“Almost as neat as your story,” the owner avowed. “But I still think you folks have come across a real dead alien. I know they do remarkable work in Hollywood these days, but that ain’t no computer graphic denting your carpet, and I don’t think it’s no prop, neither. Martha! Get yourself out here and have a look at this.”

Ross Ed stepped past him. “Sorry, but we really have to be on our way.”

“That’s right,” agreed Caroline. “See, we’re on our way to … to Denver. I’ve got a modeling job up there and my boyfriend—”

“Is going to join me inside. Just as you are, young lady.” The revolver he’d pulled from a shoulder holster shone as bright, clean, and efficient looking as anything the army had pointed in Ross’s direction.

Sure am seeing a lot of handguns here lately, Ross Ed mused, remembering Lordsburg.

“Now just a minute…!” Caroline rook a step forward, halted when the weapon’s muzzle swung in her direction.

“You can have all the minutes you want, missy, so long as you do as I say. That way nobody’ll get hurt. I don’t want anybody to get hurt.” Gesturing with the pistol, he herded them toward the store. As he complied, Ross Ed raised his hands.

“You crazy?” The owner gestured a second time with the weapon. “Put your hands down. You want to attract attention? How’d you two happen to come across a dead alien, anyhow?”

“It’s his.” announced Caroline, abruptly passing the conversation to her companion.

“It’s a long story,” Ross Ed began. “No, actually it’s kind of a short story, but there are a lot of details.”

“Save it. You’ll make a full report later. I really don’t want to shoot either of you, but I will if you force me. This is too important to play around with. See, I’ve been waiting more than thirty years for something like this to happen. Traveled quite a bit in search of it, too, and then it ups and presents itself to me right here in my front yard. Sometimes the fates are kind.”

“Kind of loony,” Caroline quipped.

Ross was shaking his head slowly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister.”

“You will.” Again he yelled toward the store. “Martha, dammit, get out here!”

“Hold your water, you old fart! I’m coming.” Emerging from within, the woman Ross Ed had seen stacking canned seafood hustled over to the van, opened the door, and peered inside. She spent a long time looking. The twelve-gauge Mossburg riot gun she held in one hand hung loose from her fingers.

“That’s a dead alien, all right. A real one. Knew somebody’d find one someday. Just didn’t expect it drive in here and ask for gas, as it were.”

“So what now?” snapped Caroline. “You’ve found what you say you’ve been looking for for thirty years. What happens next? What happens to us?”

The owner smiled at her as they resumed their escorted march toward the entrance. “Nothing unpleasant, as long as you cooperate. Where are the keys?”

“In the ignition.”

He nodded, shouted back over his shoulder. “Keys are in the ignition, Martha! Be sure and lock it up good.”

His wife’s voice drifted over to them. “I’ll just move it around back, Walter.” Moments later Ross Ed could hear the Ford starting up.

“Step on inside and we’ll have us a chat.” The owner gestured with the impressive handgun. “Don’t let me forget, son: I owe you change out of that thirty.”

“Don’t worry, Walter.” Ross Ed glared back at their captor. “I won’t forget any of this.”

“That’s it,” Caroline whispered, nudging him in the ribs. “Put him at ease, make him feel better about this.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m not feeling real accomodating right now.”

“Then don’t worry about accommodating him. Just accommodate the gun.”

As his wife entered through a back door Walter directed them to a couch surrounded by fishing gear and gaudy boxes of candy and cookies. “You need to make some phone calls, dear. Is the fax working?”

“I’m sure it is.” Setting the riot gun down but keeping it close at hand, the woman slid into a chair fronting a computer and monitor. Her fingers-danced on the keyboard and the screen changed. Ross Ed squinted but couldn’t make out the readout.

“Who’re you calling?” Caroline asked.

“Just some friends who think the way we do and share similar interests. It’s sort of a club.”

“Then you’re not calling the police?” Ross Ed eyed her husband uncertainly.

“Should I?” Walter chuckled softly. “Most likely they’d help themselves to your alien. Is that what you want?”

“No.”

“Us neither.”

“Oh, so you want it for yourself!” Caroline declared accusingly.

Ross Ed leaned close. “That’s it. Put him at ease, make him feel better about this.” She glared at him but said nothing.

“I wouldn’t put it quite like that, missy. Can I get you something to drink? Coffee, a soda? I have to help Martha with the calls. We don’t want to waste any time.”

“Oh, surely not,” Caroline agreed sarcastically.

“Nothing for me, but thanks.” Ross settled down into the old, overstuffed couch.

“You’re welcome.” The owner turned to his other captive. “Missy?”

“I’ll have a soda. Any kind of cola is fine, so long as it has caffeine and refined white sugar.”

“With ice?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” He headed for a tall, glass-faced refrigerator. “Please don’t make a dash for the door. I’m a very good shot, and if you’re lying on the floor twisting in pain, you won’t enjoy your soda as much.” He winked at Ross Ed. “Don’t worry, son. I’ll take it out of your change.”

Instead of replying, Ross yawned helplessly. Returning with the cold can, which he passed to a grateful if wary Caroline, the owner regarded his heavy set guest.

“You look all done in, son. When’s the last time you had a decent sleep?”

“Not that long ago.” Unable to stop himself, he yawned again. Instinctively. Caroline mimicked him. “It’s just that my system’s kind of out of whack. I’ve been driving at night and sleeping during the day.

Walter nodded. “I guess we can fix that.” He indicated a rear door. “We’ve goi a couple of bunks in back, for visiting friends. Why don’t you go lie down?”

Too tired and confused to argue, Ross decided he might as well comply. After a decent nap he’d try to think of something. It would also be easier to come up with a solution to their present predicament if he had some idea as to just what the hell this charming country couple was up to. But as he escorted them toward the back room, Walter simply grinned and offered vague promises of incipient revelation.

“You’re sure you’re not going to call the police while we’re asleep?” Gingerly, Ross tested the springs on the bunk. They creaked, but held.