Alien Nation Page #4

Those guys last night at the minimart made

a half-assed stab at the money in the till.

I don't think that's what they were there for.

We got a couple of executions on our hands.

- The murder at the minimart is not our case...

- Whoa, whoa!

It is my desire not to break with procedure.

(horns blaring)

- What's wrong?

- Wrong?

- Nothing. What should be wrong?

- Nothing.

- What's wrong with you? Parkin' in...

- Hey, up yours!

You do agree that there's a good chance

these two shootings are related, don't you?

Yes, quite possibly.

Would you also be willing to accept

the theory, George, that, quite possibly,

by examining the evidence of one case,

we might shed a little light on the other?

- Does that sound unreasonable to you?

- Yes.

No, it is not unreasonable,

although it is not a good...

Good, good. I'm so glad

we got that settled, aren't you?

I think we're really

startin' to click here, George.

Give me what you got.

I've been over all this

with Fedorchuk and Alterez.

Come on, you got nothin' better to do,

a soft county job like yours.

Yeah, right(!) Don't push your luck.

According to the sheet, the guy you nailed

outside by the car, this one here,

he was one Martin Helder,

white male, aged 27.

One armed-robbery conviction,

two for sale of controlled substance,

and the guy was wired on coke

when you stopped his clock.

- Have you identified this one?

- He's a John Doe. Or a Sam Slag, if you like.

There's no ID on him and no fingerprints,

so it could be tough.

Lucky for you, you got him in both of his...

what we loosely call "hearts".

- (Sykes) Lucky I emptied a whole clip in him.

- That's how these people are.

You don't hit both pumps,

you just piss 'em off.

(in alien language)

It looks like the miners' disease.

Hey... what's goin' on?

- Nothing.

- Nothin'?

(in alien language)

Run blood tests and keep it between us.

Got an extra head shot if you need one.

We're about ready to cut in.

You're welcome to stick around.

It's fascinating stuff.

- Yeah, I'll bet.

- Let's look at their personal effects.

What is this?

What's that? It's a rubber.

It's... you know, a condom.

Coney Island whitefish, you know?

Um... men, human men...

they put 'em on their penises to...

to protect 'em from havin' babies.

Understand?

Uh, excuse me.

Do you need this for anything?

Nope. I got my own.

She has her own.

Here.

See? You get the picture?

And that fits?

Yeah, only it's made of rubber. It stretches.

And still it fits?

What's this stuff here?

It is a resin. Newcomers working

near methane gases at oil refineries

must paint it on their boots

to protect against sparks.

- How the hell do you know that?

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