Page 47 of Close Encounters of the Hot Kind

"Not in here." I catch his fist before it connects with my face. "Take it outside."

"Afraid to wreck the place?" Smith's tail whips around, knocking over a table. "How sweet."

I block another punch, careful not to stumble into the glass display case filled with cannoli. The photographs on the wall rattle as Smith slams me against it.

"Fight back, coward." His claws rake across my chest.

"Not here." I headbutt him, pushing him toward the door. "Outside."

"Why? Worried about your little human girlfriend's feelings?"

The front window beckons. One good throw would take this outside. But the street's still busy with afternoon traffic. Humans everywhere.

"What's wrong?" Smith's tongue flicks out, tasting the air. "Scared the primitives will see what you really are?"

I duck another wild swing. The punch connects with the wall instead, cracking the plaster. Sam's going to notice that tomorrow.

"Come on, big shot." Smith spreads his arms wide. "Show these humans what a real alien looks like."

The dining room's getting demolished swing by swing. But if I take this fight outside, everyone will know. The timeline will shatter. Everything I've worked for...

"What's it gonna be, hero?" Smith grins, showing those razor teeth. "The restaurant or the secret?"

A door creaks behind us. Sam emerges from the kitchen, wiping flour from his hands onto his apron. His eyes go wide at the sight of Smith's true form.

"What in the Hell is going on?" Sam points at Smith's scaled body. "Is this for the Slick Schlock?"

The green scales ripple across Smith's skin as he turns to face Sam. His forked tongue flicks out between razor teeth.

"Tik Tok," Smith says in a flat, mechanical voice.

Sam takes a step back, his face pale. "What happened to your Jamaican accent?"

"Tik Tok, Mon." Smith's attempt at the accent sounds wrong, like a computer trying to mimic human speech.

The distraction gives me the opening I need. I launch myself at Smith, wrapping my arms around his waist. We crash into a table, sending plates and silverware clattering across the floor.

"He's an alien," I shout at Sam. "Run!"

My fist connects with Smith's jaw, but it's like punching water. His liquid form absorbs the impact, reforming instantly.

"You can't hurt me." Smith's laugh echoes through the restaurant. "Not without a hundred-story drop."

"Will you get out of here already?" I shout at Sam, who stands watching the fight with his mouth open.

"Hey, Chuckie, is this guy made of water or something?"

"Or something." I dodge another of Smith's attacks. "Will you just run?"

"Nah, I got just the thing."

Sam disappears into the kitchen. The clatter of pots and pans follows. Smith's claws rake across my back, drawing blood. The pain burns white-hot.

"Your human pets can't help you." Smith's body ripples like mercury. "Nothing can."

Sam bursts back through the kitchen door, clutching a massive bag of flour. "Let's see how you like this arrowroot powder!"

White powder explodes through the air as Sam hurls the contents at Smith. The flour coats Smith's liquid form, and his movements turn sluggish. His body congeals like gravy left too long on the stove.

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