The Flying Saucer Kid: Carla Larsen Mystery

By charles fisher

A mysterious girl appears, claiming to be God's messenger. Carla gets a list of the "New World Order" people from Area 51 and sets out to eliminate them. Lots of humor, action, and wrestling.

• Language: English
• Publisher: charles fisher
• Release date: Jan 30, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393365563

Book preview

The Flying Saucer Kid

And the Sun shall be turned into darkness, and the Moon into blood, and I shall rain down my vengeance upon thee.

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Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

November, 2003

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What was that thing over the house last night? Carole said nervously. Those lights.

That was the Flying Saucer Kid, Carla grinned. I told y’all about her last month.

I do not like things like this, Carole said. I had enough of that with Zandra. Who is this person of whom you speak?

Carla threw her head back and started to howl. Sorry, she grinned. Y’all said speak. Had me a Deputy Dawg flashback there. I do not know until I meet her.

This is crap, Carole laughed. That was probably a helicopter from Sikorsky’s that got lost, and you’re claiming it’s some space girl. What proof do you have?

None, Carla said. What proof you got that you be a human, born of God’s image? Course God don’t got no big cottage cheese butt like y’all got.

You’re not funny, Carole said.

Yes I am, Carla grinned.

Matter of opinion. I want a full report about those flashing lights, Captain.

Eat me, Carla grinned. How’s that for a re-port? I got no re-port. Call the damn Air Force. Like I said, I got to talk to the girl. She will approach me in her own time.

Sure she will, Carole snickered. This is a figment of your imagination.

Them were good cookies, Carla grinned. Figment Newtons. They still make them? I heard that was somethin’ cooked up between a fig company in the Middle East and Wayne Newton.

They still make them, and they had nothing to do with Wayne Newton. Why must you do this to me? Everything I say to you gets turned into some demented history story.

I tell what I know, Carla said. That boy had somethin’ to do with them cookies. He were in Las Vegas singin’ Dunk My Shame when he were thirteen. You don’t think that boy got any hooker pussy? You serious? I know about that. Paul Anka banged his way through more bar gals than you could count. Not that I would know; that were just a rumor. Now Wayne, he specialized in the German and Indian Surprise, because that is his heritage. That is when the boy sneaks up on you from behind and shoves his totem pole up your.........

Stop, Carole said. You are denigrating one of the biggest stars in history.

I ain’t never done no denigration, Carla huffed. Less the boy paid triple, and all that money went to the  nuns.

Get out, Carole said, pointing at the door. Go do your job.

I ain’t been fed yet, Carla grinned. It be lunch time. Y’all order me anything?

No. You aren’t supposed to be here.

Call it in, Carla said. Or I will sit here and tell you about the Beach Boys until you scream for mercy.

I know all about them, Carole smirked. I grew up listening to them. You don’t know shit about them.

You mean you ain’t never heard of the fourth Wilson brother? Carla exclaimed. You got Brian, Carl, and Dennis. Y’all ain’t never heard of Woodrow?

He was the 28th President of the United States! Carole yelled. He served from 1913 until 1921. What does he have to do with.............never mind, I won’t even ask. You are sick in the head.

I ain’t sick; I had me some Tylenol this morning. This Woodrow was not the President; he was Woody’s great grandson, or some such shit. He lived on the beach in Malibu and he had him a big station wagon, Carla grinned. Had him a big love rocket, too, which is where the term Woody came from.

Here, Carole said, taking out her .45. Shoot me and kill me. Put me out of my misery.

Y’all don’t deserve no mercy killing, because you do not understand music history. Woody found out he was Brian’s long lost biological brother, and they writ some songs together about Woodies. Course everybody knew they wasn’t singin’ about no station wagon, specially the girls. The girls was always tuned into songs about the Nixon.

The what? Carole shrieked. Nixon? What does he have to do with the Beach Boys?

Tricky Dick, Carla grinned. Y’all don’t know much for an old Hippie, do you. And where be my spaghetti and meatballs?

It’s on the way, Carole sighed. Please eat it and get away from me.

Boy in the orphanage said that to me one time, Carla groused. He paid the price, but we cannot discuss that. You ever done the Pasta Surprise? Carla grinned.

No, and I do not want to know what that means. What about this girl?

What about her? Carla said. I ain’t seen her yet. Y’all keep askin’ dumbassed questions.

The only dumbass here is you, Carole smiled.

We will see about that when you are lookin’ at God’s final solution, Carla smiled. Then what you got to say?

I will say Carla was talking shit she can’t prove. God likes me, Carole giggled. I’m Swedish.

God don’t like no fat girl, Carla grinned. Swedish or otherwise.

Just then, the Salerno’s delivery boy came in. Now there is something I could eat for lunch, Carla grinned, crossing her long legs. Hey, boy; you want to take a ride on the Carla-Go-Round?

She works for me, Carole said to the boy. You even so much as smile at her and I will arrest you for solicitation for purposes of prostitution.

I am not no damn prostitute, Carla huffed. I offer a good product at a fair price, just like General Motors. Go arrest them for bein’ whores.

You first, Miss Bottomless Pit, Carole smiled.

I don’t need this shit, the boy whined. Sign my invoice.

I got a invoice, Carla grinned. Says the price  right on it. Ten percent off this month. Lick it and stick it.

Bye, the boy smiled as he ran for the door.

Oh well, Carla sighed. At least one of us got somethin’ good to eat out of the deal.

Do you ever worry about anything other than your crotch? Carole laughed.

Sometimes, Carla shrugged. But not too often.

Chief of Patrol Vito Antonelli stuck his head in the door, followed by Chief of Police Clarence Jackson.

Youse douche bags  got Abeets and spaghetti and all kinds of Guinea food, and youse don’t invite the real Italian man? Vito said.

Fuck off, Carole growled.

And what about me? Clare exclaimed. I be your boss. Black people like Wop food, too.

Then go buy some, Carole grinned. The police food budget is for humans, Buckwheat.

That be rude, Clare sighed. Always keeping the black man down.

Youse was born down, Vito grinned. Only reason you got your job is because Carole didn’t want it, Sammy.

That’s right, Carole grinned. Now be a good boy and tap dance for us, and sing Mammy.

I will sing your white ass into a discrimination lawsuit, Clare said.

Carole done seen a UFO over the house the other night, Carla grinned.

That friggin’ cognac youse drink will make you see shit, Vito nodded.

I was sober, Carole snapped. Next time I’ll take pictures.

They won’t come out, Carla grinned. They never do.

You seem to forget I was captured and taken onto one of those things, Carole said.

Shoulda kept you, Vito muttered. Probably brought you back after youse clogged up their toilet.

I heard that, you bastard, Carole said. This isn’t funny. I don’t like it when shit like that shows up over my house. Why not your house? she smiled. Oh, that’s right; the smell would drive them off.

Hey, I smell like a man, Vito said.

A dead one, Carole mumbled. Fix a plate. Maybe if you two assholes have something to eat, you’ll shut up. And while we’re on the subject, Antonelli, double the night patrol in my sector.

Why? Youse ain’t no great loss if Martians shag your ass off to Venus.

I know about the new Rambler you bought, Carole smiled. And Dom Del Parlessio has a new car crusher.

Youse douche bags leave my car alone, Vito snapped. You smashitated about ten cars on me so far.

What year is the car? Carole smiled.

1965 Rambler Classic 770 convertible, Vito grinned. She got ten thousand original miles. White with red seats, 327 V8 four speed. And youse idiots ain’t gonna get near it. My Uncle Carmine got it hid in his garage in Stamford, so there.

You’re probably right, Carole said. We’ll never find it because you’re a lot smarter than we are.

That’s right, Vito beamed. Guineas was always smarter than Swedes. You never saw Leontardo Da Vincent make no cuckoo clocks. I got real cop work to do, he smiled as he headed for the door. I ain’t got no time for girly bullshit.

Put Wang Shu on this, Carole smiled at Carla. Find that car, and have Tracy turn it into a pile of rubble.

Sounds like a nice car, Carla said.

Make it into a not nice car, Carole said.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

Northern Sector Patrol

Stratford, Connecticut

November, 2003

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What are we doin’ out here? Lieutenant Margo Wilder said. I could be home makin’ me husband lick the wild Irish beaver stead of doin’ this stupid shit. I got me a cattle prod last week, she grinned. Boy better toe the line now.

Carole seen a flyin’ saucer over the house, Assistant Chief of Detectives Tracy O’Neil grinned, simulating someone drinking whisky with her hand. I think she got the Cognac heebie-jeebie.

Girl be daffy, Margo sighed. We could be on Paradise Green chasin’ down teenage speeders, but no, we got to sit on Laurel  Drive all night for nothin’.

It ain’t our shift, so we be getting’ double time, Tracy said. I’ll sit here listenin’ to the radio for double time until the town goes broke.

That’s that crazy fuckin’ Art Bell show, ain’t it, Margo grinned, nodding at the radio.

That it is, Tracy nodded. That is George Noory, his guest host. He got Major Ed Dames for a guest tonight. Boy is totally fuckin’ insane; he been babbling about how we are gonna get killed by a solar flare for ten years. After him George got some other dude who used to work at Area 51.

You been there; they really got all that stuff people claim?

That and more, Tracy said. I cannot discuss that.

Ain’t nothin’ to this; Carole been seein’ things.

Maybe not, Tracy whispered as lights appeared in the distant sky. A circular object appeared, then came closer. It had a pink light in the center of the bottom, surrounded by twelve pinkish- purple lights. Whaddaya think now, Missy?

Probably some secret Air Force airplane, Margo shrugged. They fly that shit at night so nobody will see it.

Then why put a bunch of purple lights on it? Tracy laughed. Come on, girl; that ain’t no airplane. You hear any engines?

They got good mufflers, Margo smiled.

We got to follow that thing, Tracy said as she turned the key in the ignition. A purple beam from the craft immediately bathed the car in an eerie glow for two seconds, then stopped. Nothing happened when Tracy tried to start the car. The craft put the same beam on Carole’s house for two more seconds. It then slowly rose into the night sky and took off to the West at an alarming rate of speed. Right after that, the dash lights came back on and the car started.

Gamin’ fish, eh? Tracy smiled. Marlin? Sting Ray? Bit through this piano wire? Don’t you tell me my business again."

You  watch too many old movies, Margo said.

An airplane done that to our car and took off that fast after sittin’ dead still?

Nobody knows what the Air Force got, Margo said. Prove them was Martians.

I cannot, no more than you can prove they wasn’t. Carla said some girl is here to deliver God’s message.

She’s as crazy as Carole, Margo said.

You need some convincin’, Tracy said. Time you got to meet Gary.

Who’s Gary?

General James Cagney, Commanding Officer, the United States Air Force Test Facility at Groom Lake, Nevada.

Area 51, Margo grinned. Why do you call him Gary?

Boy could pass for Gary Busey’s twin brother. Even signs his autograph now and then.

How do you get in there? The President can’t even get in there.

Not the one we got now, Tracy grinned. We did take Bill Clinton in there a couple times. Carole went to high school with Cagney. She got the run of the place. We should take Bubba along for insurance. He likes to get out of the office now and then. Specially when they got Hooker Night.

He runs a friggin’ porno store in town, Margo laughed. What office?

He got him an office, Tracy shrugged. You will like him.

I doubt it, Margo said. Maybe I will arrest the boy.

Office of the Commanding Officer

General James Cagney

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

December, 2003

Not again, Cagney sighed as he slammed the phone down, his head in his hands. Unbelievable.

Should I have them shot down? a handsome Captain smiled. I can do that. We have that new...........

Do not discuss that weapon, Cagney said, pointing his pen at the Captain. Let them land, he sighed. They’ll just do it anyway.

Why do you let them in here? the Captain said.

Carole and I went to high school together. She has provided a lot of help for this facility, and she is one of the last honest people in this country. I trust her. She is an intolerable ball breaker, but I trust her.

Very well, Sir. I will tell the tower.

CIA Agent Richie Schreyer’s new personal pilot, only known as Dan, smiled at Carla as they cleared the outer security ring as the radio beeped.

Flight Control to CDP22307, you are cleared to land on Runway Five. Wait for your escort.

Roger, Dan said as he headed in. I think I got an escort already, he said, looking at Carla’s legs.

Roger? Thought your name were Dan, Carla muttered.

Did your parents have any kids that lived? Dan smiled. He then felt cold steel against his neck, and heard Carla cock her Colt.

What did you say to me, boy? I will kill you dead where you sit for that remark, and land this airplane myself.

Just kidding, Dan said. Jeez, lighten up, will you? It was a joke.

This ain’t CBS, and you ain’t Milton Berle, Carla said, shoving Dan hard in the back of the head with her Colt. That is a vile thing to say to me. You are hereby replaced. You will not fly us again.

I work for Schreyer, not you, Dan said.

I went to high school with Schreyer, Carole piped up. And with Cagney, so you lose. Also, Bill Clinton backs us up. He is coming in on Air Force One, which G.W. leases out for soda pop money. Care to argue that point?

I do, and I will. I got more stroke than any of you idiots. Ten minutes later, Dan was standing in front of Cagney’s desk.

So I’m an idiot, am I, flyboy? Cagney smiled.

I did not mean you, Dan said.

You will address me as General or Sir when you are in my facility, Cagney smiled.

I’m not in the Air Force. You can’t order me around.  I work for the people who control this place.

Call one of them, Cagney smiled, pointing at his phone. Connect me with anybody from the CIA who thinks they control this place. I want to talk to them.

They wouldn’t talk you, Dan laughed. You’re just an Air Force flunky.

Damn, Carla muttered. Y’all just stuck your dick in the waffle iron now, boy.

Bill Clinton walked in, drying his hands with a paper towel. Cagney nodded at Clinton. Meet Dan, he smiled. Dan, say hello to President Bill Clinton. Dan just stared in disbelief. Dan called me an Air Force flunky, and says the CIA controls my facility.

You got brain damage, boy? Bill rasped. The CIA got no control over this here facility or any other military installation. I know; I was the Commander in Chief.

Boy called you an idiot, Bubba, Carla grinned. Clinton stared at Dan with a malevolent look that would melt steel. He nodded at Cagney without a word and left the office.

Well, it looks like that’s it for you, jerkoff, Cagney smiled. He motioned for a Lieutenant to come through the airlock and take charge of Dan. The Lieutenant cuffed Dan and waited.

What is this? Dan shrieked. Am I under arrest? You have no authority over me!

Oh, but I do, Cagney smiled. I have absolute control of this facility under the National Security Act, granted to me by Congress. You just violated Section 14, Chapter 18, paragraph 8.

What the hell is that? Dan exclaimed.

You pissed me off. Take him out and shoot him. Dump his corpse in the desert. Then burn his airplane.

Yes, Sir, the Lieutenant nodded. Move it, troop, he said, shoving Dan in the back with his M-16.

You’re going to shoot me? Dan screeched. You can’t do that! I deserve a trial! This is America!

Not for you, Cagney smiled. This is my world. Get him out of here.

Ten minutes later, gunshots sounded in the distance. I wonder who he thinks runs this place now, Cagney grinned. And don’t get any ideas, Carole, he nodded as she eyed Cagney’s breakfast tray. You could be next.

Fuck off, Gary, Carole laughed. What’s on the tray?

Nothing you’d be interested in, Cagney smiled. Although I doubt that could be true; there probably isn’t a food product you ever turned down.

I turned down that pork you offered me in Eighth Grade. It wasn’t big enough to satisfy my appetite.

Well, like they say, there’s a first time for everything, Cagney grinned. Maybe it was too small compared to the giant orifice it was supposed to go into.

Damn, Carla muttered. Boy says you got you a big old pussy. Y’all gonna take that from him?

Nobody ever took anything from Cagney, Carole smiled, holding her fingers two inches apart. Any pussy looks big when you’re packing a three incher.

Margo came in, wiping blood from her knuckles. Where were you? Carole said.

I were bein’ frisked, Margo said. New visitors got to be searched. Boy what done it looked in a couple places he shouldn’t have. He is in the base hospital now. This the boss? she said, nodding at Cagney.

Yes, this is General Cagney. This is Lieutenant Margo Wilder, Carole said.

Everybody’s dream wife, Cagney smiled. Miss Congeniality.

Ya shut your mouth, Skippy, Margo nodded. Or you and me can go at it. What business you got havin’ some male Sergeant manhandle women like he done to me?

What was his name? Cagney said. I do not tolerate the abuse of women in my facility.

Kincaid. James Kincaid.

Cagney picked up his phone, whispered a few commands, and hung up. All set, he smiled. Sergeant Kincaid will not abuse any more women. Ten minutes later, more  shots were heard in the distance.

Oops, Carla giggled. Cagney two, Air Force and CIA zero.

Ya killed the boy? Margo laughed.

You have a better idea? Cagney said. I deal harshly with people who do not follow orders, he said, smiling at Carole. Like you, Carole.

Eat me, Carole grinned. Better yet, eat your breakfast.

Later. Why are you here? There must be a reason for this unexpected visit from the Tampon Squad.

Oh, this boy is askin’ for a tune-up, Margo nodded. I bet you got an Irish cocktail wiener in yer undies, she smiled. Tryin’ to flash yer stars and be a tough guy because the smallest weapon you got is in your pants.

You’re Irish, aren’t you, Cagney smiled.

Oh, the fella done figured that out all by himself. What gave me away? Margo smiled. The brogue, the shamrock on me dress, or me stunning good looks?

The bitchy attitude and the miserable disposition, Cagney said. Not that that’s anything new; after all, you are a woman.

You are a dead man, Margo said, pointing a finger at Cagney. One way or the other, I will get your ass.

Stop, Carole laughed. I told him to bait you.

Oh, ya did, did you? Thanks for makin’ trouble for me, you old skank.

Old skank, huh? Carole smiled. Would you like to go downstairs and meet Smiley? He’s from some distant star system. I bet he’d be to your liking. He likes to eat women.

Really? Margo whispered. Is he handsome? Me husband don’t like to eat the Irish pudding, broke no good bastard that he now is. I could use some tongue action me own self.

Smiley......... literally eats women, Cagney smiled. And men. There is nothing left but some blood and bones. He’d be a good match for you.

He tries that with me and I will kick his alien ass, Margo said. I do not take  shit from nobody. That includes you, Skippy.

Perish the thought, Cagney smiled. How did you manage to snag a husband?

Handcuffs and identity theft, Margo grinned. Thought he was a big tough fire department Lieutenant; he ain’t so tough now, locked in me basement on bread and water until he decides to do the right thing.

And I can just imagine what that is, Cagney smiled.

Boy cries when I show him a tuna fish sandwich, Margo grinned. A girl got her needs, she huffed. Fella don’t want to act accordingly, he gets duct taped to a chair. It’s only fair, she shrugged.

I suppose in a twisted way there is some logic to that, Cagney said as his hand wandered over to his breakfast tray.

Go ahead, Carole smiled. Eat your breakfast. Make my day.

Cagney took the lid off the tray, exposing French Toast and bacon covered in butter and Maple Syrup.

Try to make something disgusting  out of this, he grinned. She always tries to gross me out when I eat, Cagney said. It goes back to Junior High.

And you’ve never had one decent meal since then if I was around, Carole leered.

Nobody can make something gross out of French Toast, Cagney smiled, Not even you.

Well now, let’s see about that, Carole smiled. Look at that yellow shit. What is that?

Butter, Cagney grinned.

Melinda James had butter like that running down her thighs, Carole grinned. The only difference is that hers had maggots swimming in it. And that brown syrup you have there; she had that running out of her ass.

Jesus, Cagney gagged. Stop.

And is that bacon? Carole said. That looks like strips of dead flesh they used to find in Roosevelt Forest. You know, when the Melon Heads killed people and butchered them.

Blahhhhh! Cagney yelled, and ran for the bathroom. When he came back, Carole had devoured his breakfast.

Give up, Carole burped. You’ll never beat me.

You are Satan in a pair of oversized panties, Cagney sighed. And you never answered my question. Why are you here?

Tell him, Dirt Bag, Carole giggled at Carla.

Why, I am shocked that you would say that about me, Carla huffed as she put her feet up on Cagney’s desk and fiddled with her nylons. Cagney looked away. Oops, Carla grinned. Sorry; fergot my panties again. I got word that a gal is comin’ here to deliver God’s message to the world.

Margo twirled her finger next to her temple. Girl got delusions of divine intervention. Thinks she’s that gal from Fatima.

There was three of ‘em, Carla said. Lucy Ricardo, San Francisco, and Jacinto. That be in Nebraska.

Nooooo! Carole screeched and ran for the bathroom. Lucy Ricardo and San Francisco? she shrieked.

Well damn it, girl, I ain’t no Porta-gee. That were a long time ago, too. Names get mixed up.

And ya can’t trust no damn Portagee or no Brazilians, Margo nodded. They all work in the strip clubs now. Fatima my ass.

Anyway, I got the message and the girl been circling the house in a UFO, Carla nodded as Carole came back out.

You have to stop that, Carole sighed. I almost didn’t make it.

Is that true, Carole? Cagney said. There has been a craft over your house?

Yes, Carole said. Twice now. Tracy and ass face Margo both saw it.

Ah, come on, Margo laughed. It were probably some government airplane they test at night.

The Air Force doesn’t test anything at night over Connecticut, Cagney smiled. What did it look like?

Circular with twelve  pinkish purple lights surroundin’ a bigger one in the middle.

Oh, Cagney smiled. That one. Well, it was nice of you to stop by and tell me about that. I will have Captain Rollins escort you girls to a ship which will take you home now. Bye.

Wait a minute, Carole laughed. Don’t try that bullshit on me. I’ve been through this before. You knew about this?

I heard some reports about a craft matching that description, Cagney shrugged. None of them were in Connecticut.

You know more than you’re telling us, Jim, Carole nodded. Don’t do this to me. Why is that thing over my house?

It’s not there for you, Cagney said. It’s there for Carla.

Why her? What, I’m chopped liver? Carole exclaimed. I’m her boss.

They pick their spots when they have something........ never mind, Cagney sighed. This is beyond my field of knowledge.

Then who knows about it? Carole said.

I can’t tell you that, Cagney said.

Titty Twister, Carole leered.

Bruno Reininger, Cagney said quickly. He likes Irish girls, he grinned at Margo.

He ain’t gonna like me much, Margo said.

I can’t imagine why not, Cagney said. Although he  did want to marry Tracy.

Tracy ain’t shit compared to me, Margo laughed. Or me cousin Kathleen. We are what they call Black Irish girls. Tall, thin, big boobs, long dark hair. Every man’s dream.

Last time I dreamed about somebody like you they came out of a flying saucer and tried to eat my face in Peru, Cagney smiled.

Then ya should have stayed there, Margo nodded. You and me firehouse husband, whose hose ain’t up to the job. Neither be his tongue, she leered. But I will straighten the boy out. Where’s this Bruno character?

Laboratory 315, Level Seven

Dr. Bruno Reininger

Groom Lake, Nevada, Area 51

December, 2003

––––––––

How the hell did you get in here...... oh, it’s you again, Larsen, Bruno sighed. I’d love to know why Cagney keeps letting you in here.

He can’t stop me is why, Carole said. What’s up, Teach?

I told you not to call me that, Bruno snapped. Oh, hello, Carla. Nice to see so much of you again. And this is.........my God, Bruno cried, falling to his knees in front of Margo. This is a Goddess. Marry me, he cried. I will worship at your feet.

Get up, ya Nazi son of a bitch, Margo said. I am already married. Even if I wasn’t, I wouldn’t cavort with the likes of you.

Bruno, who was Carole’s former science teacher at Bunnell High School, resembled a human refrigerator in a white lab coat with a crew cut and Buddy Holly glasses.

But you’re so stunning, Bruno whined. I have money.

Ya do? Margo grinned. Ya got no neck, though. How much money you got? You won’t have it long, ya pathetic bastard. I will get me a divorce from me current no good husband, then we will see about your bank account. You like to eat the Irish pudding?

I’ll eat anything you have, Bruno whined.

Boy got promise, Margo nodded.

Stop, Carole said. This isn’t the Third Reich Dating Game.

Those were just rumors, Bruno huffed. I never had any Nazi affiliations.

Sure, Carole smiled. You had a picture of Hitler in the coat room.

That was left over from History class, Bruno said. I had nothing to do with that.

Okay, never mind your Master Race plan, Carole smiled. We need information. There has been an alien craft circling my house.

Weight Watchers has a UFO now, Bruno muttered.

What did you say, you bastard? Carole yelled.

Nothing, just a joke, Bruno smiled. Like that description of you in the yearbook; you know, the one that said the only people who scored more times than you were on the sports teams.

Why, you loathsome creep, Carole hissed. I was a good girl.

Not according to the reviews, Bruno grinned. You averaged three quarters of a star from over two hundred participants.

Lying rats, Carole said, flipping her hair. They were just mad because they couldn’t have me.

Everybody had you, Bruno grinned.

This is so great, Carole laughed, hugging Bruno. It’s like 1966 all over again. What a wonderful time that was, when good, moral girls  like me could trade insults with Jew hating fascist teachers.

You were a pig, Bruno smiled. They called you Horizontal Hilda.

I was not, Carole snapped. Forget about me. We need information about that thing flying over my house. Cagney says you know about it. He also said it wants Carla, not me.

Now there’s a choice no sane man would make, huh? Bruno laughed. Why would  space aliens want a fat old cop rather than a hot twenty year old with big......assets?

Boy does make good  sense, Carla nodded. Could be interstellar hooker recruitment.

Shut up, Carole snapped. This is your fault. That girl came here for you, and I want to know why.

We don’t know why, Bruno said. This craft has been the subject of many reports. It has been spotted over Jerusalem,  Tel Aviv, Bethlehem, Palestine,  and Wichita, Kansas.

Wichita, Kansas? Carla exclaimed. That cinches it. That is where I am from. Girl does not know I am in Stratford yet. She is looking for my curvy young ass.

Then why is the craft over our house in Stratford? Carole said.

Rumor, Carla shrugged. Girl might have seen my interweb site.

You put my address on your prostitute site? Carole shrieked.

It be my address too, Carla grinned. Ain’t nobody on the interweb wants you. Girl be confused. She is not of this world, and does not understand what we do hereabouts.

We understand what you do hereabouts,  Carole nodded. You sell your ass to the highest bidder.

Y’all think I should sell it to the lowest bidder? Carla exclaimed. Shame on y’all. That is not good capitalism.

I give up, Carole sighed. You deal with her, Bruno. I’m going back to my quarters and order pizza. Make it fast, too; we’re leaving at dawn.

Dawn? Carla exclaimed. Tonight be hooker night and I got me a defending championship at stake. I may not be able to walk at dawn.

Then stay here, Carole smiled. Gary should be able to find you a job.

I do not like the heat, Carla nodded. I am a Midwestern gal who likes winter somewhat.

Then shag your overused ass onto Gary’s ship at dawn.

She has a point, Bruno said. Sit down and I will tell you what I know.

Stratford, Connecticut  Police Department

900 Longbrook Avenue

Stratford, Connecticut

December, 2003

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What did Bruno tell you?  Carole said.

That was the Flying Saucer Kid, Carla grinned. I told y’all about her before.

I do not like things like this, Carole said. Or evasive answers. I need to know what is going on so I can protect this town.

You cannot protect this town or any other town, Carla said. Nobody can. Not from God’s wrath. That is the message I was told she will deliver. If y’all want to hear it, you got to wait. I got no control over this girl.

Why is it always a girl? Carole said.