`My family,’ he said. `We’re pleased to meet you. But we got to go. Time to move on.’
He reached behind him and dragged a canvas kit bag out of the gloom. Army issue. There was a faint stencil on it. Pfc something, with a serial number and a unit designation. He pulled it up close and shuffled away.
`Wait up,’ I said. `Were you here last week? Thursday?’
The guy stopped and half-turned back.
`Been here a month,’ he said. `Didn’t see anything last Thursday.’
I looked at him and his kit bag. A soldier. Soldiers don’t volunteer anything. Their basic rule. So I eased off the concrete and pulled a candy bar out of my pocket. Wrapped it in a hundred dollar bill. Tossed it over to him. He caught it and put it in his coat. Nodded to me, silently.
`So what didn’t you see last Thursday?’ I asked him.
He shrugged.
`I didn’t see anything,’ he said. `That’s the honest truth. But my wife did. She saw plenty of things.’
`OK,’ I said, slowly. `Will you ask her what things she saw?’
He nodded. Turned and had a whispered conversation with the air beside him. Turned back to me.
`She saw aliens,’ he said. `An enemy starship, disguised like a shiny black truck. Two aliens disguised like regular earth guys in it. She saw lights in the sky. Smoke. Spaceship comes down, turns into a big car, starfleet commander comes out dressed as a cop, short fat guy. Then a white car comes off the highway, but it’s really a starfighter landing, two guys in it, earth guys, pilot and co-pilot. They all do a dance, right there by the gate, because they come from another galaxy. She said it was exciting. She loves that stuff. Sees it everywhere she goes.’
He nodded at me. He meant it.
`I missed the whole thing,’ he said. Gestured to the air beside him. `The baby needed her bath. But that’s what my wife saw. She loves that stuff.’
`She hear anything?’ I asked him.
He asked her. Got her reply and shook his head like I was crazy.
`Space beings don’t make sound,’ he said. `But
the starfighter co-pilot got all shot up with stun phasers, crawled in here later. Bled to death right where you’re sitting. We tried to help him, but there’s really nothing you can do about stun phasers, right? The medics got him out Sunday.’
I nodded. He crawled off, dragging his kit bag. I watched him go and then slid back around the pillar. Watched the road. Picked through his wife’s story. An eyewitness report. The guy wouldn’t have convinced the Supreme Court, but he sure as hell convinced me. It wasn’t the Supreme Court’s brother who had flown down in a starfighter and done a dance at the warehouse gate.
It was another hour before anything showed up. I’d eaten a candy bar and sipped most of a pint of water. I was just sitting and waiting. A decent-sized panel truck rolled in, coming south. It slowed up at the warehouse approach. I saw New York commercial plates through the field glasses. Dirty white rectangles. The truck nosed along the tarmac and waited at the fourth gate. The guys in the compound swung open the gate and signalled the truck through. It stopped again and the two guys swung the gate shut behind it. Then the driver backed up to the roller door and stopped. Got out of the truck. One of the gatemen climbed into the truck and the other ducked into a side door and cranked the roller open. The truck backed into the dark and the roller came down again. The New York driver was left on the forecourt, stretching in the sun. That was it. About thirty seconds, beginning to end. Nothing on show.
I watched and waited. The truck was in there eighteen minutes. Then the roller door winched open again and the gateman drove the truck back
out. As soon as it was clear, the roller came down again and the gateman jumped down from the cab. The New York guy hoisted himself back into the seat while the gateman ran ahead to swing the gates. The truck passed through and rattled out and back onto the county road. It turned north and passed by twenty yards from where I was leaning up on the concrete overpass pillar. It swung onto the on-ramp and roared up to join the northbound traffic stream.