Chemical Burn (23 page)
Authors: Quincy J. Allen
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary Fiction, #Dystopian
“When?”
“Still not sure yet. I think I want to take Xen along for this particular ride, so we’ll have to ask him.”
“Where is he?”
“He’s in a safe place. In fact, we’ll be going there shortly. But first, let’s see what we can find out about our friend in the black Audi.”
“Thank god. That’s really been bugging me.”
“Clear screens,” I said. They went back to the strange-looking desktop. “Okay … middle screen … Los Angeles Department of Motor Vehicle … search on three fields.” A box appeared in the middle of the screen with three text boxes and a blinking cursor. I typed in the license number, hit tab, typed in the date of purchase, hit tab again and then typed in the engine ID and hit the ENTER key.
A second later a small box appeared with the words “No data.”
“Damn, I was afraid of that. He just bought it. It hasn’t been processed yet.”
“Can this thing search LAPD records?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, you’re assuming that he’s a law-abiding citizen. Maybe the guy’s a lead foot.”
“Hunh?”
“Maybe he speeds a lot.”
I looked at her, impressed again. “Good idea. Search middle: LAPD, same three fields.” A second later one record popped up with a name, date, and city in it, and the violation had occurred the previous week.
“See?” Rachel said with a knowing grin. “Widen the search.”
I looked at her with a
What for?
expression on my face.
“Maybe he’s from out of town,” she offered.
I looked at the screen. “Same search: all of California.”
Two more records showed up, but these were in Sacramento, one each in the previous two months. “Sacramento?” I asked. “So he’s not from around here.”
I looked at the screen, blinked at the most recent record, and it expanded to fill the screen. I read out loud, “Six-point ticket issued to Albert Zajac. Eighty-four in a sixty-five … this guy drives like you do.” She punched my shoulder, and then I continued. “Weird, he’s a Polish national on an international driver’s license. Sacramento address. He’s on an extended travel Visa that checked out.”
I leaned back, looking at the data with a confused look on my face. “Now that just don’t figure … Polish?” I looked at Rachel and asked, “You piss off anyone from Poland lately?”
“Not that I know of,” she said, equally confused.
“Me either.”
My phone rang. I pulled it out and recognized the Costa Rican prefix but didn’t recognize the number. I opened the phone. “Hello?”
“Justin! It’s Xen!” Xen had to holler over the sound of slot machines ringing and gamblers talking in the background. “I’m in trouble, and I need your help.”
“Are you okay?” I asked, immediately concerned.
“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Xen said over the noise.
“You burned through all the money, didn’t you?” I said, smiling. I figured he would. Xen really is a shitty poker player.
“Well, about that …” Xen said a bit evasively. “I have a little problem, and I need your help. Can you meet me at the casino?”
“Sure. Right now?”
“As soon as you can. I can sit tight till you get here.”
“I’ll be there in thirty or forty minutes, okay?”
“Sounds good. Thanks!” Xen hung up.
“What was that all about?” Rachel asked.
“Xen. He says he has a little problem. So we have a change of plans … well, an acceleration of them. Lock console,” I said, and the screens went black. I took the circlet off my head. “Feel like taking a little trip south of the border?”
“How little?” she asked suspiciously.
“Oh … I don’t know … about …” I paused and did a quick calculation in my head, “three thousand miles.”
“What?” she blurted. “I’ll need to go get some clothes … and my passport.”
“No you won’t,” I said simply, a subtle grin blooming on my face.
“Justin, three thousand miles south of the border is Central America!” she clarified, speaking as if I were an imbecile.
“Trust me,” I said.
***
Secrets
“Follow me,” I said as I walked over to the kitchen. Rachel followed closely but with a curious hesitation in her step. I opened a cabinet and pulled down a bottle of tequila and a shot-glass. I topped the glass off and handed it to her. “Shoot it.”
She looked at me with a bewildered look on her face. “Why?”
“Shoot it,” I insisted.
She grabbed the shot glass and downed it easily, not showing any reaction at all. We’d spent a number of evenings doing shooters of the stuff, so she was accustomed to it. She looked at me expectantly. I took a deep breath, preparing for the worst.
“You know when I say I’m not from around here?” I asked quietly.
“Yeah?”
“I really, really mean it. And that story about having Lazarus syndrome that I told you last year, and how I don’t appear to age like normal people?”
“Yeah?” she asked, clearly wondering where I was going with all this.
I shook my head.
“Come on.” I grabbed her hand and walked to the front door, stopping before it and grabbing her gently by the shoulders. I looked squarely into her eyes. “After we go through this door, nothing changes between us, okay? Promise.” For the first time in nearly a hundred years, I had butterflies in my stomach. I didn’t know what I’d do if she freaked out on me.
“What is this all about, Justin?” She sounded confused, with a tinge of fear.
“Promise me. Nothing changes.”
She looked into my eyes, and I could see something there … for me … something she had kept pushing down. She kissed me gently on the cheek. “I promise,” she said sincerely.
I stared at her for a handful of heartbeats, suddenly afraid that I might lose her but desperately wanting to trust her for reasons I was only just beginning to understand. I wanted to kiss her then, kiss her and hold her. But I didn’t know how things would go. Maybe after, I thought.
“Okay,” I said a little nervously. She’d never seen me act like this, perhaps even a little vulnerable. I walked back to the kitchen, grabbed the bottle of tequila, and returned to her, putting my hand on the palm reader and running through the combination. My eyes never left hers as I pushed the door open. “Go on.”
She peered through the doorway and saw the living room. She got a confused look, her head cocked sideways, and disbelief gradually replaced the confusion. She stepped in and looked around a living room three thousand miles away. It slowly dawned on her that it simply could not exist where it was. She looked to her right and saw a window that looked out onto a tall, verdant-green hedge spotted with orange flowers highlighted in silvery moonlight. She looked around the door to her left and saw another window exposing a crushed seashell driveway leading to a wide gap in the shrub. A dirt road intersected the driveway, and she watched in disbelief as a flatbed truck drove down the road out of sight.
She stepped back into my loft and looked for the windows where they should be in the wall. All she saw was a blank wall full of coats on one side and my TV screens on the other. Her mind struggled with the impossible. She looked at my face, wide-eyed, not really comprehending. I handed her the bottle. She uncapped it and took a healthy swig, this time coughing as the tequila went down her throat.
“Go on,” I said, motioning her to go through. My face was immobile, a gently hopeful look frozen there. Is that fear I’m feeling? My insides felt like a tornado as she stepped through the doorway once again and walked all the way to the middle of the living room. I stepped through the doorway behind her and closed the door. She slowly turned around, taking in the rattan furniture with burgundy cushions, the walls lined with bookcases. She saw a statue of a matador and bull on an old wooden coffee table, an empty coffee cup beside it. There were two rattan end tables, both with lamps on them, and a hanging basket chair in a corner with the chain bolted into the dark-brown rafters exposed on the pale, textured ceiling. She could see a kitchen down the hall with a light on, and a closed back door—all where my alley should be.
“It’s impossible,” she said quietly. I opened the front door. She turned and watched me step onto a brick porch and walk out into the middle of a coarse, dark green lawn. I turned my gaze up to the sky, my back to her.
She followed me out, hesitating briefly at the door, and then stepped up beside me, looking at a full moon and a dark sky dotted with bright stars she would never be able to see in a Los Angeles sky.
I put my arm around her and looked into her eyes. She took a long pull from the bottle of tequila and stared up at me.
“Welcome to Costa Rica,” I said. “I hope you can you keep a secret.”
***
Wonderland
Having left Rachel on the beach with the bottle of tequila to sort out her new reality, I handed the keys of my old, gray Land Cruiser to the casino valet and slipped the claim ticket into a pocket. I walked up the stairs into the wide, red-carpeted entrance of the hotel and was bathed in a cacophony of dings, buzzes, claps, cheers, yells and every other sound that comes out of a well-populated casino. I scanned the crowd, hoping for the long shot of spotting Xen amongst the throng. I walked towards the cashier’s booth straight back from the entrance. I figured I could have Xen paged, but then a motion caught my eye.
Under the entrance to the baccarat room, holding four trays of chips in one hand and waving wildly with the other, stood an excited, almost frantic Xen wearing my clothes. I waved unenthusiastically and then just stood there watching as he walked up to me, cradling the trays in both hands like they were nitroglycerin. As he approached, I took note of the winnings, and my eyebrow went up. All three bottom trays and one row of the fourth had yellow chips, which I knew were thousand-dollar chips. The rest was a mixed bag of smaller increments. I also noticed rectangular bulges in the pockets of the shorts Xen wore.
Xen’s face split into the largest, shit-eating grin I have ever seen on a human. It even rivaled one of Magdelain’s best smiles.
Calmly I said, “I may be a terrible judge of situations, Xen. Lord knows I’ve missed the mark more than once in my time, but I seem to distinctly recall you saying that you were in some sort of
trouble
.… something about a little problem, if memory serves, and it usually does. That,” I pointed at the chips, “does not look like a little problem to me, unless you took a million out of the bag and that’s all that’s left. Still not really a crisis, as there’s more where that came from, but I’m wracking my brain here to see where the problem is. How much is there?”
“Three hundred and twenty-three thousand dollars!” Xen tried to whisper it, but it still came out loud enough for passers-by to hear him over the noise of the casino.
The thought occurred to me to place a bet with the casino on whether or not Xen would simply explode right there on the spot. I figured I could get even odds. I’d never seen him, or anyone else for that matter, so excited.
“Oh, here, hold this,” he said, almost calm, and handed over the chip trays. “I have your money.” I barely grabbed the chips in time as his hands shot into his pockets. He pulled out five stacks of hundreds and jammed them into my coat pockets. I could only smile at him.
“What’d you do? Rob the place?” I looked around to see if any security guys were edging in to make a grab for us. I’d been in a South American jail before—long story—and it wasn’t a place I wanted to return to.
Xen took the chips back and cradled them like a newborn. He stepped in close, his eyes going wide, and looked around, as if he had the secret of the ages. “Baccarat,” he whispered into my ear. “I’m a natural.”
“No shit?” I asked a bit dubiously. He was the worst card player I’d ever seen, no exceptions, but the proof was there in his hands and my pockets.
“I play steady and make a slow grind on betting on the bank. When it gets near the end of the shoe, I hit the stand-offs three out of five times. I can see the cards, Justin. They’re all in my head. At eight and nine-to-one, I clean house,” Xen whispered. “They finally asked me to leave the table.” Xen calmed down a bit and looked thoughtfully at me. “The trick is not giving a shit, isn’t it?”
“That’s right,” I said a bit more seriously. “Well, sorta’. At least not caring about
yourself
.” I clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks!”
“But you haven’t answered the original question.”
“What?” he asked with a confused look on his face.
Slowly, I asked, “Where’s the problem?” I looked at him expectantly.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, finally coming at least a little bit back to the real world. “There were these guys watching me … big guys in suits. I didn’t want to walk back to your place with a bag full of money and get robbed or something. I’m a little drunk and would have gotten my ass kicked.”
I started to fire up a snappy comeback, but upon thinking about it said, “Good thinking. You’re absolutely right. Come on. Let’s cash you out and head home … unless you want to hit the tables some more?”
“No,” he said, almost relieved. “I think I’m done for the night. Besides, I don’t think they’d let me come back.” He chuckled like a villain.
I nodded, smiling. “You’re probably right.” We turned and walked towards the cashier’s booth.
“Wait a minute,” I said, grabbing Xen’s arm. “Let’s go next door.”
“For what?”
“You’ll see.” Around the corner from the cashier’s booth stood a small shop that sold all sorts of expensive vices, two of which were my favorites. We walked in and wove our way through a smattering of tourists looking at imported bottles of liquor and boxes of cigars.
“Julio!” I yelled over the noise towards the back of the shop. A small Hispanic man, well past sixty, and wearing a white button-down under a blue apron, looked up from an
Aficionado
magazine.
“
Hola, Señor Case!
Good to see you again, amigo!” Julio looked at Xen’s stack of money, did a fast calculation in his head and gave Xen a raised eyebrow with an impressed smirk.
“Good to see you, too, Julio,” I replied. “Could you please get us three boxes of Esplendido’s, the real ones, not the counterfeits, and two bottles of Elegancia?”
“
Mui bueno!
” Julio said enthusiastically. “Watch the shop for me while I get the cigars from the back, okay?”
“You bet,” I said and turned around to watch the tourists.
A minute later, Julio came out with three boxes of Cohiba cigars and two boxes with scotch bottles in them. He set them on the counter.
“Will there be anything else, Señor Case?”
“No, that should do it,” I replied calmly, delighting in these sorts of purchases. I reached to the top stack of chips and pulled out two yellows, thousands, and a green one, a five hundred. I placed them on the counter. “Will that cover it?”
“Si, Señor!” I knew it was more than enough.
“Keep the change, Julio, and thanks.” I turned to Xen who had just shy of a hurt look on his face. “Interest on the fifty thou you borrowed.” I winked.
He smiled and chuckled a little, realizing that twenty-five hundred was a pittance.
“Good point,” he admitted.
We cashed in Xen’s chips, just over three hundred twenty thousand. As the cashier put the stacks of hundreds into a white, canvas bag, she reminded both of us that we were required to claim all winnings at customs and pay all applicable U.S. taxes upon re-entry. “Of course we will,” I said, winking. The cashier smiled, and we walked out to get my car. The valet brought it up, and we got in.
“I brought Rachel with me,” I said quietly.
Xen’s face went from the perma-grin to a sober realization of what that meant. He looked at me with a concerned look on his face. “How’d she take it?”
“What did you do when you woke up yesterday morning in Costa Rica?” I asked.
“I went out on the beach, got drunk on your beer, and contemplated the nature of a brand new universe.”
“I believe you and Rachel have set the standard. That’s exactly what she’s doing … well, except that she’s using tequila.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Xen asked.
“I didn’t have any,” I said bluntly.
“Good point.”
O O O
Xen followed me down the path behind the house and out onto the beach. We both had blankets draped over our shoulders. The beach was a mottled strip of silver and gray in the almost-full moonlight, everything set against a black backdrop of ocean and sky. Small white-capped rows of black waves, highlighted by the moon, crumbled against the sand in steady, soothing echoes of contrast. Rachel’s back was to us. She had pulled her knees up to her chest, the bottle of tequila stuck into the sand. I noticed that she hadn’t touched much since I left for the casino.
We walked up behind her, and I draped my blanket over her shoulders, taking a seat cross-legged in the sand next to her. We sat in silence for a few minutes.
“I feel like I just went down a rabbit hole,” Rachel said finally.
“You did,” I confirmed quietly. “How do you like Wonderland so far?”
“It’s not real yet.”
“It will be when you wake up,” Xen said. “That’s when it really starts to sink in.”
“You okay?” I asked, concerned.
“Yeah,” she replied with a certainty that surprised me. “Knowing what I know now explains a lot of things over the past couple years.”
“It’s been my experience that the mind has a way of explaining away the impossible, or at least improbable, no matter what planet you’re on, unless someone smashes you over the head with it.”
She laughed nervously. “I bet.”
“It’s funny how that works, isn’t it?” Xen added.
“Yep,” I said quietly. We were silent for a few more minutes while Rachel continued to ponder the new world she’d been brought into.
“There’s someone I want you to meet,” I said.
“Who?” Rachel asked a bit nervously.
“The only true friend I ever had up until today, somebody who knows everything about me.” I saw Rachel’s shoulders tense a bit and then relax after a few seconds. “Mag!” I hollered into the jungle over my shoulder. I saw her slowly glide out of the tree line about twenty yards up the beach. I put my hand on Rachel’s arm and pointed at the approaching feline form. “Over there,” I said pointing.
“Jesus!” Rachel blurted and squirmed back in the sand a few inches.
“Don’t worry. She’s a friend,” I reassured her.
“You told me you had a
cat
,” Rachel reminded me.
“She’s called a dratar, actually—where I come from, at least—but cat is close enough.”
Magdelain came trotting up to me and rubbed her head against my knee. Rachel leaned back into Xen a bit, away from Mag.
I scratched Mag behind the ears, and the rasping started. “Magdelain, this is Rachel. Rachel, this is Mag.”
Mag raised her head and slowly moved a few steps towards Rachel.
“If you scratch her behind the ears, you’ve got a friend for life.”
Rachel slowly put out her hand and gingerly touched the back of Mag’s furry skull. She scratched the way I had, and the rasping increased in volume.
“See?”
“She’s beautiful,” Rachel added, smiling. “Is that a purr?”
“Sort of,” Xen added. “She’s smart, too. Like …
people
smart.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” I confirmed. “I trust her with my life. She’s saved my ass … hell … I’ve lost count of how many times. We were made for each other. Literally.”
Mag smiled at me but let Rachel keep scratching.
“Was … was that a … smile?” Rachel asked slowly, uncertain she had seen what she saw.
“Yeah,” I said affectionately. I patted Mag’s side warmly. “I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
Rachel looked at me closely, searching for something in my face. “You said that about me, too.”
“Yep,” I said but didn’t look back at Rachel. “Meant it, too.”
There was a minutes long silence. Mag lay down in with her head in between us.
“Ahem!” Xen cleared his throat and then forced a yawn, stretching his arms. “Well, I’m about ready for bed,” he said a bit too loudly. “I think I’ll hit the sack and let you talk about … whatever.…” His voice trailed off. He stood up and laid the blanket out flat on the sand. “Good night, you two.”
“Good night, Xen,” Rachel said quietly.
“You need anything?” I asked, calculating how much he’d been drinking the past two days.
“Where’s the aspirin? I have a feeling there’s a hang-over with my name on it waiting in ambush somewhere.”
I chuckled lightly. “Bathroom cabinet. You can’t miss it.”
“I’ll just curl up in the guest bedroom and pass out. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Xen,” I said with a smile.
Xen nodded to me, winked once in the darkness, and walked back up the path through the jungle.
Magdelain raised her head and looked at Rachel and me. A few seconds later she got up and followed Xen, leaving us alone on the beach, bathed in Costa Rican moonlight.
“Why’d you show me this?” Rachel asked after a few minutes. “You didn’t really have to.”
“Yes, I did.”
She looked at me again, searching for what she clearly hoped was there. This time I turned and stared into her eyes, showing her what she wanted.
“Somewhere along the way you became more than just important to me. Seems to me you feel the same way.”
“I do.”
“If we wanted to explore that, then you needed to know who … and
what
… you were dealing with.” I shifted a bit uncomfortably in the sand. “I mean, it seems to me you have a right to know if the person you’re with is a … a …”
“A what?” she asked grinning a bit too gleefully, delighting in my discomfort.
“There’s only one word for it.…” I said and paused again.
“Yeah?” she asked expectantly, knowing the answer and refusing to say it. She was actually enjoying seeing me squirm.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “An
alien
,” I finally blurted, laughing a bit nervously. “God, how I hate that word!” I said, and we laughed together at a truly bizarre situation.
“You’re still Justin to me, you know. I don’t care about the rest.” She put her hand gently on mine. Our fingers intertwined. “There’s something I want to ask you.”
“Oh-oh,” I said, a bit of the nervousness coming back. “What?”
“Well, I mean … you look like us … like a human … a man.”
“Yeah,” I said, not certain where she was going.
“Well … are you like a man … in
every
respect?” She looked at me and raised her eyebrow, smiling a bit wickedly.
My eyes grew wider as it dawned on me what she was talking about. I stared at her, and a grin spread across my face. That wasn’t the only thing that got bigger.
“There’s really only one way to find out, you know.” I leaned in and kissed her, gently at first, but our lips parted, and our breathing got heavier.