by Joanne Pence
26
News and publicity could make or break an event. Just as quickly as news of Frederick Mosshad’s abduction had caused a flurry of excitement and interest in the UFO community and a concomitant surge in interest in Triana’s party for Algernon, so the opposite could and did occur. When the story hit that the three men so horribly killed and mutilated were the victims of a follower of a UFO group, people in the city recoiled. An outcry rose from the public about the strange millennium cults taking over the city by the bay, and public opinion polls ran 70 percent in favor of cracking down on them. They ran 80 percent in favor of stringing up their leaders.
Angie didn’t let the news deter her. She and her friends would present the fantasy dinner, as requested, for two hundred guests. Paavo even left work early to help.
They carried all the food in refrigerated containers to the backstage area, where they would arrange it on platters and chafing dishes and bring it into the auditorium a little at a time, as needed. The only thing Angie had planned that hadn’t worked out were the green alien and gray flying saucer cookies. Stan had eaten a lot of them the day he and Derrick trimmed her tree, and took the rest home as a snack. Angie decided the Jell-O molds would more than make up for them.
“We’re going to have a wonderful party, no matter how hard the Chronicle has tried to ruin the event,” she said to Paavo as she carried a platter of fruit to the buffet table.
“It’s hardly their fault that they reported the story about Harding, Mosshad, and the murders. If you think that, you might say it’s my fault for having solved the case … or, I hope, solving it.”
“You’re right. It’s solved and I’m grateful for that, no matter how adversely it affects the party.” She sighed as she looked over the empty hall. Then she patted her hat to make sure it was still on straight. She wore a pinched-waist maroon suit with huge shoulder pads, a wide collar, and white trim. The skirt was very narrow and fell to midcalf with a kick pleat in the back. Her open-toe shoes were white with ankle straps and a leather flower on the vamp, and she’d even found dark nylons with a black seam down the back. On her head she wore a pointed maroon hat with a long white feather angled across the back of it. She had felt like a reincarnation of Carole Lombard or Myrna Loy from an old classic romantic comedy until Paavo came by to pick her up. The look he gave her made her feel more like Minnie Pearl.
“What is that on your head?” he had asked.
She explained that she had found it in a 1940s magazine on the Internet, and her mother’s dressmaker had worked around the clock to sew it for her. “Isn’t it cute?”
“Words can’t describe what it is,” he had muttered. He said a lot more than that, though, when she pointed to a khaki uniform, round army hat with black brim, aviator sunglasses, and corncob pipe and said, “That’s yours.”
“I’m going as General MacArthur?” he had asked.
“You’ve got it!” she cried.
“Thank God for the sunglasses,” he said as he began to loosen his tie. Angie sat on the bed and watched him change clothes. He had a great body, and she enjoyed looking at it every chance she got.
Now, at Tardis Hall, they set out the food and waited for the party to begin. The hostess, Triana, and the guest of honor, Algernon, still hadn’t arrived. Earl, Vinnie, and Butch all wore white shirts and slacks and white sailor’s caps—they said that was military enough for them. Angie was afraid they had all spent more time in jailhouse blues than in military wear, but she didn’t want to bring that up.
At a vintage dress shop, Connie had found a red polka-dot dress with padded shoulders, short sleeves, a narrow belted waist, and a full skirt. With it, she wore red shoes with high, chunky heels and had styled her blond hair so that the bangs were curly and the rest was pulled sleekly back into a polka-dot bow so large and stiff that it stood out from the sides of her head like wings. If Fred Astaire had danced by, he might have mistaken her for Ginger.
The buffet setup was going smoothly and quickly despite the fact that Derrick wasn’t there to help. He hadn’t shown up at Connie’s apartment, and she didn’t know where he was. So much for Angie’s big NAUTS/Prometheus Group reconciliation plan.
Vinnie put on a CD of “Pennies from Heaven.” Connie grabbed Butch and dragged him out to the dance floor with her. The big, chunky heels caused her to tower over him even more than usual, but he didn’t care. He held her as if she were made out of glass, and smiled from ear to ear as he led her in a jaunty World War II–style two-step around the hall.
Angie laughed as they danced by, waving and grinning for all they were worth. Maybe this wouldn’t be the big, classy party she had initially imagined it would be, but she was sure that anyone who showed up would have a good time. She checked her watch. Where were Triana and Algernon? They should have been there already.
Vinnie kept the music going, but Connie bailed out on Butch to go outside to catch her breath and wait for Derrick. As Angie and Paavo danced the swing to “Blue Skies,” a man in black, the same one who had been watching her from time to time throughout the city, entered the hall and stood in a corner. “Oh dear,” she murmured.
Paavo’s gaze followed hers. “Do you know him? He looks like something out of a horror film.”
Holding Paavo’s hand tightly, Angie stepped closer to the strange man. “You’re a little early,” she called.
“I’ll wait.” He walked to a far corner and stood in it, his arms folded.
Angie glanced at Paavo. He turned her around and said, “Looks like it’s time for me to put on my jacket and shoulder holster.”
She peered back at the man. “Oh, I’m sure he’s harmless. Let’s get the rest of the food out before you put on that nice jacket. I’d hate to see it get greasy from the fried chicken or ham. MacArthur didn’t become a general wearing buffet-splattered jackets, I’m sure.”
He looked over the hall. “Let’s get this done quickly, then.”
Phil walked in, followed by Elvis and Kronos. “Hi, Angie,” they said. They stiffened when they saw Paavo. They all remembered him from the night Oliver Hardy died.
“Thanks for coming.” Angie shook hands with them. “You’re a little early. Just you guys and the man in bla—Where did he go?”
“We came to help,” Phil said. “Where’s Derrick?”
“He’s not here yet. Connie was waiting for him out front.”
“She was? I didn’t see her,” Elvis said.
“That’s strange.” Angie looked around. Connie wasn’t inside either, it seemed. “Oh, I know. She and Derrick must have taken the side hall, around the auditorium, and gone straight to the backstage area. Connie probably thought I was already back there setting out the ham and chicken. I probably should be, as a matter of fact.”
“I’ll help,” Paavo said.
“Me too, Miss Angie,” Butch said, following her.
The area was deserted. “How odd. I wonder where Connie and Derrick went?” Angie said. “Well, let’s get started. They’ll be here soon enough.”
Butch wandered off. “I’ll look around for them,” he called back.
“It’s all right. They’ll show up.” She glanced at Paavo. “First, we’ll put some of this chicken in big metal pans that go over the burners out on the buffet table. Do you know how to light the burners?”
“I think I can manage,” he said dryly.
“Here’s something strange, Miss Angie.” Butch sounded farther away. Angie looked up and saw that he was near the stairs.
“Don’t worry about it, Butch,” she called, then turned back to Paavo and the task at hand. She put two more pieces of chicken in the pan. “That’s it for now. You bring it out to the buffet while I take care of the ham.”
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Paavo lifted the heavy pan and carried it into the auditorium.
“Miss Angie,” Butch called, “I really think you gotta come see this.”
She didn’t have time to go see anything, but Butch wasn’t one to bother about un
important details. She put down the serving fork she’d been using. “See what?” she asked, walking toward him. To her surprise, he was standing at the bottom of the stairs. “What are you doing down there?”
“I noticed Miss Connie’s hairpins. You’ll see three of them at the top of the stairs and a couple on the stairs.”
“Connie’s hairpins? Whatever are you talking about?” She looked at her feet. Sure enough, three light-colored bobby pins were on the ground. She walked down the steps, searching each as she went. She saw another bobby pin on the middle step, another on the last one.
“When we was dancin’ I noticed they kept fallin’ off,” Butch said. “An Miss Connie tol’ me she put a bunch in her pocket so she’d be able to keep her short hair pinned back with the big bow.”
“So she must have come down here for some reason,” Angie said. The door at the bottom of the stairs was open. The night they had searched for Oliver Hardy it was locked. She walked through it. Hallways went off in three directions from the staircase. The basement floor seemed to be made up of a warren of hallways with small rooms off them—probably storage rooms. “I wonder what she’s up to?” she said quietly.
“I don’ know, but there’s another hairpin down that hall.”
They walked past it, and at the next four-way intersection of narrow halls, they spotted another hairpin deep inside one of them. “I don’t like this,” Angie said. She called out, “Connie! Connie, are you down here?”
They waited a moment, and when there was no answer, they turned down the hall with the bobby pin and continued to the next intersection of halls. “Connie! Are you all right?” Angie called, louder this time. “Connie! Answer me!”
Butch kept going, looking for more bobby pins. He spotted another one. They turned again. “Wait.” Angie caught his arm, stopping him. “We need Paavo. Something’s wrong here.”
“Maybe she’s just havin’ a little whoop-de-do with her boyfriend,” Butch suggested.
“But why leave the bobby pins?” she asked.
“To find their way back.”
Angie thought about it. “You may be right, but it’s not like Connie to disappear when I need her. Look, I can’t move fast in these heels or with this tight skirt. Will you run up and get Paavo? I’ll wait right here.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back. Don’ you move a muscle.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”
As she watched Butch head down the hallway, she almost regretted not going with him. The basement was creepy. “Connie,” she called again. But her voice was decidedly smaller this time.
She walked just a little way forward, to the next intersection of hallways, and called again. Up ahead, on the ground, she saw something that made her heart stop.
She ran toward it to make sure it was what she thought. It was. Connie’s hair bow lay on the floor.
“Miss Angie wants to see you,” Butch said to Paavo, who was still fiddling with the burners under the pan of chicken.
“This contraption doesn’t make any sense,” Paavo said. “I’ll be right there.”
“She went down to the basement and needs you to help her.”
Paavo glanced up at the man. “Help her do what?”
“I don’t know.”
He straightened. “Well, lead the way.”
Curious, Elvis, Phil, and Kronos followed Paavo and Butch across the auditorium toward the backstage area and the stairs. Only Vinnie and Earl were left behind.
“Ain’t dis da place people get abducted from?” Earl asked Vinnie, his eyes round.
“Shuddup!” Vinnie ordered. “You’re makin’ me nervous.”
As Paavo walked through the empty warehouse, he remembered Angie’s description of searching the huge place when Oliver Hardy was missing.
When he reached the stairs, he first looked upward. The warehouse was four stories tall. Rebecca Mayfield had talked about how big, filthy, and empty the top floor was. The only sign of anything but rats being up there was the lack of dust on the window ledge Oliver Hardy had jumped from.
He followed Butch down the stairs to the basement. “Why did she come down here?” he asked.
“We were following Miss Connie’s hairpins,” Butch said, going down one hall and then turning down another.
“What?” Paavo said, stopping in his tracks.
“Me an’ Miss Angie followed them. But we don’ know why she went down there.”
At Butch’s words, a chill rippled down Paavo’s back. “Where’s Angie?” His voice had turned cold and hard.
“Down there just a little ways, Inspector,” Butch said, suddenly nervous.
“Let’s find her and get out of here,” Paavo ordered.
“The basement is like catacombs,” Kronos said, coming up behind them. Elvis and Phil were with him. “The door at the bottom of the steps was usually kept locked. I guess the owner came by to make sure the place is empty, since the building will be demolished soon. Perhaps he didn’t bother to lock up again.”
Butch pointed to a bobby pin farther down a hall. Paavo was halfway to it when the lights flickered and then went out.
Oh Lord, Angie thought when the lights went out. She held her breath. Come back on! she prayed. They didn’t.
The basement was darker than night. There were no windows, no light of any kind. She reached out her hands and walked slowly forward, searching for a wall to hug. It was bad enough being down there in the dark. Being in the dark without anything at all nearby to hang on to was intolerable. “Connie?” Her voice was barely a whisper. The thought struck her that maybe letting her whereabouts be known wasn’t such a good idea. The wrong person might find her. Paavo should be nearby by now. She should head back toward him. She’d meet him even sooner that way.
She turned what she thought was 180 degrees, took two steps, and bumped into a wall again. Which way was back?
She pressed herself against the wall, afraid to move another step. In the distance, she saw a light. She turned toward it, then stopped and watched in fascination as a shadowy figure eased out of a room and quickly shut the door behind him. She listened as the footsteps walked away from her.
She couldn’t see the figure well enough to know if she recognized him or not. His head, though, seemed to be very strangely shaped. And how could he see in the dark so easily? All the strange stories she’d heard about alien encounters came rushing back at her.
“Angie!” Paavo called. “Angie, can you hear me?”
No answer.
“How far away is she?” he asked Butch.
“I … I’m not sure. I know we turned a few times down different hallways. We just followed the hairpins.”
“There’s a good chance those lights didn’t go out by accident,” Paavo said. “Butch, you try to remember which way to find her. Elvis and Kronos, you two go upstairs and tell Earl and Vinnie to call the police. Then try to find the circuit breakers.”
“Hey!” A shout came from the end of a hallway.
Paavo looked toward the flashlight. He couldn’t tell who was holding it. “He’s got them! Come on!” the male voice shouted.
The man turned and started down a hall.
“Let’s go! Algernon’s got them!” Kronos ran down the hall toward the man. Phil took off after him.
“Butch, stay here so we’ll know how to get back,” Paavo ordered. “Elvis, call the cops now!” With that, swearing at himself for not wearing his gun, Paavo too ran after the man with the flashlight.
Phil stood in the pitch-black hallway. He had run after the man with the flashlight to search for Derrick, but he must have taken a wrong turn. Kronos was no longer with him. Neither was Paavo. And he could no longer see the flashlight. In fact, he couldn’t see anything at all. He had tried to go back to the stairs, but after a couple of turns he didn’t know which way was back. He guessed he could start shouting for help—or maybe start to blubber like a baby. In time, the lights should come back on. He could simply wait right there.
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He decided he probably shouldn’t have taken those uppers before coming down to the hall. He’d taken only a few—just enough to help him get through this so-called party. He hated the thought of seeing Algernon’s success. He hated Algernon.
Everything would have been fine if Algernon hadn’t taken over. If I. M. Neumann hadn’t died.
Things had been fine when the great man was alive. He had respected Phil. He didn’t see him as some poor junkie. He knew Phil was someone important. Someone special.
Where were the others? God, his head felt strange. He ran his hands along the wall. He needed to hurry and find his way out of there. It was too dark, too claustrophobic. He was feeling trapped, caged in. Like in ’Nam.
Something touched his neck. He clawed at it. A rope. He tried to scream for help, but his throat was being crushed. His legs went weak and he fell to his knees. As the last shards of consciousness drifted away, he twisted around to see who was doing this to him, what was happening, and why.
With a laugh, his attacker lit a match and held it near his face. He recognized it. Even though the face had aged and no longer had hair or eyebrows or lashes, he recognized it.
“Neumann,” he whispered.
“You shouldn’t have let them destroy the Prometheus Group—my Prometheus Group,” Neumann said, speaking as if to a naughty child. “But then, you always were useless.”
Neumann dropped the match, then yanked the rope tighter.
“I found a phone,” Vinnie said.
“Da number is nine-one-one,” Earl said.
“What’s with you? You think I’m stupid? You think I ain’t never called emergency before? But maybe we should just call PG and E.”
“Call nine-one-one. Let da cops come see what’s goin’ on here. I don’ like it.”
“Uh-oh.” He clicked the button on the phone a few times. “I don’t hear no dial tone.”
“Is dere anot’er phone around?”
“How the hell should I know? It’s pitch black in here.”
