started to strike at me. Suddenly Eddie Contino’s .38 emptied into Rusty’s torso and blotches of green blood began to appear. She fell to the ground within two feet of me as I went to my knees, drew my gun and started shooting at the three other creatures. I hit one in the back of the head and it reeled, fell backward and came crashing down onto the tarmac.
I was down on my belly, face to face with the once beautiful body of Rusty Wilson. Her face was broken and distorted. Poor thing, I thought, she must have gone through hell in the last twenty-four hours. From human woman to corpse to resurrected alien reptile-woman! I picked myself up as Eddie approached me. “You alright, Denning? Shit, man, why did you hesitate? That thing was gonna do you in, man!”
“Thanks for saving my ass, Eddie. I thought it was the real Rusty Wilson at first.” Then I looked at Eddie’s surprised and astonished face. “Plus I didn’t want to kill my meal ticket. She was my client, if you’ll remember.”
“Who the fuck wants clients like that?” He looked over at the airport. Some activity seemed to be stirring. “We gotta get the shit outta here—c’mon.”
“What about her? And the dead giant lizard I shot?”
“My orders are to leave with just our butts! Let’s go!”
We boarded the plane and Eddie checked the wind direction with his finger out of the cockpit window and we took off, heading into a light evening breeze. I collapsed into one of the eight vacant seats. From that day on I had a lot more faith in my nightmares, not to mention my intuitions. My brain was so muddled with questions and unsolvable conundrums that I asked Eddie for the whereabouts of all the booze the plane was carrying and helped myself to a goodly amount of it. Several hours later I was drunk and asleep on the runway at Angeles Mesa Drive airport. Eddie had gone ahead to the terminal to make a phone call while I tried to pull myself together. When he returned he said he’d been instructed to bring me directly to Syndcorp Imports’ headquarters.
As we drove along I kept hearing that lonely sax playing out there in the night, picturing Rusty Wilson in that black negligée and her warm, inviting face and body calling to me. I could still hear her voice coo and purr as she quietly fell for me on that sofa. Rom
antic love was the one thing that stopped you in your tracks in this world, that reminded you that vivid time-outs were worth the while and knock-out dames with intelligence and sensual leanings made it all worthwhile, somehow. But now I had lost her—and lost my very first client in the worst way a private dick can…death. That was the one thing that had no return policy, no re-engagements, no sweet talk on fancy telephones in the middle of the night from a penthouse above the roar of the city.
Eddie Contino bade me good-bye and said he was sorry about the way things turned out and better luck next time. Personally, I hoped there would never be a next time that was anything like this one. As I walked down a hallway I saw Joe Lorena approaching. He looked serious and a bit drawn. “Cable, please, come with me.”
We went into a small private lounge where I saw Joe take a drink of some orange-yellow concoction I didn’t even want to guess at its content. He poured me a gin and tonic. “Thanks. So…looks like I blew everything, Joe. I’m sorry. These lizard creatures were everywhere down there. With that damn device still in Rusty Wilson, they knew where we were every minute.”
“It’s not your fault, Cable. You’re young and inexperienced in my world. Plus everything changes. Nothing remains the same. I learned just hours ago, that Mrs. Wilson’s tracer implant was not just a transponder, but it was a transformational didactic enhancer—in other words, the lizard folk were experimenting with her, slowly turning her into a new species of them: a female who is loaded with deadly venom and can kill anything organic within seconds.”
“Let me get this straight. One lizard guy marries her, implants her with this enhancer thing. Slowly she changes into a new version of one of them. So they never intended to use her as a baby machine?”
“Well, not exactly. Our sources tell us only about five-hundred females between the ages of eighteen and thirty-five were fitted with such a device. Didn’t you notice anything unusual when you woke up with her that morning? And by the way, I hope this won’t turn into a habit of promiscuity, Cable—it would devastate Honey to know about this.”
“No, Joe, I didn’t intend it to happen. I’m sorry…sorry for everyone. But, yeah, that morning her stomach seemed distended as hell. The night before it was perfectly flat.”
“Precisely. That fits what we’ve learned. The warm sperm you released into her that night triggered the acceleration of hundreds of reptilian eggs previously planted in her ovum. Once so stimulated, they possess the ability to grow rapidly. So when you awoke and saw her stomach swollen, she was actually pregnant with hundreds of female lizard-like creatures just like her. The male lizard people, the tall ones, watched you exit the hotel room to find Eddie Contino. In that minute, your job was finished and they kidnapped her to a safe place like a morgue, to go into the necessary state of suspended animation.”
“You mean I was a breeding patsy the whole time?”
“That’s why they didn’t interfere before you had mated with this Rusty Wilson, poor soul.”
“Then how did she die? I mean, I saw her on that slab, Joe, not cold, but according to the pathologist with no pulse, heartbeat or other vital signs.”
“There is a pre-state where the parent-host goes dormant. But what you didn’t see was her rapid recovery after she awakened from that suspended animation and deposited her eggs.”
“Wha—what?! Deposited what? You mean she just laid her eggs somewhere and left the scene?”
“Yes, just like any other reptile. There is little maternal protective instinct in these creatures. However, if laid in a safe place and hatched out, they are far from helpless. In fact, like most vipers, they are poisonous the moment they come into the world.”
“Oh, fuck…that means dozens of those little shits are growing up right now in crooks, crannies and warm canals in old Monterrey.”
“Well, not quite, Cable. We managed to find a laundry room where your client had laid her eggs. We destroyed them all…this time. But we won’t always win. There are too many of them.”
“So, a final question. Why did she and her triplicate husbands named Todd, come flying after Eddie and me at the airport?”
“That’s easy…you knew too much. They like to be secretive, cover their tracks. That’s why you were ordered out of there immediately.” Joe Lorena took another sip from his strange drink and I lit up a Lucky Strike. “You’re going to have to look over your shoulder for a while, I’m afraid, Cable. They might be back for you. But then again, we don’t really know if that is their modus.”
“Shit, Joe, I’m beginning to understand your way of looking at things…now I see why you’re in the middle of Dragna’s dung heap.”
“It’s the best way I can operate and still hope I can do some good. Jack’s organization has constant infiltrations of aliens. We have eliminated a lot of them, but there are at least five traceable genera functioning on the earth at this time. And not all of the really bad ones are aliens, I might add. Some earth beings are badly bred and their brain connections are, what I would call, badly wired. These, among your kind, are just as dangerous as the aliens.”
“Yeah, I can think of a couple in my time. The young woman who removes the limbs off her living baby, the doctor who sells out his soul for a sealed golden capsule, or even someone like Frank Leggore who would kill anyone who got in his way without conscience. I’m happy to put people like that away for good. They can’t belong…there’s no place—”
“—yes, Cable…no place.” He looked at me with those kindly eyes of his. “So, future son-in-law, I hope you have a clearer picture of what I do and why I’m in what you term, the middle of a dung heap. What is a life worth if you can do no good while living it? What value can you put to living if you do not strive to improve just a fraction of it?”
For the first time, I looked at Joe Lorena with admiration. “I see it now, Joe.” I got up and shook his hand. “I smell pretty bad from the trip and need to clean up, call your daughter and tell her I love her. Oh, and I think I’ll tell her, uh, one other thing.”
“And what’s that, Cable?”
“That I think her Dad and I are going to get along just swell.” Joe moved toward me with his arms extended and I hugged him.
Chapter 17
THE TRANSFIGURATION OF LEI-TAO
It was late morning. The heat of August, 1929 was exacerbated by the arrival of the Santa Ana winds, which swept down from the heated mountains to the east of Los Angeles and came flushing down the canyons at night like someone had opened the ovens of Hell. Legend was that on a night when the Santa Ana’s blew, ancient tribes that lived on the land thousands of years before, released those whose deaths were due to foul play and allowed them to avenge the wrong doing.
My business was beginning to take off pretty well and I stuck with simple cases that included tracing down errant husbands, wives, girlfriends and lovers and snapping the all-important Kodak shot of the tryst in action. A few protection and escort cases came in, a missing persons case now and then but nothing I couldn’t handle. I was doing okay and making a living from my happy little office on Franklin near Cahuenga Blvd. Honey and I were doing great and despite an occasional slip with Adora Moreno, who I was still somehow addicted to, I was playing it straight against the line. I even went out and bought some new sheets and blankets for my childhood bed in the back, a new toothbrush and some large towels so at least I’d feel dry after my showers in the morning.
Honey’s recordings were doing well on the radio. This hot August morning, I was listening to her Brunswick recording of “Blue Skies” cut with her new great trumpeter, Chet James. She had become smooth, professional and her records sold at sheet music and piano stores very well. I was trying to find a phone number when the phone rang. “Yeah, Cable Denning Agency here…”
“Cable? Is—is it really you?”
A young female voice was at the other end. “Yeah, it’s me, who’s this?”
“Ginny—Ginny Fullerton—remember me? I finally made it, Cable—I’m liv
ing and working in L.A. now, I finally got away from Big Bear Lake and my Mom and Dad and all…you know. I think Dad will miss me most. He was furious when I told him, but I’m old enough to be my own woman now, right?”
“It’s good to hear your voice, Ginny,” I said, actually glad to hear the fresh, youthful energy exuding from this lovely young woman. “How in the hell did you find me?”
“Well, when I went downtown to your old police headquarters, a nice sergeant said you had quit to become a private ‘dick’—” she snickered. “Isn’t that rather offensive—I mean that he called you that?”
“Well, not really, Ginny. You see, ‘dick’ has come to mean detective. I was curious myself and read up on it. It might’ve started before the turn of the century with British underworld slang meaning to watch…or maybe even from a series about Scottish detective, Dick Donovan from around the same time that was popular here in America.”
“Oh….uh huh. Well, I was probably thinking of something else. And, by the way, I haven’t forgotten you or that wonderful afternoon at my aunt’s place.”
“That was a long time ago, Ginny. I’m—I’m getting married in December—to a gal named Honey Combes, a famous singer…”
There was a long pause. “I didn’t know. That was the girl you talked about when—when we did it.” Then she brightened up. “Well, you always told me there wasn’t much of a future for me in your life. I guess a girl can keep trying, huh? It’s just not that easy…I mean having the best, Cable, and then settling for less. Are you sure you can’t see me now and then? Do you live with your fiancée?”
“Not until the wedding. But, Ginny, I don’t mean to throw a wet blanket on things, but—but—it’s just not gonna happen. I’m an older guy, remember, and you’re looking for a stud who’s twenty and horny all the time.”
Golden Throat (Cable Denning Mystery Series Book 1) Page 39
