RB-75

Michelle was at the kitchen table when I went tearing into the house to grab my camera. She looked up at me as I ran past. "What're you doing?" she asked.

"Garage fire in the alley," I said. "I can sell photos to the paper."

I ran back outside, where Paul was waiting on the sidewalk with his little friend Dennis from around the corner. I said,"Okay, let's go get a look. You two stay where I can see you, and walk down the sidewalk."

I knew exactly where we were going to get the best view. I don't just think it's my city because I live here. We went around the corner, and I could see it down the alley---A garage, completely engulfed in flames.

It was going to be a total loss. I snapped a couple of photos. I ordered the kids,"Get across the street and stay there. Do not move."

I circled around, getting photos. The firefighters were spraying water on the blaze, to very little effect. The power line above began exploding with several very loud popping sounds, finally collapsing into the alley. I could feel the heat where I stood as I moved around in an arc, getting photos of the whole thing.

"How was your New Year break?" Tracey asked when I walked into the library the next day.

"Oh," I said,"About usual."

Most people I've met think that their job is the most insane job ever. I'm sure that you think your job is the most insane job ever. I assure you, it is not. For the last nine years or so, I've been the county's most prominent paranormal investigator at the public library. This means that the insane people who seek me out know where to find me.

We place bets on who the annual summer lunatic is going to be every year. I once had a woman hand me a live bird. People have walked in claiming to have proof of alien abductions. Your job may be wild, but it does not reach these levels of wild.

"Excuse me, sir," I said to the homeless guy sitting at a table. "I need to ask you to keep your mask on."

He pulled up the mask he had hanging down to his neck, and then very deliberately picked up his Pepsi bottle and took a drink through the mask.

"It was all made in a lab in China anyway," he said. "We're living in the End Times. I can prove it through historic research."

I looked at the newspaper as I walked across the library. My photo of the alley fire was on the front page. When I got back to my desk, Chris was working on the microfilm. "Found something for you," he said. "April 22, 1975. It's in the Renovo book on the cabinet."

I picked up the book, one of the comprehensive volumes on the history of Renovo. He'd left it open to one of the pages listing all sorts of oddball incidents, and I skimmed down the page. Four coal workers on top of the mountain had witnessed a UFO, described as having red lights, and they'd watched it for fifteen minutes.

"Well," I said.

"Thought you'd like that."

"You thought right."

"1975 wasn't all that long ago."

"Hell, I was alive in 1975. It must have been pretty high up, or pretty big. People reported seeing it as far away as Tamarack and Bitumen."
"You gonna get an article out of this?"

"Yeah, probably. Says it stopped at one point and shined a light on one of the TV towers. I can't think of an explanation for that, offhand, other than a helicopter, and the witnesses swore it wasn't a helicopter."

"An alien invasion?"

"We can hope. I'd kill for an actual alien invasion." I took the book to the copier and photocopied the page.

"Since it's 1975, some of those people are probably still alive," Chris suggested.

"Oh god, witness interviews. You just hit like my least favorite thing. I might take a ride up to Renovo, though, and see what I can find."

"Morning, boss," I said as I walked in. "I'm assuming you're there; my glasses are all fogged up."

The Boss laughed, in her office. Having confirmed that I was somewhat supervised this morning, I set my coffee on my desk and got to work.

I found the right microfilm---Renovo Record, 1975. I scrolled to the right date and found the headline almost immediately: "UFO Sighted Last Night." I printed it out and labeled it RB-75, using my own system: Renovo Borough sighting, 1975.

It had been witnessed by at least six people at ten-thirty at night, over the course of several miles. The red lights were arranged in a square, which moved fast and slow, and hovered. At one point it shined a bright light on one of the local towers. I couldn't, offhand, think of anything that would have behaved that way.

I ran through the rest of the month to see if there was anything that would explain it, or any follow-up articles about the sighting. I checked two other papers, as well. But there was nothing. 

"You ready?"

Tif called out from the kitchen. "I'm ready."

Paul and I walked in, showing off our new outfits. We both had tactical vests. His was smaller, with a unicorn patch and the neck guard. Mine had neoprene shoulder pads, an equipment belt, and a glow-in-the-dark alien patch.

"Cool," said Tif. "Is that customized?"

"Standardized vest, but I ordered some parts and customized it myself," I said. "There's a loop on the belt for my whip. I have patches that label the equipment pockets. Added first aid and survival equipment in the back. It's MOLLE-standardized, impact-resistant, and laser-cut. I have no idea what that means, but I like it."

"Mine has my slingshot," Paul commented.

"I designed this vest to be exactly what I needed for any investigation," I said. "With the gloves and boots, it's got a goth touch. It looks different enough that I don't resemble the terrorists from a year ago."

"You have a glowing alien on your chest!"

"That's a start, yes."

"Is that a gauntlet?"

"With little bottles strapped to it. It's got the goth look, but it's practical. I can use them for samples if I have to. I'm indestructible."

"You're not indestructible. You pulled a back muscle helping Paul with his subtraction last week."

"That involved the one substance on the planet that I'm vulnerable to."

"Math?"

"Never been good at it."

"It looks good," said Tif.

"I'm tired of hunting ghosts dressed like a Sixties reject," I said. "I'm taking my image back."

"Dad, can I go play with my friends down the street?" Paul asked.

"Sure, until dinner," I said. "I'll walk you down. Maybe there will be another fire."

It takes one minute or so to walk down to the end of the alley, where Paul's little friends live. One of the moms, Sara, was on her porch when I dropped him off.

"See you later, Daddy!" Paul said, already halfway gone to play.

"Have fun, little man. Hi, Sarah. How are you?"

"Doing okay, how about you? You want a beer?"

"Nah, I'm good. Thanks."

"Hey, I wanted to ask you," she said. "You can find out history and stuff, right?"

"More or less, yeah."

"Could you find out about my grandfather?"

"If he lived here in Clinton County, there's a fair chance."

"He lived here. He killed himself when I was a little girl. He owned a car dealership, and used to fly in a helicopter. He was always screwing around with the helicopter, I remember, he once landed it on the roof of the dealership, even though he wasn't supposed to. I was always told that he killed himself with carbon monoxide, but I met a woman recently who told me that he was shot and they made it look like suicide."

"Well, I can probably rule that part out right now. Someone would notice if there was a giant hole in a guy who died of carbon monoxide poisoning."

"Not if there was a cover-up."

"Television has a lot to answer for. For something like this, you'd get the police out there, maybe an ambulance. They'd have to call in the coroner, and then take him to an undertaker. One person can keep a secret. Twenty can't."

"Well, true. Can you find out?"
"I can pull his obit, maybe run to the courthouse and get the coroner inquest."

"You can do that?"

"Sure, that's public information. It'll take a few days, but I'll get back to you and let you know what I find out."

The obituary was easy. Obits always are. It was the way Sarah had described: Her grandfather had been accused of criminal activity with his car dealership, and killed himself with carbon monoxide. There were a couple of details she hadn't mentioned, though---He hadn't killed himself at home, but at his summer place in Gallagher Township. Who the hell owns a summer home in Gallagher Township, of all places? It'd be like owning a summer place on Jupiter, though the article did say he'd flown his helicopter out there, which would make it easier.

World War II veteran, which is where he'd learned to fly the helicopter. The newspaper had done their own bit of digging, and found out that he'd driven out overnight, piped the CO2 in from his car, and died in the room of his summer home. So much for the gunshot thing. In fact, it looked more and more likely this was just a straight suicide---If someone had been there and killed him, how would they have left? The car was the weapon.

I checked the will index. His will had been written not too long before the death, which is an obvious indication of suicide. I grabbed my jacket and pulled it over my rainbow alien sweatshirt, then thought to stick my pocketknife in my desk drawer.

"Gonna run down to the courthouse, Zach," I said.

"Have fun," Zach said.

I went through security at the courthouse, and over to the prothonotary's office. They found the right file for me, and I stuck the microfiche in the machine, and they left me alone. I looked up a moment later and realized that they'd all gone out on a break, letting me run around this government office all by myself. It's interesting being me sometimes.

I looked at the coroner inquest on the microfiche for a moment. It always sort of amazes me, how easy this stuff is to find. I get a question about a decades-old death, and it's right there. All I have to do is look.

The coroner report confirmed most of what I'd already found out. He'd been found dead in the home in Gallagher Township, with the vehicle still running and piping CO2 through a hole cut into the wall. Blood tests confirmed that the carbon monoxide was all that was in his system. Case closed.

The helicopter, though. What was it bothering me about the helicopter?

I was halfway back to the library before I got it.

Chris walked in when I was back at my desk, looking over a flight map I had left over from my Piper days. "Working on anything new, Lou?" he asked.

"Funny you should ask. The mom of one of Paul's little friends asked me to look into the suicide of her grandfather. I think he was a UFO."

"Well, now you're gonna have to explain that."

"He did definitely commit suicide---I can rule that part out. But he used to fly military helicopters, doing all sorts of screwy things with them. She told me he landed one on the roof of his car dealership. The timeframe works out. He died at his summer home in Gallagher Township, which isn't exactly on the way to Renovo, but close. I checked my maps---There's a military training flight pattern between Gallagher and Renovo. He wouldn't have been above flying around and screwing with people, and they might not have recognized a military helicopter offhand."

"Wouldn't they have heard some sound?"

"Maybe. I admit I'm not certain about this. But I think Sarah's grandfather was RB-75, because the only other explanation I have is actual aliens. And even for Renovo, that'd be weird."

 I peeled the velcro patch off the backing, and applied it to the pocket of my tac vest. The patch, in bright blue letters, said EMF. I had several like it, with different labels. With the pocket flaps closed, they weren't visible, but they'd be an aid in finding all my own equipment.

I looked the thing over. Excellent tactical vest, attached equipment belt. Alien patch, extra pouches, all the useful modifications I'd been adding.

Now I just needed the opportunity to use it.

Paul came into my office. "Daddy? Are you busy?"

"Not really. What's up?"

"I was wondering if I could go down to my friend's house."

I stood up.

"Sure," I said. "I'll walk you down. I need to talk to Sarah anyway, tell her I can answer her questions."