Payback: Carole Larsen Mysteries, #5

By charles fisher

Carole gets involved with alien abductions, something she never understood or believed was even possible.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Nov 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386555766

Book preview

Table of Contents

Payback | Abduct Me, Will You? Really?

The End | Carole will return in Incorruptible.

Payback

Abduct Me, Will You? Really?

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Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

December, 1993

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Chief Larsen, Carole sighed. Who? she laughed. Jack Smith? I thought you died. Yeah, I know we graduated together. We voted you most likely to have your name used on a no-tell motel register for a short stay while the customer banged some girl named Bambi. You what? Are you crazy? No, we cannot help you. I said no. Because I’m the boss, and I say so. No. Good-bye, Jack. She slammed the phone down. Chief Mike Capri stuck his head in the door.

Disgruntled boyfriend? Mike smiled.

Jack Smith, our class at Bunnell. Remember him?

Vaguely. He was very forgettable. I thought he died. What did he want?

The phone rang again, and Carole picked up. Chief......what did I tell you, Jack? You don’t listen, do you. No, we do not. No, you cannot come visit. This is a police station, not some cheap bar where you pick up tramps who wear prostitute lingerie and have a police I.D that says......never mind. I was thinking of a case we just solved. What do you mean, why did I hang up on you? Because you are a douche bag, is why. No. Do not come here. I’ll shoot you. She slammed the phone down again.

That didn’t sound very professional, Mike said as he took out his police manual. You cannot use the term douche bag any more. You have to call them a hydraulic feminine hygiene device.

Do you have any more bullshit terms for common insults? Carole said.

Name one, Mike smiled.

Flaming Asshole.

Mike looked in his manual. Incendiary Rectal Orifice.

Get out, Carole snapped, pointing at the door. And order me a pizza, douche bag, she giggled.

Carole was into her second slice when Jack Smith waltzed into her office and sat down. She stared at him, the pizza hanging out of her mouth.

Some things just never change, do they, he smiled. I remember when you beat Barbara McCauley in an eating contest in the cafeteria. They were serving that god-awful crap that looked like pasta gone bad. What did they call that?

I don’t remember, Carole snapped. It was good, is all I remember. Roman Holiday, I think.

I took some home and our dog wouldn’t eat it, Jack smiled. But then again, you never were as fussy as a dog when it came to food.

You never ate my mother’s fine Minnesota cuisine, Carole said. She still makes Tuna Surprise, despite all the threats from the Atlanta Disease Control Center.

You ate five plates of that crap that day, as I remember. Even though McCauley threw in the towel after two plates. Woof woof, he smiled.

I have a gun, Carole smiled. And an itchy trigger finger, and I have cramps. That’s not good for you. I told you we can’t help you.

Then who can? Jack said.

Psychiatrist? Carole shrugged. The Air Force, maybe? Not us.

You don’t believe me, do you, Jack said.

Not a word.

Then look at this, he said, pulling down his pants.

Capri! Get in here! Carole yelled. Jack is going to expose himself. I need a witness. And a ruler, she giggled.

That’s bad, showing that thing to an old spinster, Mike smiled. Carole hasn’t seen one of those since fourth grade.

Fifth, Carole snapped. Get you facts straight.

It’s my leg, Jack sighed. Look at this scar.

So? Carole said. What is this, the you show me your scar and I’ll show you mine scene from Jaws?

No human surgeon is capable of making an incision like this. I had it X-rayed, and there is something in there about an inch long.

They X-rayed too low, Carole shrieked, holding her sides. Oh, I’m funny today.

Not as funny as you were in school, Jack smiled. The day you came to class in your pajamas was priceless.

I was drunk, Carole snapped. It was the day after the Senior Prom.

You were a Junior, Jack said.

Big deal. It was a trial run.

Look at my scar.

No.

Why not?

Because I’m not a doctor. I wouldn’t have the slightest idea what I was looking at. Besides, I don’t want to be that close to your vagina, she giggled.

I don’t have one of those, Jack said. Apparently you don’t either, judging from the comments people put in your yearbook.

You weren’t supposed to see those, Carole snapped. Go ahead, Mikey. You look at his leg. Try to control yourself, she snorted.

Not me, Mike said. I’m a cop, not a doctor. What’s the big deal about a scar, anyway?

Get a professional in here and you’ll find out, Jack said.

Tracy? Carole smiled at Mike.

Perfect for the job. I’ll call her.

Who’s Tracy? Jack said as he put his pants on.

You’ll find out, Carole said. And not Dick Tracy, either. She’s just like you; no Dick. Oh my, I can’t stand myself today, I’m so funny.

Join the crowd, Jack said. We couldn’t stand you in high school. Elden  Dustin used to have your yearbook picture taped to his dart board.

Screw him, that deaf old bastard, Carole snapped. We threw empty beer cans at him at graduation and he never even flinched.

Detective Tracy O’Neil arrived a few minutes later. What ya want, Chiefy? she smiled.

This is Jack Smith. He graduated with us, although we never did figure out how. He has something to show you.

Jack stood up and dropped trou again.

Oh no ya don’t, Tracy laughed, backing up. I had this pulled on me a time or two, and the outcome weren’t pretty. Ya like that horsey, best keep it in the barn.

You had somebody flash you? Carole keened. Oh shit, I’d pay to see that.

Aye, it were a drunk in the pub. Thought I was his lost long girlfriend, he did. Took the old knockwurst right out and waved it at me.

Noooooo! Carole shrieked. Stop! I’ll pee myself. Is he still alive?"

That’s on a need to know basis, Tracy said. Twas in Ireland, so it don’t count here. Twelve years old, I was. Damndest thing I ever seen. Looked like a one eyed rattlesnake, it did.

Is she qualified to look at my condition? Jack said, eyeing Tracy.

As long as it don’t stand up and spit at me I am, Tracy said.

Shit, Carole gasped, and ran for the bathroom.

What’s wrong with her? Jack said.

Weak kidneys, Tracy shrugged. I got paramedic training. What’s your problem, Laddie?

I have a scar on my leg nobody can explain. There is an object buried in my thigh muscle an inch deep.

Saints of Erin, Tracy whispered. Ya been took.

Carole came back in. Took how? she said.

You know, Tracy said, pointing up. She made a strange warbling sound.

No, I don’t know, Carole said.

The wee green men, Tracy smiled. They do that, ya know. They take ya up into their ship and do all sorts of nasty shit to ya.

You’re suspended, Carole said. For drinking on the job.

I’m as sober as a judge. It be true. There be a lot of cases like that. Ever hear of Betty and Barney Hill?

No, but I watched Barney Miller, Carole said.

Budd Hopkins? Whitley Strieber? David Jacobs? John Mack? Tracy said.

Let me know when you get to the Roadrunner or Bugs Bunny, Carole yawned.

Forget her, Jack said. She wouldn’t believe you no matter what. Look at my scar.

Tracy opened her medical kit and took out a magnifying glass. Carole laughed so hard she fell on the floor.

Ya stay down there, stupid, Tracy laughed. She peered through the glass at Jack’s leg. My, that’s interesting, she said. Nobody does that. The angle, the depth of the incision would likely leave a bigger scar than that. And there be no sign of stitches.

I’m in stitches, Carole gasped as she got up. What did you need the magnifying glass for?

No doctor done this. None we got, anyway. You cut an inch deep into a thigh muscle and you best stitch it closed, or it’ll never heal. There be no stitches here. Just a razor thin line. Closed it up like magic.

How do you know it was that deep? Carole said.

Didn’t they ask you that at the prom? Mike smiled.

Shut up, Capri.

If it were a surface cut it wouldn’t leave no scar. Eighth, maybe a quarter of an inch cut will heal up with a bandage and look clean after six months. If it did scar, it would be irregular, not a damn perfect straight line. No, Lassie, this were done by them, Tracy  said, pointing up. And he said he got something in there, too.

Sure he does, Carole said. Let’s see it.

Here you go, Jack said as he produced a set of X-rays. They showed a one inch long cylindrical object buried in the muscle.

Looks like a bullet, Carole shrugged.

I’ve never been shot, Jack said. And bullets don’t move.

Move? Tracy said. Move how?

Two doctors tried to remove this thing. Every time they tried, it moved. That’s what the other two scars are from. They tried to go in from the side.

Where be the doctors? Tracy said.

Both of them disappeared a week after they performed the surgery, never to be seen again.

Ohhhhh, you got a big problem, Laddie, Tracy said.

A problem this department cannot help you with, Carole said. I already told you that.

Now hold on there, Chiefy, we might be able to do something about this after all, Tracy said.

Like what? Carole said. "This is a police department, not The Twilight Zone or that creepy movie. You know which one I mean."

"No, I don’t, Tracy said, trying not to laugh.

"The Thing, from 1951. James Arness played the monster. Remember that one?"

Aye, I do, Tracy said. A UFO crashed in the Arctic Circle and they chipped the pilot out of the cie. They accidentally thawed him out with an electric blanket.

"I saw that when I was nine years old. It was on Million Dollar Movie. I didn’t sleep for three days."

Ya best lock yer window at night, Chiefy, Tracy said. They’ll take you next.

I doubt they can haul that much weight, Mike smiled.

Shut up, Capri, or I’ll have them take that piece of shit Impala you drive. Oh, that’s right, she smiled. Somebody stole it.

And I think I know who, Mike said.

Forget yer squabbles, we got to help this lad. We can do it, Tracy said.

No, we cannot, Carole said.

Never mind her, she don’t know nothin’ except orderin’ food. Start from the beginning, and don’t hold nothin’ back.

Smith  Residence

120 Chickadee Lane

Stratford, Connecticut

June, 1956

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What did you do? Ruth Smith screeched when she saw the mess in Jack’s bed.

What, Ma? Jack said as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. I didn’t do nothing.

Look! Ruth yelled as she yanked back the blanket and sheet. The bed was full of dirt and grass; Jack was covered in it up to his knees. What happened?

I dunno, Jack said as he looked down in amazement. I was clean when I went to bed. I took a bath.

Did you sneak outside? Ruth hissed. You better not lie, either.

No Ma’am, Jack whined. I went to bed at nine and fell right asleep. I swear.

Ruth went over and checked the screen on the storm window; Houdini himself could get that screen open. It was untouched. Did you sneak downstairs? she said.

No. You would have heard me, and the dog would have barked. I was right here all night.

What’s that, Ruth said, pointing at a red mark on Jack’s groin.

I don’t know, but it hurts.

You get into the bathroom and clean up, Mister, Ruth nodded. Get ready for school. And I’m going to have a talk with your father. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get his belt for this.

I didn’t do nothing, Jack said as he got out of bed. Honest. I don’t know what happened.

Ruth went in and confronted Becky, Jack’s sister. Did you hear anything last night?

Like what? 12 year old Becky said.

Like Jack sneaking out of the house. He was filthy dirty this morning, and so was his bed.

Nope, Becky said. How dirty?

Real dirty. Mud, grass, you name it. Looks like he was in the woods fooling around.

Any dirt leading upstairs from the door? Becky smiled. Any footprints?

Who are you, Perry Mason? Ruth laughed.

"If he snuck out, and he was that dirty, he’d leave some footprints. I watch Dragnet, you know. Joe Friday would know how to solve this. He’d look for evidence. Nobody that dirty could walk through a house without leaving evidence."

Maybe he went out the window, Ruth said.

Our rooms are on the second floor, Becky said. He’d break his neck if he went out the window. Was the screen touched?

No. And no, there was no dirt downstairs. Maybe he cleaned up after himself.

And where are the cleaning rags or the mop? And why would he clean the floor and not clean himself? Come on, he’d never do that in the first place. I didn’t hear him sneak out.

I don’t understand, Ruth sighed. You didn’t hear or see anything?

Lights, Becky said. There were some lights outside, like a car. In the woods. Like real late.

Cars don’t go into the woods.

Maybe it wasn’t a car, Becky said. Maybe it was people with flashlights. Burglars, she giggled.

Stop, Ruth said. Don’t say things like that. Stratford is a nice town. We don’t have burglars.

They come in from other towns, Ma, Becky sighed. You really ought to watch some cop shows. You don’t know anything about this stuff.

Burglars didn’t put dirt and grass in your brother’s bed.

Yeah, Becky sighed. I guess not. I don’t know what happened, really. See if it happens again.

It better not, Ruth said. He has no business going out there at night. Who knows what could happen to him at night in those woods.

Maybe it’s flying saucers, Becky giggled. Little green men.

Stop that, Ruth snapped. There is no such thing. That’s just stuff they made up for the movies. Get ready for school.

Office of Dr. John Ballard

Paradise Green, Main St.

Stratford, Connecticut

September, 1962

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Ow! That fucking hurts! Jack screamed. What the hell are you doing to me? 

Stop moving, Dr. Ballard said. It will only be a few more seconds. I almost have it. You want Novocain? he smirked, holding up a syringe.

You ain’t gonna stick that in my nuts, Jack laughed. No fucking way.

Then lay still. And stop swearing. People can hear you.

Too fucking bad, Jack grumbled. Let them come in here and  see how they like having somebody dig something out of their ball bag.

How did this happen? Ballard said as he positioned his scalpel. This is most unusual.

I woke up with it, Jack said. Like I been doing for six years. I had a lot of weird things happen to me that nobody can explain, and I got my ass beat for it, too.

What kind of weird things?

Dirt and grass in the bed when I never left the room, scars, pain, and other stuff. I woke up on a table in the woods one time while some little guys were working on me. There was a girl on another  table next to me, Laurie Williams. They saw I was awake and they gave me a needle and I went to sleep again.

That’s bizarre, Ballard said.

Tell me about it. I get taken by this little guy dressed all in black. His name is Uncle Mike. You can see him, but not really. And no, I ain’t nuts. You ask my parents about all the weird shit that goes on around our neighborhood. Lights in the woods, lights in the sky, funny noises, and then the TV and the lights go out. But nobody else’s,  just ours. Of course they’ll lie to you and say I’m imagining things, because they’re scared shitless and won’t face the truth.

What about this Williams girl? Ballard said.

They moved a week after I saw her on that table. Never saw her again. They didn’t even pack. Threw all the shit they could fit in the back of a station wagon and took off.

Ballard went back to his surgery. It’s gone, he whispered. I almost had it, but it’s gone.

Fuck this, Jack said as he swung his legs over the edge of the table and started to dress. You better be careful, Doc. Other people I told about this ain’t around no more.

You’re kidding, Ballard said.

Welcome to Crazyland, Jack smiled. And don’t tell my parents about this.

English Class

Bunnell High School

Stratford, Connecticut

March, 1966

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Are you all right, Mr. Smith? Ted Maynard smiled.

What? Jack said groggily as the class laughed.

Are we keeping you up? Maynard said.

I’m okay, Jack said, looking around nervously. He had no memory of the study hall he had just come from. He looked down at his waist; his belt was backwards, as if a left handed person had put it on. He was also sweating profusely and had a pain in his neck.

You don’t look okay, Maynard said. Perhaps you should go see the nurse.

No, really, I’m fine. I had the flu last week.

Maynard came over. Your shoes are on the wrong feet, Jack, he said. And your undershirt is inside out. I can see the tag.

I got dressed in a hurry after gym, Jack said. Can I go home?

Well, class is almost over and it’s last period. I suppose you may leave if you don’t feel well. I suggest you see a doctor before returning to school. You wouldn’t want to pass something around, would you? Maynard smiled.

No. I wouldn’t wish what I got on anybody, Jack mumbled. They’d be better off dead. He got up, grabbed his books, and lurched out of the classroom.

Well now, Maynard said. That was interesting, wasn’t it?

There’s something wrong with him, Jackie LoCassio said nervously as she fidgeted in her seat. He’s been acting nuts ever since grammar school. Something about flying saucers  and little guys who kidnap him.

Perhaps he saw too many science fiction movies, Maynard said.

I don’t think so, Jackie said. He’s got scars and stuff nobody can explain. He wakes up at home three hours after he left school and doesn’t remember how he got there or why it took so long.

And you believe him? Maynard smiled. Don’t be so gullible, Miss LoCassio. I’m sure he’s having you on.

You look at that thing on his back and tell me he’s having anybody on, Jackie said.

That will be all for today, Maynard said. Class is dismissed.

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Smith  Residence

120 Chickadee Lane

Stratford, Connecticut

April, 1968

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Where have you been? Ruth exclaimed. Housatonic lets out at 8:30. It’s almost midnight.

It is? Jack said. I came straight home.

Then why did it take three hours? I bet you were out chasing girls with your friends.

Yeah, good one, Jack snickered. Who wants to date crazy Jack? That’s what they call me, you know.

If you don’t maintain a C average you’ll get drafted and sent to Vietnam, Ruth said.

Where have you been? Jack laughed. I have a 3.8 average. I went for my physical three months after I graduated from high school. The doctor checked me out and wouldn’t even talk to me when he saw all the crazy shit on my body. He stamped me 4-F and sent me packing.

I didn’t know that, Ruth said.

Here, Jack said, producing his draft card. Maybe I’d be better off getting whacked by gooks in Nam. Probably be better than the shit I have to put up with.

Don’t use that kind of language in my house, Ruth said.

Yeah, sure, anything you say, boss. When I get my degree in June I’m going to California.

With what? You have no money and no job.

I have some money, Jack smirked. Enough to get me away from Connecticut. I can’t take it anymore, Ma. It’s making me crazy. Maybe if they don’t know where I am they’ll leave me alone. And don’t tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about, either, because you do. You just don’t want to face it. You never did.

I know you’re imagining things, Ruth said. You need a psychiatrist.

Yeah? Jack grinned. Here’s one for you, he said. You never saw this. He turned around and pulled up his shirt. There, on his back, was a four inch string of something that looked like hieroglyphics. It was