Alien Blues (7 page)

String peered over the back of the seat at their bellies.

“You do not find this amusing?”

David parked by the curb. He opened the back door of the car. The Elaki looked at him sideways.

“Can I … give you a hand?”

“It would be best, I think, for the back to turn.”

“The back of what?” Mel asked.

“Of us,” David said.

“Oh, like, for the dignity to be preserved. We're going on in, Gumby. Meet us inside.”

David heard a thud.

“No. Please, wait … there. I am with you now.”

The Elaki owner was friendly, but not helpful. He eyed String curiously.

“But you do have people—
humans
—come in here for dinner?” Mel asked.

“Not very often, no. They don't care for our menu.”

“Really?” David said. “Somebody's cooking something back there, smells pretty good.”

String nodded.

The Elaki seemed pleased. “It is a new item, we trying it out on our lunch crowd. We are very fond of Cajun cooking.”

“Oh yeah?” Mel said. “I like Cajun. What is it?”

“Muskrat.”

“You kidding?”

“It is not difficult to prepare. Simmer the muskrat in salted water, along with onion, garlic, bouquet garni. The secret is to simmer until the meat is so tender it falls from the bone. For the sauce, you use mustard, pepper, sherry, a little egg yolk—and some of the stock, of course. Perhaps you would care to sample?”

“God, no,” Mel said. “Muskrat? Only Elaki would eat something like that.”

The restaurant owner turned his body to Mel. “You think so? Essentially
all
of our recipes are local. Our people come here to try Earth food. And muskrat, I must tell you, tastes very like cow. Indeed, it is better than rabbit. You eat rabbit, don't you? Southerners eat rabbit, is my understanding.”

“My sister offered me one just last night.”

“There, you see. But your reaction is typical. Few humans will eat here. And yet I see many balding men and I understand the loss of hair is mentally painful. These men would do well to come in and eat stewed cane rat, maybe once a week. I would not mind more human clientele.”

“Stewed cane rat grows hair?”

“It is the rat meat. In fact, we serve a very nice grilled rat bordeaux every other Wednesday.”

David handed the Elaki a picture of Dyer.

“You see this man yesterday, last night?”

The Elaki studied the picture. “I … I do not think so. We do not get many humans—and usually those for the novelty of coming in. But I must admit …”

“We all look alike,” Mel said. “Yeah, Mr. String here tells me that all the time. I don't believe I introduced him. Mr. String is aiding in our investigation.”

“Unusual,” the owner said.

“Good for human/Elaki relations,” String explained.

“Sure is,” Mel said. “Get to know one another, all that. String's promised to take us swimming.”

The Elaki restaurant owner scooted backward. String arched his back.

“The human is joking you.”

“By the way,” David said. “You give out those little brushes, you know, for crumbs? Kind of a souvenir for my daughter. She's very interested in Elaki things. Collects them.”

The Elaki's eye prongs swiveled. “You see, Detective, this is a family restaurant. We encourage our clientele to bring their young ones and we try to keep our prices down. We could not afford to hand out such things, and with the young ones it would be like trying to hold water. We do not worry for crumbs.”

David held up the brush he'd found in Dyer's car. “You know of anyone who gives these out?”

The Elaki looked at it. “Surely. The Ambassador, on Short Street. But they are not open this early and … they do not encourage humans. It is unlikely your man was there. But if he was, they will remember him.”

“Thanks,” David said.

Out on the sidewalk, String stopped in front of the car.

“I cannot face to fold myself into the back again. I also must return to my work. Regret that I will be unable to further help. Good of the day.” He glided away down the sidewalk.

“He seem upset about something?”

“Get in the car, Mel.”

The double doors leading into the Ambassador had been redone to accommodate Elaki height. They were also locked. Mel beat on the glass. The inside was lit and David could see a man running a vacuum cleaner. An Elaki female came to the door. She wore a short plaid vest—one of the few Elaki David had ever seen wear clothes. Perhaps it was a habit for the rich and trendy.

“We're closed,” the female said. Her side pouches were smooth and almost closed. No children, David decided.

“How about reservations for tonight?” Mel said.

“I'm sure we're full.”

“Next week?”

“Perhaps if you call and check tonight. I am afraid we book most quick.”

David looked at Mel. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

David flashed his badge. “I'm Detective Silver, Ms.…”

“Cook,” she said.

“Ms. Cook. May we come in, please? I need to ask you a few questions.”

She unlocked the door and let them in. A phone rang.

“Excuse.”

She headed for the hostess station and they followed.

“Yes?” She tapped an inquiry into a terminal. “Yes, the private arrangement can be made. Would the seven-fifteen be okay? Good. For many? We do look forward to seeing you.”

“I thought you were booked for tonight,” Mel said.

“What for you gentlemen need?”

There was a stack of brushes next to the terminal.

“Those brushes,” David said. “You give those out?”

“Of course.”

“Just to Elaki? Or your human clientele?”

“I'm afraid we do not cater much for the human palate. Most of our patrons work in the government. They come here for relax, be among their own kind.”

“You cooking rats in the kitchen?” Mel asked.

The vacuum cleaner shut off.

“Thank you, Claude,” Ms. Cook said. “Please see for the floor in the kitchen.”

“No!” Someone was shouting into a microphone.

David looked up. Two Elaki were on a small raised stage. Rehearsing?

“You use yours from the right,” said one of the Elaki on stage. He wore a tie and nothing else. “I use mine from the left.”

The Elaki produced fake hands and shook hugely, a parody human handshake. Ms. Cook's belly rippled. She looked back at David.

“We do not cook rodents. We specialize in seafood.”

David pulled out the photo of Dyer. “This man come in here last night?”

The Elaki studied the picture. “No. We had no humans in last night.”

“I see.” David picked up one of the brushes. Exactly like the one he'd found in Dyer's car. “Mind if I keep this? Souvenir?”

“Feel free.”

Mel tapped the counter. “'Course you weren't on duty all night.”

“I took a couple of breaks, but mostly …”

“How about your waiters?”

“They are off duty. Except Mr. Slyde.”

“Where's he?”

“In the kitchen.”

Mel headed toward a pair of folding doors. “Let's see what he has to say.”

Ms. Cook was annoyed, or so David thought. It was hard to tell with Elaki.

The kitchen had white tile floors, stainless-steel sinks, and microwave ovens. Two Elaki, wearing white chef hats, argued in low murmurs over a simmering pot.

A voice—human, David decided—came from behind a closed door.

“Not your problem,
Peanut
.”

David heard a low mutter, then—

“Just stick to your cooking. Everything else is taken care of.”

The mutter again.

David gave Mel a look. Mel turned to one of the Elaki who stood over the boiling pot.

“What you making?” Mel asked.

David edged closer to the door. Storeroom?

“Shark curry.”

The muttering stopped.

“Smells pretty good. Which one of you guys is Mr. Slyde?”

The door opened. A small Elaki came out. “I am … Slyde. Who be looking for me?”

David pushed past Slyde. The storeroom was small, the floor dirty, the shelves laden with tablecloths, utensils, cans. The walls were red brick, the light supplied by one dimming fixture. There was no one there, but a door on the left wall hung ajar. David pushed it open.

He looked outside, to a narrow alley. Green garbage lined one side of a white cement gutter. There was a strong sweetish-sour smell. And no one in sight. David went back to the kitchen.

“You on duty last night?” Mel was saying.

“Who are you?”

Ms. Cook slid down the floor toward David, her eye stalks on the entrance to the storeroom. David was aware of her cool lime scent. He wondered if she was bothered by his human cheese smell. He shifted weight from one foot to another.

“These are policeman, Mr. Slyde,” Cook said. “They are looking for a human. They do not seem to understand they are looking in the wrong place.”

“Is it Claude they want? He's taking out garbage, but will soon be back.”

David held up his picture of Dyer. The Elaki's eyes were on Ms. Cook, not the picture.

“Look at it,” David said. “You don't get too many humans in here. Surely you'd remember if he came in.”

“No, Detective. I did not see him.”

“You're certain?”

“I am certain, yes.”

David did not like the feel of the Ambassador, or the waves of contempt that emanated from Cook and Slyde. More so than the usual reaction? Could he blame them for not wanting cheesy people in their restaurant?

“How about your other people—the ones who worked last night?”

“Serve and Tend will be on duty at eight o'clock.”

“We'll be back,” Mel said. “Put us in your book.”

David headed back into the dining room. The comedians were gone. The tables were shoved up against one wall. There were no chairs. Claude would be back soon, to finish the floor. David glanced at a table in the corner.

A grey sport jacket was wadded on the top. David walked over and picked it up. There were dark chocolate stains across the sleeve. David checked the pockets—empty, except a slip of paper in the inside pocket. David opened it up, finding a mushroom drawn with a pink crayon.

TEN

The Elaki named Puzzle Solver had an office in the Museum of Human Behavior. David and Mel had to come in through the back door—front entrance for Elaki only—and were left waiting in front of the exhibit on eating disorders.

Behind the red velvet ropes, a lifelike woman was posed in front of a kitchen mock-up. The woman, wearing an old-fashioned three-piece suit, stood in front of a refrigerator and held up a briefcase, fending off a giant Barbie doll dressed in a red swimsuit. A placard labeled the exhibit, but it was written in Elaki.

Puzzle Solver slid toward them from the other end of the hall.

“Detective Silver? Detective Burnett?”

David nodded, feeling awkward because Elaki didn't have hands to shake.

“Please. We can talk in my office.”

Mel started down the hall.

“Wait,” David said. “What does the sign there say?”

Puzzle bent over the exhibit. “It say, ‘Why does this woman think she is fat?'”

“Oh.”

They followed him down a wide corridor. The floor sloped upward. Their footsteps were silent on the thick grey carpet. David shivered. It was cold in the museum, and quiet. The hot noisy city outside seemed miles away.

They went past a display of a tenement room. A junkie lay “dead” on the floor. The door to the apartment had been kicked in and a soldier in a Drug Enforcement Agency uniform was half in and half out of the room. The uniform was familiar. Rose had one, packed away in the back of their bedroom closet.

Puzzle's office had a computer terminal mounted on a high glass table. It was a late-model setup—very expensive. Along the side of the wall was a moving file of poster-sized pictures. The pictures showed street scenes, and there were people in all of them.

“Shall I have some chairs brought in for the sitting?”

“No, that's okay.” David didn't want the Elaki towering over him. “What I'm interested in, Mr. Puzzle, is your fascination for my case.”

“Machete Man?”

“Yes.”

“I would not use term of fascination.”

“No? I've looked into it a little. You aren't a police adviser, Mr. Puzzle. The Elaki assigned to tag along with us, String—he really works for you, doesn't he? And you're an Elaki sociologist.”

“A laiku, if please. Your term, sociologist, has some very primitive connotations for my people.”

“Machete Man appeals to the primitive,” Mel said.

“Mr. Puzzle, you pulled favors to get access to my case. You get reports as soon as I do—maybe sooner. You have authorization to go over crime scenes. I want an explanation.”

“Detective Silver, you are knowledgeable officer of the law. You know Earth cities are on verge of a drug problem the likes of which have not been seen since the 1980s.”

“It's not
that
bad,” Mel said. “And it won't be.”

“Please, I hope not, Detective. But I think you would find the historical cycle of cocaine usage most extremely interesting.”

“The Drug Enforcement Agency has a lot more teeth, now it's part of the military.”

“Indeed,” Puzzle said. “There are many of us who think the corruption problems in your military stemmed from combining military corps with drug enforcement.”

David blushed and Mel grew quiet.

“Mr. Puzzle,” David said. “You do me the courtesy of being frank, and I'll show you the same consideration. One of my colleagues is missing—Detective Vernon Dyer. He was working on this case, and he's disappeared. The last night he was seen he spent some time at an Elaki restaurant called the Ambassador. You know it?”