by William Bebb
Together they dragged her toward the RV's open door and Shannon called out, “Allison, grab that hat on the ground over there and use it to pick up the glass thing on the sidewalk but don't touch it with your hand.”
“Why? It got poison on it?” She asked, while picking up the hat and watching Shannon and the big man struggle to drag the girl toward the RV.
Allison yelled, as she reached down, “I said, do it got poison or something on it!?”
They went up the steps into the RV and she muttered to herself, “Fine, let me just scoop up this nasty old thing. Don't you worry about me, I'll be fine.”
The glass rod was very light and vibrated in her hand through the hat. She felt tempted to toss it in the nearby trashcan before Shannon stuck her head out through the open doorway and begged her to hurry up and bring it inside.
The RV was several blocks away heading east when a police car cruised by the area where a disturbance had been reported. A Volvo with a badly bashed in left rear side, blaring its alarm with the headlights flashing off and on, was the only thing that looked out of place.
An officer climbed out and began writing the license plate number down when a block away there came the sounds of squealing tires and crunching of metal.
Upon investigation, it was determined that a runaway scooter had rolled into the intersection causing the first driver to slam on his brakes. The cars behind him daisy chain smashed into each other. A few minutes later a fire truck and paramedics had arrived and traffic slowed to a crawl.
Inching along inside his dad's truck, Jake looked out the window at the scene. He said something his dad couldn't understand over the sound of a car alarm screaming nearby.
“Say again?”
“I said, it'll be nice to get home to some peace and quiet!” Jake yelled, as they crossed the intersection and headed toward home.
*****
“He should be in a regular hospital,” the veterinarian said, as she checked the IV drip she'd placed in Jim Rockford's arm a few minutes earlier.
“Yes, you're right, but you're as good as it gets at least for now. Any idea what's wrong with him?” Agent Courtney Simmons asked.
“He's badly dehydrated. Last time I saw anything like this it was a poodle that belonged to an old woman who died in her sleep. No one noticed her death for a week. The poor dog was barely alive in the back yard by the time someone finally did discover the woman's corpse.”
Sarah was sitting in a wooden chair in the corner. Her eyes were dazed as she continued to tremble and mutter softly to herself. She'd been like that ever since they left her house and Courtney thought she might be in a state of shock. Of course, she didn't feel too far from the same thing and was worried about her partner.
Abe had gone back to the townhouse to try and recover the notebook. It seemed like a big risk to Courtney, but surely whoever of whatever it was that had come after them was gone by now, she hoped. Looking at her watch, she saw he'd only been gone twenty minutes.
The townhouse was about fifteen minutes away so at best he couldn't be expected back for another ten or thereabouts. Abe told her if he wasn't back in forty-five minutes that they should move to a new location and she'd reluctantly agreed.
Damn you, Amalia, what have you roped us into? Courtney wondered, as she watched the parking lot through the treatment room's window.
The first thing Captain Rockford saw, when he awoke, was a large mural of a cartoon puppy someone had painted on the wall. There was a bandage on its upheld paw and a silly grin on its face. “Smells like a kennel in here,” he said in a tired voice.
“Daddy? Daddy, are you okay?” Sarah asked, as her eyes cleared and she rushed to her father's side.
“We're not at your house anymore, are we?”
“Captain Rockford, I'm Federal Agent Courtney Simmons. My partner and I had to get you out of there. How are you feeling? We may have to leave in a few minutes.”
“Where are my clothes?” He asked, sitting up slowly.
“Lay back down. We've still got some time. Doctor, do you have any scrubs he could borrow?” Courtney asked.
“I think we have some his size. I'll be right back,” she said, leaving the room.
“Did the bad guys find me at your house baby?” Rockford asked his daughter.
“Yes, but we got away. I'm sure our homeowners insurance will cover the damage,” Sarah said, softly patting his hand.
“I'm sorry I got you involved, baby. I never should have bothered you. My head was rattled. I wasn't thinking straight.”
“Daddy, I don't care about the house. Things can be replaced but you can't,” Sarah said hugging him.
A few minutes later a set of scrubs were brought in by the vet. She checked his pulse and temperature as Courtney saw Abe drive into the parking lot in a different car than he left in. He got out of an old station wagon and looked around before hurrying inside.
“He's not well but much better than when you brought him in,” the vet said, as Rockford looked at the large white shirt decorated with drawings of kittens, birds, and more puppies she handed him.
He shook his head and began struggling into the faded green pants, grateful they had no animal illustrations on them.
Agent Carter came in and looked nervous but happy. “Is this yours?” He asked, holding out Rockford's notebook.
“Yes sir.”
“What do we do now, daddy?”
“You go somewhere safe. A friends house or something. Don't you dare go home until I tell you it's safe. Okay, sweetie bear?”
“Daddy, I can't leave you while you're in trouble.”
“Baby, if anything happens to you it will be my fault. If I can, I'll call you as soon as it's safe to go home but for now hanging around with your old man's too dangerous.”
“He's right, ma'am,” Abe said, softly.
“Okay daddy but you better take better care of yourself. I love you,” she said and hugged him again.
“I love you too puddin head but remember your dad's pretty tough, so don't worry. Just don't go home until I call and tell you it's safe.”
She nodded and opened the door then stopped and looked at the two agents. “You guys better not let anything else happen to him, or else.”
A nurse came in as Sarah left the room. “Mrs. Simmons? There's a call for you on line three.”
Abe gave her a pissed off look as she shrugged and picked up the phone.
*****
“No, hang a right and keep going until we start going down the other side of the mountain,” Agent Hicks told Trevor as he sat in the passenger seat and examined the old man's machine gun. “You got a license for this thing?”
“Um, well sir, it's basically just for home defense,” Trevor said, licking his lips as the RV began to creak and slow down while heading up the steep road toward the summit of Red Mountain.
“Uh huh. Well, for the time being I'm not that worried about it. Frankly, actually I'm more than a bit confused. Have you ever had a weird day that stretched into the next one with no sign of an end?”
“Yes, I'm afraid so.”
“Well, ain't that a sight? I declare if that man ain't a pig then I am,” Allison said, looking at the still unconscious man lying on the floor of the RV. “What are you looking for?”
Agent Mendez had checked all of the man's pockets and unzipped his pants as Allison and Alice watched. Of course, he could have some kind of tracking technology implanted inside his body and finding that would be problematic, Mendez realized, frisking her hands quickly around his body.
“Is that a Ziffel?” Alice asked, blushing while she watched Mendez search him.
“I'd say that was a pretty good bet,” Professor Anniston said, holding tightly to the arms of his chair as the RV tilted further, while moving steadily up the mountainside.
“What about them?” Alice asked, pointing at the two roaches resting on the little girl's forehead.
“Must be some fine feathered friends of the robo
t monster, I'd imagine,” Anniston said, unable to keep from smiling as he looked at the twitching girl on the floor.
“Professor, I don't like the situation either. In fact, I think it stinks but Betty may be dead. And if she hadn't stopped that man, um Ziffel, who knows what he may have done to us?” Alice said.
“Alice, she is not a little girl. You need to get that through your sweet head. She's a machine operated by aliens who see no moral issue over exterminating the human race.”
“I know that. But she agreed to not do anything unless we're on the brink of world war. Considering she didn't have to do that, and she saved us from that disgusting looking pig thing, I'd say she deserves at least some degree of pity.”
“Appearances are not always what they seem. I'll grant you that the Ziffel lying on the floor is a wholly nauseating looking creature, but looks can be deceiving. After all, have they been threatening us with genocide?” Anniston asked.
“Hang a right here and keep going up till you get to the gate and pull in to the parking lot,” Hicks said, while looking for signs they'd been followed. “I like your RV, Trevor, but it's about as inconspicuous as a one legged man at an ass kicking contest.”
“It's Professor Anniston's mobile retirement home. I wanted to ditch it as soon as that Wilcox fellow went nuts yesterday, but I'm afraid the professor can be quite unreasonable at times,” Trevor explained, as he pulled into the lot and drove to a shady spot where Hicks pointed.
A black sports car was already there with three people anxiously watching their approach.
Hicks jumped out and trotted over before the RV had come to a full stop.
“Keep an eye on everyone's favorite Ziffel. I'll be back in a few minutes,” Shannon said to Trevor.
Alice took the passenger seat and looked outside muttering, “What an ass.”
“Pardon me?” Trevor asked in shock, did you say what I thought you did?”
Alice chuckled and pointed up at the cast iron statue of Vulcan, towering above Red Mountain. The cast iron Roman god of black smiths stood holding a spear outstretched in one hand. But because he was facing the other way they were afforded a remarkable view of his muscular naked buttocks.
Trevor shook his head and looked at the Ziffel who had opened his eyes and was silently glaring at the old man pointing a machine gun at him.
“Shannon, glad to finally catch up with you,” Amalia said, looking more than slightly irritated.
“Sorry, but things have been...complicated lately. There's a couple of things I need to say before I take you to the RV. On board, we have not one but two different races of aliens. I think the big ones are working with some humans, well cops at least. And also, I want a raise,” Shannon said, as they walked back to the RV.
“You met some aliens?” Marcus asked sounding impressed and a little jealous.
“Shush. Did you guys ditch your cell phones?” Amalia asked.
Shannon looked at her partner.
“Yeah. I dropped my brand new one that I went through Hell to get by the way, at a police station in town. Shannon's is on the trailer of a truck hauling concrete culverts somewhere. If they're tracking them they'll be busy for awhile,” Hicks said with a grin.
“Good. Hicks, I want you and Wilcox watching for any visitors while I go see what's going on with your new friends,” Amalia said, as they climbed inside the RV.
“Do what you want but I'm going to take a walk. I'm sick of aliens and all the craziness that accompanies them. Alice, Trevor, would you care to join me?” Professor Anniston asked, after brief introductions were made in his RV.
“Yes sir. I've been feeling claustrophobic all day,” Trevor said, as Alice nodded and walked down the steps.
“It could be dangerous, out there,” Amalia warned them.
“Madam, there are aliens inside my home. A big one who's intentions are questionable at best and who knows how many tiny ones that have only recently agreed not to destroy humanity.
At this point, I'd welcome quite happily the danger of a mugger or thief over my uninvited house guests,” the old man said, before turning and joining his friends as they walked slowly toward the Vulcan Park visitors complex.
Marcus took possession of Trevor's machine gun and lead the pig faced man into Professor Anniston's bedroom, at Shannon's suggestion.
The Ziffel didn't say anything while being marched out of earshot but did glare fiercely at the two women.
As soon as Marcus shut the door and made the pig faced man sit on the bed, it whispered urgently, “Quit fucking around and get these handcuffs off of me, before it's too late.”
“Why in the world would I do that?” Marcus asked, pointing the gun at him.
“Because I work for Mr. Smith, and so do you,” The Ziffel explained.
Marcus was shocked and let the gun droop slightly as he felt goose bumps break out over his skin.
Over the previous two years he'd been providing information to a man he'd met in Atlanta, in exchange for several large sums of cash. If the information they had wanted was high security or sensitive he never would have considered it, but Smith seemed interested more in conspiracy goof ball stuff than anything serious so he took his money.
He'd met him at a convention of extraterrestrial researchers and enthusiasts who got together and discussed the possibilities of alien life.
The man, at the time, had seemed likeable enough and showed him some of his collection of photographic and video examples of flying saucers and reports that were purported to be proof of visitors from outer space.
Marcus had been underwhelmed by what he saw. Having worked for the FBI gathering intelligence of such things for nearly ten years, he could tell the man was just an amiable amateur kook; albeit a kook of considerable wealth.
After the man showed him a DVD of a blurry 'spaceship' that was spotted over Brazil in 1998 and told Marcus he's spent $5,000 for it, he asked if he was still in the market for other things related to aliens.
The man, who called himself Mr. Smith, was very impressed with Marcus's FBI credentials and excited by the possibility of buying anything he could. A deal was made and at first Marcus felt he'd taken advantage of Mr. Smith because nearly everything he sent to him was garden variety gossip found in nearly every corner of the internet.
But over the last year Mr. Smith had been hinting that unless the quality of his reports didn't improve, he might report him to his superiors as a spy and traitor.
Marcus gradually sent more sensitive information and not just on aliens but also his superiors including Amalia Armstrong, who was now just down the hall of the RV.
It had all seemed harmless enough, until now. A few hours ago he thought it was nothing more than a group of UFO nuts with more balls and money than brains. But now, face to tusked face with an alien who not only knew his name but everything about the intelligence he'd been providing, he was scared and confused.
“Listen to me, Marcus,” the Ziffel whispered. “You're a smart kid. All I want is for you to unlock one of the handcuffs for me. I'll handle the rest. I can tell you're upset and frankly you should be.
When they interrogate me, and you know they will, your name will probably come up. I don't want that to happen. You've been a well rewarded good friend to us in the past and if you release me I know you'll get a nice bonus for it.
Hell, just make a phone call and tell them where I am. Then take a walk and they'll come get me. I'm not asking you to shoot anybody or anything like that. Just help me and yourself out before we're both screwed.”
Marcus stood by the slightly open door leading to the hallway dividing his attention between what was being said by the alien and watching for Amalia and the others. He had no idea the people he had been providing intelligence to were aliens. Now that he realized it though, he was more than scared, he was both terrified and horrified.
“Time's running out, buddy. If you let me go, I'll just run for it. I won't hurt anyone. Just unlock one handcuff,” the Ziffel wh
ispered urgently.
“He's a big scary looking guy. Plus, his ears aren't even pointy like the Vulcans from Star Trek,” Alice observed, as she Trevor and Professor Anniston looked up from the base of the tower on which the nearly sixty foot tall cast iron statue stood.
“My dear, surely you are joking,” Anniston said with a smile.
He saw her shaking her head and sighed. “It's not that kind of Vulcan, Alice. He is the Roman god of fire and the forge, I believe. Birmingham was once a city known for its production of steel and iron, hence they erected this statue over a hundred years ago. But confidentially, he does look a bit scary to me as well.”
The old man held Alice's hand as they gazed up at the statue.
Trevor, feeling uncomfortable and unnecessary, wandered over to a fence beyond which there was considerable drop off down the mountainside.
Nearby, two children were taking turns looking through a coin operated telescope at the city below.
“It's my turn, butt munch,” the boy said to the girl as she looked through the telescope.
“Just a second, fart breath.”
Trevor smiled and briefly thought that he was glad he'd never had children, before walking toward the gift shop.
A few minutes later, browsing through numerous tacky items, he decided to buy a six pack of glasses engraved with the image of Vulcan. Over the years, he and Anniston nearly always picked up some souvenir wherever they had wandered. Most, were far less useful than the glasses and currently kept under the RV in various sized storage compartments.
He took the package of glasses and was about to walk outside when he saw the old man and Alice standing in the observation area with the telescopes. They were in the midst of a shockingly passionate kiss. Turning back to the gift shop, he decided to give them a few more minutes of privacy and continued to browse.
###
Closing Thoughts & Thanks
For those of you wanting hints about book two, I'll share this much. There's going to be aliens and more action. Hopefully I didn't give too much away by sharing that.
