She saw that he was looking past her, into the closet. “I didn’t mean to touch it. It was an accident. I just wanted to get new pillows for you.”

“No problem.” He started to put a hand on her shoulder, changed his mind. The well-meaning gesture had a tendency to intimidate instead of reassure people. “Something happened, didn’t it, when you touched the figure?” At the look on her face he smiled again. “Go ahead, tell me: I won’t laugh.”

The maid spoke slowly. “I thought it looked interesting. I was going to get you some new pillows, and I touched it.”

“Yes, you’ve already said that. Calm down, ma’am. Everything’s okay. Now, you saw something. Pictures in your mind that were new to you?”

Her eyes widened again. “Yes. I seemed to be someplace else. Dios, I seemed to be somebody else.” She gestured into the closer. “What is that thing?”

He thought fast, the speed of his response helped by the fact that he’d given some thought to the matter already. “It’s a new kind of electronic toy.” He fought to recall what he’d recently seen on television. “You’ve heard of virtual reality?”

She shook her head. “No sir, I haven’t.”

“You put these special goggles on and they send you into another, imaginary world.” He indicated the corpse in the closet. ‘his is like that, only they put it in a doll’s body instead of a helmet and goggles. To make it seem more alien. All you have to do to see the pictures is touch it.” Stepping past her, he reached in and ran a hand over Jed’s faceplate. “There, I’ve turned it off. Shouldn’t have left it on. Go ahead,” he urged her. “You can touch it now and nothing will happen.” I hope, he added silently.

Slowly, uncertainly, she reached for the diminutive body. Ross Ed tried not to hold his breath. Her fingers contacted the middle arm … and drew back. The relief on her face was palpable.

“I see. It is very new, this toy?”

“Very new. Not really on the open market yet. Impressive, isn’t it? It’s intended for adults, not kids.”

“I can see that. Can … can I try it again?”

“Uh, I’m afraid not. It uses a special rechargeable battery and I left the charger in my car. Maybe some other time. Now, you go on with your work.” He motioned for her to leave.

“But, sir, I haven’t finished your room yet.”

“I just came back to drop off these groceries and pick up a few things. I’ll be out in ten minutes and then you can have the place to yourself.” He picked up the vacuum and shooed her outside, shutting the door on her bemused expression.

Would the story he’d hastily concocted satisfy her? He wondered what she’d seen. A vast astronomical panorama … or something else? Something new and different? His gaze wandered to the closet and its sole uncomplaining occupant.

“Well, Jed, I guess we’re lucky she wasn’t the house detective. What the blazes are we going to do with you? Can’t have you sitting around frightening the hired help.” The unmoving alien corpus offered no response.

Ross Ed had thought his companion safe. Obviously that was no longer the case. Next time the maid might come back with fellow workers, or maybe the manager. Among them might be someone who wouldn’t accept facile explanations so readily.

He could change motels, but he was moved in, comfortable, and had established a friendly relationship with the management. He liked the location and his room, and the motel was convenient to everything. He couldn’t afford the Sheraton.

He put the matter to his companion, who as usual had no suggestions. Since there were no objections from the alien quarter, he decided to stay. The maid seemed to have accepted his explanation. Unless she brought it up again, he’d proceed on that assumption.

Meanwhile something would have to be done about Jed. It wouldn’t do to have a procession of curious maids fumbling around the alien. The trunk of the Caddy was a safe place, but it could get seriously hot in there and he’d found the body in a cold cave. He didn’t know how well the corpse could tolerate extremes of temperature. And there was always the possibility of car thieves.

The only way he could be sure of the alien’s safety was to have him someplace where he could keep an eye on him. He tried to remember his father’s hunting lessons. What was it the old man had said about “hiding in plain sight”?

FOUR

Walter Siminowski hailed from Cleveland and sold medical instruments city to city, hospital to hospital. He didn’t much like El Paso, finding the pace of urban life slow and the ambience as dry as the weather. But the Southwest was his territory and he could sell only so many devices in Las Vegas and Reno. He would have preferred California, which was a sales territory unto itself, but that bastard Novak still ranked him. Someday, he told himself, dreaming of beaches and starlets.

Siminowski was good at his job and made a nice living, but like so many in similar circumstances he hated the constant traveling. Fortunately for him and his colleagues, the electronic marketplace still had a long way to go before it found a way to replace the traveling salesman. Hospital managers weren’t ready to buy the latest in bulk instrument sterilizers through a catalog, no matter how glossy. They wanted hands-on demonstrations of electronic efficacy.

He was pretty much done here, unless there were any messages waiting for him up in the room. That meant time enough for a two-drink afternoon instead of one. First thing in the morning he’d push off for Albuquerque.

With a grunt he put the sports section from USA Today aside, wondering if the Cavaliers would ever be healthy for the play-offs. His attention wandered absently around the room, passing over the nattering televisions suspended from the ceiling, the many small, round, and largely unoccupied tables, until it came to rest on the bar. Specifically, on the odd object on the back counter.

It sat propped up between a tall bottle of golden yellow Frangelico liqueur and a lighted Budweiser bas-relief of Clydesdales and beer. Siminowski stared at it for a long time, occasionally pausing to sip at his drink. When he’d inhaled the last of the liquid residue, he picked up the glass and ambled over to the counter. There were plenty of empty stools and he chose one directly across from the entity.

A couple of fellow travelers were seated several stools to his right. Their uniforms (conservative suit and tie, too much hairspray, white shirts laundered to the point where it was the starch and not cotton fiber that held them together, shoes that would stink of airports) marked them as migrating businessmen like himself. Farther down, a pair of army types were chatting up the young woman seated between them.

It was just after five. Soon now people would be coming in from work, ready to relax with a drink or two before dinner. The bar would get noisy, the restaurant next door would get busy, and he wanted to get to bed soon enough to rest up for the early flight next morning.

Bui his curiosity had a tight grip on his imagination and refused to let go.

He sat and nursed his empty glass and stared. Three legs hung over the edge of the shelf on which the object had been propped. Even within the integrated boots, the feet looked funny. Of the three arms, the right one was looped around the slim Frangeligo bottle, the left rested atop the Budweiser sign, and the one in the middle relaxed in what passed for a lap. Stiff and erect, the head and its reflective eye surfaces seemed to stare right past him.

“Excuse me?”

Responding, the bartender, who looked big enough to play pro football, ambled over. “What’ll you have, sir?” Siminowski instantly recognized the lazy Texas drawl.

Mesmerized by the figure seated on the back counter, the salesman took a moment to think. “Jack on the rocks.”

“Right away, sir.” Like a magician working the three-cup trick, the bartender made Siminowski’s empty glass disappear.

He returned a moment later with a fresh squat glass full of ice cubes stained brown, which he sat before the salesman on a clean, compact napkin.

Siminowsky extracted a five from his wallet and flipped it onto the counter. “Keep it.”

The bartender nodded appreciatively. “Thanks.” The bill vanished with the same facility as the previous glass.

“Just a minute.” Siminowski gestured and the big man paused expectantly. He wore a western shirt and black jeans. The buckle at his belt looked like it had been run over by a backhoe, not once but several times.

“Something else, sir?”

The salesman raised a finger and pointed. “What is that, anyway?”

“What?” The bartender turned his head and grinned. “Oh, you mean Jed.”

“‘Jed.’ Yeah, I guess I do.”

Ross Ed chuckled gently. “A lot of people ask that question, sir”

“Walter,” the salesman corrected him. “Walter Siminowski, Cleveland.” He extended a hand, which the bartender enveloped in his own.

“Just call me Ross,” the big man replied.

“Okay, Ross. Tell me about that thing. Where’d it come from? How long has it been here? Who does it belong to?”

As Ross Ed was formulating a reply a couple of younger business types claimed the stools on Siminowski’s left. Their ties were undone and the top buttons of their shirts open. There was no sign of their jackets. Probably left them in their car, Siminowski decided. Their accents marked them as local.

Apparently they’d overheard. “Shoot, man,” declaimed the one nearest the salesman, “don’t you know what that is?” The men exchanged amused expressions. “Thought everyone knew Jed.”