The Tales of Poncho Villa continue in Part 2 of our story, “SETI”. Read on after the jump.
Vin Scully Gibson didn’t have to be in the FBI.
His mother, a tremendous fan of the Los Angeles Dodgers, taught Vin how to hit, pitch, field, and throw. (The running came naturally.) Pretty soon, he was a baseball – not to mention track – star in high school, even being drafted in the 28th round of the Draft by the Angels.
But instead, partially due to his mother going missing for two weeks before being found, perfectly alive and well, in her home – Gibson had been certain that that was an alien abduction – it was off to study astronomy and cryptozoology in and training for the FBI at Quantico.
And after over twelve years of training and ten years in the FBI – three in Washington, seven in Denver – here he was, on the back of a large condor, gliding down from a height of three-thousand five-hundred feet above the ground.
As they reached the ground, Poncho Villa returned to his human form (and oddly enough, his human clothing), and a bewildered and beleaguered Gibson began a cycle of kissing the ground and giving the sign of the cross. “So, you’re a shape-shifter; anything else you can do?”
“You shall see in due time,” Poncho Villa said. “Now, where did this death occur?”
“In Los Alamos,” Gibson said, “but it’s over three-hundred miles away – though I assume that’s not a problem for you, is it?”
“You are correct, that is not a problem for me. Take my hand.”
Just as begrudgingly as he grabbed onto his poncho, Gibson took to Poncho Villa’s hand, and flew through a vortex of blue and purple. He could feel his body become stretched into nothingness, and then back into his solid form, right where the death occurred at the VLA.
“How…how…how…” Gibson stammered.
“Simple: I have the ability to be in multiple places at the same time; therefore, for a split second I was both at the foot of the cliff we were just at and here in Los Alamos – then moved in totality here,” Poncho Villa said.
“Then how did I get here?”
“A perquisite of the so-called inmortales: I can bring along guests if need be.”
“Oh, sort of like Side-Along Apparation, I guess,” Gibson said, sounding like an absolute Harry Potter fanboy in the process.
“I know not of what you speak,” said Poncho Villa, sounding like an alien in the process. “Now, where was the body?”
“About three feet away from where you’re standing.”
Poncho Villa walked that three feet, inspected the area in a seemingly cursory fashion, and had a twinkle in his eye.
“I know how this man died. And who he was murdered by.”
“How do you know this through looking at the crime scene for no more than, I don’t know, three seconds?” Gibson said. (In actuality, it was fifteen seconds, not three.)
“The man who died here, based on the DNA analysis left at the scene” – which consisted of no more than five strands of hair and a few droplets of sweat, which were already absorbed in the soil – “was named Pedro Alvarez, age 22, a carpenter from Las Cruces. His murderer – presumably via poisoning, though that could be confirmed in some sort of morgue – is named Guillermo Garcia, age 37, a newspaper owner from Santa Fe.”
“What DNA evidence is there to see – and how do you know that without access to immense databases?”
“If I tell you, Agent Gibson, I need your absolute word that you will not tell a single soul – in the Bureau, among your family and friends, anyone.” Gibson nodded.
“My so-called inmortales were dispatched from the galaxy Vega when word came out that the Milky Way galaxy was being formed. A coalition was formed to inhabit a few of the planets with life, give others the potential thereof, and leave some for future use in other endeavors. We guided the creation of the planets, including Earth, along with its habitation by flora and fauna, including humans, and development of civilizations. Through a series of committees, we developed what you know of today as life.
“Some of my people remained here in a permanent position as continual developers on-site, given powers to develop the area around us. This includes – in this case – magnification of vision and encyclopedic knowledge of a database of all life previously on Earth, living on Earth at this moment, and life to be in the future.”
“So, how do I tell the folks in Denver about this?” Gibson said.
“Simple, Agent Gibson,” Poncho Villa said. “Tell them that you have a hunch, furthered by evidence in the morgue.”
“And I’m supposed to believe all of this, why?” Agent Kenneth Bontemps said, after receiving news from Agent Gibson that his open-and-shut death by heat stroke of a Mexican trying to cross the border has now become a murder of a New Mexican at the Very Large Array.
“I had a hunch about all this, and lo and behold, Forensics ran a few tests, collected evidence, and confirmed it,” Gibson said, repeating, almost to a ‘T’, Poncho Villa’s advice.
“But why were they there, in Los Alamos?” Bontemps said.
“Alvarez was working on an expansion of the SETI complex, when he found that it was bankrolled largely by Garcia – and supported by his paper, after massive dissent from the Los Alamos residents – to find the source of los inmortales, and to find immortality himself. He wanted to blow the whistle on it elsewhere, but was killed before he got the chance.”
“So Garcia’s another one of these crazies?”
“I wouldn’t use the term ‘crazy’. He’s just…a believer.”
“Whatever. Anyway, looks like we gotta go to Santa Fe now and book Garcia,” Bontemps said, begrudgingly.
“At least we won’t have to worry about bad press.”
“Yeah, we know it’s comin’.”
“I wanted to thank you for all the help you gave – you really solved this murder all by yourself,” Gibson yelled up to Poncho Villa’s at the face of the mountain where they first met.
“You’re very welcome,” Poncho Villa said right next to Gibson, startling Gibson in the process.
“So you’ve got super-hearing, too?!”
“No, but the acoustics at the mountain face are fantastic.”
“In any case, I hope we can continue consulting – I keep your secret, and you aid in solving mysterious crimes.”
Gibson began to walk away, then turned back. “I’ve heard stories from the natives. They call you Poncho Villa – what should I call you?”
“A friend,” Poncho Villa said, before teleporting away.
A new story in the Tales of Poncho Villa will be published next Friday; this Friday, the Making Crap Up series continues with “8 Myths About Bananas that Hollywood Wants You to Believe”.