The Roads of Rome, Brian 1

The windows closed shut, sealed. A towel stuffed under the door. The smoke had nowhere to go, so it hung around, under the ceiling. Odor rich and thick, hazy.

A single lamp, hanging from a ropeish wire, was the only source of light in the room. Barely penetrating the smoke, leaving the room shrouded in a kind of light mostly reserved for opium dens. Which of course was not far off from the truth.

A small oblong object, having been lit, was now being passed from lip to lip.

Its effects were quite obvious. A slight incoherency was starting to prevail as all conversation turned to, well, mush.

“Right, well... uhm. Dude. Uhhh, like, ugh”

Purposeless. Each occupant stuck in his or her own little universe. One seeing more. One less.

A trickle of music came from one wall, nondestinct. Fluff.

In one corner a man sat rocking back and forth, only so slightly. Rocking. His eyes fixated on a spot on the wall. Whatever he was seeing did not please him.

His mouth moved, no words came out though, it didn’t really matter. He wouldn’t have had an audience anyway. It was quite clear that he had other things in his blood than what was on offer at the moment. He was, even by his own standards, thoroughly baked. Cooked. Boiled.

Wasted.

The name his mother had given him, no father in sight, was Brian. Brian Mendelsohn.

He is twenty-three now. He was twenty-three then. Sitting in that room, looking at that wall, coming down from his buzz, sobering up, he finally got enough. Enough of the cracked paint, the closed doors and sealed off rooms, enough of the forced crime. He thought of all the problems he had buying the drugs of his choice, soft or hard. And he had most definitely had enough. Cars killed by the hundreds, alcohol and tobacco by the thousands in the Heart of all Things alone, and they were not only allowed but seemingly state endorsed.

His thinking was flawed, of course, but all he could think of at that point in time was the fact that tobacco prices were going down. That alcohol was being sold to little children, marketed even.

It made him furious. His mouth stopped moving. His eyes blinked. And he looked around.

The scum of the earth, the lost children, the fallout of the nuclear families.

On the edge of the Sprawl, in a little pocket of fear and violence and sex. No one came here with good intentions, no one came here expecting not to be threatened and or accosted.

It was a hole in the ground, the ‘good’ - whatever that was - being sucked out of it.

And yet people kept fighting for it. Shooting each other and anyone in the way.

The only positive thing about the Clash, as the area was known, was the fact that one could hide here, anyone seeking privacy could easily find it here. At the cost of living standards.

Brian got to his feet. Everyone else was so far away that none of them noticed.

Went to the window, drew the ragged curtain aside. The streetlamp right outside flickered. Darkness, light. Briefly. A more steady source of light was easily found though. Either in the shape of the burning barrel two bums were using for heat or bended in neon on the sign of the massage parlor across the street. At first glance the street seemed deserted, but upon closer inspection figures could be seen moving about in the shadows. Just like the way you only saw the subway rats if you looked for them.

So many people. So much hopelessness. Frustration.

And that was what it boiled down to, frustration.

All that pent up rage, all that anger deep down. Maybe it could be channeled, maybe if it was just focused, if someone could focus it, all those individuals could work together.

Even if everyone was working for their own best interests they would still be a force to be reckoned with.

Brian didn’t quite know where he was going with his new idea, but he knew that the idea was not going to accomplish anything on its own.

His first concern would be to get the word around, to gather people.

Shouldn’t be a problem.

The Roads of Rome, Leon 1

Leon Trokewcy is trying to get the city to tell him a secret.

While he stands outside the noisy club, humming along to something that sounds vaguely like Watermelon man, he has his eyes and ears at the ready, his heart and mind prepared.

He knows that the secret is not the composition being played behind the closed windows and open doors of the club, his haunt, but rather something... else. Divine.

Leon Trokewcy knows that the city has a variety of secrets. That the city doesn’t tell two people the same secret, not if it’s worth something.

And sometimes it will tell different secrets at different times. And sometimes it will act like a best friend, begging you to tell it your secrets, to share your knowledge. Leon knows that anyone who tells secrets to so many people should not be trusted with his private thoughts.

The city, he thinks, is not as stingy with its thoughts as some people seem to think.

Most just don’t listen.

Mr. Trokewcy knows all of this because he his unemployed. That was unkind, rather,

Mr. Trokewcy knows all of this and is also unemployed.

He is not homeless, he gets by on little things, those little things that are only on order in a city, and even then only truly on order in the Heart of all Things. Enough small things so that even a sensitive man may get by.

Yes, sensitive. Leon is a wimp, a strange child - at least he was when he was a child, a sissy, a crybaby and oh so many other things.

He knows that it matters not what others call you, it is what you call yourself, what he calls himself rather, that matters. No person taught him this. No parental figure, no guidebook.

The city did. Leon waits now, outside, for the city to inform him of something new, something else. It has been a while, and he waits for something divine.

The city is Leon’s God. Here, in the Heart of all Things, man can finally pray and live at the same time without the two messing each other up. Praise, preach, pray and fornicate in the same place. The sensitive man waits for a word from the Lord, not above but around.

He has looked now for the duration of the bastardisation of Watermelon man. Turns to go back in, but is not discouraged. The city has told him no secret that night, maybe tomorrow, maybe not. He has touched God more than once, he needs no reassurance.

Leon Trokewcy is a lucky man. Not many can say that they have talked, directly mind you, to their divine entity of choice. Not many sane people anyway.

He reenters the club. His ears and eyes now resting. His heart and mind on ‘low’ setting.

This is why he almost misses out on the secret when it comes.

“Leo? Leo, it is you! Hi, it’s me Laura, from college remember?”

The Roads of Rome, Ober 1

A boy is walking through the Urban Rec.

Slowly plodding along at three in the afternoon. He should go home, all the other kids have gone home. But all the other kids, he muses, probably do not go home to what he does.

He is quite young, small enough to be dwarfed by the plentiful trees.

He goes to school where the Sprawl meets shopping. Upper-class.

Every morning he crosses the Urban Rec, usually by bus, and every afternoon he crosses it yet again, more often than not on foot.

He has no real fondness for the natural splendor around him, only rarely is he gripped by the majesty of it all. His eyes are usually transfixed on the path in front of him. Be it dirt or asphalt.

Cobblestones or gravel. He has developed a way to always tell if he’s about to walk into someone. He also knows what routes are the least populated at any given time of day.

A lot of his few years on this planet have been used in the Urban Rec. Going to or from.

Whatever.

Without looking up he instinctively knows that he is now next to the last pond before the last field. He is almost home. Instantly he starts replanning his route, starts measuring pros and cons. He ends up giving up on the lengthening bit, home is beginning to feel right.

Even if it won’t be when he gets there. Right.

His left foot steps idly on a thick twig hidden by some leaves. The right kicks it by accident, breaking it with a barely audible snap. Followed by a sound that causes the boy to look up.

A flock of seagulls have been spooked by the sound, two dozen or so of them. Now they’re departing, post hast. But still in perfect formation. The boy looks at them for a while, follows their trajectory, craning his neck to see them disappear in the unusually low clouds.

On its way down to his feet his stare sees the open field. One square mile, the smallest of the open spots. Bordering up to the high-class end of the Sprawl.

The field is known as Festival Place, being used for festive occasions at least three times a year. The boy knows that whatever else may be true about his life and his situation, he is lucky to live right next to not only the Urban Rec but also Festival Place.

The fog has not lifted, wafting over the field, turning something previously very open into something ambiguous and mysterious.

Considering how much the boy has tried to stall in his homecoming, he runs with quite a bit of speed across the oversize lawn. His small legs carrying him with little elegance but much acceleration.

He reaches the front door, exhausted but happy at his display of speed.

Unlocks and opens the front door, walks through with caution.

Before the boy has even had a chance to yell out ‘mom, I’m home’ he knows everything is wrong, that this will not be a good evening.

“Is that you Ober?” a voice slurs. “I’ve been waiting for you”

The Roads of Rome, Djill 1

Night came too soon and I can’t fall asleep.

You must understand, I’m a little girl, I’m full of energy, I’m growing. I can’t sleep.

Now I don’t know about you, but whenever I can’t sleep my mind gets to wandering. It’ll go places I don’t want it to go, places I didn’t even know it could go.

And whenever I try to stop it from going those places all I get instead is the struggle.

The struggle? You can’t hear it? The streetlamps fight with the darkness.

The silence of night fights with the murmur of a million souls. I mean people, of course I mean people. I’m only eight. I wouldn’t say souls.

And I know I shouldn’t feel the struggle.

But I do.

My name is Djill. I go to school where the Sprawl meets Shopping. Upperclass.

I live near the Urban Rec area. I live in the Heart of all Things.

Actually I don’t, not yet. I live on my street and I live by the two bus-stops I see every day. Going to school on my own. My parents love me, I’m pretty sure of this. I also think that this is why they’ve yet to let me see more of the city. Trust, a lack of trust, and love.

When I get on the bus I’m right there with a lot of my friends. And my enemies. I mean co-students, of course. I wouldn’t say enemies.

Windows, I always sit by the windows, look out at the streets, at the people, at the roads going to and fro. All those possibilities.

That, actually is one of those things that I try not to think about. When I can’t sleep, right?

I don’t really know what they try and teach me at school. I really am not sure.

All I know is that I’m supposed to pay attention to this person who stands tall above us.

When my mind wanders, I think about possibilities. What if I didn’t make the regular bus one morning? D’ya ever think about stuff like that? About ‘if’s?

All I seem to think about are ‘if’s. ‘Till I fall asleep.

Then there are no more ‘if’s. Or ‘and’s or ‘but’s.

Night came too soon tonight. I couldn’t fall asleep. What if I’d had a good run, played with one of my friends, fought with one of my enemies?

Then maybe I wouldn’t have told you all of this. Then maybe you wouldn’t know.

And knowledge is power. And power makes the world go around.

Something tells me I shouldn’t know that. But I do.

My name is Djill, and I’m just another little girl who takes the bus every morning.

But my eyes are open.

The Roads of Rome, Lucas 1

Hey, don’t look at me, I haven’t done anything. I never do anything.

I just stay out of the way, don’t talk too big, don’t ask for too much. You should never ask for too much. You just might get it, y’know.

So I just stay out of the way, I see you all walking by. Pants and shoes, sitting on the ground right, so all I see are pants and shoes. So many of you. So unaware.

So when they come, you’ll all pay, you’ll all be taken. And all your pants and shoes won’t help you then, you’ll be stripped bare of all those things you really love.

But I’ll be safe; I’ll be hiding away somewhere, like I always do. You don’t notice me, so why should they?

Once upon a time my name was Lucas Miller, and I worked and I lived in an apartment, I showed up on some screen somewhere as ‘citizen’.

Then, one night, I was hit by a flash of clarity. The creature lying next to me wasn’t my wife at all. She was one of them, one of the invaders. And I know I did the right thing, I don’t need anybody to tell me that I acted correctly, don’t need any medals. I wouldn’t have accepted it anyway, a medal I mean, ‘cause I stay out of the way, savvy? Of course I wouldn’t have accepted a medal, no one wanted to give me one anyway! It was a grisly business! What I did, I mean.

And I haven’t done it since. Once in a while though, when I stick out my cup and people don’t even think about putting something in there, then, I mean rarely, then I think about doing something, y’know, something for nothing. ‘Cause of nothing.

Your pants just slide by, like some, something else, or something.

I was never much of a poet. Neither was Lucas, Mr. Miller. He did things with papers and offices and desks, and he trusted the blue lights. Whenever they flashed Mr. Miller would stand proud and rich and think to himself ‘right now, some criminal is getting his comuppance’. He loved to hear that heartless roar of the siren. Now closer, now farther away.

Never once did he worry about the injustice. Never once did he think to get out and help his fellow man. Cold cold human being.

I don’t know much about the invaders, I mean, I know they’re evil and shit like that. But I don’t know what kind of order they’ll bring about. I hope it’s a fair and just evil. All those people that didn’t care, that were too busy with their own lives, they’ll get it first. And I’ll be hiding somewhere, out of the way, laughing my ass off.

Cup out, nice pants, food for the man on the street? Money, food, love, something?

Not a goddamn thing. Well thank you very much. How about you? Guy’s gotta eat, c’mon!

Thank you. Thank you kindly. Retract cup. Count, one two three lunch breakfast dinner.

Now alls I have to do is keep this from Timmy. Lousy drunk. He doesn’t know when to stay out of the way. I know they’ll hurt him real nice and early. And I’ll tip my hat, maybe even take it off, and if I’m not alone I’ll say ‘I once knew him, he was a companion, now he is dead’

And maybe I’ll cry. Why did they have to hurt Timmy he never did anybody nothing. He was just a drunk. Why would you want to hurt him? Me? Why?

Why!

The Roads of Rome, Introduction

The sun rises.

The sky responds by turning an Imperial shade of violet. Same answer, every day.

It is, once more, time for the day to begin. Time for the people to get up and about.

To go to bed and sleep the night off.

Time for the city to awaken.

This is the Heart of all Things. Its people are the Residents. They are all aware of this.

And they are all aware that the entire world is aware. This is the Heart of all Things. The planes that arrive, that have arrived all through the night, are not just machines carrying homo sapiens sapiens to some random town, they are syringes injecting the only nutrient the city needs, they are fuel pumps delivering the only form of energy the massive arrays of concrete, steel, glass and bricks will ever crave. The highways are veins the sidewalks nerve strings.

The Heart of all Things beats with the footsteps of millions and millions of people.

All roads lead here. All manner of goods can be purchased here, every street is a country onto itself, every block a continent. The people do not need to connect, they do not need to know that they cannot help but connect. Every living thing is connected here, no one person can stand up and claim leadership.

This does not stop them from trying. Humans will always seek control, especially over those things that they themselves have created. And humans will always seek not to be controlled by anyone outside of themselves.

The Heart of all Things was designed with the latter in mind, it is as anarchistic as a two-year old without his medication, as free as a bird and as destructive as a raging mob.

It is a raging mob, it cannot be anything else, it is a backdrop, an interactive environment, a just cause and so many other things.

Far beyond melting pot, far beyond good or evil, dirty old man or guardian angel.

Nightmare or dream, it matters not. Some are drawn, some are forced. Some commute.

Some are tourists. It matters not, the city, the Heart of all Things, doesn’t care. It feels only a footstep, a rhythm, a beat and a pulse, feels only human, cat dog cow bird.

Distinguishes only rarely.

Even though you think you are using it, to whatever end, it is almost certain that the city is taking something back. Your health. Your money. Your footsteps. Your children.

And after you die it will remain. After your funeral, after the speeches have been thrown out and a whole new generation has sprung forward and forgotten you, after all this someone will still write poetry about the city. Guidebooks. Novels. Short stories.

Even after it’s sunken into the ground and the last isotopes have faded away, even then humans will gather to talk about the Heart of all Things, and they will build a new city in its image. At this point you will have been dead for centuries and the world you knew will be gone.

But humans will gather, larger cities dwindle and smaller cities flourish as they receive the surplus, the excess population.

The sun has risen. It is now, not before and not after, but now. We can all relate to now.

This is home. This will always be someone’s home.

And someone’s dream.

One week break

Hey!

It's come to my attention that there are few non-danish readers. Hi!

To accommodate these people I'll be switching languages to english. So, that's done.

Now, as for the next thing to appear here, I'm thinking that it will be an old project of mine called "The Roads of Rome" which has some twenty short 'chapters' already done and is kinda calling out to me to be continued and, hey, who knows, maybe even finished.

So, next week keep an eye out for the first chapter of that.

Have a nice week!

The Rain (kap. 11)

Poke through, godammit, I’m bleeding all over the place. Like sands through the hourglass. That’s the way with life, there are these short bursts and then these long assessments of the situation. Christ it hurts! You know you want to, just come on you big beautiful ball of fucking fire, just come on! I’ll just be another schmuck going too fast for downtown traffic, the sun breaking through the clouds as I meet the diner on the corner engine-first. Or as I drive up to the hospital. Whichever.

Why should I care?

Apathy, suffering, apathy. Citizen. I don’t do well in the sun, only point I always felt could possibly bring me down, a little too pale, made for fluorescent light my skin is. Library light, those tall stained-glass windows’ letting in only small, insignificant squares of sunlight, nothing dangerous. I could have stood there bathed in the glow of my little empire, my vast vault of knowledge. Shying from the outside, bossing around the little librarians, feeling always that there was something else I should be doing, enforcing stricter and stricter punishments for those people late with their books. Laughing as they pleaded not to have their children’s rights to the library revoked. “Take me instead”, they would cry but I would show no mercy. Actually I’m probably a better person doing this, doing less harm, aren’t I, you superheated gas bastard of a forgotten god?

Don’t curse, not this close to the edge. What edge? I’m not losing you am I? You won’t quietly slip away while I’m not looking, will you? I need you now more than ever, and you know it. I’ll be nicer to you, just stay in there and I promise that we’ll take a stroll through the park or down by the beach. Without you I’d be less than nothing, I’d be, I wouldn’t even be me. I’ve been blind.

It was never supposed to be this bad, he got me good.

I got him good too, though. I’ll drive off into the sunset, rise, noon, he’s already gone. His pain is gone too. Lucky bastard should have taken his knees and then put one in his gut, eye for an eye. Pain for pain. Bursts of activity. This is a burst, thought it was an assessment, silly me. Silly silly silly. Add another uniform to the toll, Sol, add another poor sap on government duty to the pile, I’ll roast over them, I think. Every action has a reaction, every action is a reaction. You started us off, this is your fault.

Call on me tomorrow, I dare you. Wormsmeat, the pain is much you love-struck little meddler. Stick to the code of honor and only our enemies get hurt, search for peace and we all take a swan dive, right into the asphalt, or the bared sword. However the case may be. There we go!

I knew those day-old clouds would be no match for you, I knew you would bare all. Burn right through those wisps. What are you showing me now? I remember this, she caught the cigarette with one hand, pure coincidence of course, but his drunken throw and her non-chalant hand movement made for one hell of a show. Think I was the only one who saw it, how did you come to know about it? No, no, that doesn’t work, all you were then was a reflection on our sister satellite. And I don’t believe in ESP so don’t even try that on me. A man must have some limits to his faith. Not a complete fool you know. Oh, I know, Santa told you about it, he sees me when I’m sleeping, knows if I’m awake.

Spooky guy, has to be a friend of yours. No offense.

Think that was the night I fell for her, I was looking at the curvy one thinking about what she would look like naked and coming up short but somewhere between his throw and her catch I lost interest in the curvy one. Wait! With the kind of life I’ve led that’s the best you can show me? That’s the crème de la crème? That! Did I lose control of everything that early? Wonder how curvy’s doing. The other one? Catching the cigarette. She married the thrower I think. Don’t exactly stay in touch with the old gang. They never liked me and I never liked them. Too much in control for them. Red light!

Smile at the pedestrians, cross walking. Hello. Yes. Oh, you brought your little dog along with you? Nice day for a stroll now that the sun’s out. Muggy, sure, but it’ll dry right up, you’ll see. Dry right up. A lizard out there bit Frank while he was twisted on something I didn’t touch. I liked driving. No, I liked being in control, thanks Ra, it all makes sense now, and I see every flaw so clearly. Like a dusty apartment coming out of winter and its owner noticing the grime under the dining-room table. Clarification is nice, I suppose. But not that entertaining. Bread and Circus me for Pete’s sake, I’m slipping fast. Frank screamed about it being the worst pain ever, he was sure the arm would have to come off and he was also convinced that any help he gave the hospital staff in this matter would be well received. Took all of us to get that sharp rock away from him. Who the Hell stops at the side of the road in a desert? We did. Mad dogs and Englishmen. There was a precision to the things Frank rambled on about on the backseat as we sped for a waiting Flagstaff, as though he had seen into another world. Couldn’t remember it afterwards. To hear him tell it, he was dancing with three elegant cacti when all of a sudden this business-as-usual reality turned into pure pain. No other way he could explain it. Wasn’t even that bad a bite. Infected.

I’m summing up the wrong bursts. Shit, maybe I simply know what just happened, urgh, I do. Let it simmer a bit, can’t dress it up before it’s not so clear. Know thyself.

See yourself as clearly as the sun does. And now you’re in my eyes. Don’t run now, I know it’s scary but everything will be better really soon, I promise, I promise, I’ll be better to you, better, better stay with me. I remember being without you, you went away for the shortest of moments and all I could do was stand there looking at the corpses. We got used to them and all the other things too. We got used to them together. I know they weren’t your cup of tea but you adapted and I adapted and, I know, I’m ashamed, you adapted the most. Healthy mind in a healthy body. I’m not so healthy now, not healthy at all; I need you to be a counterweight. Hard work.

Working hard is hardly working. Frank said that. It’s true. If you work hard enough then it becomes your life and then there’s no dividing line between work and non-work. Only activity and non-activity. Every action is made to serve the greater, all-encroaching entity that is ones job. This is my hobby; remember that Sol, this is just my hobby. I’m actually a debt collector. In actuality. And you’re just another star up there. Just another one of those little white dots sitting so prettily in the evening sky. You just sit by day. With nothing to do. But roll around Heaven. You don’t scare me, us, you won’t fall, you won’t fade, you won’t implode. Okay, you will fade and you will implode but does the concept of eternity sound familiar to you? I can, without a doubt and without being pretentious tell you that those two things will happen in so long a time that it might as well be in an infinity. Yes I know that’s not what the word ‘infinity’ means but it does to me, in this case, that sword of Damocles that’s been hung over us, it just doesn’t fill me with dread. This is on the level, you understand. Stop honking at me, I’m a dying man.

Oh, green means go, okay.

Good thing this isn’t a stick shift. Don’t have a grip on much of anything right now, much less a clutch. In gear. And I move.

Hey buddy, honk at me tomorrow and you shall find me a grave man. Hmmm. Obviously doesn’t know his classics. Unless you count that gesture. Isn’t it about time we started using some new ones? Or some old ones for that matter?

Thumb biting, all that jazz. Slaves singing in fields. Churches over their heads telling them to sing something else, forget old abilities, trade them in for new ones.

All that’s kept are rhythms. Old ideas about tonality. Ancient. Beyond that even.

Wait a few decades, lose one set of slang words for another and jazz becomes something quite different. Used to be that you would have to be at least partially naked to do it. Clothing is hardly optional these days. Nor is flow, can’t be too strange, no one relishes the arts of chaos anymore, no one grasps that there is no order and there is no chaos, just some sort of existence. Every time you find a path of order you get thrown off it. And looking for a path of chaos doesn’t even make sense as a sentence. If sentences made sense. No, by the time you go I’ll be so long gone that it’s not even clear whether or not anyone will even remember this time and place. Time dwarfs all of us, even you. Get it? It was supposed to be a joke. Guess you’re not in the mood. I’m draining life.

They could always count on me for that, precision, perfection, I never let anyone suffer, never left anyone dying. Stupid word, dying. You are either dead or you are alive. That’s all there is, no in-between. Just on or off. This is faulty wiring, clearly an electrical error of some sort. Do I remember Portland? Which one, there are a few? Oh. Of course. The end, the end. Stupid children. Children. Should have known it would be the religious nuts that got to me in the end. Was that what happened? Let it pass, wait a while, just wait.

In a library of all places. It’s the way religions work. Someone starts a faith, croaks. That someone, call him X has had a trusted friend throughout the years who has been there through pogroms, pilgrimages, trials and book deals and who now sees his chance to be the new X. Well, if only it were that simple. X had family. They were never there before, or too much there sometimes, but now they want a slice of the pie. No, actually, they want the whole pie. And some ice-cream. And a steak dinner to start it off right.

Settled that one out of court, dramatics, nice and quiet in the anthropology wing. Researching what kind of people would make the best followers. Had a kind face.

Great insight. Most people, don’t see me coming. This guy looks me in the eyes and says something about the beginning being the end in and of itself. I thought he had it backwards but I slipped the needle in without asking. Kind, bearded face. Clear eyes. Medium to heavy thomp when he hit the floor. Stayed up until I was right by the exit. Could have sworn I saw him smiling.

You learn to deal with weird shit in this business, learn to accept that some days need to be removed from the central memory banks. One way or another.

So many times over an expert. X bless and protect me now. X watch over me and forgive me, X know that I am only human. X is the power and the kingdom.

And yours, I will not forget the fact that you came through for me. Look, another joke, another pun. Great things, puns. I really liked this car too, never get it clean, never get it clean. Little punning wars, people would tell me that I really killed them. Pun!

Another one. Look, Ra, tell you the truth, I never really took much notice of these women. Sure I fell for them, what with their wicked viles and all, but they were just sorta there, just filling in empty places in the puzzle. It didn’t need to be completed. If we must. You’re the star. Stay with me in there, this’ll be bad for you, grasp onto something nice. A stage. Bathed in light. Smoke filled room. People dressed in black, spikes, nothing special. You, her, up there, belting out a tune, you’re, she’s, doing it well. They’re into it, these freaks, there’s a certain appeal to them. A great one to me. You’re by the typewriter, I’ve asked you not to but there you are and I do like the way you apologize, guilt-ridden musician. Contradiction. You won’t come to bed, she won’t. So there I am on the couch, trying to sleep at first and then pretending. And then asleep. Asleep to the klak klak. Like rain on a window at a soothing pace. You’re perfect right there and then. You know I’m leaving for ‘far away and boring’ the next morning and that I need my sleep and my long goodbye, you know without them I’ll be grouchy throughout the entire trip – you don’t know quite how grouchy I get, I’m not that kind of man. At least I’m not that kind of man, I was never mean. To her. Stilly on the couch. Not moving a muscle. Nothing’ll come to her if she thinks I’m not comfortable.

She was that kind of person. You know that. You know what I had to do to not hurt her.

How much I had to hurt her to not hurt her. The days of our lives.

Put any other person in that situation and they would have handled it worse than I. Sure of that. You do what you have to do and you get the job done. Never took much notice.

With me? Still? Stilly?

I was thinking of a list but this was not it. When that little piece of metal flew at me I had some thoughts as to how this would go and this is just not what I had in mind. Have to tell you, one complaint from me now could spare you loads of complaints from others later, that’s all I’m saying. Hear me out for a little while. We want the highlights that we knew were highlights when we first lived them, don’t go this ‘unexpected’ route. Who am I to argue? I’m the end-user, that’s who! Without me you would be nothing, you didn’t create us we created you. So listen close when I tell you this: No more curves, no more smiles, no more little anecdotes, none of this shit about having been made whole through the flaws in someone else. Too close to the edge, I know. I really do.

When the sunshines sun shine the sun shines sunshine. Wait, that’s all wrong. Frank put it better, someone ought to help him, he was bitten, right over there, hurt he’s hurt, Frank.

When the sun shines we all get dry.

I stole that one for myself, changed it a little bit and called it my own. Must pull over here. Flashing blues in the rearview. Ambulance, Sure are in a hurry. I feel your pain, man. Feel it right here. Ow. To think that I once had complete control, didn’t listen to my body for days on end. Let it think that it’s in control, let it send messages to the brain only to find the courier return all bruised and battered, stammering something about unfriendly natives. Tried not to think of Brahe, that’s an urban myth and we all know it. The body will leak out whatever needs to be leaked out. Not even the pros can keep that from happening. Sometimes they mix flour with water and just pour it on instead, we can’t tell the difference, we’re too busy reconsidering our lines of work and finding that the coffee table is just about a foot too far away. Maybe he ruptured his spleen, broke a leg. Break a leg. Lucky stiff. Corpse with a winning lottery ticket. Hear that one?

Improving my set. Everything’s drying off nicely by now, you’re in a good mood, huh?

Good to hear it. I could remain unseen unheard undetected for days, you know it’s true, days. Body takes care of itself with the mind set on ‘low’, slowly regulating.

Starting up again was always a bitch. Usually, the two times I had to, I’d do the thing, roll into some undergrowth to hide from you and them, and start to slowly twitch myself back to some sort of movable state before they could start triangulating.

My mind’s on work. Working hard is hardly working, Frank, it’s hardly working, I need some sort of clue, you spoke so clearly in the desert, Frank, speak so clearly in the city now. This car’s as empty as they come, barely anyone in it at all. Barely even me. You won’t even notice that I’m here, you can collapse in the back and lie there; twisted and hurt, matter over mind. I can’t do this alone.

So. So that’s it. That’s all there is to it. Strip me down, Apollo, that I may see the true human nature of my human nature. Walk me through the crowded arcades of my teen years to tell me of the games we play in self-inflicted solitude all the while surrounding ourselves with every shape and form of humanity.

How trite.

I was in that closet for three whole days, you think this didn’t occur to me then? You think all I thought about was being quiet and not getting hurt. Please, don’t think so lowly of me. I can hear you, can’t I, I know I created you but I can hear you, and I can hear him and remember Frank and neither you nor all these women you throw at me from blind and deceptive angles will do any damage to my sense of self and my ability to cope with the world I found way back then. Go hide behind a cloud!

No. Wait. You need to see this I need you to see this You need to stay here.

It won’t take long, we both know that. That leaves us here. With you taking pot-shots. Let’s go, then, let’s get this show off the ground and this baby on the road. Throw caution to the wind, you and I. Let’s just take that romp through Tabr and down Paradise and take the road home with Stephen. If you really want to prove the coldhearted Scrooge in me a liar then those are the streets we’ll have to walk. Word of warning, though, I might have left before I leave. You understand I’m sure.

TheOneICannotLeaveEvenWhenIHaveLeftHer, TheStatisticalAndBiologicalImpossibility, TheOneWhoHaunts, to Hell with it, Camille. Camille by the fireplace and I’m settling down. She’s surrounded me with books and Freud would have loved that and I’m settling down with her and my own analyst would have loved it too for that matter. And I loved it. Loved every second of it. Never felt that it was doomed, never saw an end, no long trips apart, no friends feeling insecure, no in-laws, none whatsoever. Just this feeling of eternity. I already told you how I feel about eternity, it’s my eternity, not yours, you can’t have it. The way she’d dress up for nights out, dress down for nights in. The way her smile to someone else was always just for me and me alone. You can try and put a schematic to life, I could try and do some sort of ‘before’ and ‘after’ recap of my existence thus far but it would be faulty. No matter what kinds of routine are enforced by ones occupation one cannot help but have days that stand out. Years. I think that’s one of the reasons they have such a hard time believing in me, I was gone for so long. And I’m the best. Don’t think I’ll forget that just because you parade the past, don’t think I’ll be anything less if you remove me from myself. Actually, this is making me stronger.

That wasn’t a thank you. You know that, right? I don’t thank my toaster, I don’t thank my car, I don’t thank gravity. I don’t owe you a thank you. You owe me one but we’ve been over that. One morning she comes in, crying, and everything slips from there. You know the details, how far it slips. How badly I screw up. I went from one to another, no transition, unfamiliar territory. And I could never let anyone know. Not even her.

This secret. I’m always me; I only wear a mask at work, only hide anything of myself there. I’ve known those types of people who hid behind briefcases and shone most clearly behind knives and guns and poisons. I’ve always felt blessed that I was not one of those.

She knew me. Knew the real me. LV back there, she didn’t. But ThatWhichIsOnlyJoyEvenInPain knew me. So when I had to leave and had to tell her why and couldn’t she did what I knew she would and what I hoped she’s do and what I feared the most. She accepted. Quietly. I felt like I had killed her.

Oh I hope there’s a Hell just for him, this kind of pain shouldn’t even exist, I thought pain was there for the body to be able to tell the brain to stop doing something. Right. I’ll stop being shot, just give me a minute. Him too, there’s got to be a Hell for him too.

Names are meaningless. I left her because I had to. Had to leave her because someone said something about her and I did something to them, the aforementioned ‘him’.

The instant I did something inside me woke up and none of it mattered. Something poked through all those layers around me. There was nothing neat, tidy or quick about what I did to him. Not that he didn’t have it coming, it’s just, well, you learn to have some professional feeling towards the thing. Detachment. I felt his pain and knowing that it was his pain made it the best thing I had ever felt. Better than her.

This is really deep and all but where are you going with it, I just lost all the feeling in my right foot, breaking could become a problem. Also I’m cold. Who knew this kind of thing could turn you into a whiner? Only things I’ve ever really balked at have been the terrorism of Time or the way sudden phone calls could drag me from literary pursuits only to find me detached from plotlines and historical analyses for months on end all just to dispatch one little mortal. Knives and guns and poisons. Still with me? Still with me?

Oy, look what you’ve gone and done. Helios you bastard, I’m dead now. There’s no hope left. The last glimmer of me, gone. All that’s left is this heartbeat, this blood, these two hands on the wheel. Ten and two. Slowly dripping from me, minutes, slowly fading, but they don’t care whether they’re the first or the last. No, they feel good just passing. Raindrops falling towards the tarmac, planes taking off hitting them before they ever get close to the International Terminal. Ah, everything ends, even the end ends.

Flash!

“You’re the one I’ve been looking for for so long, the renegade, the renegade”

And all I could think about was that guy on the Harley with his stereotype friend behind the desk, never getting too involved. Only six, he hadn’t even killed them himself I think. Ancestral murders.

He was a Child, the man who shot me was a Child and I didn’t even consider it. Great, just great, I could have been somewhere dry clean safe well fed and I go and take out my meal ticket. Should have guessed it, only religious people talk like that. Wonder if they’re looking for someone who’s really a renegade or if they expected me to just sort of come along quietly upon explaining the situation to me. The one he’d been looking for for so long, dear me I’ve become attached to uniforms haven’t I? Never saw past the badge and the dead-partner stains on those wonderfully functional pants. He thought I was the one to deliver him. Them. Deliver them. This is too rich. But what in the name of You does it have to do with all those women? Guess being pulled from a book only to return to it later sort of does constitute a temporal terrorist act, so I guess that brings the list down to one. There’s that diner over there, no, can’t angle it right, would be more of an impotent scrape and some structural damage. Not what I feel like right now, I’m not going alone. Some brunching family can join me, better hurry then actually, brunch is almost over and I shall be too late. Nay I fear too early. Enough with the women. I am mankind’s last hope, bleeding out in a car chosen for its anonymity in a city relatively unknown to the world. If this was your master plan then I’ve got to be honest and lay on you the fact that there are a few kinks in it. Considering you’ve had since the beginning to sort things out this really is scandalous. Horrible. Downright wrong. I might even cancel my subscription. He wanted me to save him, forgive them for they know not what they do. There’s a chapter in town then. Maybe they’ll be less structurally protected, could end a few of them. Would be doing them a favor, you know that Sol, I’ll be good for goodness sake. Meanwhile, people are beginning to stare. Wonder how fast, slow, I’m going. If I look down I don’t think I’ll be able to look up. Bloody palm print, passenger side window. Had to reach over. Dramatics, not on purpose this time, though. So who’ll they call first? The people who would stop me or the people who would help me keep going? I’ll be stopped. Dead. People know a job half done when they see it.

The Children are still looking for someone to fill the vacancy. I should go there, they’d let me in at least, once in never out, no matter if all I did was rearranging their political landscape. Religions usually go for the inside crowd to take care of stuff like that, I seemed so out of place. In water you can’t panic, in this job you can’t seem out of place.

This wind you speak of? It blows us from ourselves. What wind? Are you pulling clouds along again? This wind, this wind, the Children, strangest bunch of people you ever did meet, they’d save me. That’s ‘save’ of course. But also just the straightforward kind of save. I need to be saved right now, need it more than ever before. Not feasible.

That’s the pain talking. Have I run out of females already? Should we proceed to males? Thought not. Disjointed. Alone. One is never alone if one has oneself.

Alone. The now. Nothing as alone as the now.

Nothing as fragile, we all say that, often, maybe too often, loses some power, some oomph. ‘Now’ I am alone, ‘now’ I have always been alone, ‘now’ I shall be alone no longer. All the bridges are burning, but I’ll never have to lose what I’ve lost once. Not again. Once something ends it begins to live forever, once something is gone there are no more boundaries to hold it back from eternity. I guess that’s why I’m not going to the Children. Not because I disagree with all religion but because I disagree with theirs.

“He’s the renegade, don’t shoot him!”

“The renegade? What are you talking about?! I won’t shoot him if he just gets on the goddamn ground, now, sir!”

So courteous when they travel in pairs.

I could be the Messiah, anointed, could have been, how’s that for a final howl?

He cried from the backseat. Cried, then, not now, he’s not here, I’m the snake now. In the dunes. Watch out, tell them I’m coming Star-that-is-not-God, warn them. I’m already here. Departing and arriving. I’ll slither forever, plenty of places to go. Call me a renegade? I’m a serpent at thy womb, a creepy crawly fiend, not a renegade, a savior, not a librarian, fangmouth, poisontongue. It’s a good thing you’ve got your eyes on the road, I really should not be driving. Enough city. No hospital for me and all my raving. That’s settled. I’ll amble down this road here, and down that road there then later, ow. We came from my little confrontation, I’ll focus, I’ll focus, and how the one recognized me for something and the other recognized neither his partner nor me. How’d we get there? It’s easier to keep track of my plasma patterns on the seat than our little conversation, you need to keep me on a shorter leash.

They cornered me somewhere, came at me with helicopters and vans and cars and bikes and people on foot, like a fox flushed out of a bush, like a car driven into a trap and I ran and ran and they had me. They fucking had me. No, mind my tongue and watch my language. It was like I lit an ancient fire, someone may say, day in and day out, that they will never and have never believed in something they were told as kids, they may claim to have grown beyond it, but when it’s right there it’s hard to logic ones way out of. Santa Claus in the hallway and Jesus at the end of the trail of corpses.

It’ll blow me right out of town, blow me where I belong, it’s just as well, I’ve caused so much nature in my time, nature should get a chance at me, get in a cheap shot, I might be on my knees but that won’t make this less fair. I can disappear all I want, the fact that I have not procreated, not created at all, destroyed, that changes not the chances for the race at large, sapiens sapiens will get along fine. Mankind. Man. The big bombs are no match for your light, I make no mistake, don’t worry the light that vaporizes is still to be respected. But we’ll survive in the end, we’ll conquer even the end of the world. The World. Killers like me are no danger. Man conquers. There’s no way in any of the many Hells that any one individual could wipe them all out, billions upon billions, spread like a small amount of margarine over a huge bagel. Spinning. Man conquers. Wipe them out, I mean us, I meant us. Yeah. Continents, diseases, the whim of women. A slow hand, a fierce mouth, passion to passion fire to fire, until everything is engulfed in flame. A trigger is a trigger. Fire and passion and we are all engulfed. I’m de-evolving it seems. I’ve just hit ‘angsty pre-teen with a crush’, messing around with universal theories, everything is everything, stellar matter, guys with microscopes closer to the truth than Machiavelli ever was. This is the really real world. There’s no coming back. No matter what kind of chaos one has caused.

But you, when you go, You, you’ll get to cause a ruckus and then spread all over the universe. Flowers will grow from me, planets will grow from You. Only so much matter out there, strict recycling laws. I’m running stop signs now. Red lights are next.

Old fires once lit take a long, long time to burn away, to ash, I didn’t give him that time, no one second more powerful than the other, but that one was his last. Should have been. He was well trained, well and fully trained. He bought himself enough meaningless seconds to make sure that my end is agony. All those years of training.

That’s all survival is, all there is to all of this. We are weak, we grow stronger, we are weak. And we’re the only ones who notice. I have changed so many lives in my time, not just those I ended, but also the multitude, the host, of next-of-kin, to think I once had complete control. Still, I mean, still, Johnny Normalguy couldn’t do this, not with all the pain pain pain pain, he couldn’t drive a car with a modicum of care out of city limits. Good for me. We worry about age and how old we’ll get, we worry and you laugh. I can hear you sometimes. Age makes no difference, you’ll ruin us all, won’t you? You’ll dry us out, wrinkle us, cancer us, cancer us. ‘Cause it’s a moderation thing, you work enough years exclusively at night and you all of a sudden remember some of the good things that most horrible day can bring with it, that most horrible day more than deceives one with. Pale bodies shying away, eyes know pain from the inside. These are the choices we make, the true choices we have in life, the ones we miss even when they are simply threatened: How will we balance our days, when will we dream and when will we hunger? You burn us, the other one cools us down, rhythms, paces, confidence. But, but we need you! A nice little racket you’ve got set up, protection, pretty skin you’ve got there, be a shame if it paled out, real shame. We spin at odd angles at odd seasons, we simply cannot see you as much as we need. We make you worthwhile, you repay with scorn. It’s our planet! Too bad. Too bad for us. Can’t show our respects? Shame. Depression follows, our eyes fail, our skin forgets itself, out joints creaking. And we’ll try and cheat you, we’ve redirected oceans, planted forests, left flags far from home, destroyed and healed. Nothing doing, strange shades of brown, the eyes, the nose, these know the shades that you had no part in creating. The physician will tell us that you’re dangerous yes, but that, on the other hand, any blue-lighted simile fashioned by us will kill us and then go to work on us. Give me sweet night. Dreamless. He howled about sweet night, sweet dreamless night, howled, like hearing someone recite opera lyrics at a whisper, these punctuated, guttural sounds. Blood and blood and howling. My memories of that day will soon be no more than a sad pile of mould. Where was I? X marks it. Perchance to dream. No more. I’m not that much of a fool. Mentors can be younger, those we teach much older. Music, love, hope, sunlight. No second more powerful than another. We imbue, add ourselves to nature to describe it. Blips on the radar, ducks in the turbine. There is no dying, no gradual transforpainmation from a to b. Clear pain steps rather. Moving forward, moving pain on. Snake in the sand. Wheel in my hand.

I’m always driving somewhere, always somewhere I have to go. Let’s end that, You and I, let’s put me to rest, there’s a tree, there’s a suburb full of them, let’s ease it in here. Eventually. I don’t want to be here. Simple truth. Despite all the facts and all the words. I want to be in a real, silent, stilly still forest, surrounded by real trees, free trees, huge trees, I want to sit on a glacier, lie on a rock, think about being here, sure sure, thinking.

There Is Absolutely No Way I Could Have Avoided This, not fate just preference. I could have lived to sit on glaciers and all that, could have pain, that’s not right, I could have pain. Pain. If I had suffered for years maybe I would have had a few more to suffer in. Instead I do all the suffering now. And on rooftops. And during training. And with the dead eyes. And the pain. I don’t want to be here.

The Rain (kap. 10)

---------------------------------------

“Got’s me a brand new weapon, it’s so shiny shiny. Hello Mr. Pig, I’ve got a shiny new weapon, see? See?”

----------------------------------------

“Sir, put it down”. Daniel was quietly insisting, Peter couldn’t help but notice the younger detectives skill at the craft. The man wasn’t buying it. “Shiny, shiny, oinky oink oink, shiny”. The gun was loaded, dangerous, but just waved around meaninglessly. It was the darndest thing. Surreal. “We don’t want to hurt you, sir, simply comply and everything will be fine. I know a nice, warm place where they serve soup and coffee, whaddaya say?”. Peter knew a few old tricks when it came to working the crazies, they all just took time to work, they had to sink in. And there was no time. The Primary, the killer, was just a few steps away, within reach, this whole night, this whole operation; it was that close to making sense.

And there was some reason for fear, there was no way of knowing the mans proficiency level with fire-arms, true, he did appear to be a destitute, smelled of the street, but he was an unknown.

Yet another unknown, this Secondary. Not at all what they had expected, but it had to be him.

His presence was obviously too convenient. Probably this, what he was doing that very instant, was his true purpose. Whoever hired out the Primary also had contingency plans, this was some operation. And it could be unraveled if they could just get the destitute to put down the gun. Loaded or not they couldn’t simply leave him there in the lobby, too many citizens expecting protection.

More often than not police officers will be for strict gun-control, usually in a big way. The weapon is supposed to be the very tangible line between those who deal in light and those who deal in darkness, Peter thought. This man, this man did not look dark, did not seem dark, but that was his childhood talking and the clear and present fact of the matter was that if the man kept waving the loaded gun around like that it was bound to

It went off.

The bullet, propelled by the explosion in the bowels of the gun, sped upwards and lodged itself in the roof of the lobby. Almost instantly Daniel leapt forward, knocking the gun away and pinning the shocked man to the floor. Shocked? No, that wasn’t shock, it was defeat. It was defeat and that meant that, without a word to the younger detective Peter lounged for the staircase. It had been a signal, it had to have been a signal. The Primary, he was right on his tail. He was the wave, then, the wave crashing forward to erode the cliff, that was how it had to be. He heard shattering glass one floor above him and knew what it meant. They were too late. Not to catch him, no, they were too late to stop him. The thin-fingered man rushed down the stairs, nearly stumbling. In the short while his trip had lasted Daniel had secured the gunman in the lobby, incapacitated and pacified. No. Seemingly pacified. But definitely incapacitated, he was not going anywhere.

“C’mon, we can still get him!”

The doors flew open spitting the pair onto the street into the rain. There was no trace, there was no trace, none. But a sound. Far off, mingling with the backdrop noises.

“He drove north”

“The spotters probably got his plates”

“But he’ll probably ditch the car”

“Probably”

That was it. They only had the destitute in the hotel and most likely a corpse in a room with a broken-down door and maybe someone had a bead on the car, maybe a helicopter saw the Primary go. Maybe maybe maybe. Damn!

----------------------------------------

Two shots.

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The Rain (kap. 9)

A flap lifts itself out of the deck, a rope rushes forward. A little cardboardcutout gets shifted off the board, its little nuts and bolts nevermore to return.

Descending like angels or pigeons or kites when the wind dies down slowly. And catching lines. Clumsily, critically, importantly. It doesn’t matter which pope said it, sort them out, the important thing is that God knows his own and that what we do here is in no way measurable or representative of His actions and will.

Which is pretty much what Martin said.

Let God sort us out.

Borderguards almost always go. It’s pretty much in their job description. Or village elders.

A general suddenly appears unannounced, just on the outskirts of a campaign. And he’s brought his own toys, artillery and everything. Boys will be generals.

And he just sort of sits there and for a brief moment everyone is involved, every countermeasure, diplomatic route and spy network kicks into high gear. From Mossad on down everyone holds their breath. He just turned around and walked away. Left the school bombings to those in charge.

A line of death, you cross it you die. Okay, you cross this line you die. Oh, now you’ve done it, cross this line and all that which you fear will rise from the sand and feast on your innards.

The minister you have attempted to reach is currently fleeing to a less conquered area.

We apologize for any inconvenience.

This sort of thing’s always going on. Right now, I sip my cool tap-water and listen to my Sousa, a bullet rips through a young woman, a limb goes missing, a no-fly zone gets violated. A cease fire ceases. Rebels, revelation and religions. I never forced anyone to make sandals shoes basketballs or any other forms of sports equipment. Those people are brutal. No. Things shift, balance changes. Too true. Both the seen and unseen balances. Tipping the scales is easy, if I had wanted power I could have had power. Power is impractical, attracts attention, requires decisions, I could have had power. The power behind the power behind the power, yes, that’s us, that’s all we provide, all we do. You need to move your bishop to a certain square? We’ll make sure that there’s no pesky king in your way when you get there. Heck, we can king you with a... whatever those small pieces on the frontline are called. Soldiers, peasant, never cared for the game. More of a cribbage man myself. A game of chance so random that any fool can win it. But not consistently, and there’s the rub, the respect, after thirty games or so the real players are separated from the flock, the real scores are added up and figured out and the penny a point games can begin. Old ladies play like sharks, never giving any quarter and never expecting any. Mercy is for the weak and those who do not play cribbage. There are frontlines and frontlines. Some soldiers rush forward at the blow of a whistle, some sell stocks at the vibration of a beeper. A pager. A page. A soldier might find the need to call in some heavy support, might happen upon a stockpile or a bunker or a factory. Another soldier may bump into the wrong CEO, might find themselves treated unfairly in a takeover, hostile or not. Might find that within their own ranks corruption and complacency grow wild. Removing complacency is what we do best. Keep the troops edgier than softball picnics and random drug tests. And punk removal. We do punk removal. Some of my colleagues won’t do that, we see it as a service we are proud to provide, we know how one unknown and disruptive outside element can bring great and powerful empires to their knees if left undealt with. From Visigoths to la Resistance to public interest groups. Snooping, sniping, testing your borders for any signs of weakness. We provide the barbwire and they provide the truth in ‘once bitten twice shy’. Hardly any follow-up work. We don’t overcharge either. You could probably hire and arm a small band for the money that you pay us but I can assure that in ten out of ten times - recorded fact mind you - these little groups accomplish absolutely nothing. You wouldn’t use eighteen expensive bikes to do the job of a single, well priced automobile if the job was simply a to b. Sadly we can not guarantee the effects of our work, we get a job and we do it, if you are after spin control then hire the doctors, if you’re after a rebellion then stage a coup. But, if you are after the sudden end of one or more - preferably no more than three or our expenses will press the cost up to a place which is practical for no one, least of all you - nuisances then we are most definitely the people to see. Now, what can we do...

-Drop the act Schutzmann

-Begging your pardon Mr. Ryan but I have yet to say anything but hello

-Of course, of course, pardon me, stressful days and sleepless nights

-And all that, yes, eloquently put, please, sit, water? Something a bit more intrusive?

-I wouldn’t object to a brandy

-Very few people would. That will take only a little while

-Some damn weather, it hasn’t stopped raining in...

-Please, there is no need for nerves here, I am neither dentist nor am I chiropractor.

Although one could argue that we straighten things out, here and out there, spotless perfection. Untraceable, unless that becomes necessary, we don’t want that do we?

-No... no

-No what, Mr. Ryan?

-Uhm, no, there is no reason to be nervous of course, this is not even my first time in an establishment such as this

-Then let me thank you for coming to us this time, ah here’s your brandy, may I ask, in the spirit of customer satisfaction of course, what prompted you to chose us?

-Pure practicality I’m afraid, my previous contractors had no branch to cover this area

-I would tell you that we cover any area you need covered, but you did just ask me to ‘drop the act’, I think it was

-Yes, look I’m sorry about that, I’ll be frank with you, my blood pressure has recently reached a level that causes confusion and that sort of thing

-Oh dear. Well, I hope that we can help you sort that out

Insidious smile death peddler don’t get your corpse stench on me I can feel her eyes looking finding seeing judging she has to go has to go

-I believe you can, cheers

-Cheers

-... excellent, very good, I must tell you that you come highly recommended. A close personal friend of mine, pardon if he remains anonymous

-Of course

-He says that he’s used you for every job since his first, and he’s quite the busy boy

Small smile you know right now don’t you you know who he is and you can use that against me why am I having this conversation why is no place

-I am happy to hear it, I do not mean to pat my own back but we tend to create that kind of customer loyalty, anecdotally a client once told me that if we were to branch out into babysitting and plant watering we would be able to monopolize his life, as it were

-Charming, and not a fully horrible idea, little things like babysitters can cause huge problems

-Among the maxims on lord Naoshige’s wall there was this one: “Matters of great concern should be treated lightly” Master Ittei commented, “Matters of small concern should be treated seriously”

-War poetry, correct?

-Yes, the Hagakure, generally quite useless but some of those passages strike close to home

-Hmmm, I suppose you are in the field of small matters with serious handling?

-A question, I think, of how one defines the size of matters. Some probably have a harder time accepting what we do than others. On that note here it comes here comes the part where I put her head on the block and he does the chop and all that will come from it is less money and an employee gone missing she knows she knows she knows we should probably get down to business, hmm?

-Certainly, my nerves seem to be settling nicely

-Glad to hear it. Now, let me hear the circumstances

Well, once upon a time there was a young woman growing up in a non-descript suburb. She did non-descript things like applying for scholarships and going to poor countries to feed people. While feeding people she discovered that some people prefer to take food rather than being given it. And not only food but people too. Apparently she got herself into a bit of a problem and then she got herself out. And it had been non-non-descript. She had felt life for a little while, she had taken a little life for a while. This is where I met her, I was conducting business

-As you do

-Of course, of course, go on

Now I have always been of the firm belief that we humans are equipped with imaginations to make up for all that which we are not and will never be, but it seemed that she could change between two distinct personas, each one truly hers. There was no game to it, no teenage tomfoolery. The suburbanite and the operative, that’s what she became, she did job after job, flawlessly, courier, instigator, spy, secretary

-Lover?

-Oh no, never that

-Pardon then

-Not at all

But she could never advance, never improve her standing, there was this edge to her, this questionable aspect. I trusted her but those above us never did. For thirteen years she stayed a, shall we say, lieutenant. A hardworking seemingly satisfied lieutenant, the best at what she did. I say seemingly because it turns out that her frustration was building. Her last mission was a success except for the fact that she ‘offed’, if you understand, two of her coworkers who had, in her own words, ‘put the success of the mission at risk’

-Had they?

-That is still being determined

It was enough however to make those above me anxious and angry, never a good combination. Also one of the triumvirate had sent his little pet along, only to find that my associate had turned him into a bullet-ridden piñata for the police to find. The communiqués from up top were icy one day and full of blood and fire the next. I was prepared to take care of the whole thing myself but found that she had decided to make herself disappear right after her debriefing and initial chastising. Not only that but she had cleared out and even burnt down some of her safehouses

-I must tell you that we charge quite a bit extra for locating duties

-That will not be a problem inasmuch as we have already located her

She surfaced for no apparent reason, called her mother of all people, what she said to her is unknown but no one is answering the phone at her mothers address anymore, probably warned her. So we have her, but there’s a problem, none of my inhouse people feel up to this, it reeks of a trap. I figure that one of yours could get past any such hindrance unhindered, they aren’t looking for you I suppose. Anyhow, she’s in a hotel here in town and she’s under surveillance, discreetly. It would seem that she will be flying somewhere in two days time

-This sounds doable, yes?

-Oh very, our only problem is this trap of hers, I am going to have to reduce your failure refund to under fifty percent, you understand I hope?

-I suppose I do, yes. It does all seem too fishy

-Not to worry, we will get this job done, it’s just best to have all the details sorted. All of them. Do you want any souvenirs? For conformation perhaps?

Do I want that ring back my time back my reputation back her head on a stick mounted outside my Denver office to show my continued loyalty her wallet that she bought from that shifty character no no like a dead cat once the spark of life is gone it will just be a wallet just be a ring just be a head

-No, that won’t be necessary

-No snapshots or anything of that sort?

-I will take your word when you tell me that the job is completed

That the work is done and completed that the last breath has been breathed and the last insult fired the last steely glance fixed the last words spoken icily yet booming the last job done

-Well then, which hotel are we talking and what room?

-The Royal Thespian, in the theater district, right by the park, we have been unable to determine her room number, she called from the foyer but we know she’s staying there, that’s the best we can do

-Nevermind, do you have a name?

-Yes, Linda Vilhelms, write all this down write it down it will be the last thing anyone writes of her while she can still respond to it while she still cares, the last time I saw her she had colored her hair a dull brown, sort of a pedestrian color. She has no formal training in disguising herself, but I know for a fact that she can do some amazing things with almost no props

-Eye color?

-She never could stand contacts, told me as much years ago, she was born blond and blue-eyed

-Ah, Aryan, striking?

-Again, it depends on what she decides to show

-It ought not to be any kind of issue, open and shut case, you’ve mailed pictures?

-All I could find, hope I haven’t flooded you

-Not to worry, this is no back-alley operation, we have departments for that sort of thing

-I guess that sorts it

-There’s still the matter of payment... if I may be so bold as to assume something?

-Please

-This is an old friend, yes?

One hand scratches the other or whatever that’s called one fate follows another

-Yes. Sadly

-Sadly. We have a rather large amount of experience concerning this where is this sympathy coming from where is he going he wouldn’t be making a deal or striking a bargain they can’t be human they don’t get to be considerate they don’t get to care kind of thing. It will be no hassle to me to do this quickly and painlessly and then spread rumors of torture and pain

-I, I don’t quite follow?

-No man can serve two masters, least of all if the masters are old friends and powerful employers, I’m guessing that your masters, this triumvirate, have ordered you to make a mess of this job, do some damage, regain honor and all that

-Ah, I would appreciate if that were the word on the proverbial street

-As I said that will not be any kind of problem or expense

-So be it, then

-I will put my employees to it, they should appreciate the little twist on this one, for all we know it may still be quite clear-cut despite the resurfacing

-Oh most definitely, my people are simply cowards, can’t say I blame them

-Payment...

-I have the account number and I have already transferred the amount that was requested for a meeting, I assume that account will be used for the final payment?

-Correct, this is the best offer I can give you

Scribble on paper no place is safe and you scribble your deals on paper should I haggle

-Reasonable I suppose

-More than, I assure you

-Then, well then it would appear that everything is in order and sorted

-Yes

Getting up getting over to the door getting out shaking hands

-I hope your nerves feel better

-Thank you, this will certainly alleviate some of my work pressure

-We aim to please, you know where we are when you need us

-That I do, goodnight, oh wait!

-What is it?

Write this down

-I want to leave her a message, well I don’t but it is as it is

-What message?

-I believe it was supposed to be something along the lines of ‘consider this your severance pay’

-Okay, when?

-I suppose right before the torture was to commence

-Very good, no problem at all

-That is everything then

-Excellent. Goodnight

It really is this easy, there really are no more things to consider. In less than twenty-four hours she will be no more and there will be no more rumbling from upstairs. Unless there is, of course, in which case there’s nothing doing. In which case she’s been put to the fire pointlessly. We all have to die of something, we don’t all get to die for a reason. Cause and effect, affect, defect, you dug your own hole and you liked doing it, you liked forcing our - my - hand. Didn’t you? If you didn’t then you’ve wasted the one powerful moment in a life of power that actually meant something. We all have to leave, we don’t all get to cause this much trouble first. If they don’t end me here and now then I feel pretty sure that I’ll do something like this. Just pray that Gefrin gets put in the situation that I’m in now. He would know what to do, how to feel, how not to. Passing me by, the moments by moments, life and death. Situations come to me and I deal with them as best I can, deal with them on their terms. I haven’t felt on top of a situation since, well, Africa I suppose. Black was black and white was white and the rebels were restless and the spoils rich and plentiful. All it took was a little, subtle oppression. Things are so elevated now, so much edgier, entire countries are suffering over vault contents, empires collapse from listening to their oracles for pre-recorded wisdom, praying to their pre-paid gods. We all have gods, things we believe in but can’t see, some of us see though, some of us see the spirits, I see my spirits. Those who avenge with flaming swords and great and furious anger. He’s right here, right here above me as I descend from my audience, from my prayer session, He has blessed me, listened to my prayers, accepted my offering. From His tower He sees nothing but coordinates everything. Surrounded by spheres, each one successively worse than the one preceding it. The Horsemen, the convention, the treaty. Famine AND Hunger. Loss AND Loss. Less and more. And in the center he sits, He Who Moves Without Moving, He Who Is Of The End. Good night to us all, good wet night, the evil of those who are not of Him drench from the disappointed heavens. I’m on top, I’m on top. There is no higher power amongst us, anyone can kill and anyone can get caught, but to not get caught, to not even kill and yet bring about death, that is something. Blink and you’ve missed it. I’m on top. I’m standing in the rain. When it rains we all get wet, we all get wet, even he gets wet. Calm down.

I need to be alright for this, I need to be inconspicuous. To lie about how it happened, how I ordered it, she lingered for hours, begged for mercy till her lungs bled, felt the life drain from her slowly and felt is dragged from her in little jerks of agony. It doesn’t bother me, why should it? I’m down an expense, that’s all. Reduce headcount. Play it as cool as I can.

Snail back into life and wait, wait for the phone to ring.

Linda, run away, don’t leave me alone, everything is so edgy now, so pointy and sharp.

Every sound enhanced, every color sickening, run! What are you waiting for?

Calm, must be calm, calm. Two white ones, one red one, two yellows...