THE BIG SWITCH by Christopher Leeson Chapter 21

 

12-07-23

THE BIG SWITCH

By Christopher Leeson

Chapter 21

 

The Narrative of D.C. Callahan, continued

I suddenly remembered the old-fashioned steel snow shovel stored in the maintenance closet -- not one of those plastic jobbies they sell down at Costco, but a good, heavy bone-breaker. I dashed down the hall to claim it and returned to the door less than half a minute later, armed and fabulous.

I mean, armed and dangerous.

Just in time! The door swung inward; at the first glimpse of a head poking out, I brought the shovel down.

Clank!

The alien Spielman fell back into the office, as limp as a rag doll. Her gun flew out of her mitt and skidded across the terrazzo floor. I plunged into the room where Martin was duking it out with the false Callahan. Man! He was pummeling my impersonator as if he’d taken lessons from Andy Ruiz Jr!

I hated the idea of my handsome face getting bruised and bloodied, but I knew the score. Meanwhile, Latisha was cringing behind Sheila's desk like the useless politico she still was at heart.

Muttering coming from the hall outside made me go and check both ways. There were people at every office door along both sides of the corridor.

"No problem, folks!" I yelled. "The boys are just going after a rat! Isn't it a crime that we have to do our own pest control?"

I shut the door again, just as Martin shuffled up to me. "A-All right, Sheila, we've got him!"

It looked like he had Callahan down cold on the floor. "Don't say anything," I told him. "People are listening."

"Yeah," wheezed Martin, “okay."

I glanced back at the bogus Callahan. "Keep that monkey quiet," I told Martin, "we don't want him calling for help from those dumbbells outside!"

Martin nodded and fetched some duct tape from Sheila's desk. Meanwhile, I was checking out Leigh's body. No breathing. No pulse.

"Holy shit!" I gasped. "I killed her." To keep from falling down, I staggered back against the door.

Martin caught me before my knees gave out. "Sheila, you couldn't help it!" he was saying.

"That poor, mean-spirited, bad-tempered, frigid girl!” I babbled. “I was waiting for the day when she'd get her head on straight, but now she's dead!"

He shook me and made my teeth rattle. "It’s not Leigh! Its an assassin from outer space. You're a heroine."

Though my eyes burned and my breath came in tremulous snatches, I slowly got hold of myself.

I said shakily. "Everybody and his uncle is going to say that I should get the chair!"

Martin frowned. "Sheila, listen. The police work in this city is terrible. We'll just dump her body somewhere and Leigh Spielman will a boring statistic by the time some Maryland camper digs her up."

I slumped into Sheila's desk chair and sat with my face in my hands. Martin put his arm around my shoulders. "It’s terrible, but you're not to blame. I figure that we can pin the killing on Callahan!"

I looked up, horrified. "Pin it on -- who?"

Then I got his drift. In fact, if my double had been planting evidence to make my real self look like a murderer, he'd out-smarted himself. With multiple homicides already on his scorecard, he'd have a hard time beating the Spielman rap. 

But this was the dilemma: I wanted back into my old life, but the last couple days had smashed that old life of mine to smithereens. I wasn’t sure what I should do.

"Your first idea is best, Martin," I muttered. "Like you say, take Leigh somewhere and dump her! But I don’t like blaming things on Callahan. The real man was a sweet guy and if we hurt him, we hurt his family. We need to come up with another story."

"What other story?"

"I don't know."

"Were you able to get the evidence out of the dumpster?" he asked.

Giving a shudder, I said, "No. The rot and the odor was too much for me. I guess I'm not as tough as I thought."

He smiled. “I’m not surprised. You're the wrong type to be getting involved in his dirty stuff."

"No, Martin! I’m on the spot and I have to see it out," I told him. "Is there any booze around here? I’ll need a big one if I’m going to do what I have to do."

He was looking down at the dead girl again. "I don't like breaking the law," he said, "but I'll do it. For Callahan's sake."

“Well, just the kind of scum that makes the laws around here and it ought to be a lot easier,” I told him.

With a shake of his head, Martin sneaked the stiff to the back to the fire escape, unobserved as far as we could tell. With Leigh Spielman off on her last date, I took stock.

From what I'd overheard the aliens right, they hadn't reported to their bosses. That means that only the Callahan guy is left to finger us to the space invaders. Unfortunately, killing him was out of the question so long as he was wearing my body. I needed to get that body back!

I called Latisha into the reception room and got her help in snagging the prisoner into the main office. Now that he was sprawled on the floor, I had to face the tricky part. I had to do some parallel parking with him without so I could switch us back. But that would leave a possessed Sheila on the loose while I'd be left tied, gagged, and at her mercy. Not good! Think, Callahan, think!

Then the solution slammed me in the noggin. I got Latisha's help in stripping off his duds, a thing she didn’t seem to mind doing at all. Then I cut the man's tape bindings with a jackknife and replaced them with lengths of strong cord we had on a spool. This time, though, I was using a special removable knot that I’d learned from an amateur magician, so that Callahan could get himself free in a jiffy.

Now that he was down to his boxer shorts I felt queasy. Were my thighs really that thin and hairy? If real girls had rated that body the way I was rating it, no wonder I I hadn’t been getting very many Happy Hours. On the other hand, Latisha seemed turned on by what she saw. The Martians had really done a good job of twisting her mind.

"Yuh is a woman afta mah own heart!" she said. "De only ting Ah cain't understand is why a fancy lady lak yuh gits de hots fo' a bad-ass dude lak dat!"

Agitated and short of breath, I gasped out the explanation: "You don't understand. The nutty way he's acting isn't what Callahan normally does. But it’s normal for him to go crazy if he’s not getting the right kind of sex and plenty of it. You'll see a big change in him once I deliver what a real man needs."

"If'n dat's so, why dontcha let me do it instead? For dis, I’m the doctor in da house."

She had a point there, but that idea was a no-go for me. "He's my man and I’m not letting anybody climb on him except me. Got that, lady?"

She showed me her palms and backed off. "Sheesh! Hab it yor own way, Sweetie!"

My next problem was making myself feel sexy about a hairy guy with skinny thighs. The aliens had told me that the treatment I got was going to make me into a nymphomaniac, but I sure didn’t feel like one just then.

"Latisha," I began tentatively, "could you get him -- excited -- for me. When I start, I want to come on and finish it off fast."

The black girl blinked in puzzlement. "Well, Ah guess Ah'll jes' nebber undastand yuh white folks. Since y'busted me outta dat cop tank, dough, an' yuh 'uz such a good friend ta Blackjack, Ah I figure Ah owes yuh one!"

To make a long story short, when the alien woke up Latisha was on him like a hog going to slop. She wasn’t showing him much mercy, but from all I could

 tell, the fake Callahan wasn’t feeling much pain.

Oh, no!

I had suddenly realized that I was taking a big chance! What if the Martian switched with Latisha? If that happened, she’d be free to come after me!

Just like Macbeth, I had to screw up my courage. It was time to get naked!

#

I started shucking off my clothes. "That's enough warm-up," I told Latisha, handing her a pair of handcuffs. "Here, snap these on my wrists, quick, before he settles back down." I obligingly turned around and put my hands behind my back.

"Handcuffs? Baby-o, y'really lak doin' thangs wild!"

"Keep the key and don't lose it," I reminded her. "And don't pay attention to anything I say after I'm finished giving him the works. Having great sex always makes me go nuts."

"Wow!" she said with a blink. "An' Ah taut Ah wuz de baaaaad sister, but yuh could teach me a few things!" She obligingly snapped the cuffs on me.

"Thanks, Latisha,” I said, breathless with either excitement or loathing. “Now, one more thing: Tape my mouth shut and don't take Mr. Gorilla off me until Callahan is up and around and talking like a good guy. Don’t worry about the things I might be saying. Having sex always makes me lose my mind for a little while."

"I didn't know dat dis was da kind o’ fuckin dat white gals did. It shor 'nuff makes me glad dat I'm black. D’ya want me tah let him go affer yuh gits his rocks off?"

"No! He'll be able to untie himself. Once Callahan comes to his senses, he'll remember how to get out of that special knot I used on him." Latisha was still looking like a California politician in the headlights, but she darted off and fetched the tape from the desk without asking any more silly questions.

“Tape my mouth shut,” I told her.

"Tape yor mouth shut? Damn! Hangin' 'round wi' yuh detectives types sho' is an edjacation!"

"Please don’t do anything that will hurt either me or Callahan for the next few minutes."

"I git you, but I don’t git it!

"Put the tape on me," I said impatiently. "I can't do it myself, not with these derbies on my wrists."

She did a double take. "Derbies? I don’t see no hat anywhere, chickadee."

I sighed. "Derbies are what detectives call handcuffs!"

She wrinkled her brow. "Wha fo’?"

"Please, Latisha!"

"Okay, okay. But jes' use the kind o’ English Ah know, so Ah don't git awl mixed up."

She cut a strip of tape off the dispenser and pasted it over my lips. That done, she backed away bemusedly.

"Do yuh uptown people aways do dis when the light are out and da door is closed?"

I nodded.

"'Magin'! If'n the nice gals are all as crazy as you is, wha' do awl de johns wanna come down ta mah part 'o town fo’?"

With a toss of my head I signaled that I wanted Latisha to wait in the other office. I what I had to do next I didn’t want an audience. The black girl left the office and closed the door behind her.

Callahan was conscious and staring at me like a snake, but I'd taken every precaution and now had to get this rotten business over with. I knelt in front of him, but then hesitated. My problem was that there was still too much of the man inside me. I closed me eyes and tried to imagine that the Callahan alien was a girl that I’d just met under a lamppost.

I started rubbing my cheek against his stubbly face and, frankly, it gave me a “yuck” reaction. Where was that Dame Curse when a person really needed it? I wanted to be somewhere else -- anywhere else. For the first time, I understood why so many women refuse to do this sort of work without being paid good money for it.

Suddenly, the alien's arms shot free and he was clutching in a suffocating squeeze. I would have screamed, except that, like an idiot, I'd had myself gagged!

"Too bad, Sweetheart," the Martian said as he shoved me away and got to his feet. "You forgot that I know every thought in your pretty little head. I remembered that trick knot of yours!"

Struggle was useless the way I was fixed up. My face burned with indignation. I was going to die now, and all for the silly reason that I had been too mortified to tell the truth to my best friend.

The phony Callahan suddenly reached down and ripped the tape off my face, almost taking my lips with it!

Latisha heard my yell. "Yuh awl right in dere, sweetie?" she inquired through the door.

"Tell her it's all okay or I'll kill her," my deadly double threatened.

"It's all right, Latisha!" I shouted. "Doing it this way just feels so good that I had to scream. I screamed so loud that my gag came off."

"Do yuh want me ta put it back on?"

"No, that's okay. I don't need it anymore!"

"Okay, suit yorself!"

Now that Latisha had settled down, my captor sneered and poked my hip with his toe. "You are just so dumb, chicklet!"

"Hey, what if I slipped up!" I said. "I can't think of everything! I've had a lot on my mind lately."

He sneer became a smirk. "This is one hell of a way for D.C. Callahan to cash in -- as a jingle-brained twist."

I flared. "I hate being called cute names!"

He cocked an ironic eye. "I’m just talking the way you talked."

"I knew how to talk like an urbane, lovable man-about-town! You talk like a jerk!"

"Sorry, Babe, I can't turn the faucet off. Wearing this body, the lingo comes naturally."

"There's nothing natural about you! Just answer me one question."

"What?"

"Where do you come from?"

"My race is from a planet in a star system that you can't possibly have heard of."

"Well, duhhh. I didn't suppose you were Lithuanian!"

"Quit stalling, Callahan. I have to kill you; that’s just the way it is."

"But why be in such a hurry? Do you have an appointment or something?"

Without replying, he went over to Martin's desk and picked up Spielman's gun.

"I’ll give you credit for one thing -- you’re capable of causing a lot more trouble that I would have given you credit for."

"Yeah, well, trouble is my specialty.”

"Stow it I’ve got a busy day. I have to kill your partner and then find B.J. so I can kill her, too."

"You've got a full itinerary."

He snorted. "Covering up mistakes is hard work."

"Wow! Sometimes you aliens sound so much like Democrats."

"No more talk!" he snarled. "Just so you know it, your plan never could have worked. Sex only makes the transfer of our bio-plasmatic memory engrams easier; it doesn't force it to happen. I can bang all day without ever switching."

"All day?"

"A pity I’m too rushed to give you a demonstration."

"Why be such a gentleman? You could make today something to email home about.”

He laughed. "Is there anything you wouldn’t do just to stay alive for another ten seconds?"

I forced a contemptuous smirk. "Ten seconds? A second ago you were talking about ‘all day.’"

My impersonator laughed again. I gave his weasel face a glim, trying to come up with a good idea how to play him.

"What are you waiting for, big guy? Here I am, handcuffed, naked, and helpless."

No dice. The only rod he was pointing at me was a metal one.

"I got no time for parlor games, sister. Any last words?"

I stared into his face, formerly my_ face. "Sure. Give me time to compose something that will live through the ages."

He shook his head took aim.

"Okay, okay!” I said. “Last words. Something quick. I mean, something _average_ quick. Let me see...ahh." I closed my eyes, trying to pull a catchy epithet out of the hat.

Rats! Nothing worthy of Shakespeare was coming to mind, so I just shrugged and said what was at the top of my head.

Or was it at the top of my heart?

"Goodbye, Martin, wherever you are. I love you!"

My evil twin snorted. "Ain't that sweet! Well, that’s it! Farewell, my lovely. . . ."

Suddenly, the door swing open, its glass breaking as it slammed into the wall.

A gunshot exploded and the hardware in the alien's fist leaped away like a frisky trout. The false Callahan glanced about for a weapon and grabbed the high-school football trophy off Dewitt’s desk. Martin, my would-be rescuer, snapped off another shot, but his lousy aim only managed to put a spider web of cracks into the plaster wall behind the assassin's head.

"No, Martin, don't kill him!" I pleaded.

Dewitt came at the body snatcher using his roscoe like a blackjack. When the alien swung the trophy at him, Dewitt swerved, catching only a glancing blow on one arm. Before the bad guy could regain his balance, Martin brained him with his piece and drove home a knuckle sandwich. That one-two punch knocked the spaceman for a loop, but the crafty saucer-jockey kicked Martin's legs out from under him on his way down. They both landed hard and started to struggle for control of the smoking popper.

As for me, I was still checkmated by the steely grip of my nippers but, fortunately, a Latisha barged in just then.

"Latisha! Get the gun!" I yelled. "Shoot the -- shoot Callahan!"

She stared wide-eyed. "Ah don't wanna touch no gun!"

"Then get the handcuff key! Get me out of these things!"

She hovered indecisively. "Y'said not ta listen ta you!"

"That was before!"

She nodded. "Okay!"

The black girl fumbled the key into one of the shackle locks. "First y'wanna be in bracelets, den y'want out! Den doz two handsome white guys start fightin' agin! Jes' wha' is it dat's wrong wi' yuh, people?"

While Latisha was chattering, the phony Callahan, now on top of Martin, was forcing the gun barrel to the Belgian’s temple and struggling for control of the trigger.

When the hooker-wannabe popped one of my bracelets, I made a leap to snatch up the alien's dropped Betsy. I guess I wasn't thinking, because I pulled the trigger with a direct aim at the alien's head.

Damn me for getting all that target practice!

Callahan's conk burst like a melon on a firing range.

I screamed with dismay when I realized what I’d done.

The room went dark....

 #

"Sheila!" Martin was yammering. "Are you okay?"

My unfocused dead-lights were staring at him. When I could see properly, I was in the desk chair and Martin had hold of me as if he was trying to take my pulse.

"Is...is he dead?” I asked, scarcely able to breathe.

Martin took one look at stiff on the floor from where we were sitting, and then shook his head. "Oh, yeah, he's had it."

He's had it?

Everything started to go dark again.

"Baby, what is it?"

I moaned, "Whatya think's wrong? I-I've just committed suicide...!"

Once I'd come around, I asked how Martin had gotten back so soon. He told me that  the more he thought about what he was doing, the crazier it all seemed. His misgivings got so bad that he turned around and drove back to the office, gambling on the chance that the two of us could a few years off our sentences for cooperating with the investigation.

Fortunately, things weren’t as bleak as we at first thought.