Alien Heat (25 page)

The things he did to make a living.

“You have questions,” the Elaki said. A statement.

“I want to—”

The Elaki waved a fin. “No, please to wait. See this scale in the middle? This one you will pick up, you will handle. Please. Do not be shy with this. It is fragile, but can be manipulated safely. You may please put it here and when you leave, you will take this scale. You will keep it with you, and the future readings, if you desire such, will improve and intensity grow. Yes? This is understood?” The Elaki folded David's scale in with the others, then fanned them back out again.

His voice became matter-of-fact. “I see two women, one dark, one light. I see one heart, your heart, which goes in two directions.”

David thought of being monitored. He could shrug it off, tell everyone it was bull.

“This is a difficult path, but worth the journey.”

Does this mean things will work out with Teddy? David wondered. And realized how vulnerable he was:

“The missing pet is in danger,” the Elaki said.

“Elliot?”

“I do not know. I see danger.”

“But he's alive?”

“For now.” Jordiki paused. “Missing. This is a theme for you, David Silver.”

David nodded. “My—”

“Please, do not feed. Must not confuse what you will tell with what I will see. I see your makers, your parents. A cloud of dark for the mother. I see her eyes. She is deceased?”

Cruel, David thought. So very cruel.

“And the father is … alive.”

“Is he?”

“You do not know?”

“He left when I was ten years old. Disappeared. We haven't been able to find him.”

“Ah. Please, a moment. Think of this man, this father, as you remember him. In the out loud, for my own benefit.”

“A tall man,” David said. “Broad-shouldered. Brown eyes, like me, we were … alike. He has—he had a large smile. A sense of humor. He liked playing jokes. He was religious. He had a code of morals and ethics which—”

“He held in reverence,” the Elaki said.

“Yes.”

“I see him.”

The statement, so matter-of-fact, so convincing, made the hair stir on the back of David's neck.

“He is alive, David Silver. The father is alive.”

“Then where is he? Why didn't he come home?”

“This I do not know.” The Elaki gathered the scales together slowly. “Perhaps another time, we can discover the answers that you seek. Good of the day, David Silver.”

FORTY-TWO

That night David dreamed of his father. He went into work feeling shaky and ill.

“Nothing in the tea,” Miriam told him.

“Nothing?”

“Just tea. Good notion, spilling it and wiping it up on your shirtsleeve. Don't you carry a handkerchief?”

Mel gave him a sympathetic look. “Everybody's a critic.”

Rose stood over him, shaking his shoulder. “David? Aren't you working today?”

He opened his eyes. He had been dreaming again, something about his father and a baseball game. “What do you want?”

“David, it's late, you—”

“Don't
ever
wake me up again.”

She looked as if she was going to say something, then turned and walked away.

The phone rang and he picked it up. “Yes?”

“David? Mel. Where the hell are you?”

“Home, Mel, obviously.”

“Still sick, huh?”

David coughed. “Yes.”

“When you going back to the Institute?”

“Next week, probably. He said not to come till then.”

“Be sure you get in here first and get the monitors set up.”

“Sure, Mel.”

“Feds have Tatewood staked out, trying to get some kind of connection there. Peterson's trying to get a warrant to search the Institute, get into their records, get a paper trail going. Nothing so far, so a lot is riding on you. Oh, and Teddy called again. You ever get back to her? She says—”

“Look, Mel, can a man be sick without all this fuss and bother? I'll be in tomorrow, and I'll deal with it then, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, sorry. Get well, David. We're counting on you.”

David hung up and got dressed, making sure the scale was safe in his pocket.

FORTY-THREE

David sat in the small brown room, facing the Elaki. He dreamed of this room.

“I have found the father for you.”

David bowed his head so Jordiki would not see the tears that filled his eyes.

“Is time of much emotional joyousness, do not be the shame, David Silver. You must ease this well of hurt. This father does not know you.”

David cleared his throat. “I don't understand.”

“He has experienced the permanent memory lapse.”

David's head went up. “Amnesia?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, warning bells went off. Amnesia. No memory. Very pat.

But it made sense, did it not? There had never been a body, yet his father had not come home. He would never have abandoned them, never. Every milestone, David had expected to see him. Graduation from high school, then college, then the police academy. His marriage to Rose, the birth of his daughters, the suicide of his mother. Amnesia explained it all away.

He is telling you what you want to hear, came the thought.

“Where is he?” David said.

The Elaki waved a fin. “He is alive, but he does not thrive. His health has not been good, since this blow to the head of amnesia. He is a long way from here with the menial work. And on the list, the long list, for medical care.”

David felt a chill like ice. “He's not going to die?”

Jordiki's scales rippled, like a shudder. “Without the treatment of medical he needs, death is a possible outcome.”

“Where is he?”

“He is south in a New Orleans satellite town.”

“Rough places,” David said.

“He has been there some time and survived this.”

“Which one?”

“The one of the south loop. It is called Meridian. He brings the fish to a place of restaurant.”

“Name?”

“Crawdaddy's. I do not know what this is, the crawdaddy. We will contact him for you.”

“I want to go myself.”

“As you wish it.”

“And I want to get him his treatment. Bring him here and—”

“David Silver, this father has been gone many years. He is an abuser of substances. He may not desire the homecoming. He may not desire the help.”

“I'm going.”

“I wish you well. Perhaps we can help with him—to arrange the treatment, if you cannot bring him home. Pleasse to go, to see. And to come to me if there be troubles. I wish you well; David Silver.”

David nodded, picked up his scale, and left.

FORTY-FOUR

No one here spoke english, David thought, not the way he knew it. And it was hot, really hot, the kind of heat that would make you gasp, if it hadn't sapped your energy first. The day before, David had seen a woman slump against a wall and slide down dead to the ground. Heat.

It was a bad place, Meridian; a place where nobody who had anything ever wound up. As was the way in places like this, places where life dealt you nothing or worse and said take it or die, people took it, and gave it a dirty spin, creating a complex underbelly that had its own set of rules, its own pecking order, its own class of haves and have-nots.

People were the same, really, top to bottom.

David turned the faucet of the sink in his room and the fixture came off in his hand. A thin stream of rusty yellow water dribbled into the mildewed drain.

What had he been going to do? Wash his face?

He looked in the mirror, seeing with some surprise that he had not shaved in a while. Sweat glistened in the heavy growth of beard, giving him a grey look of illness. There were deep swollen circles beneath his eyes, and his hair was long and thick.

His shirt was not clean. The collar was grimy, the underarms yellow with sweat stains.

What would his father think?

Not your father, came a voice in his head.
Not your father
.

It would be so good just to see him, just to say hello. He would show him pictures of the girls, even of Rose. He would explain about Teddy, ask him, man-to-man, what to do.

He would take his father home.

He himself was a long way from home, that he was sure of, and he could not think how to get back. He felt homesick for something, he did not know what. The names of his daughters went through his mind. Lisa. Kendra. Mattie.

First he had to find his father.

He did not know how to turn the water off with a broken faucet. He left it dribbling into the sink.

FORTY-FIVE

It was him, no doubt, though he looked younger than David expected. Everything was right—the way he moved, intense, focused,
wired
. A trademark self-confidence that was so very attractive. A handsome man, dark and energetic, out of place here in this hot Southern city full of wispy sunburned men who moved languidly, as if they walked through soup and not air.

David decided then and there, no matter what, to help him. Even if things did not work out between them, even if there was no spark. It could only be a good thing for such a man to get another chance at life—such a man as his father.

Hi, Dad! Hey, Pop! That you, Daddy? Hello, you used to be my father. I look familiar to you, sir? How do you do? You don't know me, but … Excuse me, I know this is going to sound strange … Could I just have one minute of your time?

David realized that the man was speaking.

“Sorry, I know this seems strange. I just got the oddest feeling I know you somehow?”

David felt warmth in his chest, right where the bullet scar throbbed. He knew that if he opened his shirt, the tissue would be red and livid.

“I beg your pardon,” the man said.

Then he smiled, and David knew that smile. He'd pay money for that smile, he'd lay his life down for it. If his mother could have seen that smile again, would she still have felt the need to string that rope and die?

The man inclined his head to one of the outdoor tables. “You look kind of shaky there. Sit down for a minute.”

The chairs were black spindly wire. David sat on the tiny round seat, hooked his toes on the precarious legs, and rested his elbows, making the table wobble back and forth.

His father steadied it with one hand, and his look was kind.

“Tell me,” he said.

The warning voice that had come and gone went away for good. David knew that his hands shook, that he looked ill and dirty. He sighed deeply and tried to smile, not quite sure what to say, but knowing that words didn't matter all that much.

FORTY-SIX

David was hard asleep, vaguely aware that someone had been knocking, knocking a long time, that the door opened and someone walked in. He felt a presence by the bed.

He sat up in a panic, reached for his gun. The woman flinched, but did not touch him. He felt a twinge of fear, a conviction that she could have taken the gun if she wanted, that she held herself in check. He felt that he knew her.

She was dark-haired, violet-eyed, extraordinarily pretty. He rubbed his eyes, wondered what she was doing here, standing by his bed, unsmiling, wearing cutoff shorts and a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

His tongue felt thick and sticky. “I forget to pay?”

She cocked her head to one side, gave him a reluctant smile. The room was hot, quiet, no sound of the air conditioner, which was no longer making a pretense. He ran a hand over his beard.

“You need a shave,” she said. “And a bath.”

He cleared his throat. “Who are you?”

“Right now? Right now, I'm your worst nightmare. My name is Rose. I'm your wife. Here, take this.”

“What is it?”

“It's just a Coke. It's cold.”

David took the can—so cold it seemed precious. He held it to his forehead and closed his eyes.

She grimaced. “My God, it's hot in here. You look dehydrated, David. Drink and take some of these. No, no, it's just aspirin, that's all. You look like your head hurts.”

It did hurt. He took the aspirin, reached for more. She snatched the foil pack out of reach.

“No, that's all for now, did you want the whole pack? You don't look like you've eaten in days.”

“I have … no money.”

“Considering that you cleaned out every account we have, it's hard to be sympathetic. Come on, get up.”

“Why?”

“There's someone I want you to meet.”

There was a fat man on the sidewalk, standing beside his father. David smiled at his dad and waved.

His father did not smile or wave back. He was handcuffed, and the fat man had him in a grip that looked painful.

David was amazed at the intense surge of anger. He raised his gun. “Let him go. Let my father go.” He liked the way that sounded. My father.

The fat man looked at the woman who called herself Rose. “
You let him keep his gun
?”

She shrugged. “I didn't want him to feel threatened. Besides, I know David. The only person he might shoot would be you, Peterson, which would suit me just fine.”

David clenched his teeth. “
Let my father go
.”

The safety chip glowed green as it registered David's fingerprints. Ten more seconds, and he'd be able to shoot. He aimed for the center of the fat man's chest.

Peterson looked at Rose. “Now what?”

“I guess you let him go. Otherwise, I think he's going to shoot you.”

Peterson let go.

“Cuffs off,” David said.

Peterson said something under his breath and keyed in the cuff release.

“It's okay,” David told his father. “We'll sort this out.”

Rose curled her lip. “Tell him your real name. Tell him who you are.”

David's father looked at her, rubbed his wrists.