by Nick Braker
Brock might be transitioning. He was showing the signs but there was also the possibility that the power was simply going to his head. He might have two egotistical megalomaniacs to deal with.
“Let’s find Mr. Thomas, then we’ll likely need to split up.”
Earth - New York City - Carlyle
August 21, 1987 - 8:30pm
A man in a black tuxedo, standing behind a mahogany podium, looked up at them. The podium had a small brass lamp shining down upon a large open book with names in it. Brock tried to step past Magnus but Magnus anticipated his move and blocked him.
“I’m special Agent Archer,” Magnus said, showing the man his badge. “I work for the CIA. Please let your manager know we are here. We’ll need to speak with him immediately.”
“Right away, sir. I’ll get him now.”
The man walked away, shuffling quickly across the main floor of the restaurant. Patrons filled nearly every booth and table the restaurant offered and each seemed deeply engaged in conversation. The room was abuzz in quiet conversation except for the occasional laughter dotting it. The lighting was subdued and tranquil but didn’t hamper vision at all. Waiters and waitresses moved quickly and efficiently from the kitchen to each of their customers with amazing precision. They didn’t get a job here without impeccable credentials. They took great care of their patrons. He also noticed several private areas in the back of the room.
“I wonder how much or who you have to be to get those?” he asked himself.
“What was that?” Grep asked.
“Nothing. If this guy doesn’t show up soon--”
“Let me head outside and check around back,” Warren said, finishing his sentence.
Magnus nodded at him and Warren left through the front doors. He watched him leave but turned again as he heard someone walking up. A slightly gray haired man in his fifties wearing a black tuxedo stood in front of him. The suit was custom tailored for the man.
“Can I help you, gentlemen? My name--” he asked.
“Mr. Thomas, we’re here on official government business. I’m special Agent Archer. Is there any place we can talk privately?” Magnus asked.
“Certainly. Follow me, please,” the manager said.
He led them off to the right of the main floor of the restaurant, past a door labeled Maintenance and into a large office. The door to his office had a placard with the name Adrian Thomas emblazoned in gold on it. It was well furnished with three leather guest seats in front of a large mahogany desk. The man moved to sit behind the desk and motioned for them to take a seat.
“This is Agent Ray Stevens,” motioning to Brock on his left. “And this is Agent Peter Parker,” motioning to Grep on his right.
“No jokes, please,” Grep interjected, addressing the manager. “My father was an avid comic book reader.”
“I have no idea what you mean,” the manager replied.
Grep’s jaw dropped just a bit.
“We wanted to talk with you about these three men,” Magnus said.
Magnus showed the manager three photos of the victims.
“Oh dear,” he said, moved by the graphic nature of the pictures.
“I apologize for not warning you ahead of time. I thought perhaps you already knew they were dead. I hope they were not friends of yours.”
“No, no. I know them, of course. They frequent my restaurant at least twice a week.” The man’s hand holding the picture began to shake and he set it down and returned his hand to his lap. “What is it I can do for you?”
“When were they here last?” Magnus asked.
“Three nights ago, which would have been Tuesday night. They dined with us as usual, and, as usual, they had a few lady friends with them. I did not know those two, as they--”
“Two? There were three guys and only two babes?” Brock asked.
Magnus sighed inwardly.
“Was that unusual for them?” Magnus added.
“Yes,” said the manager. “Normally, they are accompanied by three. Now, I said I do not know them but I have seen them here previously in the restaurant. I remember them only because they are working girls,” he said, giving Magnus a knowing look.
“Prostitutes, then?” Grep asked.
The manager nodded.
“Easily enough to tell, considering their apparel. They were affluent enough to meet our dress code but I have a keen eye for this sort of thing.”
“High class call girls, then?” Grep said to no one in particular.
“Was one of the bitches wearing red stockings and matching high heeled shoes?”
The manager eyes’ furrowed, giving Brock a confused look. It didn’t last long and instead he finally nodded at Brock.
Brock, what are you doing? This is not like you.
“Can you tell me what these women looked like?” Magnus asked.
The manager glanced to his right but quickly returned eye contact with Magnus.
“I’m sorry but other than describing them both as blonds, Caucasian and tall, that is about the best I can do,” he said, swallowing hard as if something caught in his throat.
Grep smiled. They both knew the man was holding something back.
“You’re not telling us something,” Grep challenged him.
“Whatever do you mean? I am telling you everything I know.”
“No, you’re not. Agent Stevens, this man is obstructing our investigation. Considering his past record of theft, I would say we have grounds to take him in for a deeper and more intrusive line of questioning.”
The manager turned visibly pale. Brock stood up.
“Buddy, you have one chance to tell us what we need to know or I’m going to enjoy dragging your ass, in handcuffs, through the restaurant on our way out... the long way out.”
The man’s face drained of any remaining color and his shoulders drooped.
“Fine but I need your word that you will not tell a soul about this,” he said, begging quietly.
“Of course,” Magnus said.
“This way,” he said, getting up, leaving the office and returning to the door marked Maintenance.
He unlocked the door and stepped in.
“We installed this security system some years ago but we do not want this advertised. Our guests demand security but they want privacy even more. No one knows, including the guests and staff. I would like to keep it that way.”
“You have video footage from Tuesday night?” Grep asked.
The manager retrieved the tapes, loaded them into a separate unit and the four of them viewed the video. He quickly found the spot where the three men entered. The host took them to their table for the night and within five minutes, two blonds walked up. They spoke with them briefly and then joined them at their table.
“We got them. Those are the bitches were looking for,” Brock said.
He was stoked and it showed, perhaps too much. Mr. Thomas stared at Magnus but he pretended not to notice. The manager was getting suspicious about the professional nature of his team but it wasn’t the right time to call Brock out.
“So, if these are high class call girls, where can we find them?” Grep asked.
“I wouldn’t know,” he retorted. “Perhaps walking the street?”
Brock put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“Your waist deep in a pile of shit. Three men are dead and you want to get all uppity with us?”
“Agent Ray, let it go. We got what we need,” Magnus ordered.
Brock leaned closer to Mr. Thomas.
“It’s your damn... lucky... night..., Mr. Thomas. I would have hauled your ass in anyway.”
“Look, I regret my decision to hide this from you but you do understand, of course--”
“No, we do not understand,” Grep said. “We’re investigating a triple murder and you have video evidence that you could have willingly given us.”
Magnus motioned them toward the door.
“Let’s go, gents. We have us a murderer to catch.”
“Please wait. The waiter who took care of them Tuesday is off tonight but here is his address.” He handed Grep a slip of paper. “He may be able to help you further. Tell him I said it was okay to speak with you.”
Grep’s eyes lit up. Grep had never hidden his thoughts well and it was even more obvious since his change.
“We’ll keep the security room to ourselves of course, Mr. Thomas.” Grep said. “In the future though, should we be in New York again, you will of course treat us as honored guests inclusive of all the deference that goes along with it. Sound fair to you?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, perking up. “No reservations needed and immediate seating for any of you, anytime,” he said, shaking hands.
Magnus and Grep shook his hand but Brock ignored him, walking out. Grep handed a piece of paper back to him.
“This is our phone number. Call at any time if you remember anything else.”
The manager nodded, locking the door behind him. Grep caught up with Magnus, walking beside him.
“Seph is going to like this one. It will impress the hell out of even her,” Grep said.
“Thinking about a date night in New York with Seph?” Magnus asked, as they left the restaurant. “All the while trying to solve a murder.”
“Murders,” Grep corrected him.
Magnus let it go. He considered the ramifications of pointing out that Grep was focused on a woman instead of focusing on his job. As much as he would enjoy giving Grep some shit right now, it was a better option to move on.
Chapter 20
MATING TIME
Earth - New York City
August 21, 1987 - 8:31pm
Blah blah blah, could this shithead just shut up for a few seconds? Satirra thought.
She took another drink of her Martini Royale. This was the fiftieth mixed drink she had tried. She already had to end one night early as her host was so inebriated that she couldn’t seem to control her body any longer.
She had taken control of Angelina Wolf again. She liked this host. Angelina was a rising actress and her popularity invigorated her. Her host’s emotional roller coaster was sensual and intoxicating. Back on Kron, Satirra wasn’t allowed to feel anything like this, even though she was a hero and renowned among her people. She was the most successful Omarii since the Queen herself but there was little emotion for that recognition. There simply wasn’t enough emotion on Kron, period.
“Angelina, are you paying attention to me?” the shithead asked. “I have been talking to you and you are staring off into space.”
She wanted to drill a hole into his head with her eyes.
What a strange idiom.
“That is because you are an insufferable bore,” she replied.
“Wha--?”
“Furthermore, you are a pansy ass,” she said, yawning.
By the Queen’s blessing, she enjoyed using human profanity, though she was quite certain she still didn’t have a thorough understanding of its nuances. For some reason, her insult didn’t sound quite right.
“Angelina,” her co-star said, standing. “I think you need to back off on your drinking--”
“Look, I’ll prove it to you,” she said.
Satirra reached over the table and punched him in the nose, knocking his head into the wall.
He’s whimpering... he’s actually whimpering.
She sighed, walking off. Angelina, her host, was in New York for a movie premier and this evening she had decided to go to the Carlyle. Unfortunately, she had agreed to accompany her co-star. Bored and done with him, she had decided to leave when four other human males walked in, standing near the restaurant’s entrance. They were wearing black business suits and, by the way they filled those suits, they looked like real men. Her host’s body was young and she had learned it was very desirable to human males. On Kron, males were weak and small, while human males were taller, stronger, and more virile. She loved that about this species. She had a lot of choices when it came to mating and these four looked exceptionally gifted. She paused at the edge of another private booth, watching them. She could only see them from behind as they talked with the restaurant’s host. One of the men turned and walked back outside. Moments later, the manager had approached the other three and one of them showed him something, identification maybe? The manager then led those three deeper into the building.
The one that walked outside looks interesting.
She headed outside. Satirra rounded the corner to find him checking the perimeter. He looked strong. He had curly brown hair with a handsome, boyish face.
Yes, this one will do very nicely.
Back on Kron, Satirra’s mental connection with Angelina allowed her to change, assuming her Ryikoda form. Her Kron body grew slimmer, her blood flowed faster and her muscles grew stronger. Though her mental acuity decreased, it was well worth the sacrifice when she wanted to mate. Her connection through Angelina’s human body amplified, increasing the sensations she experienced.
Through Satirra’s connection, Angelina’s body experienced the same heightened sensations. However, there was something extra. Satirra had found that she was able to control the release of pheromones in her host’s body. This new discovery had proved to be quite interesting. The human males would do anything she wanted. Between the biochemical reaction, her subtle mental control and this human’s voluptuous body, no human male could resist.
She unbuttoned two of her shirt’s top buttons exposing her cleavage. This was something else she had learned. Human males put a lot of stock in the looks of a female and their breasts were a large part of that attraction. He didn’t have a chance to resist her now. She approached the human male, purposely making noise to get his attention. He turned and when he did, she smiled at him, trying to put him at ease.
“Hey, sexy,” she said in a seductive voice.
His eyes locked onto hers.
“Aaaaah,” Warren said, stumbling over his words. “Hello.”
She allowed her hips to sway back and forth more than usual as she approached, smiling at him. The closer she got, the more he was hers.
“I noticed you in the Carlyle,” she said. “I thought it a shame not to meet you.”
He stared, transfixed by her, taking in her whole body.
“Wow, the pleasure is all mine,” he said.
This man’s eyes were already starting to glaze over. She ran her fingers along his jaw line. She grabbed the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. He moaned, taking over. He let himself back up against the wall, his hands roaming all over her. The sensations feeding back to Satirra’s body were electric, pleasurable beyond her understanding. This was nothing like mating on Kron. The sensations that these humans experienced were far more intense. The male lifted her skirt. Anticipation flooded her, any moment now....
“Agent Clayton,” another man said, screaming it from down the street.
Her peripheral vision blurred. She was being pulled back to Kron. Why was she being pulled back? The new automated system was designed to accept her visual cue to return. This shouldn’t be happening. She tried to hold on, make herself stay. This guy had friends. She could have had all of them in her control. That would have been a new experience. One of his friends grabbed her arm.
“Hey, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
She tried to slap him but the mental infusion was swapping their consciousness and she was starting to lose control of the host. She needed to run and get away from here but she wanted to hurt him first. The man brought his arm up to block her. She pulled her arm back in pain.
“You bastard, what--”
Wait! It was him. It was Asher! How? It was the one she met on Earth the first time.
“Shut up and get lost,” he ordered.
It all faded as the world around her collapsed and she streaked back across the universe, returning to her own body. Her last thought to her host was run. Satirra’s happiness morphed to anger, knowing what she was
going to do to whoever had pulled her back.
Earth - New York City
August 21, 1987 - 8:39pm
“Oh yeah,” Grep said. “Can you imagine, walking in and getting the royalty treatment with Seph not knowing how I arranged this? Sweetness.”
The night air outside the Carlyle was cool and the wind blew softly making it a perfect evening. The sky was crystal clear and the moon shone brightly overhead.
“Damn, tonight would have been a great night,” Grep continued.
Magnus felt Grep’s hand on his shoulder.
“What... the... hell?” Grep said.
Magnus followed Grep’s eyes. Sure enough, there was Warren about a half block down, his back against the wall and a gorgeous brunette pressed hard against him. They were kissing fervently and Warren’s hands were all over her. Her skin tight, black dress reached just below her hips and it was obvious Warren was about to bring that dress up even further.
“Damn it, if Tom finds out about this,” Magnus declared. “Shit.”
He screamed at Warren as he took off down the street.
“Agent Clayton!”
Warren ignored him. Magnus grabbed the woman, pulling her off of him. Her breasts jiggled from the movement and he had to wrench his eyes off of them and back to Warren.
“Hey,” she demanded. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She tried to slap him. Magnus instinctively brought his arm up to block the shot. The woman pulled her arm back in pain.
“You bastard, what--”
“Shut up and get lost,” he ordered.
He grabbed Warren and pushed him into motion toward the SUV.
“Seriously dude, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know. I, uh, didn’t intend. Who was, uh, who was that?” Warren asked, nearly stumbling and losing his footing.
Something was wrong.
Magnus pushed Warren up against the wall.
“Brock! See to Warren,” he yelled, as he spun around.
“Get her—” he started to order but she was gone.
He ran back to where she was moments ago with Grep close behind.
“Magnus, I didn’t see it either. That was an alien, wasn’t it?” Grep said, not really asking.
