Wen Spencer - Ukiah 1 - Alien Taste

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[Front Blurb] [Version Information]
Alien Taste
by Wen Spencer
ROC
First Printing, July 2001
To Don Kosak, the original Max Bennett. Cover me—I'm going in.
CHAPTER ONE
Monday, June 15, 2004
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
It was going to storm soon. Ukiah Oregon could smell the rain on the wind. He felt the tension on
his skin as he leaned out the Cherokee's passenger window. He saw it on the far horizon over the
skyscrapers of Pittsburgh.
He leaned back in the window, brushing his long black hair out of his dark eyes. His partner, Max
Bennett, was filling the cab as usual with noisy confusion. Max alternately shouted at his wireless phone,
the stalled traffic, and the net pages giving him traffic updates. Over it all, the KQV news station droned on
with the news of the day.
"Kraynak. Detective. Yes, I'll wait. Veterans' Bridge confusion."
"If Kraynak wants us for tracking, we're running out of time."
Max Bennett snorted at the comment, his attention divided between muscling the Cherokee into a
hole in traffic and the sudden return of the Pittsburgh Police operator. "What did you say? Are you sure
you're saying those names correctly? It's K-R-A-Y-N-A-K, Kraynak. Yes, I'm certain that's with a K." He
tapped the Cherokee's screen to consult an Internet page. "Would his badge number help? I could give you
his Social Security too. I can even get his wife's maiden name. Yes, I'll hold. I told Kraynak it was going to
take us an hour to get into Oakland, but he sounded so wired that I don't think he listened."
After a moment, Ukiah realized that Max was talking to him. "And he didn't say why he wanted
us?"
Back when Ukiah started to work with Max, they were usually chased away from police crime
scenes, like mink chased from the wolves' kill. Even as their reputation for solving the difficult
missing-person cases grew, they were never contacted directly by the police. Occasionally they would learn
that the officers on the case recommended them to the desperate families. This was the first time the police
had called them, even if the police involved was one of Max's Gulf War buddies.
Max shook his head. "He didn't go into details. He just said that he had a job for us and not to
worry about getting paid, that he'd cleared it with his captain." His eyebrows jumped as the operator came
back on the phone. "I know he's not in his office, that's why I'm talking to you. I need to be patched to his
radio. Damn, why can't the man join the modern age and get a wireless phone?"
Ukiah leaned back out the window, pushing Max's confusion into the background to be examined
later. His attention had been captured by a cat in the white Saab ahead of them. The Saab had New York
plates, a Duquesne University window decal, and was packed full of boxes and plants. A Manx cat, looking
like a small bobcat, sat on the back seat ledge, a bored veteran traveler.
In Pittsburgh, he often saw dogs in trucks, hanging out the window, nose to the wind. Mom Lara
would love cats at the farm, but Mom Jo's wolf dogs had always made that impossible. Except for a
short-lived kitten and a few alley strays, Ukiah's experiences with cats were ones inside other people's
houses, peering contentedly from a sun-basked window. At least this cat was riding in an accepted cat
fashion: paws curled under and eyes partly slitted with a mix of idle speculation and contempt. Yet it was
so—odd—to see it in a car.
In typical cat fashion, the Manx yawned and started to groom, ignoring him completely. A moment
later the Saab found an opening in the breakdown lane and illegally sped away. Max tried to follow, but was
beaten by a bread truck that immediately stopped, unable to squeeze past the UPS truck in front of them.
"Max, why do people keep cats as pets?"
"God if I know."
"Why do people keep any pets? Well, I understand dogs and I guess cats kill mice, but why snakes
and hamsters? Why keep turtles?"
"This is not a conversation you have with someone who was up half the night on a cheating
husband stakeout. Oh, not the puppy dog eyes."
"I don't have puppy dog eyes. Wolf eyes maybe, but not puppy dog."
"Okay, okay." Max sipped at his 7-Eleven coffee, made tan by equal parts sugar and cream. "It
could be that humans are pack animals. As we got civilized, the need for a pack disappeared but not the
desire. If you live out in the woods with no one else around, you get lonely, sometimes even loony. Even
living in the city, without family or friends, you feel alienated."
"Get a pet, instant pack. But why only humans? You'd think if it was a good thing, other animals
would do it."
"There's that sign language gorilla. It has a kitten. Gorillas in the wild don't keep cats. You get
civilized, you get pets. Oh Jesus, what's this?" Max frowned at the Cherokee's GPI navigator display as it
beeped and added a traffic hazard directly in front of them. "What the hell is that orange blimp supposed to
be? Ukiah, can you see what's in front of us?"
Ukiah hung far out his window to see around the brown UPS truck in front of them. Fifty feet
ahead, a tanker truck leaned at a drunken angle, a trail of flares set out behind it. "There's a truck broken
down in this lane."
Max cursed and jammed on his left-turn signal. "I told him your bike was at the shop and that I had
to run out and pick you up at your moms'. I said it would take an hour and a half, and he sounded like he
was going to have hysterics. So I told him an hour and that he'd have to fix any speeding ticket I got. I
should have known better. I should have said it would take two hours. No, I should have told him to forget
it. I've got a bad feeling about this case. Kraynak's in Homicide now. What the hell does Homicide want
with us?"
"Do you suppose that's a mark of an intelligent race—that any aliens we find will have pets too?"
Max snorted. "Aliens? I told you not to watch those TV shows. They're all made up. They'll rot
your brain."
Ukiah closed his eyes and considered what had brought aliens to mind. He relived the last few
minutes, tuning out this time the cat and the car, along with Max's ranting. There, suddenly loud without the
other noises to mask it, was the radio. The top news story had been the Mars mission preparing to land.
"They were talking about Martians on the radio. They said," he repeated the words now echoing in his
memory, "in 1996, the first evidence of life on Mars was found on Earth. This week we might find life on
Mars."
"Thank god!" Max exclaimed as the bread truck finally squeezed by the UPS truck into the
breakdown lane. He pushed the Cherokee through the opening, almost touching bumpers with the bread
truck. "They're talking about tiny micros, Ukiah. Like that pond scum stuff."
"So, would intelligent pond scum have pets?"
Max cuffed him without taking his eyes off the traffic. "Don't be silly. Heads up, we're here."
They had swung around the Hill District, cruised along the Monongahela River, then taken the
Oakland exit to one of Pittsburgh's many pocket neighborhoods growing on the hillside, competing with the
determined scrub woods. Max drove to a narrow street of brick row houses backed against Schenley Park.
The street was blocked off from the main road by a police cruiser, its doors open as if suddenly abandoned,
its lights strobing in the early dusk. As Max eased the Cherokee around the cruiser, the storm winds shifted
and brought the stench of death their way. Ukiah went still in the close quarters, overwhelmed by the
sudden chaos before him.
The narrow street was lined with abandoned police cars, their radios a crackling, harsh chorus. The
row houses had identical worn faces. Everyone's attention pointed to one lone door, through which a stream
of people poured. The coroner's wagon came up behind them and stopped, blocking the street.
"You okay?" Max asked, pulling up in front of a neighbor's driveway. It was the only parking space
on the street.
Ukiah pulled himself back enough to nod. "There's more than two people dead in there. The walls
must be painted with gore."
"I hate the case already. Don't worry, I'll do the talking. Just keep your shit together and your head
down." Max muttered. "There's Kraynak."
Despite having quit cold turkey three months before, including the cigars on their poker nights, the
big policeman was breathing smoke like a dragon as he jogged up to them. He motioned them brusquely out
of the car.
"It's bad?" Max asked.
"Shit like this doesn't happen in Pittsburgh. New York, every other day. L.A., twice daily. But not
here, not like this. Someone carved up three girls, Carnegie Mellon students, and took the fourth woman for
a walk, we think. If they did, we need to find her pronto. Shit is about to hit the fan."
"Damn it, Kraynak, a multiple homicide! Why call us?"
"Because you're the best at what you do. We've got a dozen men in Schenley Park, even flew a
helicopter with heat-tracking equipment over the son of a bitch and came up with zilch."
Max gave Ukiah a "you still game?" look and Ukiah nodded back. "Okay. Some ground rules." Max
jerked his head toward Ukiah. "He needs room to work—clear the house. He touches anything he wants,
nothing hands off. If he leaves the house, he gets backup, at least two good runners."
"You don't ask much, do you?"
"If she was here and they walked her out, he'll be able to tell you."
Kraynak regarded them with angry eyes as he took another deep drag on his Marlboro. "Shit." He
flung the butt onto the pavement and ground it dead with his foot. "I'll go see if we can clear the place.
Coroner won't like it. They think they're God on murder cases."
As Kraynak stalked away, Max turned to study Ukiah. "You can do this."
"I know, but I'm starting to get your bad feelings. This is going to be a scary one."
Max winced and looked away. "You heard him, they took a woman. She might be alive. If she is,
you're going to be her only hope. We've got lots of backup on this case. When you find her, we'll just step
aside and let the police finish the case."
Ukiah trembled, feeling like every part of him wanted to fly in separate directions. Excitement, fear,
and nervous energy rushed through him like a storm wind.
Max patted him and went to the back of the Cherokee to pop the tailgate. "Come on, let's get
geared up."
Ukiah clipped on his headset and ran a VOX check. The periscope camera showed a clear picture
on Max's laptop. Max unlocked the gun box and pulled out the pistol tray.
"No rifles. Take your Colt. I want you to have stopping power."
"I hate guns."
"You're going to take your .45 and your Kevlar."
Ukiah frowned but strapped on his kidney holster. The bulletproof jacket, for once, felt comforting,
a strong hug to keep him in one piece. The storm wind whipped dead leaves out of the park, tainted with the
presence of death from the row house. His bare arms tingled with reports of punctured spleens and spilled
bowels. He rubbed at them to give them something else to consider.
Max was clipping on Ukiah's tracer when Kraynak returned with his captain. She was a solidly
built blonde with sharp quick eyes. She was frowning as she stopped before the two private detectives. Her
eyes inventoried their gear.
"So this is the boy raised by wolves." She snorted. "Kraynak, I don't know how I let you talk me
into this. Are you really that good at finding missing persons?"
This was directly to Ukiah, so he answered instead of letting Max do the talking. "On walkouts, I'm
a hundred percent. If they got in a car, I'm only running at forty percent."
"One hundred." The captain whistled. "Then let's hope that they stayed on the ground. Kraynak
tells me you need room to operate."
Ukiah nodded. Max added in, "He works better if there's no distractions. This is very detailed work.
Lots of people moving around will muddy the trail."
The captain sighed. "I'll give you twenty minutes to work the house. Forensics has been through,
but the coroner wants to start on the bodies."
Ukiah frowned at the time limit. With multiple bodies, he would need that long just to work out who
was there and which woman was missing. Surely there was a way to cut his search down. "Why do you
think they walked out the woman?"
"The neighbors say that all four women were home, three blondes and a brunette. We've got three
blonde bodies." The captain held up an evidence bag holding a driver's license. "The missing brunette is
Doctor Janet Haze. Her purse and keys are inside. There were kids playing in the street all day. No one
saw anything come or go by the front door, so the killer probably came in the back. Oh piss, the media is
here."
The media took the form of a truck with the local TV station logo painted on its side and a dish
transmission tower on top. It pulled up and stopped, almost touching bumpers with the police cruiser
blocking the street. The captain flagged over a uniformed policeman and sent him to stall the news crew.
"We need to find her, Wolf Boy, and we need to find her fast. Once this hits the air, I'll have every parent
of thirty-odd thousand college students in a panic."
If the killer came in the back, he probably left by the back door too. Yet Ukiah still needed a
baseline on the missing woman, which meant he'd have to go into the house. "Okay, let's go."
The first woman was sprawled by the front door, a bloody trail showing that the police had shoved
her sideways as they forced the front door. Her scalp hung in tatters, and she was missing fingers where
she had tried to protect her head with her hands.
Ukiah swallowed a wave of nausea and fingered one of the wounds, finding traces of dense steel.
"Have you found the weapon?"
"Nope." Kraynak answered him from the porch. "Never seen wounds like these before either. Thin
like a knife, but with amazing force. You usually get this amputation with axes and such."
Ukiah scanned the room, then nodded his chin toward a piece of black lacquered wood on the wall.
"Sword rack for a katana."
"A what?" Kraynak asked.
"Japanese sword." Max answered, stepping over the body to tap on the rack. "The sword is
missing. It looks as if someone was a rabid Otaku. That's a fan of Japanese animation."
"Damn," Kraynak swore. "I thought that was some kind of weird coat rack. Well, we didn't find
any sword, so the killer took it with him."
Max bent to point out a length of hollow wood. "Left the sheath."
"We'll dust that for prints." Kraynak pulled on a disposable glove. He picked it up and dropped it
into a long clear plastic bag.
The second dead woman was in the cluttered living room. Ukiah examined it and moved on. The
third was in the kitchen and the back door hung open, its doorknob bloody. He returned to the front hall,
earning a puzzled look from Kraynak in the doorway.
"I'm not sure who I'm looking for yet," he explained, and detoured upstairs to examine the
bedrooms. The three on the second floor were unmarked by the chaos of the first floor. He moved through
them, checking the clothes and the bedsheets to establish which dead woman belonged to which empty
bedroom.
"There's an attic bedroom." Max tapped a door in the hall.
"That's hers, then."
Max opened the door, revealing narrow, steep stairs leading upward. The smell of a young woman
bloomed out, tainted with the odor of sickness. Pillows that had been set on the bottom step plopped out
onto the hall floor. Stepping over the pillows, Ukiah led the way up into the cramped bedroom. The dormer
window was thrown open, and the oncoming storm winds played with a black blanket serving as a curtain.
A desktop computer sat on a desk, its plug dangling over its dark monitor. Small dinosaurs made of K'NEX
guarded an open book. A ragged stuffed rabbit sat at the head of the unmade bed, ears drooping, wearing
an overlarge green turtleneck sweater. A normal bedroom of a normal woman, but there was something
that sent shivers down his spine. Something was wrong. Something was out of place, but he couldn't place
what.
"Our twenty minutes are almost up," Max said quietly from the attic door.
He checked the bed, closing his eyes, ignoring all background noise to focus on the sheets. They
were good quality, one hundred percent cotton with a thread count of three hundred. The woman was in
her mid-twenties, tall, dark hair, eyes a deep blue. She had been sick—the sheets were still slightly damp
with sour sweat, and there were signs her white blood cell count had been high. He frowned as he found
odd fractures in her DNA, hard twists he had never felt before.
He pulled himself up out of the focus. If he didn't find her soon, she would be dead. He trotted
down the steps, murmuring "Got her" to Max as he brushed by his partner.
The wooden back porch looked unpromisingly clean of evidence. He dropped to his knees and ran
his hands over the flaking gray wood. Bare wood. Dirt. Asphalt. Crushed grass. He hit a blood trace and
grew still. Two blood types, mixed together. He identified the first: the woman at the front door. The second
came from the woman in the living room. He hazarded a guess that the blood had mixed on the sword blade
and dripped onto the wood. There was a faint smear of blood beside the first trace. He focused on the
worn wood, found the faint outline with his fingertips. A small woman's shoe, right foot.
He crept forward, running fingers before him. On the rough cement steps he found the barest print
from the small shoe, again right foot. He moved down to the parking pad, sniffing the still warm stone to
help catch the faint trail on the broken asphalt.
Suddenly one of Max's hands was in front of Ukiah's eyes, and the other on his shoulder. Dimly, he
realized Max had been talking to him. On the porch had appeared young, fit, uniformed policemen—their
backup.
"Got it?" Max asked.
Ukiah recalled what Max had said, what he had been too focused to hear. "These yahoos want you
to play base command since their men aren't equipped with GPI tracers. You won't be coming into the
park, but I've got the promised backup. You've put one of our spare tracers on them, so you'll be able to
keep us together. I'll try not to outrun them. If we get out of the park, I'm to wait till you can move the
Cherokee closer."
"Good." Max patted him on the shoulder. "What did you find?"
"She walked out." He considered the placement of the feet. "No. Ran. Her feet are far apart,
barely touching the ground. She's running, running quickly."
"Running for her life." Max swore. "Wait for my mark, then go on, and be careful."
Ukiah watched him go, feeling uneasy and weird. They often split up, especially if the trail was old
but well marked. Ukiah could then track at a run, and Max, who was almost twenty years older, used the
GPI tracer and the Cherokee's navigational computer to drive to points intersecting his route. At the trail's
end, the 4x4 and its cargo were usually vital to getting their client out alive.
I've worked without Max behind me, he told himself, I can do it again.
But he didn't like it. Not now, not with a killer on the loose.
"Okay, Ukiah, I'm at the Cherokee, you can go."
Across the parking pad and the alley of mostly mud and occasional ancient cobblestones there was
a wall of trees and weeds, the edge of Schenley Park. The woman's trail led to a break in the weeds, which
screened a well-beaten path. Dusk was full on them and night was hiding in the woods.
Ukiah went down the path quickly, bent nearly in half, hands occasionally patting when eyes and
nose failed him. The woman's footprints vanished on the hard-packed dirt, but blood was sprayed unevenly
along the trail as the killing sword was swung in pace with running feet. But who held the sword? He had
yet to find the killer's track.
Behind him, coming like a herd of moose, his police backup scrambled to follow. Dimly he was
aware of Max's voice over his headset, marking his progress via the tracer and coordinating with the police
dispatcher. His focus, however, stayed on the blood.
The blood trail left the footpath, turned, and followed an animal run through scrub trees. Ukiah ran
half-crouched under the bowed branches. The run burrowed deeper into the thick, uncut growth, a strange
haven of wilderness at the heart of the city.
A sharp whistle sounded in his ear piece, and he paused. "What is it, Max?"
"You lost your posse back there. You don't have backup. Don't get too focused or you might walk
into something deadly."
"Okay, Max."
Ukiah considered stopping completely, but he could hear his backup, loud and clumsy, moving
quickly closer. He had visions of trying to track while they crowded around him. So he pressed on,
skittering down a steep hillside. In the gully below, he found the woman's footprints again, pressed deep into
the mud. She had scrambled up the other side and paused beside a large tree. There, where the sword
would have hung at her side, was a pool of blood. Another set of footprints, a heavy man with large feet,
came from the right, following the stream. The woman had stepped behind the tree, letting the man past.
"Max." He whispered, suddenly aware of the rustling storm wind blocking his hearing. Ukiah crept
forward, hating what he was sure he would find.
"I hear you, Ukiah."
She followed the man once he had passed, walking over his footprints. "Max, I think the woman is
the killer. She's got the sword."
"Are you sure?"
Fifty feet through the heavy woods, she had followed the man, then killed him. Ukiah crouched
beside a dead uniformed policeman, hacked and sliced with brutal efficiency. "She killed a cop. I just found
his body. There's no one else out here but me and her."
"Get out, Ukiah."
There was a tingling awareness in the center of his back and he turned quickly.
The woman crouched amid the underbrush, her eyes so bright the whites seemed to shine. "You're
one of them. Aren't you? I could feel you coming, like a light moving through the darkness, a thousand
million voices screaming at once. You're one of them."
"Shit," Max's voice hissed in his ear. "Ukiah, I see her."
The woman gave a wild laugh, full of insanity. "God, how do you stand it? They won't shut up. I
won't shut up. Look! Look! See! See!"
"Ukiah, get out of there." Max's voice had gone flat and cold.
"You didn't tell me it was going to be this way. That I couldn't even sleep because I had to listen to
them breathe. Even when you can't hear them, you have that damn blood river flowing in your head!"
"Ukiah, just get out."
"How do you stop listening?" She wailed the words, like a trapped animal calling for help. She
caught a handful of her tangled hair, thick with weeds and dead leaves, and tugged hard with her bloody left
hand. The right still held the glittering sword. "How do you stop listening?"
Ukiah almost stepped toward her, would have if he could have thought of any way to help her,
comfort her. But then her eyes snapped back to him, glittering hard as a mink's at the sight of blood.
"You knew this would happen! You planned it! You didn't want the other stuff. All you really
wanted was them dead, wasn't it?"
Ukiah held up his hands. "I don't know you. I've done nothing to you."
She gave a high, ragged laugh. "Don't lie to me. I can tell now. I can tell. Goddamn bugs. How can
they be so loud and you can't see them? There must be millions of them, but where are they during the
day?"
"Ukiah, draw your gun. You're going to need it out if she jumps you."
There was a flash of lightning, and she jumped at him with the speed of a striking snake. He leaped
backward, throwing up his arm to ward off the blow. Unbidden came the memory of the fingerless girl. The
sword came as a shining arc in the flickering light, and he felt the cut along his arm—sharp, thin pain. He
tumbled, reaching desperately for his pistol. As he gained his feet, the sword kissed him again, slicing
upward along his unprotected throat. Hot blood pulsed from the wound with the pounding of his heart. He
slapped his left hand over his slick throat and blindly pulled the trigger again and again. The gun leaped in
his hand, the discharge bright in the rain-cloaked night woods. He saw her twitch and jerk as the bullets
struck her. His knees buckled and he fell, still desperately pressing his hand against the cut in his neck.
There was another crack of thunder, swallowing the echoes of his gunfire, and it began to rain.
CHAPTER TWO
Monday, June 15, 2004
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Darkness flashed over Ukiah and he was, for an uncounted stretch of time, without touch, sound,
sight, or even thought. Strangely, after this absolute stillness of being, when the world blared forth upon his
senses at its usual volume, he knew it had lasted several minutes.
He was still sprawled facedown in the night-cloaked woods, his left hand clamped to his neck. Cold
rain pounded down on him, mixing the smell of gunpowder with the blood on the torn black earth. A siren
wailed in the distance, growing nearer. Heavy bodies crashed through the underbrush to his left
accompanied by a dozen hissing, crackling police radios. Helicopter blades thrummed in the air, its spotlight
moving through his vision like an angel of death loosed in the woods. Max's voice was ranting over the
headset, in midsentence, obviously talking to someone else. "... left, God damn you, Kraynak, don't you
know your left from your asshole? He's my partner, just let me ..."
Ukiah was cold but too weak even to shiver. With rescue so close, he lay unmoving, knowing
somehow that any attempt to even try would be futile.
"Damn it, Bennett, you just wait for the ambulance." The headset conversation echoed off to his
right, accompanied by the sounds of a large body crashing through the underbrush. "There's no sign of a
path and you're going to have to direct them too. I'll find the kid."
"Then go to your fucking left, you're almost to him."
"There is a damn rock in the way, and I'm just going around it."
The helicopter's spotlight raced suddenly toward Ukiah and pinpointed him on the ground, its light so
brilliant he felt his spine prickle. A shout went up from the nearby underbrush, and the searchers swarmed
toward him, blood clinging to their feet.
"We found him." Kraynak's voice echoed all around him. The big detective paused over Ukiah,
muttering softly, "Oh shit."
"Is he alive? How is he? Kraynak, is he all right?"
Ukiah managed to croak, "I'm—" Fine? No, not fine. "I'm here."
"Ukiah!" Max shouted in his ear. "Oh, thank God."
Kraynak dropped to his knees beside Ukiah. "Is this your blood? Are you hurt?"
"My neck," Ukiah hissed, and tried to unclasp his hand to show his wound.
Kraynak stopped the motion, clamping his hand over Ukiah's. "Keep up the pressure. Bennett
would kill me if I let you bleed to death. Bennett, where's that ambulance?"
"I've found a service road. I should be able to get it within a hundred feet of you. How is he?"
"Just make it fast."
They kept Ukiah pinned on the ground with their hands and light until the ambulance stopped a
stone's throw away on a dirt service road masked by the trees. With the helicopter still thumping overhead,
its spotlight blasting the area with harsh brilliance, a gurney was muscled through the trees and mud to him.
Then, with surprising care, the policemen lifted him onto the gurney.
As they started their bumpy way back to the ambulance, Ukiah caught sight of the woman,
sprawled in an awkward heap not far from where he had lain. His semiautomatic had punched an angry
line through her. Her lips were drawn back in a snarl. Her eyes were open to the rain. Yet he sensed
something there, some germ of life.
"Max." He could only whisper, hoping that the mike would catch it, that Max would hear where no
one in the bedlam would. "She's still alive."
The EMS glanced down at him and frowned at the headset. "Sorry, but I need to take that off."
摘要：

[FrontBlurb][VersionInformation]AlienTastebyWenSpencerROCFirstPrinting,July2001ToDonKosak,theoriginalMaxBennett.Coverme—I'mgoingin.CHAPTERONEMonday,June15,2004Pittsburgh,PennsylvaniaItwasgoingtostormsoon.UkiahOregoncouldsmelltherainonthewind.HefeltthetensiononhisskinasheleanedouttheCherokee'spasseng...

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