lørdag den 29. januar 2011

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...

søndag den 23. januar 2011

The Rain (kap. 8)

Like bullets on tin, the rain, like a constant drone, like drowning in salad forks, endless waves, not to hide in, not to ride on, not to break against the coast, endless waves of water, drifting in from the ocean, the ocean not too far away. Daniel and Peter had had their silences, their moments where it might as well have been a one-man operation. Or so it had seemed. Peter had felt it the moment the red lamp turned on, felt it even before Daniel had left, felt that void, that extra silence. It was extra silent. Except for the rain, endless, unrelenting, Peter let time take care of itself and got the best out of the solitude, the thoughts streaming more freely, more chaotically, less worried about legibility, there was no audience but the mind, and the mind was the performer and the audience in one and Peter saw that this was good. Peter made sure to be on the sidelines, ready to untangle, to untie, to cut through, let there be free debate between mind and mind but let it not go unsupervised lest things emerged that were counterproductive to the main goal at large. Whatever it may be.

Tonight the main goal was carved in stone and cardboard, carved in press releases and year-end budget reports. They would catch this person. This killer. Peter felt an unwavering certainty about it, felt years of experience and years of learning how to analyze situations to fit said experience tell him that after tonight there would be no more problems with this killer. Which left only some six billion potential killers to worry about, several millions of these under Peters jurisdiction.

Of course there were patterns, there were statistics, if you lived in a certain place, had a certain age, a certain income and an uncertain upbringing you were, statistically, more prone to end life than someone living just a few hundred yards away. But that was the thing with statistics; at the end of the day everything was fifty/fifty. It either happened or it didn’t. That revelation had come to Peter at an early age. Something he could thank the Children for. And he did. Their encouragement of abstract thought right from the introduction into grade school had served Peter no end throughout the years. He could still recall, however, that some of the thoughts that had come to him as a pre-teen and earlier had been so abstract that he had had no place to put them in his conscious mind and so they had been placed away from everything else, where they eventually probably caused more harm than if they had been more thoroughly examined. The whole concept of time as a manmade framework to avoid our little heads exploding had been of no good use to him at the age of seven. Yet here he was, flipping through his youth at the speed of the mind, reaping the harvest of a youth doused in theory and an adult life surrounded by the really real world.

Moments ticked by.

Seconds, minutes, it seemed to Peter that one moved as fast as the other. This was the closest to meditation he ever came, this degradation of the time units, the removal of importance, the lack of clear-cut distinction between one of one and one of another. The Children had an extensive portion of their recruiting material deal with meditation. Just like every other new religion, like every other movement. He had been a while finding the obvious parts out, it had taken him more time than could have been expected to see that the Children were just another on a long list of faiths that promised answers to every question at the slight cost of everything. Give up your worldly possessions, the end is not only neigh, it’s actually here, right now, inside each and every one of us. What you had doesn’t matter, there will be no escape, there was no escape, everything ended and you just didn’t notice. That was a prime philosophy. It was a fun brainteaser. What if the world had actually ended, Ragnarok, all the gods dead, the Earth the last unended piece of Creation?

The answer had finally come to Peter one day during scripture studies. It was really quite simple.

So what? If the gods were dead then why even worry? If the end had already been, shouldn’t one try to live life to the fullest, happier with what one had now that it was gone, so close to everything lost, never having to lose it again? All the ritual trappings of the Children had paled that day, instead of going deeper into the ‘mystery’ Peter had slowly pulled himself away, tactfully, quietly, but away. He had left as soon as he could, gone away to find deeper mysteries or just people who could live without them. There were no deeper mysteries to find than those in crime and the fighting of it. Peter had thrown himself at training as he was throwing himself at the past now, rather than to ponder the present. The past was over, ended, right now there was a colleague out there on his own, walking up and down in the rain, checking cars for parking violations, keeping his eyes secretly out for a face that they were uncertain how looked. They had put up posters in several post-offices, not too many, they didn’t want the killer to know he was wanted or to know that his foes knew his face. Peter knew that face, had memorized it, and so did Daniel. Out there in his sunglasses playing a role, out there one on one with a multiple murderer. Damn! What was taking so long? Waiting, waiting. Was that it? Was that the signal. Tap tap, yeah, that was it. Into the rain. Towards the end.


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I leave him alone with his dragons, a few cents poorer. He screams something that sounds vaguely like god-is-the-fire-that-blesses-you-but-where-does-that-fire-come-from? Where indeed. One-track mind like his would tell me that the ‘blessed fire’ was a sulfur reeking by-product of some large, winged beast covered in silver and gold scales. So I don’t ask. He shouldn’t be out on a night like this, no one should, there must be a shelter or a church, somewhere warm, where does my tax money go? To what? Wet roads that stretch for an eternity only to double back on themselves. Rain like this, there’ll be no one to drop a pittance in his cup, no one to help him build a fortune. Every fortune starts small, starts with nothing at all. I’ve got to keep him out of my mind, can’t get caught up in every tragedy I meet, every mishap, every downfall. It sucks to be me too, I want some pity, me, me. Sure I have a roof over my head, but that makes being outside in the world that much worse. Makes the rain that much colder, bone chill.

Sure I have throngs of people who love me, I mean, on a scale of one to ten I think I’ve got pretty much every sub-category covered. Fraternal, paternal, maternal, passing, glancing, everlasting. And now I’m away from them all, away from everything, they’re all separated from just one person, but me, I’m separated from an ocean of faces, a forest of arms and what have you. Alone in the rain, why, why. Oh. Oh yeah. Booze. But then, what am I doing by the Park? Nearest one from here is inwards toward the theater district. I must really have let my attention slip. A good party will do that, well, it’s not really a party, a gathering of old friends.

Boy the Park is anonymous at night, a wall of branches and leaves. Hotels and branches and old metal fences and the city is hiding, the city is in the lights and far off – can’t be too far off, the Manhattan got to me, haven’t had lunch – traffic sounds. Time to turn inwards, pedestrian traffic is picking up. A bunch of Japanese businessmen. Another panhandler. Some guy on a cell phone.

Red vermouth, need that, maybe some vodka, a port? Perhaps. Maraschino cherries, that’s for sure. Car drives off from the hotel in kind of a hurry.

Oh fuck, I’ve forgotten my wallet!


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If I come with you, what then?

Changes. Cataclysmic changes.

That’s what I was afraid of. Let me go. Alone.

Can’t do it. Won’t.

Then we have a problem.


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