Free Invaders from the Outer Rim by Eric Coyote, Walt Morton

1

    “You want a fill-up on that coffee, Sheriff?”
    Sheriff Danny Olsen was seated at a booth in Shaw’s Restaurant, enjoying an end-of-shift coffee. He looked up at the waitress and took note of the ample breasts barely contained in Darleen’s stained uniform. Olsen remembered a time thirty years ago when Darleen was crowned queen of the annual Elks Club parade. Back then she was the most eye-catching woman in town. She was still pretty, if you didn’t look too closely or the room was dark.  
    “Darleen, I am full to the eyeballs.”
    “Let me hot it anyway.” She splashed steaming coffee into the sheriff’s cup. He stirred it in.  
    After she left, Olsen spiked the brew with a touch of whiskey from his pocket flask. If he started drinking a few minutes before he was off duty, too fucking bad. He had seniority in the Santa Maria substation, which served all of the unincorporated areas of the Santa Maria Valley, including Casmalia, Orcutt, and Garey. His turf was a sparsely populated agricultural hub stuck in the middle of California, but there was always plenty to do. Traffic accidents, family disputes, and petty crime were a part of daily life across America, and the valley was no different.  
    Olsen’s train of thought was rudely interrupted when two men sat at his booth uninvited. Olsen recognized both locals. Jack Grillo ran the Golden State realty office and Bob Lomax owned an auto parts store.
    “What’s up, boys?” Olsen asked. He hoped the strong coffee odor covered the smell of whiskey on his breath.  
    “Sheriff, something’s wrong,” Lomax said.
    “Like what?”
    “It’s our wives,” Grillo whispered.
    Olsen studied the two men. They were his contemporaries, early fifties in age. Both were flabby with sagging beer guts and sparse white hair that looked greasy. While Olsen wasn’t as fat as either of them, he wasn’t the trim lad he’d once been. After he started going bald, Olsen shaved his head, gaining some comfort in the summer heat.
    “If you’ve got trouble with your wives, that’s not my department. I’m a law officer, not a marriage counselor.”
    “It ain’t like that, Sheriff,” Lomax said. “I tell ya, something weird is going on.”
    Olsen watched Lomax's trembling hands. The man seemed genuinely frightened, and the sheriff reconsidered their plight. What would put this man in a panic? Bob had been a reliable fixture in the town’s business community for years and led the Rotary Club fundraisers. It was damn odd to see him so upset.
    “Bob, what do you mean? I’ll need specifics.”
    Lomax’s face flushed and his voice caught. He shook his head and looked at his buddy next to him. Grillo leaned forward and spoke for both of them.
    “Sheriff, you remember the funny lights in the sky the other night?”
    Olsen definitely remembered. The phone in the sheriff’s substation rang off the hook the previous Sunday with over a hundred complaining calls from residents of the Santa Maria Valley.
    “I do,” Olsen said.
    “What about that?” Grillo said.
    “Jack, we checked it out. People claimed fireworks, northern lights, an outdoor laser concert, and fifty other crazy ideas.”
    “So what was it?” Lomax cut in.
    Olsen looked him directly in the eyes. In his several decades of law enforcement, Olsen couldn’t recall a meeting so oddly awkward.
    “It was military helicopters flying to Point Hueneme,” Olsen said.
    “That’s horseshit, absolute horseshit!” Lomax exploded. Then he put his face in his hands.
    Olsen eyed Grillo, who bobbled his head and frowned. Had they both gone mad? Grillo looked ready to cry, and Lomax was visibly shaking. They weren’t obviously drunk. What was going on?
    “If you want my help, I need damn honesty. I’ve interviewed plenty in my time, and there’s something you two ain’t saying. What is it?”
    The men shared a pained look, then Grillo nodded, giving in.
    “You tell it first,” Lomax said.
    “It’s my wife,”