Even in Death, He Screws Up My Life

Hearing the clicking of high heels, Raphael looks up from his drink, muttering, “Uh-oh.”

Enthralled by the woman’s strikingly red hair, piercing green eyes, and dangerous curves, Happy Hopkins, Green Chimney’s bartender, lets out an admiring “Uh-huh” as she thunders toward Raphael.

“How about a drink on the house for my future wife?” Happy asks.

“How about a kick in the groin and a call to your present wife?” the woman responds.

“I’ll take Tara’s drink,” Raphael slurs.

“You’ve had enough. You know our systems can’t process alcohol.”

Tara looks around at the tavern’s wood paneling and the faded pictures of softball teams, picnics, and smiling dead patrons.

“This is a rather conspicuous and grungy place to be in.”

“I like it here. It’s got what the locals call ‘atmosphere.’”

“So now you’re part of this run-down slum? We’re here to help police these people, not be their drinking buddies.”

“You’re right, Tara. But Mount Vernon does have a gritty charm.”

Tara spies a cockroach crawling into a corner.

“They ought to call it Mount Vermin.”

“There are so many stories in this area, both good and bad. And so many attractions. I saw a giraffe today at the Bronx Zoo. The day before, I went to a concert in Madison Square Garden. I expected to see flowers. Instead, I saw a man named James Taylor. His music and voice were like the sound of the Angels of Mendari.”

“You haven’t mentioned off-world places like Mendari to these people, have you?”

Raphael takes his fresh drink from Happy, downing half of it. “Of course not. You need to loosen up, Tara. You’re as much fun as wrestling with a two-headed Varillian pig.”

“That’s it,” Tara fumes. Grabbing Raphael by the elbow, she lifts him from his stool, hustling him out into the street.

“Go home!”

Burping, Raphael grins at her.

“Do you need transportation, Raphael?”

“Nah, I want to enjoy the sights of this beautiful city. Besides, the night air will revive-a-tate me.”

“I came here to tell you to stop sightseeing and finish the last two arrest reports. Send them to me,” Tara says.

Raphael blows Tara a kiss as she stomps off.

Raphael fiddles with his cell phone as he crosses the street.

The loud, piercing sound of a taxi’s horn, followed by a loud thump, makes Tara turn around.

Raphael is lying in the crosswalk, still holding onto pieces of his shattered phone.

The driver jumps out of the cab, covering his mouth with both hands to stifle a scream.

Calming himself, he looks down at Raphael, admiring his unusual watch. The watch has a vibrant blue stainless-steel band, a zebrawood face, and two stopwatch-operated dials for hours and minutes.

Tara walks back toward the accident as the bar’s patrons pour into the street.

Pretending to check Raphael’s pulse, the cabbie relieves him of his watch.

Tara notes the cabbie’s features. She then takes a photo of him and the cab’s medallion number, heading back to her car.

Royce Winger yawns, rubbing his eyes. A long-serving agent for the E.B.I., Royce’s strong jaw, closely set dark eyes, and square shoulders support his wide-reaching, clandestine authority.

“We’ve been sitting in this car for six hours,” Royce complains.

“He’s a cabbie. It could be six more hours before he comes home,” Tara replies.

“We were lucky to be able to track down Bing Adell through your blurry photos. What I don’t understand is why Adell lives off the beaten track in a trailer on the Old Putnam Trail.”

“It’s probably all he could afford,” Tara replies, stretching.

“And we’re here for what, a watch? What’s it worth? Three hundred dollars? Maybe a thousand? The E.B.I. has spent three times as much to pay us to sit here.”

“Its value is priceless. At least in your world and at this time.”

“I get it. It has your technology, making it dangerous in the wrong hands,” Royce replies. “Is that how you Vorak’s time travel? By using a watch?”

“Yep,” Tara answers wearily. “Anyone who looks at it will think it’s just a designer watch. There’s a switch on the side that opens up the back. All you have to do is set the date, time, and year and press a button, and it can send you to whenever and wherever you like.”

“So, what’s with Bing Adell?”

“I talked to my smitten bartender friend, Happy. Besides being a cowardly murderer and a thief, Adell’s into his bookie for twelve thousand dollars.”

“Then he’s probably already hocked the watch.”

Tara’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “That’s what I intend to find out.”

“He won’t tell us what he did with it.”

“That’s why I sent for you… To beat the truth out of him.”

Royce gives Tara a Bronx cheer. “For shame. Resorting to thuggery by asking me to be your muscle. You Voraks are supposed to be advanced. Can’t you read his mind or something?”

The tone in Tara’s voice turns somber. “You know our laws. No violence. No interference. Sometimes, I think our laws are a bit too strict. I want nothing more than to beat every ounce of blood out of Bing Adell.”

“You’re starting to sound like a human being. Perhaps you need a vacation.”

“I’ll take one when we recover the watch.”

“Don’t you have your own watch?” Royce asks.

“One per team. I made the mistake of letting Raphael carry ours. He was texting me an arrest report when he was run down… So, I guess you could say I got him killed.”

“You can’t blame yourself for what happened.”

“Why not? You blame yourself for what happened to your partner.”

“My situation is different. I knowingly brought a green kid with me to subdue a Massatron.”

“They’re nasty things. Huge, but lightning fast.”

“And we knew that,” Royce replies. “I hit it with four tranquilizer darts, and it went down like a condemned building. But it was playing possum. I returned to the car, turning my back on the Massatron. My partner started to put a net around it. It took his head off before I could turn around again.”

“I hope you destroyed it.”

“I had an AR-57 sub-machine gun in the trunk. I emptied it.”

“I understand your loss… All I want to do is go home to see Corvus.”

“Corvus?”

“Corvus and I were partners, not only on the job but off it as well.”

“I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

“It’s not. But giving up our relationship would be like asking me to try to stop a moving train with my bare hands.”

“So, what happened?”

“Corvus and I were sent to Ocala, Florida, to capture a shapeshifter. I charged the house from the front while Corvus covered the back. The shapeshifter came out shooting, forcing me to take cover behind the car. As it retreated inside, I saw its appearance change. It became… me. It opened the back door for Corvus. Thinking it was me, he let his guard down. It shot him in the back of the head… I heard the shot that killed him as I was running to the door… I ventilated it. I was surprised at how much I enjoyed chopping it into pieces with a kitchen knife… It’s a bizarre feeling, killing yourself… The reason I teamed up with Raphael was so I could spend a month with Corvus, or what you would call his spirit.”

“Just a month?”

“A month is the most time our technology will allow the living to spend time with the dead.”

“I guess we do have something in common. Loss.”

Tara jabs Royce in his ribs.

“You were snoring.”

“How long have we been here?” Royce mumbles.

“Ten hours.”

“If it’s going to be ten more, I’m going to need coffee. There’s a Seven-Eleven a few miles south.”

“What if Adell shows up while we’re gone?”

“We know where to find him.”

Grumbling, Tara starts the car.

“Don’t speed. You don’t want to get pulled over,” Royce says.

“You really do need caffeine when you start making jokes like that.”

Royce and Tara head for the store’s door. A petite, short-haired brunette exits, nearly colliding with Tara, who says, “Children first,” backing away.

The brunette frowns at Tara. She and Royce nod cordially at one another. Royce grins to himself as he watches her walk to her car.

“She’s not your type,” Tara comments, pulling him inside.

Royce and Tara follow Bing Adell’s beat-up Ford Taurus up the narrow dirt road leading to his trailer.

Royce kicks open the trailer’s door, and Tara dashes in, pointing her gun at Bing’s head.

In the midst of making a drink, Bing drops his bottle of Seagram’s. It hits the table with a dull thud, rolling onto the buckled wooden floor.

Royce and Tara slip past Bing, their weapons still trained at his head.

Tara observes the stack of dirty dishes in the kitchenette’s sink, the empty bottles of liquor on the counters, and the junk mail and discarded fast food wrappers taking up every inch of the three-room trailer.

“Look at this ghetto. Are you some kind of mega-hoarder?”

Royce curses as his suit jacket snags the sharp edge of the metal divider separating the kitchenette from the living room.

“I swear, I’m gonna pay back every cent I owe…,” Bing whines. “Please, gimme some more time.”

Tara plays into his fears. “No money, eh? I heard you’ve got something of value. Where’s the watch? And don’t say, ‘What watch’?”

A quivering study in fear, Bing whimpers, “I swear on my mother’s grave, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You shouldn’t swear on anybody’s grave unless you’re prepared to join them. Search him.”

Bing shakes nervously as Royce approaches him.

Bing suddenly bolts for the door. Slipping on the empty bottle of Seagram’s, he’s propelled forward, his head slamming into the metal divider.

Bing rolls onto his back, his breath exiting in a slow, pained gasp.

Royce looks down at the blood pooling around Bing’s head.

“Uh-oh.”

Royce tosses aside a stack of racing forms.

“It’s easier to try and find Amelia Earhart in here than to locate your watch.”

“He must have hidden it somewhere else,” Tara replies. “Perhaps in the woods.”

Royce glances at Bing’s body.

“Even a homicidal thief deserves better than being left to rot.”

“Fine. I’ll make an anonymous call to the police when we’re done. I’ll tell them I heard shots near here, okay, softie?”

“Then what?” Royce asks.

“We wait to see who claims his body.”

A short-haired brunette kneels by Bing Adell’s headstone, her head bowed in prayer.

She’s startled by Royce’s sudden presence.

Royce recognizes her as the woman he saw three days ago at the Seven-Eleven.

He lays a bouquet of daffodils on Bing’s grave.

She looks curiously at his tapered, expensive grey suit. “You knew my brother?”

“We were old acquaintances. I hadn’t seen much of him recently. I’m Royce Winger.”

“Adele.”

“Adele Adell?”

“My parents enjoyed a good laugh, even at my expense. Bing was my older brother. He was addicted to gambling, although he wasn’t good at it, and it ruled his life. All he had to his name was a watch. I’m surprised he had any friends at all,” she says. “You didn’t have anything to do with Bing’s death, did you?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry I said that. The police said his death was an accident. It’s just that Bing had more enemies than friends.”

“He had one.”

Royce dials Tara’s cell number.

“Where are you?” she asks harshly. “I went to your hotel, and you were gone. I’m up to my armpits in mud, searching behind Adell’s trailer.”

“I’m surprised you have armpits. I’m going on a lunch date.”

“Excuse me?”

“With Bing Adell’s sister, his heir,” Royce replies. “She claimed the body and had him quietly buried. While I was paying my respects this morning, she mentioned the watch.”

“For shame, flirting with a grieving sister. Call me if she tells you where he hid the watch. That is if you’re not too preoccupied.”

A waitress smelling of patchouli, her brown hair piled high, delivers their drinks. She continues to hover nearby, smiling affably.

“I hope you don’t think I’m being weird, but there’s a positive aura about you two.”

Royce looks at her name tag. “You just earned yourself a big tip, Della.”

The waitress blushes. “You’re both… glowing like a special light surrounds you. That’s a good sign.”

Adele crosses her fingers, whispering, “Let’s hope you’re right.”

Royce looks at Adele’s wrist. “Is that your brother’s watch?”

“Yes. He called me from out of the blue and told me he wanted me to have it, which was weird since we hadn’t spoken in five years. A few days later, I found myself driving three hours to claim his body. Then I went to his place and picked up the watch. It was so cloak and dagger. He left it for me in an old milk box outside the trailer…”

“It’s a bit big on you,” Royce notes.

“I know, but it’s all I have to remember him by... So, what do you do that warrants such a sharp-looking suit?”

“I’m glad you’re impressed. I work for the E.B.I.,” Royce replies.

“What’s that stand for? Extraordinary Bureau of Investigation?”

Royce looks down at the table.

“It does, doesn’t it? What do you do, chase flying saucers, monsters, ghosts?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Adele’s eyes narrow. “Am I your latest assignment?”

Royce looks away.

“Well, it didn’t take long for this relationship to go south. Thanks for pretending to care. What a fool I’ve been!”

“No. I’m the fool. We’re not supposed to develop feelings for the people we investigate.”

“You’re investigating me?” Adele asks.

“No. Your brother.”

“Great. Even in death, he screws up my life. So, meeting you in the graveyard wasn’t a coincidence…”

“No.”

“I bet you’re a lousy card player, Royce. You look away every time you have to tell the truth. So, you didn’t want me. You only wanted the watch.”

Royce looks down at his drink.

Della tentatively places a Diet Coke in front of Tara. She whispers to Royce, “Two in one day? But there’s no aura around this one.”

Tara gives her a searing look.

“What psychic wisdom are you dispensing? Go somewhere else and play Nostradamus, drink monkey.”

“Definitely no aura,” Della repeats, the smell of patchouli marking her exit.

Tara lights into Royce, her sharp blue eyes glowing angrily. “You had the watch right there in front of you. All you had to do was take it.”

“It’s all she has left of her brother.”

“Are you kidding me? That watch belongs to the Vorak government. I have more right to it than that half pint.”

“What was I supposed to do? Tear it off her hand?”

“Yes! Listen, Royce, E.B.I. agents from Vorak and Earth have worked together to keep this planet safe from alien criminals. One of our agents has been killed, and we need to make things right. Going soft and falling for the doe-eyed little sister of Raphael’s killer is like spitting in his face. And I want to go home, Royce, understand?... You have a few more drinks to fortify yourself. Then we’re going to cutie pie’s hotel and get the watch back. Whether she gives it to us, or I have to chop her hand off will be up to her.”

Royce slams down his drink. “…Sure… I’ll be right back…”

Royce passes Della on his way to the men’s room.

“What happened, player?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were here for lunch with that cute little brunette. Now you’re having dinner and drinks with Xena, the Warrior Princess. How’d you screw things up?”

“Career conflicts.”

Tara waits until Royce is out of sight before slipping a pill into his drink.

Tara looks over at Royce in the passenger seat, laughing to herself. He’s breathing heavily, his mouth is open, and there’s a trace of saliva on his lip.

Tara marches to the hotel office. Bribing the hotel manager, she gets a pass key to Adele’s room.

She’s in the room before Adele can drop the book she’s reading.

Jumping off the bed, Adele shudders at the sight of an Amazon twice her size whose flaming red hair matches her anger.

Tara points at the watch. “Gimme.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m the debt your brother owes, and I’ve come to collect it, cutie pie.”

“I know he owed a lot of money to bookies, but he’s dead.”

“And you’ll join him if you don’t hand over that watch.”

Adele takes off the watch. She starts to hand it to Tara, pulling it back.

“No! It’s the only thing I have to remember my brother by.”

“He took it off a dead man, cutie pie.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Tara exhales heavily. “I don’t need you to.”

Tara charges at Adele, throwing her backward onto the bed. Wrapping her hands around Adele’s neck, she snaps it, squeezing until Adele’s face turns red, and her screams turn to gasps.

Royce snores loudly, waking up. Shaking away the dizziness, he stumbles toward Adele’s partially open door.

Tara stands in the middle of the room, dancing in a circle, twirling the watch on her finger as she laughs triumphantly.

Royce knows before he reaches Adele’s bedside that she’s dead.

“You’re mad! You violated your own rule never to kill! Do you know what’s going to happen to you?”

“I know!” Tara shouts gleefully.

Tara’s body is trapped in a beam of light. “…. I’m coming, Corvus…”

As Tara’s body fades, she tosses the watch to Royce.

Opening the back of the watch, Royce sets it back ten minutes.

Adele’s eyes open. Coughing, she looks up at Royce.

“Do I know you?”