Alien Blues (34 page)

FIFTY-FOUR

David and mel had shed their jackets. The wind outside had died, and the sun was bright again. It was cool inside NEW HOLLAND, but people were coming through in shorts.

There had been no sign of Santana or his people. Nothing but regular customers since the park employee had tripped the first exhibit early that morning.

Mel looked at String, who was sleeping.

“I don't understand how he can relax standing up like that.” He poked the Elaki's shoulder.

“Quit it, Mel, you'll knock him over.”

The winds of the typhoon scene echoed through the dome.

“What
really
happened?” a voice boomed.

Mel screwed up his face, matching his words to those on the speaker.

“Were they swept away by the storm, picked up by a Japanese submarine … or have they gone … somewhere else?” Music filled the air.

“Or maybe,” Mel continued, “maybe the stupid fuckers killed each other off.”

“Ate each other,” David said. “That's why there weren't any bodies.”

“What happened to the bones?”

“What are you, forensics?” David checked his watch. One-thirty. “I thought this was set for noon. Twelve-ten, supposedly.”

“Wonder when Halliday will call it off?”

String's eye stalks twitched. “Increase the patience.”

David shrugged, trying not to give way to the heavy disappointment settling in his stomach.

“There,” Mel said. “Look at
her
. Will she warn the guy about the crocodile, or let him get eaten?”

David looked through the peephole. A woman sat in a boat, keeping a hand on the smallest of the four children around her.

“There will be good lessons here, for the young ones,” String said.

“She'll let him get eaten,” David said.

Mel peeped out. “I don't know, she looks pretty nice. Got good legs, too. She'll warn him. Five bucks?”

“Done.”

David smiled. He'd watched Rose with the girls in this park. He knew the mother's frame of mind.

String leaned backward. An Elaki stretch.

“May I be in for the bet? Five dollars also. I agree with Detective David.”

Mel shrugged. “Easy money, guys.”

The exhibition-two robot wandered down a sandy beach. The robot wore khaki shorts and a loose shirt and looked extremely lifelike.

“How'd they get crocs on New Holland, anyway?”

“Brought them in,” David said. “To guard.”

“Jesus.
That
explains what happened to them.”

The robot cast a fishing line into ocean ripples. The children in the boat squealed. Must see the croc, David decided.

“Mommy,
look
. Hey, mister—”

“Shhh.” The woman clamped a hand over the child's mouth.

The croc opened huge jaws and lunged. The robot screamed and struggled while he was pulled underwater. The children squealed, the youngest watching in shocked silence.

“Quite lifelike,” String said. “Are the woman and children real?”

“I don't believe it!” Mel shook his head. “Put her hand over the kid's mouth! Why would anybody bring their children in here, anyway?”

“The bigger ones love it.”

“It's sick.”

“David?”

Halliday's voice made him jump.

“Copy.”

“Two subjects. One female, one male. In through the south employee entrance.”

“Copy.”

“Here we go,” said Mel.

They sweated it until two-ten. Then Halliday's voice was back in their ears.

“Santana has been spotted. Wearing a short denim skirt, white tennis shoes, red cotton shirt, and a straw hat with a yellow scarf.”

“Nice legs?” Mel asked.

“Pay attention, Burnett. Santana is accompanied by a male subject, approximately six-three, wearing jeans and a blue flannel shirt. Both have gotten into the back of a boat with an
Elaki
subject in a plaid vest.”

String's belly rippled.

“
Elaki
?”

“Copy.”

“It is as I told you,” String said.

“Query check on subjects A and B behind exhibition.”

“Subjects A and B on the move. Heading for exhibition three.”

“Copy.”

Mel frowned. “Three. That's the orgy scene, isn't it? Where they're eating and carrying on?”

“Split up,” David said. “You and String on the boat. I'll stay back here and go this way.”

“What about the street soldiers?”

“I'll be careful. Go on, you need to be ahead of them. Stay on the Elaki. We don't want him getting out with the stuff. I'll get Santana.”

“I foresee a possible complication,” String said.

“Don't sweat it, Gumby, we'll handle it. David, you be sure and call in the troops.”

“You bet.”

Mel climbed in the boat. “An Elaki crime wave. God help us.”

“Move it, Mel.”

David ducked through a door, taking a short cut to the maintenance entrance near exhibition three. He dodged props, boxes, cables. It was dark, and he used a penlight to make his way.

“Halliday. Query on subjects A and B.”

“Both subjects have converged on exhibition three. Out in the open, north side of exhibition, visible to people in boats. Readiness team has been alerted. Exits are being covered. Will send backup your way.”

“Make sure they keep good distance. I don't want them in too soon.”

“Don't wait too long.”

“Copy.”

David went through the door and positioned himself on the side aisle, opposite Santana's street soldiers. He crawled halfway to the canal, stopping when he heard voices.

“You fugley today, Elmer?”

The voice was female, youthful.

“What?”

“You fugley?”

“I don't know.”

“You are. You're fugley.”

“What's fugley?”

“Fucking ugly.”

The woman laughed. A muscle spasmed in David's leg.

“Bitch,” the man muttered. “Hey. Here they come.”

David ducked back in the shadows, maneuvering to get a view.

A red boat bobbed near the edge of the exhibit. Santana sat in the prow, and the Elaki stood in the stern, balancing easily.

Elmer grabbed the side of the boat and held it steady. Santana and the man in the blue flannel shirt climbed out. The Elaki shifted toward the center of the boat.

The typhoon winds from exhibit six triggered.

“Shit,” David said. He leaned forward, trying to hear.

Santana pointed to a blue case and opened his arms. The Elaki made an odd, high-pitched noise. David heard a splash. Something surfaced in the water. A slick, dripping Elaki rose between the boat and the edge of the canal and handed a sealed package to Santana.

David grimaced. Elaki don't swim, eh, String?

Santana was laughing. David could see the open mouth, the delighted features. An earring dangled from Santana's right ear, catching the light. David knew without looking that it would have a unicorn on it, with a blue eye made of turquoise.

The woman handed the plastic case to the Elaki in the boat. The Elaki said something to Santana, then dived into the water.

“Now,” David said. “Backup. Two Elaki, one holding a blue plastic case, en route,
underwater
.”

“In the canal?”

“That's right, damn it,
move
. I'm going after Santana. Backup in place?”

“Backup
is
in place.”

“Copy.”

The boat, empty now, drifted gently to the next exhibit.

“Jesus Christ!” Mel's voice was loud in his ear and David winced.

“What?”

“He's gone after them. Underwater.”

“Who?”

“
Gumby
. Look at that sucker go!”

Five cops in yellow coveralls burst through the south door, cutting off Santana's escape. David saw Pete and Della.

David stood up, pointing his gun. “Stop. Police. Everybody take it easy and nobody move.”

Pete and Della were yelling. The man in the blue flannel shirt threw the package of money at David, and Della fired.

Santana leaped into the canal. The package hit David's elbow, throwing his aim as he pulled the trigger. David peered into the canal. Had Santana been hit? David took a breath and jumped.

The water was cold and David came up shivering. He rubbed his eyes and shook his head, slinging droplets of water out of his hair. There was movement in the water ahead of him. Something red floated by. He grabbed it and held it up. A red shirt. Santana's.

“Mama, look, there's a man in the water.”

“Just part of the exhibit, honey. See if it'll talk to you.”

The typhoon noises were going again. David swam toward them, bumping softly into the edge of the partition. There were puddles of water in the aisle in front of the exhibit. He pulled himself up over the side, stopping to catch his breath.

“Pursuit,” he took a breath. “Pursuit into exhibition six. Halliday?”

No answer.

He checked his earpiece. Gone. David crept down the aisle-way, following a line of water. His gun was useless. And Santana didn't need to be armed.

This time, David thought, there won't be anybody holding me down.

There were blood splats next to the drips of water. Santana was wounded. David took a deep breath.

The blood trail led him past the exhibit and into the dark hallway. Santana would head for the emergency exit. He'd be wet, bleeding—conspicuous, even without the red shirt.

David saw a shadow move just as an arm went around his neck.

“Got you, my cop.” Santana, wet and warm, pinned David's hands and pressed him close. He wrapped his hand around David's throat.

An alarm shrilled and the emergency door slammed open. Rose paused in the doorway, illuminated by a blinking red light. She was dressed like an exhibit robot, in brown khaki shorts and a T-shirt, and David was sorry to see that she did not have a gun.

Santana laughed softly. “Rose. I should have known you would come. How is Haas?”

Rose stopped in the aisle-way, and stood very still. David felt sweat roll down the small of his back. Rose smiled, a look David rarely saw, and did not like. Rose moved closer, but without the usual assurance. David bit his lip.

Santana's hand moved down David's spine. David's muscles tensed so tightly he ached.

“Don't, Rose. I'll cripple him, just like Haas.” Santana shrugged. “If you care. You could sit them side by side—start your own vegetable garden.”

She was hesitating. Abnormally quiet. Not in control.

David swallowed. “Rose,” he said. “You took Clinton. You can take Santana.”

She looked at David and frowned. As if she didn't know who he was.

“Hurt him if you want to,” David said. “But please, don't kill him.”

One corner of her mouth lifted slightly. But still she hesitated. David felt the pressure of Santana's thumbs on his spine. Blood ran in a steady stream down Santana's thin, tautly muscled arm. Sweat filmed his upper lip, and he smelled strongly of fear. Afraid of Rose? If so, she'd be the one he'd be watching.

David let his muscles go limp, dead weight sagging. Santana's grip tightened, then released. David hit the floor and rolled out of the way.

Rose and Santana faced each other, both of them crouched forward, chins tucked down, balancing on the balls of their feet. Had he been right? David wondered. Could Rose take him? Maybe he should—

“Stay,” Rose said.

David settled back. Advantages, he thought, in being married awhile.

Rose and Santana circled each other warily. Santana grabbed for Rose, but she slipped away, exposing her throat. The side of Santana's hand moved like a knife edge. David lunged forward, but Rose was gone before the blow connected.

It seemed to David that it came down to balance. Santana veered sideways, trying to catch Rose in a headlock. He aimed a blow to her temple. Rose grabbed his wounded arm and pulled him forward, taking advantage of his momentum. She twisted the arm backward and dislocated the shoulder, slowly and cruelly. Santana arched his back and cried out. He sagged, but stayed on his feet.

“This is for David,” Rose said. There was sweat on her upper lip, and her eyes had taken on a peculiar glaze. She brought her elbow down hard on Santana's shoulder, breaking the collarbone. Santana crumpled, and fell on his back, knees drawn up. Rose kicked him hard, on the right side, over the liver, and David felt a twinge of pain in his own ribs.

Santana groaned deeply and rolled to his belly.

“And this,” Rose said, “is for Haas,”

David lurched forward. “Rose,
no
—”

She brought her heel down with deadly force two inches over Santana's belt line. David heard the snap of vertebrae. Santana went limp. David sagged backward, sitting down suddenly.

Rose's chest heaved as she caught her breath. She wiped sweat off her forehead. David stared at her.

“He's
alive
, David. Like you asked.” Her smile made him sad. “But he isn't going to walk away.”

FIFTY-FIVE

David and Rose sat side by side. Roger Halliday Paced in front of them.

“I suppose you're going to call it self-defense again.”

The medics were carefully strapping Santana belly down on a stretcher.

“He isn't dead, Captain,” David said softly. His hands were shaking.

“He's damn near close to it.” Halliday turned to Rose. “How the hell is it you happen to be here?”

Rose pursed her lips and glared at Halliday.

“I've been on David's tail since last night. No, he did not spill what he was up to, but it doesn't take a mental giant to know you were setting something up with Santana. Sorry, Captain, but the local Homicide Task Force is no match for somebody like Santana.”

Halliday stopped pacing and scratched his chin. When he spoke, it was with unwonted softness and intensity.