Conspiracies

  Carmack grimaced and sighed. Looked like he was used to being cut off by Zaleski.

  "Like what?" Jack said as innocently as he could.

  "Like about what else she might be working on."

  Jack shook his head. "She just asked me to come out to her place to discuss my 'experience.' I was pretty shocked, seeing as I hadn't mentioned it to a soul, and I asked her how she knew. She said, 'I just do.' And that was pretty much it."

  This didn't seem to be at all to Zaleski's liking. "Come on, Shelby—"

  "Jack."

  "Okay, Jack. There had to be more to it than that. Hell, she talked everybody's fucking ears off"—a glance at Lew—"no offense, man." Lew shrugged and Zaleski went right back to Jack. "You're sure she didn't say anything else?"

  "That's what I told you, isn't it?" Jack said. This guy had the personality of a piranha. "I can make something up if you like ... "

  As Zaleski frowned, Jack noticed Carmack grinning and giving him a secret thumbs up.

  What's the score between these two? he wondered.

  Jack added, "I'd really like to find her so I can ask her how she knew."

  "Just what did happen to you?" Carmack said.

  Jack told his story.

  "Typical alien abduction," Zaleski said when he was through.

  "I wasn't abducted."

  "Hell you weren't. That's what happened during those missing hours. The Jersey pine barrens are notorious for big-time alien activity. You notice any pain up your ass afterwards?"

  "Any what?"

  "Let me rephrase," he said with faux delicacy. "Rectal pain. The grays like to use anal probes on their abductees." He made a twisting motion with his hand. "Right up the old wazoo."

  "Not to me, they didn't," Jack said, squirming at the thought. "And who are the grays?"

  Zaleski rolled his eyes. "The gray aliens, man—you know, with the oval-shaped heads and the black almond-shaped eyes, like you see on T-shirts and bumper stickers? They're known as grays."

  "Oh, like in Close Encounters.".

  Zaleski's expression at the mention of the film would have been right at home on someone who'd just bitten into a wormy apple.

  "I think I'd remember them," Jack said.

  "Not if they wiped your memory, dude. And if you start to remember anything, keep mum, otherwise the Men in Black will come calling."

  Jack smiled. "Yeah? You mean like Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith?"

  Zaleski's face darkened. "Trust me, you won't be visited by some wisecracking clowns like in the movie. That travesty was produced for the sole purpose of making the real Men in Black look benign, to hide the fact that they're ruthless agents of MJ-12."

  "What's MJ-12?" Jack remembered hearing mention of that at the reception last night.

  Zaleski stared at him. "Christ, you really are a virgin, aren't you."

  "Easy, Jim," Carmack said, leaning forward. "Not everyone knows what we know."

  "I just can't believe how ignorant people are."

  As Jack was debating whether to laugh or break Zaleski's nose, the waitress reappeared.

  She took their orders, and hurried off. Jack poured himself more coffee and glanced at Lew where he sat on the end of the booth cushion. He was staring off into space, his gaze fixed somewhere out near the grays' home planet maybe. He had to have heard all this a zillion times before. Probably bored out of his skull. Or maybe just missing Melanie.

  "Okay," Carmack said. "Here's how it is: I've got to assume you've heard about the Roswell crash and Area 51 and all that."

  "Sure," Jack said. He'd figured how he could get Zaleski's goat. "I learned all about that in Independence Day. Saw it twice."

  Zaleski slapped a hand over his face. "Oh, Christ!"

  "Cool it, Jim," Carmack said. To Jack: "Then you know that a saucer crashed and members of an alien race were found in the wreckage. But the real skinny is that we've been in Ongoing contact with that alien race since Truman was president. All the rapid technological advancements since the fifties didn't come from the billions of dollars spent on the arms and space race: it was donated. By the gray aliens."

  "How generous of them," Jack said.

  "It doesn't come without a price," Zaleski said, "but nobody's reading the small print."

  "Just let me finish," Carmack said, showing a little annoyance. "We're going to need all that help—all the help we can get. When the grays arrived in their saucers in the 1940s, they warned us of a flesh-eating reptilian race called the Reptoids that's been roaming the galaxy in a spacecraft that looks like an asteroid. When they find us—not if, when—they'll turn Earth into a giant cattle ranch, and we'll be the cattle."

  Zaleski was shaking his head in disagreement. He said nothing but looked as if he were about to explode.

  "The grays made us a deal," Carmack continued. "They'd supply us with some of their advanced technology in return for allowing them to experiment on animals and abduct people now and again."

  "They abduct animals too?"

  "You've heard about cattle mutilations, right?"

  "Sure, but—"

  Carmack nodded sagely. "The grays."

  "But why?"

  "They're an ancient race, and apparently they need to borrow some human DNA—just a little—to rejuvenate their own damaged genes. That's where MJ-12 comes in. Back in 1952 an ultra-secret government within the U.S. government called Majestic-12 was set up to deal with the aliens. MJ-12 has been keeping all evidence of the aliens under wraps. Thus the ongoing cover-up of the Roswell crash."

  They paused as the waitress delivered their platters. Eggs for Zaleski and Lew, waffles for Carmack, a stack of buttermilk pancakes for Jack.

  "I'd think contact with another race would be the biggest, greatest story of all time," Jack said as he drowned his cakes in syrup.

  "It would be ... except for the part about the approaching Reptoids. Think of the panic that would cause. And then if news of government-sanctioned alien abductions ever got out ... we'd have riots in the streets."

  Jack shook his head in disbelief. "You mean this has been going on for over half a century and nobody's blown the whistle?"

  Zaleski jumped in. "Very few people know—even presidents are kept in the dark. JFK found out, however, and he was going to go public with what he knew. That's why he was offed. Unfortunately he told his brother, who then told Marilyn Monroe while he was boffing her, so the two of them had to go as well."

  "But you guys know," Jack said. Or at least think you know. "How come you're still walking around?"

  "Because we're nobodies," Carmack said. "And nobody's listening to us ... at least nobody that really matters."

  Zaleski pounded his fist on the table. "The Freedom of fucking Information Act revealed that every government agency—from the NS A to the Department of Education—has files on UFOs. Thousands of pages on something that officially doesn't exist. But people still don't believe." His voice rose as he pounded his fist again. "When are they going to wise up? We're a country of Pollyannas! DickheadNation!"

  People at surrounding tables were craning their necks to see what was going on. He overheard someone mutter, "Uh-oh, Jimmy Z's at it again."

  "Easy, Jim," Carmack said. "You don't want to have one of your hissy fits."

  "The hell I don't." He turned to Jack. "Tony's only telling you part of the story. He—"

  "Shoot," Carmack said. "You ain't gonna lay that Grand Deception cowflop on him are you?"

  "Damn right. You had your turn, now I'll have mine. Okay?"

  Carmack leaned back with a disgusted expression and nibbled a piece of toast.

  "In my opinion, and I'm not alone in this," Zaleski said, "there are no Reptoids coming to Earth. That's all a big lie cooked up by the grays to gain our confidence and pursue their real agenda: crossbreeding with us and taking over the Earth."

  "Now hold on a sec," Jack said. "I'm no biologist, but I've never heard of a goat crossbreeding with a cow, and I know cats don't crossb
reed with dogs, so how can aliens from light years away crossbreed with us?"

  "I don't pretend to know how, but they're doing it. You wouldn't believe some of the aborted fetuses I've seen: big heads, grayish skin, big black eyes. It's happening. Maybe it's advanced science, maybe there's a common human-gray ancestor somewhere. Maybe that's what Melanie's Grand Unification was about. Maybe her Grand Unification Theory will prove my Grand Deception Theory."

  Lew seemed to perk up at the mention of Melanie's name, but then lapsed into Neverland again. His barely touched eggs were congealing on his plate.

  "But the grays have got something else up their sleeves," Zaleski said. "They're inserting tiny probes into the brains of abductees for—"

  Carmack threw down his fork with a clatter. "Hog-wash!"

  "No, Tony," Zaleski said with forced patience. "It's fucking true. You just won't see it. You think they're these goody-goody Munchkin allies. Sorry, bro, they're not. They've been controlling MJ-12 since 1984 and the rate of abductions has skyrocketed. And they've started implanting probes to monitor and program abductees after they're released."

  "They're not, dammit. They're on our side!"

  Zaleski put a finger up his nose and leaned toward Carmack. "Probes, Tony." He wiggled the finger. "Right up the nose and into the fucking brain."

  "That's it," Carmack said, rising. He pulled ten bucks from a pocket and tossed it onto the table. "I'm outta here." He pointed to Jack. "And you'll leave too, if you're smart."

  He turned and stomped toward the exit.

  Zaleski called after him: "You just don't want to believe about the probes because your honker's so big you've probably got a couple dozen up there already!"

  Carmack never looked back.

  Zaleski grinned. Not a nice sight—his already thin upper lip disappeared completely. "I love that fucker."

  "I can tell," Jack said.

  "No, really. We're good friends, it's just that he strays too far from mainstream ufology."

  Now there, Jack thought, is an oxymoron to conjure with.

  "But in all seriousness," Zaleski said, tapping his forehead, "you oughta think about getting a skull X ray to see if you've got a fucking alien probe in the ol' noggin."

  "You really think so?" Jack said, putting on a concerned expression.

  Which should I check for first? he wondered. The 666 chip or the alien brain probe?

  "Definitely. The aliens have been using the probes to program abductees about some momentous event that will occur in the next few years."

  "Like what?"

  "Don't know. They've got a secret plan. That's another reason I'm anxious to hear Melanie's Grand Unification Theory. Maybe she'll shed some light on what the grays are up to." He stretched. "In the meantime, I gotta go take a dump. Don't wander off. We ain't finished yet."

  He slid out and headed for the men's room.

  "Classy guy," Jack said.

  Lew didn't answer. His gaze was focused on a toddler who'd wandered over from a neighboring table. Jack watched Lew as he crossed his eyes and made goofy faces; the little girl loved it, grinniag and squealing with delight. They went on and on, Lew never seeming to tire of performing for her.

  Finally the mother came over and pulled her away. "Let the man eat in peace," she said.

  "No bother," Lew said softly. "No bother at all."

  Jack saw a look a desperate longing in his eyes as the child was reinstalled in her highchair.

  "You really should have kids, Lew. You're good with them."

  Lew shook his head. "Mel never wanted any. She had her reasons ... good ones, I suppose."

  "Like what?"

  "She was terrified they'd be deformed. Still, I wished we'd tried."

  Deformed? Jack thought. Was he referring to his short leg? Was that a birth defect?

  He was debating whether to press for details when he spotted Evelyn heading their way. The program chairwoman was dressed in yellow today and still a dead ringer for Little Lotta.

  "I'm looking for Olive?" she said. "Have either of you seen her?"

  Jack and Lew shook their heads.

  "I saw her at the reception last night," Lew said.

  Evelyn nodded. "So did I? But she didn't show up for her panel? The one she was supposed to moderate this morning? And she's not in her room?"

  Lew frowned. "That's not like her."

  Jack checked his pocket program: a panel about angels. From his one encounter with Olive he didn't see how she'd miss something like that ... unless something was big-time wrong.

  "Well, if you see her?" Evelyn said. "Tell her to get in touch with me right away?"

  As she moved off, Zaleski reappeared, and Evelyn stopped him.

  "Here comes Mr. Personality again," Jack said. "What's he do for a living—euthanize stray dogs and cats?"

  Lew said. "He used to work for one of the Baby Bells, but now he runs a hardware store with his brother ... and I understand he's got a contract from a major publisher to write a UFO book."

  The waitress brought the check. Lew grabbed it. As he signed it and charged it to his room, Jack watched Zaleski.

  The guy was crass, abrasive, dogmatic, obviously frustrated, and seemed to have a short fuse. He'd implied that he expected vindication from Melanie's Grand Unification Theory, but what if he'd learned the theory would counter his "mainstream ufology?" Something like that could threaten not only his reputation and standing in the UFO community, but his book contract as well. He seemed hot-headed and unstable enough to do something rash.

  Finally Zaleski finished with Evelyn and returned to the booth.

  "Yes sir," he said, slapping his belly as he slid behind the table. "Nothing like a healthy shit to get the day off to a good start." He craned his neck and looked around the restaurant. "You've heard about the missing Olive?"

  "Evelyn just told us," Lew said. He rose from the seat. "I think I'll wander around and see if I can find her. See you later," he said to Jack, then walked off.

  "Come on outside," Zaleski said. "I need a smoke."

  Jack debated the offer. He had a bad feeling about Olive. Had she joined Melanie on the missing persons list? But it was too early yet to call her missing.

  He checked his watch—still too early to head over to Gia's too. He hungered to be alone with her, and the clock was limping toward eleven.

  "All right," Jack said. "As long as you sit downwind."

  3

  Outside they found a concrete planter to the left of the front entrance and settled on its rim. Even in the mid-morning sun, the air still held a chill. Some of the hotel workers lounged around them, taking a tobacco break.

  "Here we are," Zaleski said, gesturing to his fellow smokers as he lit up. "The latest persecuted minority."

  Jack made the same gesture toward the clouds of smoke wafting through the air, and at the confetti of filtered butts on the surrounding pavement and in the dirt around the flowers in the planter.

  "Gosh-a-rootie, I can't imagine why."

  Zaleski smiled thinly and sucked greedily on his Camel.

  "You think Olive might be with Melanie?" Jack said, watching him carefully.

  Zaleski made a sour face. "I doubt it. Melanie couldn't stand that nut."

  "Really? That's not the impression I got."

  "Yeah?" he said, eyes narrowing. "When did you get this impression?"

  Jack had no idea what Zaleski knew, so he figured the best course would be to play this straight.

  "Olive stopped by my room yesterday and—"

  "Did she make you hold her silver cross?" Zaleski said with a smirk.

  Jack nodded. "And she asked me the same thing you did: What else did Melanie say when she contacted me? She gave the impression they were close friends."

  "Melanie's not into religion, and if you ain't got religion, you can't be close friends with Olive. I mean, she's got no fucking sense of humor, and a real set of hot buttons. I get such a boost out of pissing her off. You should see her face wh
en I say something like, 'Jesus paid for our sins, so let's get our money's worth.' Goes so purple she looks like Goofy Grape. Or when I tell her the pillars of cloud and fire that led the Israelites through the desert weren't from God, that they were UFO-generated instead—which they very likely were—she almost goes postal on me." He laughed. "But what can you expect from someone who blames Satan for everything that goes wrong in the world?"

  When you really should be blaming the gray aliens, right? Jack thought.

  "It's like her brain's gone five hundred years back in time," Zaleski said, shaking his head. "You should hear her go on about computers—666 chips and other eschatological bullshit. Thinks they're tools of the Devil."

  He grimaced as a guy in an "Area 51" cap and a blue jumpsuit studded with UFO badges strolled by. The front was open to reveal his T-shirt. It read: Abduct me now! I wanna go home!

  "Asshole," Zaleski said under his breath. "Why the fuck did Roma invite jerks like him into SESOUP?

  Can't figure it. They make me crazy. Trend-humping dilettantes. UFO fans—fans, can you believe it? This is serious shit and they make a fucking hobby out of it." He growled. "Guess I can't blame them. They've got the government, Madison Avenue, and Hollywood messing with their heads."

  "Hollywood?"

  "Christ, yes. Those bastards were bought off a long time ago. Spielberg's the worst. I wonder what MJ-12 paid him to do Close Encounters of the Third Kind and ET. Those two films started the whole aliens-are-cute, aliens-are-our-friends bullshit. Men in Black was another, probably the most blatant example, and unquestionably financed by MJ-12 to make the MIBs look ridiculous. But that's their tactic: Take a fucking serious problem and defang it by making a joke out of it." He ground out his cigarette. "And where Hollywood leaves off, Madison Avenue takes up."

  "The advertising industry's in on it too, huh?"

  "From Day One. Just watch the fucking tube for an hour and you'll see flying saucers delivering Maytags or families of gray aliens driving around in Buicks. None of that's accidental. They've trivialized the grays. When the aliens finally reveal themselves, they'll be welcomed with open arms and given the keys to the whole fucking planet."