Aliens in the Allagash

by Gary Striker

  “What’s this, Bob?”

  “Nunez smiled and responded.

  “I was only asked to deliver this letter to you, Mr. Slattery. We try our best to satisfy all of our V.I.P.’s, as yourself, to the best of our ability.”

  Nunez shook hands and bid good day as he disappeared back to the showroom.

  Lucy looked mesmerized and Steve felt the same way.

  “What the hell was I gonna do with a one hundred and twenty thousand dollar Jaguar in my fifty dollar genuine rayon sport coat”?

  Yet, there the car set with the invitation of the open door. There were no Long Beach Police Department deputies waiting to make the arrest. The California State Temporary Title Certificate was in Steve’s hand and Lucy was still adorned with a chunk of gold that belonged locked up in Fort Knox.

  “Well, Mr. VIP, which car do I get to drive”, Lucy asked with her grin on full blast?

  “Hang on Lucy, we’re not done here yet. Do you want to go over to that walk-up Mexican eatery? They have great food and it has been a while since I was there”.

  Steve pointed across the street to one of many typical walk-up, curb-side restaurants along the PCH. These were unique to the Long Beach area and added a unique character. Tuxedos to tramps could be seen standing next to each other at the counter waiting for their rations.

  “You better move your junk-mobile before it gets towed”. Lucy advised Steve sarcastically.

  “C’mon, get in Lucy. Let’s put this heap over there by the limo”.

  “Hang on to this, Miss Chao”, Steve instructed as he handed her the envelope. “Let’s park this thing and head over to the mess hall.”

  Lucy shook the envelope and tried to see through the paper barrier.

  ‘Senior Taco’ was a landmark that adjoined another walk-up restaurant on the P.C.H. that did Chinese specialties, the ‘China Doll’. Both had excellent fast food and the business was equally shared.

  They grabbed their trays and made for a table in the outside seating area. It was a pleasant afternoon.

  “Ok, Lucy, what’s in the envelope”, Steve asked inquisitively?

  She poured the contents onto the table. Two keys and a note lay there with our eyes focused on the contents.

  “Look at this”, Lucy said as she handed Steve a note.

  “Hmmm, the plot thins, Lucy”, was all that he could think of.

  1322 Bayshore Drive was inscribed on the note. Nothing else.

  “Lucy, do you get the feeling that we are among the chosen few”, Steve asked with a goofy smile?

  “You think? I love it! Hey, these look like house keys”, Lucy exclaimed.

  “I’m gonna finish this burrito before we do anything else”.

  “Right, but what do you make of these keys”, Lucy asked?

  “I think we’re about to find out”, Steve surmised, “Ah shit, I was supposed to be on a surveillance stake-out”.

  “Oh yeah”, Lucy exclaimed, the lady with the gold arms”. She took another look at the hunk of gold wrapped around her own arm.

  “Do you have any idea where this address is”, Lucy asked?

  “Yes, Miss Chao. It’s a posh waterfront residential community down near the Navy Base, not too far from here. Cruz and some of his outlaws had their weekend retreats there. The Long Beach P.D. had many stake-outs around that area when things were hot. The F.B.I. spent some time down there doing the same”.

  “Let’s take a drive, Lucy. Things are getting interesting”, Steve said impatiently while being very un-Slattery like.

  “Are you going to give me a ride in your heap”, Lucy said in a most affectionate way. “It’s a real chick getter.”

  “Settle down, Lucy. Let’s take your Limo and cruise the ‘hood. That way we won’ get noticed”.

  “Right”, Lucy fired back, “It’ll look like a Chinese restaurant delivery car”. Lucy sighed and mumbled, “another cheap date”!

  “If Fong only knew”, Steve thought.

  They followed Ocean Boulevard down the coast toward the Naval Weapons Station at Seal Beach. This was not a neighborhood for the weak of wallet. Mercedes, Porsches, Jaguars, a Bentley, and other poor man’s wheels were cruising the beach front hangouts.

  “What a way to live”, as he thought about all of the lost opportunities.

  Steve’s movie career ended when some dickhead director on a movie set wanted him to eat some ice cream for an advertisement. It was a reasonable request until he took a bite. The ‘ice cream’ was a dough ball of sorts, which more approximated tasteless goo, shaped and colored to look like the real thing. It would take the heat of the lights all day without melting. Steve almost choked and barfed the ‘ice cream’ all over the set. The director was very offended that Steve didn’t express his culinary delight in front of the cameras. That was understandable, but a personal tongue lashing was way out of order on his part. He received the pie in return, the Slattery way. That was the end of the Slattery movie career.

  “Next left, Lucy”, Steve instructed as he pointed to a road sign.

  They were near the end of the peninsula as Bayshore Drive came into view. Lucy swung the left turn with determination. Houses adorned the left side of Bayshore with the waterway on the other side.

  “Let’s see, 1304, 1314. It should be the next entrance, Lucy”.

  “My God, Steve, there it is, 1322. It’s a mini-mansion”.

  A beautiful wrought iron gated entranceway greeted us as they turned off Bayshore into the private drive. The usual no trespass warning signs were evident, as were the cameras.

  “What do you want to do, Steve”, Lucy asked?

  “Let me see those keys”, Steve requested. “One of these looks like a house key. I’m not sure what the other could be. Let’s go check this out.”

  As they got out of the car, One-Bullet-Barney from the Long Beach P.D. drove up behind them.

  “Now what”, Steve asked himself in an irritated voice?

  The officer radioed a message and exited his patrol car.

  “May I see some I.D., sir”, the officer requested?

  He watched intently as Steve fished out his wallet and handed the officer his driver’s license.

  “Welcome to the neighborhood, Mr. Slattery. We have been expecting you. If you have any problems here, this is my personal contact card”. He handed Steve his business card.

  “You call me anytime, day or night”. The officer returned to his car and disappeared.

  “What the hell was that, Ming”, I asked?

  “You have a lot of questions, today”, Lucy observed.

  “Let’s take a look at this gate”, Steve said as he inserted one of the keys into a control box.

  “Well, Lucy, the key fits”.

  “Give it a turn, Steve”, she said in an impatient manner.

  And with the twist of a key, an override alarm light illuminated and the gate miraculously opened!

  Aliens in the Allagash

  Chapter 3

  Moving Up

  Lucy and Steve stood in front of the beautiful residence in disbelief, staring at each other and the meticulously manicured entrance way to what looked like something from millionaire row.

  We climbed into the Limo and headed up the drive.

  “Nice shack, huh, Lucy”?

  A gardener was busy tidying up around a walkway and paid no attention to our grand arrival.

  “Hired help”, Lucy asked in her sarcastic tone?

  “Shit”, was all that came out!

  “Wanna give this other mystery key a try, Mr. Money Bags”, Lucy held up the envelope as they made their way to the grand entrance?

  Steve was lost in a train of disjointed thought.

  “The goddam front door costs more than a nice car”, he mumbled.

  Alarm sensors and cameras were inlaid along with brass adornments and an incredible stained glass patchwork. The huge double swing doors were framed with tropical foliage.

  “Shit, Lucy, these damn doors are eigh
t feet tall”, he said stupidly.

  “Don’t strain your neck”, was Lucy’s recommendation as they stared up at the multi-color stained glass and custom made brass hardware. Lucy got impatient, found the key, and in less than a second had the door unlocked and ajar.

  “Would you care to carry me across the threshold”, Lucy requested as she pushed on the door?

  “Hell, we could have driven across the threshold”, Steve returned.

  “Some romantic I get stuck with”, Lucy grimaced.

  The joint was party central. It had everything imaginable. It was fully furnished including a dance floor with band stage and grand piano, plus a full service wet bar.

  “Have you been shopping at Rent-A-Center”, Lucy queried?

  “Is there anything in this place that isn’t made of Leather”, Steve asked?

  Lucy was doing a slow trot while taking it all in.

  ”Yeah, the refrigerator”, she responded. “I could put my whole week’s food supply in this thing”, she added, thinking of the Fortune Cookie.

  “Steve, there’s something in the fridge you need to see”!

  Sure enough, a bottle of what appeared to be Champagne was on the top shelf.

  “Let’s take a look at that thing”, Steve said while carefully retrieving what resembled an antique wine decanter.

  “What the hell is this”, Steve asked as he pointed to the label?

  ‘Moët & Chandon Dom Perignon White Gold’ was inscribed across a label, and obviously distressed by the weathering of time.

  “It’s the jackpot, a step up from Red Label”, Lucy addressed the bottle with a religious passion. Her comment included a whack at Steve’s evening relaxer.

  “Why would anybody expect anything less than a two-thousand dollar bottle of booze”, he pondered?

  It felt different to have class, however fleeting the moment could prove to be! In the last three hours, a luxury sports car, a mansion, and a two-thousand dollar liquid remedy in a bottle magically appeared.

  “Look at this Steve”, Lucy beckoned while rifling through the drawers and cabinets. A business card was stuck to the back of a drawer slide.

  Two things were eye catchers, ‘Angel Holdings’ and ‘Johnny Benavidas’. Lucy and Steve stared at each other!

  “Holy Shit”, was all that came out of Steve’s mouth, “Son of a bitch”!

  Your metaphorical viewpoint is impressive”, Lucy said with a twang of sarcasm.

  “This was Johnny Angel’s hideout. Goddamn”, Steve said as things were mentally coming into alignment!

  “You need to improve your language skills, rich guy”. Lucy gazed around the room with a smile.

  Not once had Cruz Benavidas or Angel Holdings been mentioned. This was about to change.

  “Benavidas must want something very badly, Ming”, Steve said in obvious formality to Lucy, who caught the change in demeanor.

  “You appear to have joined the Angel clubhouse, money bags”, Lucy stated, while making an obvious point.

  “All the gratuities I witnessed over the years and never once did I get so much as a can of chop suey. Now the dam breaks and I’m drowning in luxury”.

  Alright, money bags, what’s next on your agenda”?

  “It’s almost four o’clock. Let’s head back to the ranch, Miss Chao. Fong in probably getting nervous. We’re close to chow time. ‘Chow’, get it, Miss Chao? I’ll let Nunez know that we’ll pick up the car tomorrow”.

  “Don’t you wanna see the rest of the hideout”, Lucy asked inquisitively, while ignoring the play on words?

  “We’ll do the grand tour another time, Ming. Let’s head back to the ranch”.

  After a fast scan of the premises, the Limo departed with Steve at the wheel for the trek back to the Fortune Cookie. Silence prevailed as Lucy strained for one last look.

  “None of this is free. Cruz wants something”, Steve offered inquisitively.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, smart guy”, Lucy responded.

  “I’m gonna pull over by that row of dispensers. I wanna get a newspaper”. Steve fished in his pockets for change.

  “Lucy, do you have fifty cents”?

  Steve got a stare that would sink a ship as she retrieved two quarters from her change purse and put them in his hand.

  “Don’t say a thing, Lucy, I know I’m never gonna hear the end of this”.

  Lucy settled back with a victory smile as Steve retrieved the paper.

  “Best investment I ever made”, Lucy fired back!

  “Could I get you to drive us back? I wanna take a look at the paper. It’s a P.I. thing”.

  “I forgot my chauffer hat, money bags”.

  Lucy took the helm for the half-hour drive up the Santa Monica raceway.

  Steve sat back, took a deep breath and unfolded the evening paper. He was gazing out the window at nothing, trying to reassemble the day in some order that made sense.

  “Steve”, Lucy shouted in a voice of urgency!

  “What, What”? He snapped to attention.

  “Look at the headline”, Lucy ordered, pointing to the L.A. Times on his lap.

  “Holy Shit, are you kidding me? “Goddam, Ming, what the f…”?

  ‘Police Commissioner Killed In Light Plane Crash’. The bold print reality of a terrible accident was spread across the front page. He reiterated a few lines of the news copy while Lucy drove

  ‘…witnesses state that Miss Jackson was on approach to Van Nuys Airport at 2:15 PM this afternoon when an apparent explosion ripped her privately owned Piper Aircraft to pieces. Commissioner Jackson was accompanied by her longtime friend and State Attorney, Emil Ross. Both were pronounced dead at the crash site, a mile south of the airport. Property damage was reported to two houses, but no other injuries. Miss Jackson was an experienced private pilot with more than five-hundred hours flight time. Accident investigators from the Federal Aviation Administration have not yet released any further information…’

  “Steve, wasn’t Wanda Jackson considering a run for Mayor? Holy shit, Steve! Didn’t she reopen the investigation against Angel Holdings over the prostitution ring shootings and the dock workers’ union case”, Lucy asked in surprise?

  Steve regained some composure.

  “This case was Cruz’s death sentence. No telling where he could have landed; South America, the pen, the gas chamber, who knows? Son of a bitch! I was the prime witness that Cruz thought better of alive than dead.

  “Won’t the District Attorney pursue this anyway, Steve”, Lucy asked? “After all, this was her ticket to the Mayor’s Office”.

  “Not likely, Ming. There was some competitive animosity as to who would be running for Mayor. For sure, where one went, the other was not far behind. The whole case was on Jackson’s desk and in her now deceased head. The DA has no case without Jackson. It would be a nightmare to try to put this one together. Cruz would have her for lunch. Son of a bitch”!

  The rest of the drive back to the Fortune Cookie and home-sweet-home was uneventful. They sat in silence contemplating the events of the day.

  The turn off to the Fortune Cookie was just ahead. Lucy brought the limo to a stop behind the restaurant.

  “I’m starving, Lucy. Ya wanna cook up some spaghetti and meatballs”? “I’ve had enough surprises for one day”, Steve said in an exhausted voice.

  “You’ll get the house special, mister, which by the way is your favorite tonight”, as Lucy stared at me in her stern demeanor.

  “Yes, ma’am! I’ll suffer through General Tsao’s Chicken delight once again”.

  General Tsao must have given Lucy the secret recipe. It was incredibly delicious. The only problem was trying to stop eating it.

  The kitchen area of the Fortune Cookie was a buzz. Big cauldrons and woks were a-steam in maximum production mode. Every hand was at battle stations.

  “What’s going on, Lucy”, Steve asked?

  Lucy said something to Fong in her Mandarin dialect and got an animated response.
Fong pointed to the seating area and continued his pantomime.

  “Well, Steve, besides our usual crowd, there is a table with a dozen guests that just arrived. They ordered everything on the menu”, Lucy stated!

  “I’m going to have to get to work. Take your usual table and I’ll get you set up.”

  Lucy and Fong had a reserved table in a distant corner that was their private mess hall. Steve headed thru the swing doors to his favorite lair with his mouth watering from the mixture of aromas saturating the air.

  “Mr. Slattery”!

  A familiar voice got Steve’s attention as he turned an about face.

  “Won’t you come join us, please”, the voice asked?

  “Holy shit, what next”, Steve asked himself as he focused on Cruz Benavidas and a table full of his allies? There was a familiar face or two, including Cruz’s human version of body armor, his Oriental Kong-like creature who frisked him the day before.

  Cruz and all of his squad, including two drop-dead-gorgeous escorts rose from the table to extend their greetings.

  “What the hell is going on here”, Steve mumbled to himself? This was supposed to be a relaxing evening free of surprises”.

  “Mr. Slattery, this is Miss Kim and Miss Chang”, Cruz said as he addressed each with a respectful courtesy. “You remember Mr. O, I trust”, as he motioned toward Kong, his personal security thug.