“He tried to tell the detectives in charge of the case, but it didn’t go well. He’s planning to try again.”
“So Fox Mulder is intelligent and persistent? Two qualities I value.” A flicker of what X almost considered a smile pulled at the corner of the smoking man’s mouth. “Let him follow this particular rabbit down the rabbit hole. Give him a little help if he needs it. I’m talking about a nudge, X. Not a push. I want to see how smart the boy really is.”
“Understood.”
“Good.” The boss opened a pack of cigarettes and slid one out. He handed it to X. “You’ve never smoked before, have you?”
“I never had the urge.”
The boss tucked the cigarette in X’s shirt pocket. “Every man should try a Morley once in his life. Consider it a gift.” As he stepped out of the car, he paused and turned to X. “And do try to stay awake. The work we’re doing will change the world, and you have a front-row seat. If you aren’t more careful, you’ll miss it.”
A chill ran up X’s spine. The smoking man shut the car door and strolled off into the darkness, leaving X in a cloud of smoke.
The only trace his boss ever left behind.
CHAPTER 12
Winchester Residence
10:55 P.M.
Mulder and Phoebe sat in the Gremlin under a streetlight in front of Gimble’s house, waiting for him to put the Major to bed so they could leave for the precinct. Once the three of them had hatched their plan, Mulder couldn’t wait to get going. But Gimble wasn’t the holdup.
Phoebe had called the precinct earlier to find out if the Laurel and Hardy detectives were on duty, and their shift didn’t end until ten. Mulder couldn’t afford another run-in with them.
“What’s taking him so long?” He tapped his thumb against the steering wheel.
“No idea,” Phoebe said, changing the radio stations. She bypassed the Bee Gees and Toto and settled on Styx’s “Renegade.”
“You really are the perfect woman.” Mulder smiled at her.
“I know.”
Gimble’s front door flew open and he ran down the sidewalk and stopped next to the car. The Major appeared in the doorway a second later, holding a mop across his chest like a firearm. “Get back in the house, Gary. This is a stage two lockdown.”
Gimble cursed under his breath, then turned around and shouted, “I’m just warning Mulder.”
The Major zeroed in on Mulder. “You need to get back to base, airman. They’re coming. Soon they’ll have all the bones they need.”
Mulder stuck his hand out the window and gave the Major a thumbs-up. “Okay, sir.”
“Who’s coming?” Phoebe looked around.
“The aliens.” Gimble sounded exasperated.
“His dad is a conspiracy theorist,” Mulder explained.
“I picked up on that. Thanks.” She craned her neck to get a better look at the Major.
“He’s more agitated than usual,” Gimble explained. “The cops found the body of a slumlord in Southwest DC. It’s all over the news. The Major is calling him victim number five, and he wants me to find out if the man was missing any bones, even though the news is reporting that he hanged himself with a telephone cord.”
“Why would your dad want to know if the man was missing bones?” Phoebe asked.
“He tracks crime and other weird stuff,” Gimble said. “A couple months back, he read an article about a woman who had been pimping out girls our age. The cops found the woman’s body in a dumpster, and her hand was missing. The Major was convinced it meant something. Then a psychiatrist committed suicide, and the Major found out the guy was missing a bone in his foot. And that’s how conspiracy theories are born.”
“What’s the theory?” Phoebe couldn’t stop herself from asking. She had a little conspiracy theorist running through her blood, too.
“Do you really want to know? Because I feel stupid saying it out aloud.” Gimble flicked his hair out of his eyes to avoid looking at her.
“Yes.” She offered Gimble a sympathetic smile. “And you shouldn’t feel stupid.”
“Say that again in a minute.” He sighed. “The Major thinks aliens are building a cyborg from a human skeleton.”
Phoebe didn’t bat an eye. “Do you think he knows the truth about Elvis?”
“Very funny.” Gimble tried to sound annoyed, but his growing crush on Phoebe won out and he couldn’t pull it off.
“She’s not kidding,” Mulder said. “She thinks Elvis is alive, hanging out in a small town somewhere, flipping burgers.”
“Hardly. The King doesn’t flip burgers. He’s in a diner making peanut butter and banana sandwiches during the day and giving kids guitar lessons on the weekends.” She waved at the Major, who responded by standing straighter. “I’d love to hear your dad’s take.”
“Gary William Winchester! Report to your senior officer immediately!” the Major roared.