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I was almost back to my old self by the time it reached the evening of the next day. I’d eaten plenty. Drunk plenty of water.
Hadn’t smoked.
Queenie had been quiet. She’d given me the cold shoulder since I’d seen her at the gallery and it would be a couple of days before her mood toward me cooled enough for ‘words to be exchanged,’ as she liked to put it. Damned words. She’d shout and all I’d do is apologise and promise never to do it again, even though we both knew I would.
I’d spent the morning responding to messages from Mrs Lafferty about her cat and the, lack of, progress I’d made; she’d been very understanding about the situation, as usual. That damned cat was a nuisance and she openly admitted it.
Mrs Lafferty had also given me a good reason to ignore my partner, not that she’d been speaking to me any way.
Queenie left early that afternoon to visit her sister for the weekend and she wouldn’t be back until Monday morning. As she’d left, she’d made a comment about making sure I’d cleaned myself up by the time she came back. And I had cleaned up, but not for her and probably not in the way she meant. My apartment and office were spotless, for once. No matter. I had other things to attend to.
‘Heard you’re looking for me. Meet me at Callaghan’s Pub, S8, 8pm, Saturday- Regan Bex.’
That had been the message.
It was finally time to meet him.
Callaghan’s Pub, Sector Eight.
I‘d arrived with half an hour to spare and found a seat near the bar with a view of the door; I could keep an eye out for my ‘date’ from there. I’d need to find out how he knew I was looking for him, and why he’d given himself up so easily. It couldn’t be coincidence, not in my line of work. Tonight, would be interesting. Regan Bex may the spawn of Satan, but I couldn’t hold that against him. Not when I was getting paid to find him. Not when I was getting paid to tell him his mother was in a coma.
I sipped at the whiskey I’d ordered.
I wasn’t going to get drunk this evening, just achieve my usual low-level buzz.
And I definitely wasn’t going to smoke. I had quit after all.
I looked around the bar; it was rough, the kind of place you’d expect to be slap bang in the middle of the industrialised Sector Eight. It even seemed to be themed. Deep, albeit fake, woods and iron girders dressed the place and made it look almost like a factory, which was odd, because you’d think this sort of décor wouldn’t be welcomed by a bunch of over-worked hims, hers and thems after long day of working in a similar sort of environment. But Callaghan’s was certainly popular. It wasn’t packed out but there was a constant stream of regulars and drink orders throughout the evening.
I found it strange that someone as rich and posh as I assumed Regan Bex would be, that he’d pick somewhere like this to meet up. And Sector Eight? It wasn’t the poorest sector on the station, that award would go to Sector Six or Seven, but it was one of the dirtiest, given the many factories and warehouses that inhabited it. I’d always found it odd that Sector Three, one of the cleanest and most affluent parts of Space Station Delta, was the next sector over. But the rich had to encounter the poor somewhere, and the connection was certainly useful for Solaris University which took up most of Sector Three. It wasn’t all handshakes and hugs. To keep out the uncultured masses a large fire door connecting the two areas was kept firmly shut at all times and the only way to move between the zones was either via the underway using an autocar or via one of the few smaller access doors that were used by the University. Or you could go the long way around... Eight, Seven, Six, Five, Four, Two, One and then Three.
And Regan Bex, raised by one of the most powerful women in the Solar System in the wealthy Sector One, wanted to meet me, here in Sector Eight.
It best not to assume too much about the man. I’d never met him; I was forming an opinion based on my own preconceptions but, I knew from experience that those preconceptions were likely correct. The upper classes were conditioned to look down on us commoners.
Regan Bex could have just come to me, come to my office rather than meeting somewhere as rough as this bar; there had to be a very good reason for the discretion. I’d keep a low profile, for now. Bex obviously didn’t want to be noticed, that much was certain.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned to see a beautiful face smiling at me. His pictures didn’t do him justice. He looked youthful and healthy, unlike myself, and I found myself instantly attracted to him; I was a little struck by how good looking he was and contemplated the benefits of the privileged life he’d led.
“You must be Jack Gemini,” he said in a smooth buttery voice. “I’m Regan.” He winked and I melted. “Let’s find somewhere out of the way to have a little chat.” He gestured with his head toward the back of the bar, and I was hypnotised by him; I followed without hesitation. He looked just as good from behind. Toned. Svelte.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked.
“All in good time, Jack,” he said with an air of familiarity that seemed natural. He pointed to an empty seat in a booth. “I’ll get us a bottle of something to share.” Every movement he made, every gesture and step were like an elegant dance. Growing up with money, without a care in the world must allow someone to blossom, without the psychological scars of hardship and destitution.
I suddenly realised that I’d been so enraptured by the gorgeous man that I’d left my half empty glass on the bar. It hadn’t seemed important to me in the moment.
He returned with a bottle of red wine and a pair of glasses. He slipped into the booth next to me, close enough to smell his aftershave, and poured us each a serving of the booze. I wasn’t a wine drinker, but I didn’t want to say no, not to him.
“Red wine doesn’t seem like something normally served in a bar like this,” I said.
He tapped my knee and I almost jumped at the sudden contact. “Don’t you worry,” he said. “I had the bartender put some aside for me, just for tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. Our date.”
“Date?!”
Regan winked. “Wine is actually kind of popular here, but I’ll admit, this isn’t exactly the type of wine I’m used to.” He picked up the bottle and studied the label. “It’s just called red wine. No fancy name or year.” He laughed again. “Still, it’s vaguely palatable.”
“I’m here to tell you...”
“Jack,” he said, “let’s just enjoy each other’s company for a little bit first.” He touched my arm as he talked. “Before we get down to business.”
“But...”
“Try some of the wine,” he said. “You haven’t touched a drop yet.”
I took a mouthful, forced myself to swallow. “Vaguely palatable is seriously overselling it.”
He took a sip himself. “Oh, it’s a little... er... vile, isn’t it?”
I shrugged. “It’s alcohol.”
“Yes, I suppose you’re right.” He drank a little more and winced. “It’s alcohol.”
“Listen, Mr Bex; I need you to come with me.”
“Nuh uh.” He waved his finger at me. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Like what?”
“Important things,” he said with a grin. “You’re not the only one working a case.”
“Case?”
“I’ve been undercover,” he said. “You’ve heard of The Church of the Third Encounter, yes?” My ears pricked up. Curious. “And don’t lie, I know you met the esteemed Emmett Greene last night; I had an invite to the same event and saw the guestlist. Obviously, I didn’t attend.”
“Wait a minute, wait a goddamned minute. I’m here for you, not the other way around! Don’t you know what’s happened?”
“No, and I don’t care,” he said.
“Aren’t you following the news?”
He shook his head. “Not really. I haven’t had much of a chance.”
“It...”
“Tell you what,” he said. “You help me, and I’ll help you with whatever you need.”
“I need you to come with me,” I said. Regan knew all about who I’d met yesterday but he didn’t seem to know anything about his mother or what had happened to her. “I’ve been asked by the police to bring you in for protection.”
“Do I look like I need protection?”
“I don’t know! How am I supposed to know that? All I know is that you’re a rich kid in the middle of Sector Eight, somewhere you don’t belong, in a rough bar hiding from something.”
“Only my mother; she likes to meddle and keep me out of trouble.” He winked as if I knew what he meant. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re supposed to bring me in?”
“Not exactly, but I am here because your mother...”
“That can wait,” said Regan. “And, incidentally, I can take care of myself, thank you very much.” He leant in close and whispered. “You’re a private eye, right?”
I felt my cheeks blush. “Yes.” I shouldn’t have been so surprised; he knew Flare’s guestlist after all.
“I told you I’m undercover in The Church of the Third Encounter?”
“Undercover? What’s a civilian, a respectable civilian such as yourself, doing undercover with those nutcases?”
He nodded. “I thought you were supposed to be a good detective?”
“I never said that.”
“It’s in your file.”
“What file?”
“The one my mother has one you; I’ve been following your career pretty closely,” he said with a smirk.
“I’m guessing that’s how you knew I was looking for you.” Given my relationship and history with Dionne Bex, the revelation about the file wasn’t surprising; I’d known she would keep tabs on me after that bullshit with Subject B and the time vortex.
“Not really,” he said. “The guy that forged my ID told me.”
“Gary Emmerson?” I laughed. “He refused to tell me anything about where you were!”
“I can be very persuasive.” His smooth voice turned serious. “And I know how to handle myself.”
“Oh wow,” I stifled a snort. “You really are wet behind the ears when it comes to this goddamn private eye stuff.”
“Hey! I’m new to this! You’ve been doing it years!”
“I’m not that old, kiddo!”
“No, I guess you’re not,” he said. “Seasoned is the word I was looking for.”
“That’s just as bad!”
A sly smile crept up his cheek. “Seasoned is just how I like them.”
“You shouldn’t flirt with your elders.” I sighed. “Listen, Regan, it’s important I bring you in to protect you. I have to tell you about your...”
“How about a compromise?”
“What?”
“You help me with my case,” he said. He shuffled closer. “You can stay close and protect me while we solve it. Together.” He raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Come on, at least, hear me out before making your mind up. Fair?”
“Okay, fair,” I lied. I’d hear him out, just to humour him. Then I’d make sure he came with me. “Let’s hear it.”
His smile remained as he squeezed my leg. “You won’t regret this, I promise!”
“My life is full of goddamned regrets. What’s one more, eh?”
Regan topped up our wine and swivelled in the seat to face me head on. “Okay,” he said with a flashy gesture of his hands. “How much do you actually know about The Church of the Third Encounter?”
“I know Emmett Greene is the leader.”
“We’ll get to Greene,” said Regan. “What do you about the Church itself?”
“They worship aliens, and they send their members out begging for credits. Oh, and they try and convert people to believers.”
The man opposite rolled his eyes. “It’s more than that. They’re not just trying to get new members; they’re out looking for actual aliens.”
“Aliens don’t exist.”
“They’ve found at least one,” he said.
“Let me guess, Emmett Greene?”
Regan nodded. “They believe there’s two competing alien factions that walk among us. One faction is sabotaging the human race to bring about its downfall. The other wants to elevate us to another state of being, save us with their technology.”
“Sounds insane,” I said. “I can probably guess which faction Greene belongs to.”
I received a mocking glare in return before Regan continued. “You might have noticed they’ve become more active of late? Maybe in the last few months?”
I nodded.
“Guess who was put in charge about seven or eight months ago?”
“Like a second coming of Christ?”
“Oh yes,” he said. He leaned back and picked up his wine from the table. “They worship him, you know. Greene.” He swirled the plum liquid around the glass before taking a sip. “And he laps it up.”
“You sound almost jealous.” I aped him, leaning back and taking some the noxious wine between my lips. “Like you want to be worshiped too.”
He flashed me a sideways glance with cheeky grin. “Come on, who doesn’t want to be worshipped?”
I grinned back. “Me,” I said, “But I can certainly see you being worshipped.” I took in his features once more; his face was flawless. “I can almost hear people calling out your name in religious rapture. Praying to you.”
He giggled. “Dirty bastard!”
I needed to put a stop to the flirting; I had to think about Queenie. I cleared my throat. “Anyway, religion isn’t for me.” I sat forward and drank a bit more of the wine. “I’ve got a lot of sins and vices under my belt that wouldn’t mix well with any damned religion on this station. And aliens? No bug-eyed monster is going to save my soul, oh no, never.”
“The church would tell you that you were under the sway of the evil faction,” said Regan. “Or they might even accuse you of being one of them. That’s one of the other reasons they’re out proselytising more and more lately; they think they’ve found their saviour and all they need to do now is find and put a stop to the alien baddies.”
“Wow. They really are goddamned nuts, aren’t they?” I kept thinking that this wasn’t my problem; I had too many cases on the go to get myself drawn into a cult. But there was something there... a connection.
“Oh yes, totally nuts.”
“What do they do with the people they think are under the influence of the bad guys?”
“They’re the ones they want to convert the most; they stalk them at first and then try and bring them in.”
“And what about the people they think are aliens? Bad aliens, I mean?”
Regan shrugged. “That’s one of the things I want to find out.”
“Why?”
“Why is that important? Don’t you want to stop them?”
“Things aren’t always as simple as stopping the bad guys, Regan.” I really wanted a cigarette. “The world isn’t all black and white.”
“Yeah, yeah, there’s always a grey area,” he said, as he rolled his eyes. “One of my philosophy tutors kept saying that during my lessons when I was a teenager.” He sat forward and moved a little closer to me. “But you’ve got to admit that The Church of the Third Encounter is up to no good?”
“They probably are,” I said. “But they’re a big organisation headed by a millionaire. There’s not much we can do to stop them.”
“You said ‘we.’”
“You, I meant you; I haven’t agreed to anything yet.”
“People find them appealing,” said Regan. “The Church offers them hope, gives them a reason for the bad things that are happening and the bad things that have happened. Take Earth, for example, or the power crisis that just keeps getting worse. The ‘bad’ aliens are to blame. The ‘good’ aliens will save them.”
“And that’s why you’re involved? You want to be a social justice warrior and save the world?”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“But your mother is the head of Tribeca Systems? Don’t you get the irony of that?”
He sniggered. “Yeah, but that’s sort of how I got involved in the first place.”
I gave him a puzzled look.
“Don’t get me wrong, I love my mother, but I’ve been trying to take down Tribeca for years. They’re too good at hiding things. Way too good for me to take on. I was snooping and I found a couple of transactions in my mother’s accounts. There might be more, but I don’t have enough access to see that. She’s been making donations to the church.”
“That doesn’t mean anything; maybe she found religion, odd choice though it may be.”
“She’s never been religious,” he said. “She’s too selfish.”
I sighed and leant back. “Listen, Regan.” It was time to break the news. “I need to tell you the reason I’ve been asked to bring you in. It’s about your mother.”
“She put you up to this, didn’t she?”
I shook my head. “Someone tried to kill her.”
“I don’t believe you. I mean, who would want to...”
“You probably know her better than anyone; she isn’t exactly well-liked.”
“But... kill her?” His expression faded, and his voice cracked. “How...?”
“She’s not in a good way,” I said. I studied Regan’s face; it was quickly descending into despair and grief. “Badly injured and in coma.” His eyes glistened; he was on the verge of crying. “I’ve been told she’s critical but well-looked after.”
Regan was shaking. I thought he would cry but he didn’t. He stared into the distance, distracted, shallow breath from his breast. He was trying not cry, not to breakdown and trying to keep his composure.
I placed my hand on his arm and squeezed gently. He was tense but softened under my touch.
The man fell into my arms and began to sob. I hugged him, held him, wrapped my arms around him.
And I took my chance, pulled my handcuffs from my pocket and chained his wrist to mine.
He wasn’t getting away from me.