CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Carl had persuaded his brother not to go. Enrique stood out in a crowd, while the Navy man looked more average. On second point, the Captain's main base was east of the Mississippi, he had helped in a lot of investigations, and he was just plain sneaky. . Since most people saw the uniform rather than the man, he refused to wear a disguise, other than an average looking sports shirt, slacks, and navy issue footwear.
On the other hand, the doctor had to change his character and persona and felt uncomfortable in his disguise. The makeup was hot, the inside of the fake nose itched, he was afraid his contact lenses would pop out, and he hated smoking. He wished the Navy man could take up smoking as his bad habit instead of drinking from a bottle which probably contained cold tea. . They drove down the road until they came to Truckers Hideout, a place where a man could get a cool one, or play a few rounds of snooker. Several trucks and cars that should have belonged in the junk yard were parked in front. The place smelled of old beer and urine. It had a jukebox, circa nineteen fifties and the music coming from the door told Carl and Ed that it had not been updated since then.
The tavern by the American Flag plastered over the bar said one thing the clients were pro American Right or Wrong and the clients looked like they would prove the former. The bar tender looked as if he served in every major battle in Vietnam. He was tough and the tattoo on his right arm was a Navy Cross.
Ed and the Captain avoided the obvious servicemen and went over to a group of men playing cards who were teasing the black haired bar maid who served them their drinks. In keeping with the décor, her uniform was a short blue mini skirt with a red and white striped blouse with a circle of stars over each of her breasts.
"Rather good representation of the American flag, don't you think, Ed," whispered Carl, "I hope my wife doesn't find out."
"She'd kill you?" .
"Precisely." He moved over to the table where the non military personnel were sitting. The man with the black tee shirt with 'James Bonds Sucks', was their man. The dying man's drawing was accurate in describing the black and blue mole on the right cheek. "Mind if I join you?"
"We don't like company,' said one of the gang, who had on black sun glasses. .
Ed moved to the right of 'James Bond'. "Well if you're playing cards, I'd like a hand at it." He took the package from the table and shuffled rather carelessly.
"Julie," said Black sun glasses, "bring us another round. What'll you have strangers?"
For a moment, Ed thought he said "sucker." "A Coors Light and what'll you have, stranger?."
"Mac the Knife. Jack Daniels and coke." Black sun glasses sipped his drink, occasionally looking towards the door. "Not like home." Home, must have been east and north of the Mississippi, someplace in New York City. Having been in New York, Ed recognized his shoes as being of a particular brand and Mac certainly had a macabre sense of humor.
While they drank and played, Carl winning most of the hands, they talked. Carl and Ed had set up a story that the former was a Vietnam veteran fired from his job because the boss learned he killed some Vietnamese kids during the war. The Vietnamese kids hid grenades under their shirts, but no one believed him.
Ed was the son of his best friend so affected by this that the father took to the bottle and now his mind was almost gone. Anyway according to the story, both men were rather upset that their country did not need them and that there were no threats here in America.
All this information took over an hour. The talk then changed to little green men from Mars invading Earth and that the government would call some busy body from Washington not someone who served his country. After all they were not a few miles from Roswell where that mysterious flying saucer had landed.
Mac the Knife glared at them. "You don't think America's in danger?"
"You mean from the Jews, Blacks, and such?" asked Carl with sarcasm, "Don't make me laugh."
"No, A certain group here," said James Bond, "real killers even the kids, but not for long."
"Not for long?"
He whispered into Carl's ear. "We've got their boss."
"Where?"
He leaned back. "That's a secret."
"So what's the score with this guy?" asked Ed.
"Look I work for this broad. Actually she hired us over a year ago to take out this guy. Only we were to leave his second in command alive. You see if the world was to know, there'd be trouble." He told of the ambush, how they left Marcus alive, "the Black dude," as he called him. Later his boss told him to grab the leader, The Chosen, as they called him. 'James Bond' figured he was a sort of emperor in the Ming the Merciless or Ruler of the Universe sense, meaning that these people could break doors, jump over five stories to the sidewalk, break someone's neck with just a snap and they were incredibly smart. "Almost like those old Science Fiction movies on the Late Show about super intelligent aliens. Only they're not aliens, they're related to us. Appears they've got a certain mutation. My boss wants to find out what makes them tick."
"Dissection?"
"No. Look around here. What do you see?" He waited until Black sun glasses, obviously the one with money, who signaled to the hostess and put some bills on her tray.
"Pretty girls and desert," said Carl when the girl left.
"No. Aliens. Only," he bent down to whisper, "They aint from Alpha Centuri, if you know what I mean. A rumor's is that they're the next step in evolution, only we're gonna make sure it don't happen."
Ed failed to notice Carl's expression grow cold as the Navy officer asked, "How?"
'James Bond' swallowed more of his drink. "Justice. Whoever they are have been killing us off and this little branch of theirs pretends to make up for all that. The majority of them are down right killers. They'll start doing what they've always done, but once we question their leader and find out how to stop them, we'll be ready."
"And the leader?"
"The boss has a special plan for him. She says she'll keep him alive and there's the space program. You could get killed up there, only it won't be us that'll get killed, if you know my meaning."
Now it was Carl's turn to lean back. "I certainly do. If you want someone to take care of these goons, I'm your man." He took one of the beer bottles, crushing it with his bare hand.
"You can call me Jake," said 'Bond'. "Put it there partner."
"Torch," said Carl, "and this here's Larry. He aint been around that long to get a handle."
The three men shook hands.
His boss would interview them first Ed felt a pit in his stomach, when he saw Carl crush the bottle. The doctor suspected the only way the Navy Officer could give information about the humanoid aliens was because his father was one. The Captain could not have gotten a sensitive position in the Navy if he were an alien himself.
The Limo Lady, however, was a different matter. What if she recognized him? Attwood had told him previously that she would not. They had spent hours perfecting his manner of speech and working class vocabulary, along with the underlying bitterness at getting passed over.
The Captain had been a natural, but then all Carl had to think of was being only a Captain at his age because a blast damaged his left leg, and it took until the nineteen eighties to get a proper donor. As said before, he was a Navy career man through and through.
They left the tavern, and then went to the office where Attwood's former boss conducted the interview. As warned, it was quite tricky, but Ed answered her questions as best he could.
"Never took much notice about little green men," he said.
"They're mostly grey. How do you feel about living on Mars?" she asked.
"Look is this interview for your group or to get on the next Space Shuttle?"
"Answer my question."
"Not me. I'm going to stick here in the good old U.S.A. but if you can send some poor sucker out there, I don't care." He smiled as he gave an answer he was sure she would accept. "Have a penal colony out there. Ship out the discontents. Then I'll be happy."
"Thank you," she said, "we'll call you when we need you."
Ed went outside and waited for Carl's interview. During the time, he heard gun shots, but did not try to go break in. An hour later the Captain came out.
"How'd it go?" Ed asked.
"Like yours. She said I was a little old, but then I showed her my ability with a gun and handling men."
"So we're in."
He took a piece of paper from his wallet. "The location of where they have Tom. It's an underground bunker located beneath a former mine. The Air Force made it in the nineteen fifties after that Roswell incident, just in case there was an attack. Only the Pentagon decided alien invasions were not a priority and we could do with the ones we already had, so they took it off their radar. As you realize I know all the military installations."
Carl had persuaded his brother not to go. Enrique stood out in a crowd, while the Navy man looked more average. On second point, the Captain's main base was east of the Mississippi, he had helped in a lot of investigations, and he was just plain sneaky. . Since most people saw the uniform rather than the man, he refused to wear a disguise, other than an average looking sports shirt, slacks, and navy issue footwear.
On the other hand, the doctor had to change his character and persona and felt uncomfortable in his disguise. The makeup was hot, the inside of the fake nose itched, he was afraid his contact lenses would pop out, and he hated smoking. He wished the Navy man could take up smoking as his bad habit instead of drinking from a bottle which probably contained cold tea. . They drove down the road until they came to Truckers Hideout, a place where a man could get a cool one, or play a few rounds of snooker. Several trucks and cars that should have belonged in the junk yard were parked in front. The place smelled of old beer and urine. It had a jukebox, circa nineteen fifties and the music coming from the door told Carl and Ed that it had not been updated since then.
The tavern by the American Flag plastered over the bar said one thing the clients were pro American Right or Wrong and the clients looked like they would prove the former. The bar tender looked as if he served in every major battle in Vietnam. He was tough and the tattoo on his right arm was a Navy Cross.
Ed and the Captain avoided the obvious servicemen and went over to a group of men playing cards who were teasing the black haired bar maid who served them their drinks. In keeping with the décor, her uniform was a short blue mini skirt with a red and white striped blouse with a circle of stars over each of her breasts.
"Rather good representation of the American flag, don't you think, Ed," whispered Carl, "I hope my wife doesn't find out."
"She'd kill you?" .
"Precisely." He moved over to the table where the non military personnel were sitting. The man with the black tee shirt with 'James Bonds Sucks', was their man. The dying man's drawing was accurate in describing the black and blue mole on the right cheek. "Mind if I join you?"
"We don't like company,' said one of the gang, who had on black sun glasses. .
Ed moved to the right of 'James Bond'. "Well if you're playing cards, I'd like a hand at it." He took the package from the table and shuffled rather carelessly.
"Julie," said Black sun glasses, "bring us another round. What'll you have strangers?"
For a moment, Ed thought he said "sucker." "A Coors Light and what'll you have, stranger?."
"Mac the Knife. Jack Daniels and coke." Black sun glasses sipped his drink, occasionally looking towards the door. "Not like home." Home, must have been east and north of the Mississippi, someplace in New York City. Having been in New York, Ed recognized his shoes as being of a particular brand and Mac certainly had a macabre sense of humor.
While they drank and played, Carl winning most of the hands, they talked. Carl and Ed had set up a story that the former was a Vietnam veteran fired from his job because the boss learned he killed some Vietnamese kids during the war. The Vietnamese kids hid grenades under their shirts, but no one believed him.
Ed was the son of his best friend so affected by this that the father took to the bottle and now his mind was almost gone. Anyway according to the story, both men were rather upset that their country did not need them and that there were no threats here in America.
All this information took over an hour. The talk then changed to little green men from Mars invading Earth and that the government would call some busy body from Washington not someone who served his country. After all they were not a few miles from Roswell where that mysterious flying saucer had landed.
Mac the Knife glared at them. "You don't think America's in danger?"
"You mean from the Jews, Blacks, and such?" asked Carl with sarcasm, "Don't make me laugh."
"No, A certain group here," said James Bond, "real killers even the kids, but not for long."
"Not for long?"
He whispered into Carl's ear. "We've got their boss."
"Where?"
He leaned back. "That's a secret."
"So what's the score with this guy?" asked Ed.
"Look I work for this broad. Actually she hired us over a year ago to take out this guy. Only we were to leave his second in command alive. You see if the world was to know, there'd be trouble." He told of the ambush, how they left Marcus alive, "the Black dude," as he called him. Later his boss told him to grab the leader, The Chosen, as they called him. 'James Bond' figured he was a sort of emperor in the Ming the Merciless or Ruler of the Universe sense, meaning that these people could break doors, jump over five stories to the sidewalk, break someone's neck with just a snap and they were incredibly smart. "Almost like those old Science Fiction movies on the Late Show about super intelligent aliens. Only they're not aliens, they're related to us. Appears they've got a certain mutation. My boss wants to find out what makes them tick."
"Dissection?"
"No. Look around here. What do you see?" He waited until Black sun glasses, obviously the one with money, who signaled to the hostess and put some bills on her tray.
"Pretty girls and desert," said Carl when the girl left.
"No. Aliens. Only," he bent down to whisper, "They aint from Alpha Centuri, if you know what I mean. A rumor's is that they're the next step in evolution, only we're gonna make sure it don't happen."
Ed failed to notice Carl's expression grow cold as the Navy officer asked, "How?"
'James Bond' swallowed more of his drink. "Justice. Whoever they are have been killing us off and this little branch of theirs pretends to make up for all that. The majority of them are down right killers. They'll start doing what they've always done, but once we question their leader and find out how to stop them, we'll be ready."
"And the leader?"
"The boss has a special plan for him. She says she'll keep him alive and there's the space program. You could get killed up there, only it won't be us that'll get killed, if you know my meaning."
Now it was Carl's turn to lean back. "I certainly do. If you want someone to take care of these goons, I'm your man." He took one of the beer bottles, crushing it with his bare hand.
"You can call me Jake," said 'Bond'. "Put it there partner."
"Torch," said Carl, "and this here's Larry. He aint been around that long to get a handle."
The three men shook hands.
His boss would interview them first Ed felt a pit in his stomach, when he saw Carl crush the bottle. The doctor suspected the only way the Navy Officer could give information about the humanoid aliens was because his father was one. The Captain could not have gotten a sensitive position in the Navy if he were an alien himself.
The Limo Lady, however, was a different matter. What if she recognized him? Attwood had told him previously that she would not. They had spent hours perfecting his manner of speech and working class vocabulary, along with the underlying bitterness at getting passed over.
The Captain had been a natural, but then all Carl had to think of was being only a Captain at his age because a blast damaged his left leg, and it took until the nineteen eighties to get a proper donor. As said before, he was a Navy career man through and through.
They left the tavern, and then went to the office where Attwood's former boss conducted the interview. As warned, it was quite tricky, but Ed answered her questions as best he could.
"Never took much notice about little green men," he said.
"They're mostly grey. How do you feel about living on Mars?" she asked.
"Look is this interview for your group or to get on the next Space Shuttle?"
"Answer my question."
"Not me. I'm going to stick here in the good old U.S.A. but if you can send some poor sucker out there, I don't care." He smiled as he gave an answer he was sure she would accept. "Have a penal colony out there. Ship out the discontents. Then I'll be happy."
"Thank you," she said, "we'll call you when we need you."
Ed went outside and waited for Carl's interview. During the time, he heard gun shots, but did not try to go break in. An hour later the Captain came out.
"How'd it go?" Ed asked.
"Like yours. She said I was a little old, but then I showed her my ability with a gun and handling men."
"So we're in."
He took a piece of paper from his wallet. "The location of where they have Tom. It's an underground bunker located beneath a former mine. The Air Force made it in the nineteen fifties after that Roswell incident, just in case there was an attack. Only the Pentagon decided alien invasions were not a priority and we could do with the ones we already had, so they took it off their radar. As you realize I know all the military installations."