by Don Cook
“Yes, Mike, yes!” Khraa/Astra said, overjoyed. “I want you to be honest with God and yourself! From the way you’re describing it, your job’s killing you. Please, my love… retire, and end your time with the Bureau — before it ends you! God knows how He can use you, and I’m sure you’ll be dazed, amazed, and thrilled to no end. Mike, if you retire from the FBI, I’ll support your decision, and help you in whatever God has in mind for you. I’m sure He’s thought of something already.” A lovers’ pause came between the two before Khraa/Astra asked, “Mike?”
“Yes, my love?” Mike answered.
“Would you think it too brazen for me to serenade you on this Valentine’s Day? I want the whole world to know that I love you.”
“Sure, why not?” said Mike, “You go for it, my girl!”
“Thanks!”
“Got a song picked?”
“Yes, Mike, I do” Khraa/Astra said sweetly. “But you’ll just have to wait until I sing it for you.”
“Ahh…” Mike said, in a perked-up spirit. “A surprise song.”
Magdalena walked up to Khraa/Astra and Mike and said, “Okay, Astra, it’s your turn to get up and sing. The boss has allowed me and two other waitresses to be your backup singers. Let’s knock ‘em dead!”
“Thanks, Mags” Khraa/Astra said. “Mike?”
Mike nodded happily, as Khraa/Astra, Magdalena, and two other waitresses walked towards the stage where the jazz combo played.
As the four walked up onto the stage, the evening’s tuxedo-dressed dark-haired male MC said, with romantic dee-jay smoothness, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, here to sing and introduce her song for her man, here’s… Astra.”
Everyone in the place applauded.
Khraa/Astra spoke into the mic to the patrons, “Good evening, everyone. I’d like to sing a song that’s an oldie-but-a-goodie. Despite my being a Millennial, I really love the older songs. They’re so classic!”
The patrons over 50, including Mike, chuckled and applauded with civil abandon. Khraa/Astra was pleased, as she continued in loving fondness for her man, “This one’s for you, my dear Mike.”
Khraa/Astra nodded quickly to the tuxedoed karaoke jazz house combo, and in turn, the band began to play “I Say a Little Prayer”, with Khraa/Astra and her waitress-backup singers giving a dynamically soulful mezzo-contralto-voiced performance of the happily dynamic Burt Bacharach-Hal David-penned standard from the late 1960s.
Everyone listened intently as Khraa/Astra let the words flow from her heart into the ears of all present. The older and middle-aged patrons were charmed by the sweetness of Khraa/Astra’s dynamically soulful voice, with the couples of those age ranges reaching for each other and holding hands.
Some of the women under 40 were just as sweetly impressed, while other young females of a more girl power/feminist mind set were turned off by both Khraa/Astra’s classic vocal femininity and the song itself. Most of their geekish male generational peers were too preoccupied with their cellphone hand-held cyber-pagan idols, yet by the song’s end, even the geeks succumbed to Khraa/Astra’s charming and upbeat, bold singing.
Khraa/Astra noticed the differing age-and-gender demographic reactions, but she didn’t care. Only one man’s reaction mattered — Mike’s.
Mike truly loved his lady’s singing, not only because he dearly loved Khraa/Astra, but also because she truly did “I Say a Little Prayer” tons of sweet, romantic justice, as Mike took the musical hint that Khraa/Astra truly wanted to be his wife.
Khraa/Astra saw Mike’s loving, smiling approval, and gave the song her all as she sang. In the end, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Khraa/Astra touched a chord within the heart of every patron and was thankful for it as she, the waitresses, and the jazz combo wrapped up their performance.
Everyone applauded, with Mike applauding the loudest, and Khraa/Astra smiled as she took an appreciative bow.
“Thank you, everyone,” Khraa/Astra said, “thank you very, very much!”
The three waitresses went back to work, while Khraa/Astra walked back to rejoin Mike at their table. On her way back to her table, everyone paid Khraa/Astra honest heartfelt compliments and told Khraa/Astra that she missed her musical calling as she walked past them, thanking the grateful patrons in return.
“You were awesome, babe!” Mike said, as he hugged and kissed Khraa/Astra.
“Thanks, baby” Khraa/Astra said, with happy humility.
“I’ve heard a lot of women sing like they were angels, but when you sang, I could hear your love in every note.”
“Thanks, Mike” Khraa/Astra said. “And I meant every word and note I sang, even if that song was written by Burt Bacharach and Hal David and not me.”
Khraa/Astra and Mike laughed like the happy lovers they were.
STREET OUTSIDE DIGBY’S RESTAURANT
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA
10:34 PM CENTRAL TIME
“That was awesome!” Khraa/Astra said to Mike as they left Digby’s. “Thanks for a wonderful evening.”
“That, my dear,” Mike said, “is because you’re a fun gal to be with.”
“Fun’s over, lovebirds!” snarled a severely disheveled homeless man with a revolver drawn as he leapt out suddenly from a nearby alley!
Mike reached for his gun, but the bum started to pull the trigger first!
In a split-nanosecond, a spooked Khraa/Astra’s telepathic abilities unknowingly kicked in. Her mind telepathically superheated the mechanism of the disheveled man’s revolver and partially softened its internal metal parts so rapidly that the gun was useless.
The disheveled man, with the revolver now too hot to handle, screamed in pain from his burns as he tossed the gun at Mike and missed, ran away from the pair for a few feet — and then suddenly doubled over and dropped dead!
Mike, perplexed, ran over to his dead disheveled would-be assassin. He bent over to examine the body, and found it lifeless. He shook his head no to Khraa/Astra.
Khraa/Astra stammered out in terror, “I — is — is he —”
“Yes, Astra” Mike said sadly. “He’s gone.”
“But why?” Khraa/Astra said, exasperated to tears. “Why did he try to —”
“That guy was more likely gunning for me, an FBI guy” Mike said, as a local police patrol car drove up to the scene and stopped. “I hate to say it, babe, but just working for the Bureau or any other law enforcement agency is its own occupational hazard, on or off duty. Still… I don’t see how a guy could suddenly drop dead like that.”
HOME OF MALLORY STANTON
WASHINGTON, DC
SAME MOMENT (1:01 AM EASTERN TIME)
“A little cerebral hemorrhage goes a long way,” Stanton said, seated on the sofa in her den while she spoke on het smartphone with one of her covert operatives at the morgue in Minneapolis where the disheveled man’s body was being held.
“That guy simply failed his mission. No, I don’t rightly know just what I’ll do next. Leave that to me. Trust me, if I need you, I know how to find you. Thanks. Bye.”
Stanton hung up the phone and told herself, “How the hell am I going to get rid of Astra Downey? She’s a damn cockroach! Oh, well, back to the old drawing board.”
APARTMENT 1214, BELLA VILLA APARTMENT COMPLEX
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA
SAME MOMENT (12:50 PM CENTRAL TIME)
“Survival Log, Captain Khraa-Veh ven-Elheem recording,” a nightshirt-clad Khraa/Astra began her Valentine’s Day survival-log entry as she sat before her laptop.
“Stanton’s attacks against me are getting dirtier and dirtier all the time. I felt some psychic vibration coming from Washington where Stanton lives, as another street derelict made an attempt on my life and Mike’s. And although the homeless man did not meet his fate in quite the same way Ballard did, the rest of Stanton’s derelict attack-song remained the same.
“I will have to call out Stanton more aggressively and dare her to an interview with me on a future podcast of The B
ull-Free Truth with Astra Downey. I must learn whether Stanton and Mephistula are one the same. If they are, then my next move is very, very simple, yet not at all easy. Simple and easy, contrary to popular belief, are not always the same thing. End of entry, date-time stamp — subjective timing.”
Chapter 8
THE WAYS OF POLITICS AND DISTRESS-SIGNALS
Be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.
Common Earth Proverb
Origin Unknown
[ENHANCED TRANSCRIPT OF
THE BULL-FREE TRUTH WITH ASTRA DOWNEY PODCAST,
20 MARCH, UPLOADED 7:15 AM CENTRAL TIME]
DOWNEY (shouting with incredulous rage): “Yes, people! More, and more, and still more charges are being hurled against Mallory Stanton and her use of personal email accounts for sending and receiving of messages of national security on the wide-open Internet! And her security measures, or lack thereof, are raising an ever-louder chorus calling for investigations into Stanton’s e-conduct! Hear the people roaring, Ms. Stanton? Hear them shouting, “Lock her up, weld the jail doors shut, and melt away the key”?
“They’re shouting about you, Malicious, I mean, Mallory! Didn’t you learn anything from 2016 — or were you and your girlfriends too busy back then watching the girl-Ghostbusters ad nauseum, huh? You think I’m bluffing, Mallory?! Look, I’m so steaming mad! In fact, I challenge you, Mallory Ignacia Stanton. Yes, you, Mallory, I am talking to you!
“I dare you! I double-dare you! No… I octuple-dare you to call me out and speak your peace on my show. That’s right, if you dare, I will guarantee you an entire show to speak your mind, tell me if I am wrong, and how I am wrong if I am wrong. I mean it! A whole podcast of The Bull-Free Truth with Astra Downey’s worth of time. One whole podcast. You and me. Toi et moi. A whole podcast’s worth of time to state your case to the entire world! Have you the guts, girl?! Ready to deal, girl?! You know how to find me, girl!”
[ENHANCED TRANSCRIPT OF
THE BULL-FREE TRUTH WITH ASTRA DOWNEY PODCAST,
20 APRIL, UPLOADED 7:13 AM CENTRAL TIME]
DOWNEY (shouting with incredulous rage): “The people are still a-roarin’, Mallory! There’s a tide of outrage that’ll drown you like a drenched rat that can’t abandon a sinking ship! And again, like I did a month ago, I challenge you, Mallory. Let’s kibitz, if you dare! And like I said, you know how to find me!”
HOME OF MALLORY STANTON
WASHINGTON, DC
20 MAY 5:01 PM EASTERN TIME
“Two months after I issued my challenge, Mallory, and they’re still a-roarin!’” Khraa/Astra semi-civilly cussed out Stanton on her latest podcast as it played on Stanton’s Orwellian-humongous living room flatscreen. “The nation is now making like the mob who shouted to Pontius Pilate, ‘Crucify him!’ And this time, they are literally screaming ‘Crucify her!’ So, Madame Wannabe Manchurian Candidate, ask not for whom the bell tolls. It tolls loud and clear for thee! And I ain’t doing the tolling!”
“SHUT UP, BITCH!” shouted Stanton, as she tossed the flat screen’s remote at the huge video monitor itself, and almost broke its screen, just as the phone rang. Stanton, standing beside the desk where her phone was placed, turned off her flatscreen, then picked up the phone and answered it with vicious ferocity.
“WHAT?!” screamed Stanton into her phone. “Oh, it’s you, Austin… Yes, I had the extreme dis-pleasure of watching Trash-can Downer…! You’re not actually saying I should let her interview me? She’d pick me to pieces! I can’t believe I’m hearing...! Not if I did that to her first...?! It would be like sort of a ‘Come into my parlor’, said the spider to the fly sort of thing... Hmm… Sounds tempting as hell… Too tempting to resist!
“Good suggestion, Austin!” Mallory said more diabolically happily. “I’ll do it! I’ll lay out my personal charm on her and contact her myself. Jeff and I have a condo in Minneapolis we use when we’re in Minnesota. I will fly out to Minneapolis on the 23rd, and then, on the 24th, I’ll call Astra Downey to set up a surprise interview that same day when I will call her out. I like her use of the word ‘kibitz.” Now Astra’s Canada goose is cooked and well done! Thank you, Austin. Bye.”
Stanton, calmer and back to her normal, smugly scheming self, hung up the living room phone and began to hatch her vile, entrapping plan.
As Bach’s ‘Toccata in D minor’ inexplicably thundered all around Khraa/Astra, terror gripped her very heart, right to the core of her soul. She, ever the persistent investigative journalist, was slowly being taken upward on a huge escalator in a dark, lightning-streaked midday sky over Minneapolis that led to a large, ominously hovering saucer-like spacecraft straight out of the original 1980s “V” TV miniseries.
Hellish flames shot forth from the ship’s various exhaust ports and portals as the escalator eerily took her up into the ship’s belly. Upon reaching the underside of the ship, she was met by several scarlet-skinned, bat-winged, barb-tailed, AK-47-armed demon-guards who behaved with SS-like precision.
“This way, mere mortal” spoke the demon-squad leader in a brutally deep yet effeminate masculine voice to Khraa/Astra.
She followed the goose-stepping demon-squad through the long, sinisterly opulent, scarlet-lighted alien corridors lined with coffin-angled hexagonal smooth science fiction-connotative flatscreen-like walls that held back what looked like fear-inducing infernos.
“Empress Stanton will meet you now, Ms. Downey” spoke the starship’s demonic commander, in a deeper version of the demon-squad leader’s voice. “This way.”
Khraa-Astra walked in trepidation down the flat yet flaming walls of the hellishly scarlet-lit spaceship to the end of the corridor where she was met by Stanton. Speaking with a voice eerily identical to Mephistula’s, Stanton said, “I have been expecting you, my dear. But remember, be careful what you wish for, because you shall get it!”
Stanton laughed maniacally exactly like Mephistula would, while the sound of the flames, thunder and Bach’s terrifying Toccata within the satanic starship grew to a blended deafening, roaring satanically evocative climax before —
APARTMENT 1214, BELLA VILLA APARTMENT COMPLEX
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA
24 MAY, 6 AM CENTRAL TIME
“Get Up and Boogie” sounded from Khraa/Astra’s smartphone, awakening her in a terrified cold sweat, knowing Stanton was plotting something dastardly against her.
A half-minute later, the same smartphone rang with the words “UNKNOWN CALLER” on the call display. Yet telepathically, Khraa/Astra sensed Stanton was the caller, and thus with trepidation, Khraa/Astra removed her smartphone from its charger, turned off the alarm, and answered the phone.
“Astra Downey?” Khraa/Astra said.
“Mallory Stanton here” Stanton said at the other end, with her Hollywood-glamorous faux joy deviously concealing lethal giddiness. “At last, we meet, if only vocally.”
“Yes, Ms. Stanton? What can I do for you?”
“It’s more like, what I can do for you, mademoiselle.”
Khraa/Astra instantly saw right through Stanton’s ploy.
“Alright. What can you do for me?”
“You dared me to an interview. Very brazen of you, girl reporter! Well, ask and you shall receive. You just got yourself an interview with me!”
“Okay” Khraa/Astra said, both ecstatic at the chance of exposing Stanton and worried that her caller might have set a trap. “Name the time and place, and I’ll be there.”
“How about I have my limo pick you up at, say, 12:50 PM today? I’ve seen your podcasts, and that’s why I’ve flown all the way out here to talk with you in an interview. You know, to set the record straight. And yes, you were quite right — I knew how to find you. I’ll email you an RSVP where you can tell me where you live. Sound okay?”
“It’s last-minute, but it sounds fine.”
“I love last-minute interviews, or as you might say, ‘kibitzing.’ And bring cameras. I love Monty Python, but I disagree
with the sketch about not being seen.”
Khraa/Astra, familiar with the Monty Python sketch Stanton mentioned, laughed as she said, “I’ll be expecting your email.”
“Toodle-oo” Stanton said, with ersatz friendliness.
A moment later, Khraa/Astra received Stanton’s email on her cell phone and read it, pondering the dark possibility that Stanton and Mephistula were one the same. Knowing she had to act fast and deftly, Khraa/Astra responded to the email as she came up with a plan.
“That’s right, people!” Khraa/Astra said, in a semi-conciliatory podcast of The Bull-Free Truth with Astra Downey at 6:59 AM. “Mallory Stanton has granted yours truly an interview later today. Why she did, I don’t know. But I will find out. If she has changed her platform, it will be because of you, the people. That’s right, you!
“But if I am right — and remember, leopards don’t change their spots — you’ll have that all on video. And I promise you this: no matter what Stanton’s gonna say, I am here for you, the people of these United States, and for all the common folk of the rest of the world, too.
“As always, before I close, I want to remind you again to pick up some Freedom Tea from Frank Ben’s Patriotic Foods among other survival stores you’ll need when the manure hits the fan with hurricane force, as well as their helping to pay the shot for these podcasts. Until next time, this is Astra Downey saying, be well, keep safe, stay free and God Bless!”
Khraa/Astra ended her podcast and uploaded it. While her latest podcast was uploading to the Internet, Khraa/Astra drank some cola. Khraa/Astra felt like she often did when she drank any kind of soda pop, unusually tickled. She giggled in accidental comic relief, and then calmed down to a mood befitting the tense situation.
“Survival log, Captain Khraa-Veh ven-Elheem recording” Khraa/Astra began somberly. “At 2:00 PM today, Earth’s North American Central Time, I will be interviewing United States presidential hopeful Mallory Ignacia Stanton. She has dispatched a limousine (a luxury wheeled Earth road-vehicle) to pick me up and take me to her condominium where the interview is to be conducted.
