Life Is A Longshot

By Doug Lewars

Buck Slade is a private investigator. He's not a very good detective but that's his profession because, frankly, since the doc-com collapse he hasn't been able to find a job as a System's Programmer and Java Websphere designer. Then Mellanie Mantix hires him to find her missing brother who, she suspects, has been abducted by aliens. What follows is a wild ride to the dark side of the moon, a plan for an alien invasion, an alien power struggle, a sentient robot named Yvette, and a truly unusual way of space flight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Doug Lewars
• Release date: Jun 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310655395

Doug Lewars

Although not quite over-the-hill, Doug is certainly approaching the summit. He lives in Etobicoke which is a polite way of saying West Toronto. When not exercising such creative talents as he may possess, Doug may be found gardening or out somewhere fishing. He comes with a large bald spot, a dark sense of humour, and a fondness for chocolate eclairs – or chocolate anything actually.

Book preview

Life Is A Longshot

By

Doug Lewars

Published by Doug Lewars at Smashwords

Copyright 2014 by Doug Lewars

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, events, incidents and organizations in this book are the work of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental and is not intended by the author or is used in an entirely fictitious manner.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 – The Request

Chapter 2 – Journey Into Space

Chapter 3 – A Bomb

Chapter 4 – A New Member of The Team

Chapter 5 – The Plot Thickens

Chapter 6 – Kidnapped

Chapter 7 – Hyper-drive Technology

Chapter 8 – Return to Earth

Odds n’Ends

CHAPTER 1 – The Request

She appeared before me in a pale yellow summer dress that might have passed for a negligee in a nineteen-fifty science-fiction ‘B’ movie. You know, the kind where the heroine is being carted off by the one-eyed love-sick alien monster, presumably to a fate worse than death.

I was not expecting her. In fact, I was not expecting anyone. But when you’re in this business, you learn to deal with the unexpected. Since I was not really in that business, I looked up, jumped slightly and said Gaaa., which, if not inspired, was probably better than fainting.

Mr. Slide? she asked.

Slade, I replied, Buck Slade.

But of course you’re real name isn’t Slade is it Mr. Slade?

No it’s not. But it was easier to fit Buck Slade on a business card than it was Melvin Whifflestenstein.

I see. Well Mr. Whiff, I need a really first-rate private detective. But first-rate private detectives cost a fortune these days so I’ve settled on a down-and-out lunatic loser like you instead.

I was not entirely flattered.

I need you to find my brother she continued.

And the police have been unable to do so?

The police must not be brought into this. My brother and I share the ownership of a large but highly leveraged business. If it were to become common knowledge he was missing I believe our creditors would panic and force us into bankruptcy.

And what’s in this for me? I asked.

If you are successful in recovering my brother, I’ll pay your mortgage up to date.

I could see she had me. I was a little behind in my mortgage payments – twenty-six months to be exact and I was about to become another homeless statistic. Okay I said, You’ve got a deal. Do you have any clue where he might be for starters?

I think he was abducted by aliens, she replied.

Ahh, I said. Suddenly it all fell into place. You see I’m not really a private detective. I’m a computer nerd who’s been out of work since the dot-com collapse. I’m also a bi-polar paranoid schizophrenic with mild sociopathic tendencies. So being abducted by aliens was second nature for me.

And if you can find him within three days, I’ll give you a bonus.

What sort of bonus?

I’ll buy you a pizza.

I was helpless. You see, without a job and without money, I haven’t had much variety in my diet. Before my late mother passed on, she invested heavily in rice futures. When the market went down she had a choice between taking a loss or taking the rice. So I have fifteen tons of rice in the house. It’s stored in the attic, the walls and the basement and acts as insulation. I haven’t had to turn on the furnace or the air conditioning in three years. And that’s good because I haven’t been able to pay for gas for the furnace or electricity in all that time. The gas company cut me off, but since I use so little hydro – just enough to keep my computer running and the stove boiling rice – the hydro company hasn’t dropped me – at least not yet. But a diet of nothing but boiled rice, fried rice, baked rice marinated in rice wine, rice pudding, Rice Crispies – well, you get the idea. It can become a trifle monotonous. So the thought of a pizza, with cheese and mushrooms and maybe pepperoni and bacon, and, what the heck, why not, some green peppers as well, left me salivating before her.

She left her card so I could reach her, and frankly reaching her sounded pretty good to me; but I had work to do first. His name was Gerald Mantix, part owner of Mantix Corp. She was Mellanie Mantix, twin sister of Gerald and the other half of the partnership.

She’d asked me to find her brother, but I was pretty sure what she really wanted was for me to rescue him. I knew just finding him would be pretty easy. I signed on to Google and did a search for Gerald Mantix and got seven-hundred and fifty-six hits. Most of them were related to the financials of Mantix Corp. Then I did a search on alien abduction and got two-million one-hundred and eight thousand matches. So I narrowed the search to Alien Abduction Gerald Mantix and that narrowed it down to just three. The first two were porn sites set to match any possible search pattern, but the third was what I wanted. The URL was www.alien-invasion-evilplot.com/abduction/GeraldMantix and it seemed the designer needed a refresher course in Java because it crashed my computer when I clicked on it. I rebooted and tried again. This time I was able to determine Gerald was being held on a ship called The Grim Destroyer in a stationary orbit on the dark side of the moon so it couldn’t be detected. Then my machine crashed a second time and I gave up. I figured knowing Gerald’s whereabouts was good enough.

It quickly became apparent finding Gerald and rescuing him were two separate things. The moon is something like twenty-three million miles away and my best jump is about two feet. Clearly I was going to need some sort of assistance. Again I turned to Google and this time I entered the search keywords rescue from alien abduction. I got five hits. Once more the first two were porn sites that matched any possible string. I recognized them from the first search but I clicked on them anyway because I rather liked Mandy who was offering indescribable pleasures for the mere cost of a phone call. Since my phone had long since been disconnected I passed by. The third hit had been set up by someone who had been abducted two years before and who was offering tips on how to cope with the implants left in one’s brain. The fourth had long since gone out of business and someone was attempting to flog the domain name. When I came to the last one, however, a message came up indicating I lacked sufficient security to access the site. That intrigued me. I cannot deny I’m insecure by nature, but I thought I could at least click on a URL without it becoming apparent. It’s fairly common for a site to require a logon-id and password and it’s also common for a site to be accessible only via a gateway leading to an intra-net; but for it to reject me categorically made me suspicious. I decided they were keying on my IP address so I quickly wrote a program to substitute all possible IP addresses for mine, one after another, and then I ran it. It didn’t get me in, but did have the effect of creating a mini-DOS attack crashing the site. Since, before it died, it sent me a message of the form, We’re going to get you. I figured they were planning to provide me with transportation to the mother-ship.

The problem with being offered transportation was they hadn’t set a timeframe and I had only three days before the pizza offer expired, so I decided I’d have to make my own way. Since Air Canada doesn’t do moon trips just yet, I concluded I’d better go with NASA. Their seats aren’t as comfortable and the flight attendants leave something to be desired, but at least they do go to the moon. I couldn’t find any reference to ‘passenger’ on their site, so decided I’d have to go as crew. Besides, it would be cheaper that way. While I fully expected Mantix to pick up my expenses, I wasn’t sure Mellanie would be impressed with a half-million dollar transportation bill.

I went to the NASA website and checked on the career application process. It turned out it was going to be more complicated than merely sending them a note requesting them to add me to their astronaut program. First was Bachelor’s degree from an accredited institution in engineering, biological science, physical science, or mathematics – quality of academic preparation is important – degree must be followed by at least 3 years of related, progressively responsible, professional experience. Well that was no problem. A degree in Computer Science from a one-year community college program should be close enough. Next came Ability to pass the NASA long-duration space flight physical, which includes the following specific requirements: Distant visual acuity: Must be correctable to 20/20, each eye, near visual acuity: Must be correctable to 20/20, each eye, blood pressure not to exceed 140/90 measured in a sitting position and standing height between 62 and 75 inches. Well I could see well enough and hardly ever mistook a lamppost for a policeman; and, while I had no idea what my blood pressure was, they seemed to provide a fairly large range so I figured I could fit into it somehow. After all, I rarely had nose bleeds unless I was looking at a pretty woman. At first I thought I might have some problem with the height because 62 to 75 inches seemed rather extreme, but on closer inspection I realized they were talking about the length of my entire body, so I was okay.

I was about to start preparing my resume when I noticed one minor detail. ‘U.S. citizenship is required.’ That was a definite setback. It appeared they might not recognize Canadian citizenship as being the same thing. Clearly with all the tourism and cross-border shopping going on, it should be recognized; but NASA is a government organization and they can be fussy about trivia.

I considered my options. Lying seemed simple enough, but given I was submitting from a Canadian IP address someone might get suspicious and request proof. Even worse, it appeared the application process was competitive. I decided it would be best to eliminate some of the arbitrariness, hack the site and approve my own application. After all, I reasoned, if I didn’t approve of myself, how could I expect anyone else to?

The beauty of most open systems is they are precisely that – open. This one was a little less open than most, but so many little conveniences are supplied (many people call them security bugs) it always seems a shame not to make use of one. Admittedly, signing on took me the better part of two hours, but I regard that as time well spent. When I was finished I had submitted my application, scanned it, approved it, interviewed myself (well actually that’s sort of ongoing), accepted my candidacy, sent myself a letter of acceptance, returned it with a signature and made arrangements to report for duty the following day.

It was then I encountered a major problem. It turns out NASA does not provide regularly scheduled space flights. You cannot merely check in and catch the ten o’clock shuttle from Orlando to Luna. In fact, the moon isn’t on their list of destinations at all. No wonder they lose more money than Air Canada. So traveling with NASA wouldn’t get me to the dark side of the moon in three days, or at all for that matter. My two hours had been wasted. I hoped they wouldn’t be upset when I failed to show up for training.

I considered trying the Russian space program. After all, it made sense that if they were Russian, they’d get to where they were going in a hurry. Unfortunately my ability with that language left something to be desired. In fact, ‘da’ and ‘nyet’ were about the extent of it. I wasn’t optimistic two words would be enough to get me onto one of their ships and off to the moon. So if neither NASA nor the Soviet space program could be depended upon for lunar transportation, I needed to think of another alternative. Of course, being abducted by aliens was always an option, but the last time that happened I spent a week circling Alpha Centauri with probes in each and every orifice. I would not recommend it as a vacation paradise. Unless I could be abducted by the same aliens who took Gerald, it seemed unlikely our travel itineraries would match up.

That left me with only one alternative. Years ago, probably before I even started school, my mother mentioned the existence of a cow that jumped over the moon. I needed to find that cow.

I sat back, put my feet up on my desk and considered the evidence. It was known the cow had a feline violinist for an assistant, and the event had been witnessed by a small cheerful canine. But what should I make of the fleeing cutlery and china? What had spooked them to the extent they would want to flee? I looked it over again and then noted the obvious sexual reference in the first line. But who was being diddled? Certainly the dog was cheerful enough, but was it possible the commission of a sexual offence caused the dish and spoon to flee? Or perhaps they were the victims of the offence. And precisely what form of sex can one have with a dish and a spoon singularly or together? Too many questions and what I needed were answers – well, answers and a cow.

I left my house and walked into what had once been a garden at the end of my yard and had metamorphosed into a jungle over the years. I knew one of the neighborhood cats often napped back there mid-afternoon. Sure enough, as I passed through twitch grass over my head, I came across him. He was lying in the middle of the patch and appeared to be dead, but as I approached he flicked an ear.

Good afternoon, I said.

The cat, a beige nondescript creature opened one eye.

Do you happen to know a cat that’s particularly fond of music? I asked.

He stretched a long stretch starting with his fore paws and ending with his tail.

One that has some facility with the violin?

He appeared to be drifting back to sleep. I opened my wallet and took out a catnip mouse. I pretended to scrutinize it carefully.

Both eyes opened and he sat up.

Hangs around with a cow quite a bit.

Again the cat stretched but his eyes never left the mouse. Might know something, he said, What’s it worth to ya?

How about a mouse? I said, High quality catnip.

Five mice, he replied.

Two, I said and moved to put the mouse back into my wallet.

Okay two, he said. I could tell he was a regular user and probably needed a mouse bad.

Not everyone can tell you know. In fact, it’s not everyone who can even talk to cats. But when you have as many mental aberrations as I do you can pretty well talk to anyone or anything and get an answer.

So what have you got for me? I asked.

Cat plays the violin, hangs out with a cow, yeah, I know her. She often hangs out at Lulu’s strip club and day-care centre over on the lower east side. Picks up the occasional gig with the fiddle. Cow works the milk-bar. Whaddaya want with her?

It’s the cow that interests me. They say she’s quite a jumper.

Yeah I’ve heard the stories, but I’ve never seen anything. I think she retired from that some years ago.

Then I guess I’ll have to find a way to make her come out of retirement, I said, handed him his mice and walked away.

***

The lower east side is not a fashionable part of town. Bars and strip clubs flash their gaudy neon signatures into the night and reflect off older model parked cars and some down-and-outers lounging around the doorways. Just to the south-east, the Don River reflects moonlight from water, tin cans, bottles, some less savory pollutants, and the occasional floating body as it meanders slowly into Lake Ontario. At night the locals live fast and they live dangerously or they don’t live at all. Since this was mid-afternoon of a sunny summer day there wasn’t much action. I opened the door of Lulu’s and stepped into the cool dark interior. To my left was a bar and the right opened up into a room, mostly empty save for a couple of men drinking in one dim corner and one guy sitting by himself nursing a beer and doing what looked like a crossword puzzle. I stepped up to the bar. What’ll it be? asked the bartender.

I’ll have a draft and some information, I replied.

Two-fifty for the beer. Price of information varies depending on what you’re looking for.

Not ‘what’ so much as ‘who’. I’m looking for a fiddle player known to play the occasional gig here. Female, may be a bit temperamental – even catty you might say.

Yeah, I know her. That would be Miss Kitty. Usually plays here Tuesday nights.

It was Wednesday. Do you know where I can find her?

The barkeep shrugged. I got out my wallet and looked inside for a twenty. There wasn’t one. Nor was there a ten, a five a two or a one. Of course these days, ‘twos’ and ‘ones’ don’t exist anymore. They’ve changed all that. Do you accept VISA I asked?

He pulled out a personal card machine and I swiped, keyed in twenty dollars and my passcode.

East two blocks, south one block, keep going south another half-block, number one-thirty-five. Lives on the fifth floor with her roommate.

Roommate?

Don’t ask, don’t tell.

Right, I said.

I drank up and started to leave. Then the man who had been sitting by himself ambled over so he was between me and the door. Hey buddy, he said.

What?

"What’s a seven letter word for sphincter that starts with ‘a’ and ends with ‘e’?

I told him.

After I picked myself up, I left the bar.

It was hot and humid outside and there were clouds in the west hinting at rain. Even the pan-handlers were too sluggish to bother hassling passers-by for change. The best places were air-conditioned although the government was requesting everyone turn off their air conditioners in order to save energy. The current slogan was, Sit on an ice-cube and save a watt. It wasn’t a very good slogan, but the department’s marketing budget had been slashed. The next best places were shady and cool. On the street the pavement was becoming as sticky as a call girl’s … well, maybe you don’t want to know the rest of that simile.

I’d walked a block west when it occurred to me I was supposed to be going east. Directions have never been my strong suit. I was just about to turn around when a long black limo pulled to the curb and the crossword man from Lulu’s got out.

Hey buddy, he said, "What’s a five letter work meaning ‘odd’ that starts with ‘q’ and ends with ‘r’.

I told him.

I found myself in the back of the limo with both my hands and feet tied when I came to. At least the limo was air-conditioned, so it was cool. Beside me was the man from the bar still doing his crossword puzzle. The driver was black, about six-foot seven-inches and weighing around two-hundred and seventy-five pounds. I couldn’t see him entirely from where I was sitting but from what I could see, I was pretty sure there wasn’t an ounce of fat in all that weight. I could see his face in the mirror and he didn’t look friendly.

Ah, you’re awake, said the man beside me, I trust you enjoyed your little nap?

I prefer to catch my beauty rest on my couch at home, I replied.

Well that’s as it may be, he said. He took out a Beretta and placed the barrel so it was next to, and pointing at my temple.

Now I’ve got a simple question for you, he said. Would you like to survive or would you prefer me to pull this trigger?

I went with option ‘a’.

Good, he said, In that case I need to know the location of the cow and if you say, ‘what cow’ I fully intend to pull the trigger.

Oh that cow, I replied.

Yes, that cow.

Well I can tell you what I know but I haven’t confirmed any of it.

Fine, then tell me what you know.

You drive four blocks south of here. The address is eighty-six Deepwater Lane.

And the apartment number?

They didn’t tell me, just said basement apartment.

"Very good. See how easy this can be when you cooperate? Now just one more question. What’s a four letter word meaning ‘penny’ that starts with ‘c’ and ends with ‘t’?

It’s unfortunate my answer had one letter wrong. When I opened my eyes I was lying in a dumpster behind a dingy restaurant with a couple of flies licking up the blood from my nose. I wasn’t too worried about my competition beating me to the cow, because I’d told them to drive four blocks south, but there were only three blocks before they came to the lake. I made a mental note to give up on crossword puzzles.

I got to my feet and managed to pull myself over the edge of the dumpster and drop to the ground. Beside it were a couple of kids about seven or eight shooting heroin.

How come you’re still alive? asked one.

Why shouldn’t I be? I countered.

Mostly they dumps dead ‘uns into that dumpster, he said. If they’re still alive they go into the one over there.

What’s the difference?

You can re-cycle parts from the live ones easier. This one’s for composting.

***

Half an hour later I was in front of the apartment. I’ve seen worse places but not one that didn’t have a ‘condemned’ sign on it. I checked the lobby but there wasn’t a ‘Miss Kitty’ on the fifth or any other floor. If there had ever been an elevator it had long since stopped working so I took the stairs. There were four apartments on the floor. I walked up to the first and knocked on the door.

The lady who opened it was about forty-five, brown hair to her shoulders, a little pudgy and wearing a faded rose print dress. Come in, she said.

Uh, Miss Kitty?

Yes, and your name would be?

Slade Mam, Buck Slade.

Well Mr. Slade, do you think you can move that chesterfield? I need it over by the doorway.

Uh, well I guess I can. I moved it, but it felt like it had been weighed down with lead.

"Now see those two chairs in the hallway? They go next to the wall where the chesterfield was. And behind them there’s a low table to go between the chairs.

The table wasn’t bad, but one of the chairs was heavy and stuffing kept coming out.

Good, she said. Over there in the bedroom, I’ve got a dining table. I want you to bring it out and leave it along the far wall next to the TV stand.

Right, I was panting now.

Okay you can move the television onto its stand.

The TV was an old model – probably thirty years or more, and back then they made them heavy. I could barely stand when I was finished.

She looked critically at the result. Hmmm, okay move the low table over next to the dining table so it’s out of your way and then you can move the two chairs next to it.

Right I gasped.

Now, move the chesterfield against that wall.

I did.

No I think maybe the chesterfield was best along the wall where you got it from.

It looks good to me, I said when I had it back in place.

You think so? Okay then you can move the chairs and the small table back.

I was panting and sweating.

"Okay whaddya think? she asked.

Excellent. First rate. I think you should leave it exactly like that.

Hmm, she studied it carefully, Maybe your right. I’ll leave it like that. Okay, you’ll find a broom and a dustpan in the kitchen. You can use them to clean up the stuffing you dumped on the carpet.

I felt it best not to point out the reason I’d dumped fluff on the carpet was because the furniture was old, beat up and she was living in a dump. The carpet was grey to begin with I think. In some spots it was quite a bit greyer than others. I elected not to comment but swept until, if it still wasn’t clean, it was at least moderately tidy. She looked over my work. Not bad, she said, Okay you can go now.

Wait a minute. I’ve got some questions to ask you.

I thought you wanted to see a Miss Kitty.

I thought that was you.

Nope, my name’s Jabloski.

Then why did you say you were Miss Kitty?

She shrugged, Seemed more likely you’d move my furniture if I answered in the affirmative.

Okay then, do you know what apartment number Miss Kitty lives in?

She shrugged. Not a clue.

I knocked on the next door. A girl of about nine answered. Excuse me, is your mother in? I asked.

She was sucking on a Popsicle and didn’t say anything. She just looked at me. I tried again, I’d like to speak to your mother.

She remained silent. Her name’s Miss Kitty, I hazarded.

Dad! she called, Some guy’s calling me a bastard.

No! I mean I never said that!

Her father appeared in the hallway behind her. He was wearing boxer shorts and an undershirt displaying his muscles which were plentiful, his beer belly which was even more plentiful, and enough hair to be part grizzly bear.

You calling my little girl a bastard? he said.

I said no such thing. I just asked about her mother.

He used the word ‘Miss’ with her name, said the kid. That means he thinks she’s not married and I’m a bastard.

Uh, wait, no, it was just a mistake.

You don’t go calling my little girl a bastard, he said coming forward. He wasn’t moving fast, but reminded me of a locomotive leaving the station, how it starts off slowly and then gathers steam.

Well, I’d better be off. Nice meeting you, I said and hurried for the stairs. He continued after me, so I ran down two stairs at a time. By this time he had reached full speed and was coming hard. I reached the lobby and kept right on going through the front door. I figured he couldn’t follow me as long as he was just wearing underwear. I was wrong. He could and he did. Frankly I had to give him some credit. He looked better dressed than many of the street people. Out on the street, however, I had the advantage because I was wearing shoes and the stones from the pavement were hurting his feet, so he gave up chasing me after a hundred yards. I watched him as he lumbered back. Then I waited another ten minutes for his synapse to forget about me. After I was sure he was back in his lair, I returned and knocked on the door of the third apartment.

No-one was at home.

At the last apartment a boy of about fifteen answered the door. He had long blond hair and was so skinny he looked practically anorexic. Uh, excuse me, I said, I’m looking for a Miss Kitty.

A man came down the hall. His hair, although brown, was also worn long and he had it tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing a white tee-shirt and somewhat faded blue jeans, but I was pretty sure they were pre-faded. On one wrist was a watch, either a Rolex or a good imitation. On the other he wore a heavy gold chain.

Do you know a Miss Kitty? asked the kid glancing over his shoulder at the man behind him.

Name’s not familiar came the rejoinder.

I heard she lives on this floor but I’ve checked all but that apartment over there. I pointed to the unanswered door.

Not there, said the man, Old man lives there alone. I expect he’s at home but he’s pretty deaf, so probably didn’t hear you knock. Anyway, there’s no Miss Kitty living on this floor. He started to turn back into his apartment but then stopped. Might be one of the women who lived here before I moved in. There were two of them. Good looking too. I only saw them a couple of times when I was looking for a place to rent, and I don’t recall the name Miss Kitty, but it’s still possible. One of them had really big…

He placed his hands on his chest so as not to have to complete the sentence.

Sounds like Miss Kitty’s roommate. I replied.

I think the other one, the one you’re calling Miss Kitty was deformed.

In what way?

Well she had long black hair and it was kind of curled on top so it was hard to tell, but it looked as if her ears were much higher on her head than normal. Couldn’t say for sure. Might be ironic though. Something that looks like cat’s ears on a person called Miss Kitty. Ha!

Uh, yeah, you don’t happen to know where they moved do you?

Nope. As I said I only saw them a couple of times and I didn’t speak to them much.

The kid slouched back into the apartment and the man closed the door. I was back where I started. But at least I knew one thing. Miss Kitty was a shape-shifter. She could be both human and a cat. And there was a good chance the cow was a shape-shifter as well.

My next stop was the public library. I hadn’t brought my computer with me and I needed to do a search on the Internet.

***

Boxwood library was a dirty red-brick building set between a