Charles Grant - The X-Files - Goblins

In Elly Lang’s apartment, the telephone rang.

Mulder knew that Scully was about to tug on the reins, haul him in before his excitement got the best of him. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help the way his hands moved, darting from the notes on the place mat to his uneaten sandwich to tracing diagrams in the air only he could see.

“Civilian, first.” He made sure they were listening with a look and a gesture. “Dr. Elkhart has no influence over military personnel without Major Tonero. And Tonero isn’t about to use the military for project experiments. If it blew up, he’d lose his ticket to whatever election he’s hoping to win when he retires.”

Hank gaped, astonished. “How—”

“Us, second.” He touched Scully’s shoulder to keep her attention, and looked at Andrews. “It wasn’t magic that told the goblin where we were yesterday. It wasn’t magic that told the goblin where Carl would be last night.” He scratched through his hair, then slapped it impatiently back into place. “Somebody knows us. Somebody who knows where we are most, if not all, of the time.”

“Damn,” Hank said. “Somebody who even knows what the hell we had for breakfast!”

It was all Mulder could do to keep the young man from jumping out of his seat.

“Right,” Scully said, her eyes slowly widening. “And she was supposed to have a date with him last night. It was in his notes.” She slipped out of the booth and grabbed her shoulder bag. “We talk to her now. Before—”

“Absolutely,” Mulder agreed. “But not for the reason you think.”

“But it has to be,” Andrews protested. “God, it all fits. She’s alone, so she comes and goes whenever she wants and nobody to question her, she has that equipment to keep in shape—” She grabbed Webber’s arm, to pull him from the booth. Her voice began to rise. “She—”

Scully silenced her with a harsh wave and stared at Mulder. “Well?”

He moved more slowly, wincing when his side stabbed him again, dragging his coat along behind him. “She’s not going anywhere, Scully.” He tilted his head toward the window. “It’s still too light.”

He urged the others ahead with a nod, then tugged on Scully’s coat to keep her back.

“It’s not her,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“How can you know that?”

He shook his head — tell you later — and gestured to Webber to cover the back, Andrews to stay outside.

“I don’t know,” Scully said, following him into the office.

“Three against one?” He banged the counter bell. “Come on, that’s a bit much, don’t you think?”

“She’s psychotic,” she reminded him when he hit the bell again. “And she’s strong, Mulder.” Her hand slipped into her purse, and didn’t come out.

Mulder struck the bell once more, then rounded the counter and pushed through the beaded curtain. “Mrs. Radnor?” A staircase immediately to his left was dark. From the room at the back he heard muffled music, and hurried down the short hall.

“Mrs. Radnor!”

He stepped into the room, where the motel owner pumped furiously on a stationary bike, headphones on, listening to music from a cassette player lashed to the handlebars. She started when she saw him, her eyes wide and mouth open when she saw Scully, and the drawn gun.

“What the hell?” She held up one hand while the other very slowly pulled the headphones off and switched off the player. “Mr. Mulder, what’s going on?”

“You don’t seem terribly broken up about Carl Barelli,” Scully said, keeping the gun at her side.

Mrs. Radnor tried to speak and couldn’t; she could only look at Mulder for help, and an explanation.

He grabbed the handlebars and leaned toward her. “Mrs. Radnor, I haven’t got time to explain, but I need to know something.”

“Hey, I run a clean place here,” she said. “You can’t—”

“Frankie Ulman.”

“I — what about him?”

“You told Agent Andrews you saw the corporal bring a date here every so often.”

The woman nodded, her hands shifting to grip the towel draped around her neck.

“You told her you didn’t know who the woman was.”

“Well… yes.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t have time, for one thing.” She forced a laugh. “She was in such a hurry, I don’t think we talked more than five or ten minutes.”

Mulder frowned, but shook it off. “You lied, Mrs. Radnor,” he said carefully, and shook the bike slightly when she started to protest. “You knew who it was. You know just about everyone around here, and you knew who it was.”

She mopped her face, a stalling tactic, until Scully cleared her throat and made sure she remembered the gun. “I don’t want to get people in trouble, you know? It’s bad for business. Word gets around and—”

“Mrs. Radnor,” he snapped, “we don’t have time for this, okay? I’m only going to ask you once: Who was that woman?”

When she told him, he whirled. “Scully, get the car and Webber.” He turned back as Scully charged from the room. “Mrs. Radnor, I have a favor to ask.”

“What?” She couldn’t believe it.

He smiled, and she softened almost immediately. “I need to borrow your car.”

“What?” This time she almost yelled.

Jesus, woman, he thought, would you please stop—

“Commandeer,” he said quickly. “I must commandeer your car.”

Her face brightened. “Wow. You mean, like in the movies.”

“Exactly.” He took her arm and pulled her gently from the bike. “Just like the movies.”

“But you had two—”

“The other one was shot up. But you know that already, right?”

Excited, flustered, she fumbled in her purse, held out the keys, and snapped them back. “Is this one going to get shot up?”

“I sincerely hope not,” he said truthfully, took the keys from her hand before she could change her mind, and ran.

“But what if it is?” she yelled after him.

“The President will buy you a new one!” he yelled back, slammed through the front door, and grabbed the edge to swing him back inside.

“Pink,” Mrs. Radnor called. “It’s the pink Caddy in back.”

Pink, he thought as he ran out again; terrific.

And thought terrific again when the storm finally broke, and broke hard.

“Vincent?” Scully gripped the dashboard as Mulder squealed out of the parking lot. The Caddy took a second to grip the slick tarmac and soon lost the Royal Baron in a swirling, twisting mist. “Officer Maddy Vincent?”

Webber and Andrews followed behind, their car nothing more than a smear of headlights.

Despite the storm, Mulder didn’t bother to check his speed. Either what traffic there was got out of his way, or it didn’t, it was their choice. He had a difficult enough time seeing through the rain.

“It’s why Carl wanted to talk to her,” he explained. “He wanted what he thought she knew about who was what, where, at the time of the killings.” He grunted as the car threatened to fishtail. “Who else knows where all the cops will be, Scully? Who else knew where we would be yesterday?”

“Mulder, that’s not enough.”

He knew that. “Watch your back.”

“Huh?”

“The goblin said ‘Watch your back’ to me, out there in the woods. Just before I was clobbered. This morning, on the way back from Tonero’s, Vincent told Spike to watch his back.” He glanced at her. “The same voice, Scully. It was the same voice.”

He plowed through a lane-wide puddle, sending a wave soaring over the shoulder onto someone’s front lawn.

Ahead, a pickup doused the windshield with backspray, and he cursed as he set the wipers to their highest speed.