“Colonel Goodman, you are dismissed.” The voice was high-pitched yet sounded male, like a teenage boy breathing helium.
Goodman tugged against my grip.
I held firm. “You and I are in this for the duration.”
“We have your friend,” the voice behind the screen reminded.
Goodman gave a dirty grin, like he’d wiped a booger on my sleeve and there was nothing I could do about it.
I let go. Goodman straightened his rumpled collar. He backed out the door and it snapped closed. A light beside the door lock went from green to red.
Who lurked behind the screen? I knew it wasn’t the Wizard of Oz. I was sure it was an alien and hoped it didn’t come out with Carmen’s head in one hand and a blaster in the other. My kundalini noir knotted into a tight ball, like a fist ready to strike.
I removed my sunglasses and surveyed the room again, looking for any obvious threat. I could trust nothing and expected the worst.
“Have a seat, please,” the voice said from behind the screen.
I walked to the love seat and cigar chair. Both pieces of furniture looked normal enough. A step of polished heavy wood had been pushed against the front of the chair. Why the step? Was Mr. Big a midget?
An end table, in a finish matching the step, separated the chair and love seat. On the table sat a heavy crystal ashtray and a shallow glass bowl with a red cactus blossom floating in water.
The step indicated that the chair was reserved, so I stood beside the love seat and waited. I remained very still, to let my sixth sense absorb every nuance. My muscles remained primed to react to anything.
Whatever was behind the screen moved into view: a short bipedal creature with skin the texture and color of tarnished green leather. A yellow aura surrounded him like he stood inside a burning torch.
Yellow aura. Extraterrestrial.
I stood in stunned disbelief. This little goblin was Mr. Big?
Beside being called “mister,” it was the smooth head and masculine form that made me assume this thing was male. His head had the shape of an egg-the narrow end formed his chin-and was the size of a basketball. His almond-shaped black eyes were as large and glossy as billiard balls. I couldn’t discern any features within the obsidian orbs, no separate pupil or iris.
Twin nostrils the shape and size of coin slots occupied the blank space between his eyes and lipless mouth. A pair of tiny, bud-like ears sprouted on opposite sides of the crown of his bald head.
His skinny ankles were attached to dumbbell-shaped feet that had wide circular pads for “toes” and “heels.”
As a vampire, I was used to the grotesque, but this repulsive dwarf belonged in a freak show from hell.
Is this what Odin looked like in his natural state? Or was this alien a different species altogether?
He appeared similar to another alien I’d seen, a corpse recovered from the wreckage of the Roswell UFO. I learned that during my investigation for Gilbert Odin, when he had used me for his own devious ends.
I gave the alien a vampire glare. He took no notice of my naked eyes. When first I tried to zap Gilbert Odin, nothing happened either.
I had also experienced this before with one human. She not only proved invulnerable to vampire hypnosis but used her knowledge of the supernatural to manipulate us-the undead. Didn’t do her much good, ultimately, because another human killed her.
Neither she nor Odin could see my aura and, hopefully, this alien couldn’t either. I still had that advantage.
Yet, when his gaze turned upon me, I sensed a confidence and a paternal charisma, like he was used to being in charge.
He wore a simple gray suit buttoned up the front to a high Mandarin collar. The material looked like satin. The alien carried an unlit cigar. As he walked closer, I was struck by how short he was, maybe four foot six.
He motioned to the love seat with his free hand. He had three digits: two fingers and a thumb. All were thin and sinuous, like tentacles, and ended in flat disks. His mouth curved into a pandering smile that meant “please.”
He climbed on the step and turned around. We sat simultaneously-I, slowly and cautiously.
He planted those weird feet of his on the step, the toe pads drooping over the front. He relaxed and crossed his legs.
I said nothing and waited for him. My sixth sense made the hairs on my arms bristle.
Unlike Odin, this freaky creation had no cabbage odor; in fact, I couldn’t smell anything except for the flowers and tobacco. But the stink of sleaze was as tangible to me as was his aura. I hadn’t come all this way only to stare at his ugly face. Time for Q and A about the only reason I was here. “Where is Carmen?”
His lipless mouth moved again, but it took a second for the words to come out, as if he were being dubbed. “Safe.”
“Not as long as you have her.” I clenched my fist. Careful. At the moment, I couldn’t afford to antagonize this little green spaceman. Goodman and the security complex deferred to this Mr. Big, meaning he was numero uno. I relaxed my hand.
The alien noticed this and nodded once, pleased that I acknowledged the situation. He lifted the cigar and stared at it. “My name is Clayborn.” He repeated his name, as if amused by the sound. “Clayborn.”
I wasn’t surprised that he spoke English, but his squeaky voice threw me off. Was he the one who ordered Gilbert Odin’s assassination? Clayborn, or whatever the hell his moniker was, possessed a gangster’s arrogance, so I didn’t doubt it. I’d find out why he murdered Odin, and why Goodman and our government protected his ET ass. But first, I had to rescue Carmen.
Clayborn swung that black gaze to me. “Goodman told me that he’d found another one of us. But you’re not, are you?”
They knew I wasn’t human, and so assumed I was not of this earth. Good enough. It didn’t matter what they thought I was as long as they didn’t know I was a vampire. “You didn’t answer my question. Where is Carmen?”
“And you didn’t answer mine. I don’t recognize you as any of the species in the Galactic Union.” Clayborn pointed upward with the cigar.
“Okay, I’m not one of you. There’s your answer.”
“Where are you from?”
“Colorado.”
Clayborn nodded again, his manner less amused than irritated. “What’s your business here?”
“To get my friend Carmen. Let her go and then we’ll chat over tea and cookies. Where is she? Why did you take her?”
He rolled the cigar between his fingers. “That concerns my business.”
“Which is what?”
Clayborn blinked. When his eyes closed, both wrinkled eyelids looked like the butt ends of overripe avocados. That creepy smile deepened. He pressed the cigar against his nose slits and inhaled. “You smoke?”
“No.”
“Pity. This is a Bolivar Belicosos Fino.” For a guy from a million miles away from here, Clayborn’s Spanish pronunciation was pretty good. Clayborn shifted and slid his free hand into a side pocket of his coat.
I flexed my legs. If he took out anything other than something to light his cigar with, he’d end up with a stump.
He produced a cigar clipper. After trimming the pointed end of the cigar, he put the cigar nub and clipper into his pocket and retrieved a cheap plastic lighter. He brought the cigar to his face. The flesh around his mouth extended to grasp the cigar. He sparked the lighter, bellowed his cheeks, and lit the cigar.
Puffs of spicy, aromatic smoke clouded the air between us. Magicians smoked to distract their audiences. What tricks did this alien joker plan?
“You’re here on business, right?” I asked. “Then what do you want for my friend?”
Clayborn lifted his chin. His eyes narrowed to ebony slits. “Ah, a deal? What have you got?”
I’d give anything to guarantee Carmen’s release. I offered Clayborn my most prized possession:
“Me.”