Alien Eyes (17 page)

David picked up the phone. “Yeah, Mel?”

“David, I got String right here. He says he needs us tonight.”

“For what?”

“He won't, uh, specify.”

“Mel, what is this?”

Mel sounded preoccupied and serious for once. “I don't know what it is, partner, but I think you better come.”

“I haven't had dinner at home with my family for five weeks.”

“So eat first. We'll pick you up, give you some time.”

“I
haven't
—” David saw Rose going through the hallway. She was wearing tight blue jeans and a white shirt, and her hair was down and curly, like he liked it.

“I don't want to hear it,” she shouted back down the hallway. “Another cross word, and you're dead meat.”

“David?” Mel said. “Haven't what?”

“Okay. Pick me up.”

Rose smiled at David and headed to the living room. Haas was standing, but he looked ill.

“I best go,” he said.

“Stay for dinner.”

Haas shook his head. “I have just come to town today. I have not even been home yet.” He nodded at David and touched Rose's cheek. “I will call you.”

David put an arm around Rose.

“He's changed,” she said, watching Haas limp away. “I wonder if she's coming down with something.”

“Who?”

“Lisa. Your daughter.”

David made a sympathetic noise. He'd been away from home too much. His daughters had gotten taller, and he was out of the habit of Rose's grasshopper mode of conversation. David moved his hand down to the waistband of her jeans.

“What's this?” he said. “No panties today?”

“I got panties on.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Do too.” She cocked her head sideways and looked at him.

“Prove it.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

David carried his tennis shoes into the living room. Mel and String stood in the doorway, talking to the girls.

“Let them in,” David said to his daughters.

Lisa opened the door. Mattie went straight to String.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “We hadn't had supper, and you could eat with us. Homeboy food.”

Mel grinned. “Yeah, she and Lisa were explaining how you and Rose were in the bedroom with the door locked, and wouldn't come out and cook supper. You did say you hadn't, uh, had dinner at home in a while?”

David sat down on the couch and laced his tennis shoes.

Rose walked into the room. “Hello, String. Dammit, Mel, can't you give him any peace?”

“No, but—”

David looked at him.

Mel cleared his throat. “Sorry, Rose. But we got to work, no kidding.”

“Please to hurry,” String said. He was waving a fin over Mattie's head, making her hair stand up with static electricity. “We have long drive.”

“Where we going?” David asked. He heard a spit and a hiss and looked over his shoulder. Alex, asleep on the back of the couch, had suddenly spotted String.

“It's a surprise,” Mel said.

“Nice kitty animal,” String said. “Bring jacket,” he told David. “It is to be cold tonight.”

“Heater in the van screwed up again?” Mel asked.

“We will be outside much.”

David pulled his socks tight. The closet door opened and closed, and Mattie appeared, draped in his favorite leather jacket.

“Thank you,” David said. He kissed her on the top of her head, and winced when the shock of static electricity zinged his lips.

“Ow, Daddy.”

“Be good for Mommy.” He beckoned to Lisa. “The FBI,” he said softly, “isn't all it's cracked up to be.”

She nodded, corners of her mouth turned down. “Kiss me good night when you come home, Daddy. Even if I'm asleep.”

TWENTY-EIGHT

It was dark so far out of town, no streetlights. Hard to see which way the narrow road snaked. David's eyes drifted shut. He opened them wide, blinked, and shook his head. He'd been off the road grid for forty-five minutes. He wasn't used to the fatiguing monotony of driving without tracks.

They'd been on the move since seven. The last hour had been an eternity on a skinny mountain road that dropped steeply to the left as they climbed. String, driving two car lengths ahead in the van, signaled, and David followed him onto a gravel road that was little better than a track.

“Gravel is contraindicated,” the car said, in soft, masculine tones, “considering the condition of these tires.”

David pushed his foot hard against the accelerator. The tires crunched and scattered rock. He checked his rearview mirror. Dark behind; dark ahead, the red glow of String's taillights leading the way. Tall, narrow trees were illuminated by the headlights.

Mel opened his eyes. He rubbed his face with his palm, and sat forward.

“Whoa.” He looked out the window. “What the hell
is
this? Gravel?”

“Yeah.”

“Gravel, huh. How long I been sleeping?”

“'Bout an hour and a half.”

Mel stared out the window. “I bet there's not a hot cup of coffee within twenty miles of here.”

“Thank you, Mel. Until now, I hadn't thought about it.”

Mel folded his arms. “I'm cold. You cold?”

David shrugged.

“Getting chilly.”

David squinted and leaned forward, straining to see out the windshield. The van veered right, and pulled into a flattened circle of hard-packed dirt that clouded up under the tires, looking smoky in the headlights. David pulled in behind the van. He looked at Mel.

“Good thing we trust this guy, huh, David? Otherwise I might, you know, be kind of nervous.” Mel glanced through the window. “Way the hell out here.” He took his gun from under his coat pocket, switched off the safety, waited till the green light glowed. “Out here in the dark and all.” He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband.

“Don't blow your butt off,” David said mildly. His own gun was uncomfortable but secure, just beneath his armpit. He left the safety on.

“What are you complaining? Long's I cover your ass, too.”

The van door slid open, groaning in the track. String trundled from the side of the van, and skittered into the glare of David's headlights. String's left eye stalk drooped. He swayed back and forth, waiting.

“Come on, David.” Mel opened the door, then shut it. Gently.

David got out of the car.

It was chilly. He reached into the back seat for his leather jacket, thought of Mattie wearing it over her head when she brought it to him, and smiled. The breeze touched his back through the thin cotton shirt. He looked over his shoulder, snatched up the jacket, and told the car to lock.

“Come please, Detectives.”

David folded his arms, one shoulder higher than the other. “It's time you explained what's up here, String.”

“There is not the time—”

“Make time,” David said.

Mel looked from David to String, and narrowed his eyes.

String turned to one side, then back again. “You have the suspicions. You have checked the navigator in my van. You change it. Why?”

Mel shrugged. “We only—”

“Mel was covering your tracks,” David said.

“Tracks?”

“The Elaki-Three,” Mel said. “Particularly that Walker. She came down to check where you'd been. I messed it up, so she wouldn't know.”

“Ah. The Polish restaurants. This was you?”

Mel nodded.

“Why you do this?”

Mel looked at David, then back to String. Neither said a word.

“Is bad,” String said. “This problem between us. Hard to do the work.” String turned and paused at the edge of the woods. He beckoned them on.

Mel looked at David, shrugged, and followed.

The path was narrow, covered with pine needles, spongy under their feet. String waved a large black flashlight, cop issue, and David and Mel moved close to the light.

String spoke, voice low. “It is as you say, Detective Mel. Must prove Izicho not involved.”

David stumbled. “Shit.”

String paused, then went forward again, more slowly.

“How does walking in the moonlight prove squat, Gumby?” Mel said.

“There is no moonlight.”

Mel glanced at David. “Incredible powers of observation. Is this guy born to the job, or what?”

“There is meeting tonight,” String said. “Illieus. Society inside the society. The group inside the group. We are cadre. Of dedicated ones.”

“Dedicated to what?” David asked. The wind was beginning to blow, and the branches of the trees creaked and swayed.

String stopped. “We Izicho.”

“Hot damn,” Mel said, and whistled. “The Izicho version of the Bunkhouse Boys.”

“These Izicho,” David said, frowning. “They working during what Angel calls the bad old days?”

“Oh, it's
Angel
now,” Mel said.

String stopped, then went on. “No. All of these much younger. Become Izicho after.”

“After?”

“After the purge. Bad time, and shame. Is past.”

“Yourself included?”

“Include myself.”

“Angel Eyes thinks the bad old days are back,” David said.

String turned to David, skittering sideways. “Do not you trust her, Detective David. No matter how you believe what of who. She is old. She is dangerous. Do not trust the Angel.”

String moved away. His light bobbed, lonely in the night. David and Mel followed slowly. David heard rustling noises off the path.

“Insects,” he told Mel.

“Yeah?” Mel's voice dropped to a whisper. “Got some pretty big bugs out here.”

An owl hooted. David glanced over his shoulder. He started to zip his jacket, thought of the gun, and left the jacket open and loose.

String hissed suddenly, and stopped. Through the trees, David could see the orange flicker of fire.

“Did you, um, let your buddies know we were tagging along?” Mel asked.

“Has been cleared with the few. The major few. Best though to stay close, and, ah … follow the leader?”

“Just don't start throwing us in trees.”

The fire flared high and hot, thin dry branches snapping in the teeth of the flames. Someone had been tending it. Not that David could see anybody now. He glanced around the clearing and found the darkness heavy with presence. There were shapes in the shadows, shapes that encircled the fire.

Ten of them, he decided. Between ten and fifteen Elaki, silent and unmoving.

Mel bent close to String. “What's the significance of the bonfire?”

“Warmth,” String said. “Cold night, do you not think?” He raised his voice. “Please to come close, and begin.”

The Elaki moved quietly, like leaves blowing, no talk. David's muscles tensed as the tall, dark shapes rolled close. The wind picked up, gentle still, but noisy in the trees. String staggered backward, rippling.

David heard him mutter something. Gabilla?

The Elaki encircled them, visible now in the flicker of firelight. David and Mel stood close together, almost back-to-back.

“Fucking weird,” Mel said, under his breath.

David's heartbeat picked up. He looked at String, who stayed in the circle, close enough to touch. It made him feel better. Let him know who was on whose team.

Someone spoke, a female Elaki, her voice intense. David scanned the circle of Elaki until he spotted her. She was brown-black on the outside, pink in the middle. Her eye prongs were large and symmetrical, and her scales shone, except for a bald patch on her left side.

“I must thank you for coming,” she said. Even in the mild breeze, she tilted sideways. “Please pardon the outdoors meeting. It is very like a home meditation. Conducive to decision making. You have this, in your own organization?”

“We sit at a big table,” Mel said, “and meditate over coffee and doughnuts.”

“Ah,” she said. “I will please come to point. You are nose talker—humans who do the investigation of what be called the cho invasion?”

David nodded.

The Elaki looked to String.

“He mean yes,” String said.

“Is it of you opinion,” the female continued, “that the cho killers are Izicho?”

“I can't comment on that,” David said. He folded his arms and frowned, very aware of the gun beneath his arm. He wished the Elaki would back away, just a few feet farther out.

The female turned to String. “He mean yes by this also?”

“I mean no comment,” David said. “I'm here because String brought me. I'm here out of courtesy”—he nodded his head—“to my partner. You said you would come to the point?”

The Elaki hissed and skittered backward.

“He is most correct,” String said. “And the human is impatient. I too am waiting.”

“You have new human habits,” the Elaki female said.

“No need to insult,” another Elaki said. This one sounded older, male, tired. “Much indication show these crimes committed by Izicho. We ourself to check for not be sure when initial occur. But is not truth. We agree the crimes model for old methods use in bad days, by bad segments of Izicho. We here represent hierarchy, and we know is not to be.”

“What's he saying?” Mel asked. “He saying they didn't do it?”

“But yes,” String said.

Mel folded his arms. “Who then?”

The female Elaki moved sideways, out of the way of the male behind her. He was pale grey, with a splotchy coloring that David had not seen before.

“Ah,” the old Elaki said. “Do not know. Targets are Guardians. Significant. And yet …”

“Yeah?” Mel asked. “Yet what?”

“Could be group with scores to settle? A human thing?”

“The crimes were committed by Elaki,” David said. “The physical evidence is overwhelming.”

The Elaki female waved a fin. “Accepted. But crime not committed by Izicho.”