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...

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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The Rain (kap. 7)

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Look, let’s stop going around this. Do what you need to do.

I don’t know what that is anymore. I knew just a few seconds ago but now it’s all messed up. You have me at my wits end. This is no time for philosophy and memories. This is a time for closure and ending and peace.

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I can smell her. That perfume of hers, heavy, feminine, hers. She let go of my hand a minute ago and I know every second of it, I know every second of everything. She shouldn't have held it in the first place, against code, regulations. I mean, we get up in the morning to avoid contact, that's all that gets me out of bed on a cold day. Got. And then she showed up. Wonder if it's supposed to be some sort of flower, maybe a sweat gland from some huge beast, one with an army of females to watch over, one of those that don't avoid cars because they have no natural enemies, no one to watch out for. Like dad. No, they wouldn't bottle dads sweat, that's a crazy thought, only a crazy person would think it, oh, now she'll know, distract her.

"So, old lady Henderson's stopped talking to the wall I noticed"

See, you're alert to the world around you, to the words, just distracted, that's all, just distracted.

"We upped her little blue ones"

That would explain it, the little blue ones pack a punch, made dad very sad that I couldn't give him names just descriptions. And made-up names, names that I've made up, to remind myself, Morning Wonder, Child of the End, Safe Passage, Good Day, Bad Day. Little blue ones. Had my Wonder and then a Good Day and then a Safe Passage so that I could get out the door, no, so that I could tell my mind that it was okay to get out the door, I mean, the door can't hear me, it can't understand. Well. If it can it isn't in a talkative mood. Just like me, to avoid contact. Our hands are swinging in time, shadows pass on them, ground passes beneath them. Nice morning, nice normal morning, she shouldn't be out here, we.

"Jason, do you know where we're going?"

She doesn't have to say my name when she talks to me, I know her, know who she is, know how she works, inside out, guess she does it because I can be sort of distracted sometimes. That's all, just a little beside everything, everything is beside me and there's a veil of pure time, she asked a question back there, didn't she? I have no idea, no, no, okay, plan alpha.

"Uhm"

"Well, I told you about the suburbs, how real life is where real houses aren't?"

This is a test, I can pass this. I can pass this with a nod.

"Towers, Jason, we're going to the towers you and I, just for a little while, I want to show you the world from a tower"

She wants to shock me out from under the veil because she doesn't understand, only thing that chases away the veil is the Child of the End and they don't carry those anymore, not since the filing cabinet. I'm quivering like a leaf. Towers. Real towers that stretch until there's no more stretching to do, glass and stone and steel and people piled on top of one another. A tower will do nicely. Over there a car has found a tree and the people in the car with the flashy lights are unwrapping it.

"Towers, Jason"

I don't know, but I don't think she knew she just repeated that.

She's always been a little off.

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Just a moments safety. It doesn’t matter what I do, it doesn’t matter what I’m selling, where I go, how many sanctions there are. A moments safety. Door closed or open, broken in or unlocked. Heart healed, burning or shattered. They are coming to kill me. Alive or dead, preferably dead. It doesn’t matter. I’ve lived. Behind the scenes, cast and crew commentary.

I wish it would stop raining, window drenched. Rain or shine. It’s not even personal, it’s just something they have to do, every business has red tape, every profession its meaningless tasks. There’s no fire escape, no ventilation shafts, it’ll have to be the front door and even though it’s locked now that doesn’t mean that someone won’t get in here they always get in.

Here. A moments safety. Skin smooth or pierced or bruised or battered. Blue. Crying or comforted. I will die. Here. Whoever kills me will get away to kill again. Drunk or sober, you’re my darling. Slave or twelve-year-old. Police protection. The police enforces the laws set down by those who have power over societies who chose their protectors amongst their own ranks who are then those who set the police upon those who were not chosen. They’re not bodyguards. Should have bodyguards. You don’t give Guernsey cows bodyguards. You chain yourself to a tree to say that the Guernsey cow shouldn’t be suffering. Armed or unarmed, innocent bystander or terrorist mad-man. Mad-person. Whore got to Jefferson. Sleeping or awake. In-between. But I’ve lived, I’ve been born and slapped and cried my terror into the void. I should be writing this down. Waiting or surprised. I could call room service, speed the whole damn thing up a bit. My plane leaves at five in the morning. Inside or outside, same danger, same certainty. Dead or alive, can’t believe they still write that.

Rich or poor, no chance, been both, paid my dues for every state of poverty and wealth they ever made up, not they, the other they, the ones with the police rather than hitmen. Hitpeople. Tall and dark or short and pale, maybe carrying an hourglass and a scythe. Knife, piano wire, silenced whatever. Could face the door, wielding, I have nothing to wield, Swiss army not that intimidating it would seem. Face the door, face it down, known or unknown, there is nothing doing anymore, might as well do it myself, whether or not that would work for whoever does whatever is beside the point, most destructive thing I can do now it seems is to rob some hardworking professional of his or her paycheck. Legacy, forgotten or remembered. Left no one to remember, no observer to mourn, quoting or quoted, remembering or remembered. I will die and it will be alright, accepted, understood, there will be no retaliation, revenge or service. Now or later I will die. You have to have lived to die, no on without off, and vice versa. Every second passing will never pass again. Not for me, not for anyone. Time will slip away and what comes, comes. Should run screaming, buy some time, a chance, to explain, take back, find whatever. Or sit down, and just wait. Like a Guernsey cow. Cold hand or warm embrace. Face the window rather, back to the door, wielding my glass, I’ll look at the world, if it’s my last glance I should make it a good one. The quality of the glance is, hopefully, not connected with that which is being glanced upon, just drenched window, just drops and dew, gathered or spread. Fed or feeding, met or meeting, should be helping me out of this, no, acceptance, must accept. Like a rollercoaster, makes life all the more exhilarating to know that any thought can at any moment be cut not just short but utterly away. I have lived, but never like this. Lived two lives, peaceful or danger-wrought. I did my job, whatever job was given to me, and not as a peon, I worked for myself, followed orders for myself, I have. Protecting my mission, that’s key, it’s always key, told that to all the newcomers autodidact or trained. I guess that if you like what you do then you do what you like. Soft tread on carpeting, hotel carpeting, not a big guy, size eight I’d say, he’s stopped. What’s he listening for, what’s he got to worry about. Confident or envious. I’ve been outside that door, tried to understand what those inside felt, always made sure they felt as little as possible, never let them hear. Maybe they did. Revealing or revealed, maybe they just accepted. Docile species. Come in, come in, come in, come in, come in, come in.

“Vilhelms. This is your severance pay” Answered or ignored. He really isn’t all that intimidating.

Responding. What did I say? Why isn’t he doing anything? What are you waiting for.

The Rain (kap. 6)

“You ever feel like you’re being pushed on to do something, not by people but by... something larger, something outside you?”

The thin-fingered man kept his voice calm, responded

“I think we all feel like that at some point or another, especially in this kind of weather”

“Yeah, yeah, I’d heard that, but I’ve just never felt it”

Without looking up to remind himself about the truth in it the thin-fingered man said

“You’re young, still very young”

“Guess that doesn’t stop coming at you until you’re the oldest, huh?”

The ruse had worked, gotten him off the subject, out of the fully unproductive rut that a prolonged readiness could get you into. This was nasty business, vengeful and tricky and most likely expected. And he wouldn’t be alone, there were two of them and there would most likely be two opponents to deal with.

“Can’t shake it, Pete, just can’t”

“You can and will, Dan, religion and such are all well and good but not for us, not for us right now”

“So, you’re telling me that you’ve gone through twenty-eight years doing this and it hasn’t done anything to your spirituality?”

“I’m not telling you anything of the sort, detective, merely that the time for prayers has passed and the time for lamentations is still ahead, peace in the valley and all that”

Silence.

Broken by small-talk, the feigned calm before the faked storm. Daniel.

“I actually saw a flyer for a new religion posted downtown, The Children of the End or some such thing, had quotes from their Genesis on it, y’know ‘in the beginning’, strangest thing, lemmesee, I think I can still remember it...”

Peter weighed the situation in an instant, the way he should, the way others had trained him and the way he himself had created. The small-talk would dry out at best - leaving a silence that would play on Daniel’s nerves all the more - and distract the pair from the seriousness of their duties at worst. No, deeper conversation for a short time would be best, would addle Daniel, focus him, Peter interrupted.

“In the beginning was the End. This is the way with all things and thus was it also with the First Movement... “

Daniel was wide-eyed, drawing conclusions much too quickly, attempted logic and tried

“You saw it too?” with the slightest hint of disbelief.

“It’s not a new religion, you know, they just have a new leader”

“O, kay”

The question hung unanswered, Peter would have to deal with the label of cult-member for a few more moments he knew, and they were a cult, The Children, they were secretive and strange and anti-social. No thing may begin before another has ended; the people walking the streets with placards announcing the end as being nigh were nutty amateurs in comparison.

The younger detective had suffered enough at his own good manners.

“I was raised with them”

Five words causing worried disbelief to turn with surprising haste to concerned interest and then, finally to pure hunger for knowledge.

“I never knew”

“Why should you, we haven’t worked together for that long. Apart from that, I haven’t told anyone else either”

Again too obvious to read, revered silence came over Daniel, feeling secure now that more information would surely come, his late-twenties eyes gleaming with the intensity of a six-year-old on Christmas morning. But where to start? The prayers? The readings? The sacrifices? Probably not the sacrifices.

“The rest of that prayer, we said it every morning, all I remember feeling was that every word spoken brought us closer to breakfast”

A rather understanding suppressed chuckle-snort escaped the younger man, a perfect reaction and one which pleased Peter, a slight underestimation had apparently taken place. And now Daniel was waiting for it, Peter pretended to take some time in remembering, started

“As the ripples from that First End moved out and solidified, a motion was left unsupervised. This is the motion We” Peter took pains to bring out the capitalization of the word “have come to call home, We the supporters of The Renegade Messiah of whom it is said ‘and he will be of you and among you but yet unreachable through ripple-faults’, thus must we always search, aimlessly to the eye not yet ready to accept The End”

There was more to the passage, but not the one they had recited in the morning. And, he realized, the words still made him hungry.

Now, which question would be asked first? It would say a lot about the young...

“Renegade messiah? How does that work?”

Promising, very promising.

“Well, they believe that some dashing young prince on a stunning white horse, metaphorically speaking of course, will come to their aid when it is the most dire and pull them from their

religious quagmire”

“Them and everyone else”

“Yeah, but, like everyone else, I know, I know, they have a twist... it’s a pretty good one though”

“The ‘renegade’ part?”

“Yup. When Jesus was born there were angels and wise men, Mohammed had a one-on-one with Gabriel; every hero is born under fanfare and with purpose. Not so the renegade”

“So, it could be anyone? You wouldn’t know?”

“Didn’t you hear the prayer, ‘aimlessly to the eye’ and so on”

The older man looked the younger straight in the eye, smiled slyly but without menace and added

“You unbeliever”

The words more mocking of themselves than common mockery usually allowed. A blunt instrument to assure the colleague that there was nothing left of the faith except for the memorized trivia and understanding for their rituals. It sank home. Daniel knew how to listen.

Knew how to preserve his ability to remain friends with the more experienced - and therefore, to his mind, obviously more correct - detective. Any tokens of beratement of religion in general and The Children of the End in particular would be more than well received.

Silence returned to the space around the two, but it was a silence filled with heavy and worthy thoughts, thoughts that did more than just take away attention and focus from the task at hand, they also helped to clear the mind of the clutter that years upon years had taught Peter to fear.

“But...” Daniel tried “...how can someone unknowing of their role as savior ever lead? And what if the person refuses?” The younger man was fishing for a dark side to the system, there was one, Peter knew it well, but it was not in that respect, it was not that avenue that ended in a dark alley. There would be a quote to explain it, probably from the book of Ripples, that one was always so depressing. The quote came as a response both to the questions asked and the ones behind them.

“Lead by a renegade we cannot but fail and fail We must”

“Hmmm, more prayers?”

“Scriptures actually, we had a big book with several chapters. We were instructed not to ever, not under any circumstance, call it that book our ‘bible’. Bible was a swearword for me growing up, not the actual thing, just the denomination. These chapters were actually pretty diverse”

Peter fell back into reminiscent silence just long enough for Daniel to ask

“When was it written?”

“They say long ago, scholars say recently. Then again, scholars do use the word ‘recently’ about everything, from the Trojan War to the Big Bang”

“The first movement”

“You were listening! Good, where was I, the chapters, yes. There were not that many, let’s see, there was ‘Ripples’ and ‘The preachers and the prayers’ and ‘Songs and Cries’, ah, and ‘Things to end’”

The pages of the non-bible were right between Peters slender fingers as he talked, he could feel the expensive paper, remember the quotes and the stories, the parables, the mock-ancient feeling. Reverence, but reverence mainly for the fact that some poor soul had at one time or another actually spent real hours and minutes cooking it all up. Like sunsets. No, like governments. Like them.

“Look” and his voice was like that of a teacher “it’s a religion dealing mainly with ending things, any things, all things, not out of malice but to start something new, that’s the party line”

“Well, there’s a feeling of truth to it, I could follow that line of thinking”

Still thinks himself superior, not to me but to everyone, demeaning work isn’t really demeaning if one is allowed to carry a firearm and dispense state-sanctioned justice. If placed in the right kind of position every human would do what was expected of him or her.

“A religion that carries not the slightest truth in it quickly ceases to exist. So quickly, in fact, that no footprint is left behind in history”

“Alright, platitude withdrawn, you grumpy old man”

There was compassion and respect in the taunt and an acceptance of personal fault.

That was not overlooked.

“Now now, no need to start the name-calling just yet, the evening is still young”

It was. The rain had started coming down before noon and had turned the rest of the day into a wet muck, no one hour distinguishable from the other, until the sun had set, somewhere behind it’s shield of clouds, somewhere out of sight but not out of influence. The street was dark now, but with a promise of even darker hours to come. They could read that promise, did not consider for a second that perhaps this was an ability to cherish, that others perhaps ventured forth into the overcast twilight believing it to be true night. There would be no movement for them for some time, hours could follow hours and they would have to remain still and in suspense. And ready. Prepared. The promise of darker hours was a bittersweet one to the waiting men. A silence, comfortable in it’s necessity, but with a bit too much presence to be completely relaxing, settled in the back of the parked van. At first there were the sounds of the outside world, muffled by insulation, then they disappeared, along with the steady sound of air being sucked into and pumped out of lungs, the raindrops hitting the outside wall and the creaks and whimpers of fabric expanding and contracting on metal. All sounds became lost in the beyond-hushed waiting. Between them, however, the two men had years of training and experience, decades, the tension levels, high as they were, were still far from being intolerable. Every man had his own story of tense waiting, some in bushes, some hanging from trees or hiding in the backs of cars being driven by notorious criminals to despicable hideouts. The stakeout was no place to feel pressured or stressed, the stakeout was where every beat walker longed to be, dry, safe and with a set assignment. No casual violence, no civilian uprising. Just four walls, a window and a two-way. All anyone could ever need, like soup cooked on a stone. A cup of coffee was nice, a second person there to allow for sleep was preferred, the different kinds of noiseless snacks and pastries were perks that came with the job, just as airline pilots got extra-strong martinis or astronauts got freeze-dried ice-cream.

“I guess nothing comes from nothing, huh?”

“That’s the general idea”

The conversation continued as though the silence between the two men had never been.

“Well, apart from that First Movement”

“More politics I think. You have to remember that quite a few experts would deem me a tainted witness, but I feel pretty sure that the whole aspect of the First Movement, to explain creation, was added to get some of the Abrahams”

“The Abrahams?”

Peter had dropped into the language of his youth without even noticing it. Disconcerting, more focus was needed, this was no study group. Any second the call could come and their actions would follow. Any second.

“That’s what we called any Christian, Jew or Muslim. The children of Abraham”

“Oh, I get it. Hmmm. So many sub-languages”

“What’s that?”

The younger man had almost made his last words spoken a comment to himself, but the signs were there to read, he wished to turn the conversation not only to another topic but to one of his choosing.

“Well, I mean, I was listening to two beats communicating over their radios and I realized that, while they were using, you know, English to do it they were actually speaking a different language”

It seemed an appropriate path, Peter followed.

“You mean like with the numerical codes? The ‘one Adam twelve’ stuff?”

“Yeah, but it’s more. Every profession seems to have its own language. With different idioms and everything”

Idioms? The young man had too much time on his hands. Peter slipped in a small barb, knowing that it would be registered only as a request for Daniel to keep speaking.

“You’re not married are you?”

He let it slide, moving to his conclusion.

“There’s no way, just no way at all that any one person could learn all the dialects, all the little languages, not in one lifetime”

It was clear that while he had made a discovery that showed him that the world was larger than life yet Peter could see that the mere fact that he had discovered this was keeping Daniel’s self-esteem high, not at an intolerable level, but moving that way, albeit slowly. A slight deflation was needed.

“Yeah, and those are just the lower categories of English”

“Huh?”

“Think about it, there are so many other languages out there and it’s pretty certain that by far the most of them have at least as many sub-languages as English. Some probably more”

A slight digestive pause did not give the younger detective anything proper to respond so in the interest of simply acknowledging that he had heard and understood he widened his eyes and said

“Oh...”

“Look, there’s practically nothing, no belief, no language, no product without different types, variations on the theme. It boggles the mind. I was out buying suitcases the other day, I don’t know if you know but there are so many different things one has to decide, so many possibilities”

“I guess that’s what makes it all worthwhile”

He was a quick one; there was no way around that.

“Hmmm, I guess so”

A moment, maybe two.

“Why were you looking at suitcases?”

That was one way to go, not too shabby a one either.

“My time is up my friend, there’s not too many days left in my calendar”

“Jeez, I wish you wouldn’t put it like that, just because you’re gone doesn’t mean you’re dead”

“How insightful of you. You knew what I meant”

“’Course I did, but don’t jinx it, not now”

“Pfh, you’ve seen too many bad action movies”

He had, actually, probably. It wasn’t like that, no assassin jumped from your ‘good luck’ cake, no old lady widower, not usually. Odds for someone leaving where the same as those for someone staying, pure fact. Peter had to spend the entirety of the time it took Daniel to deflate the situation.

“I hope you’re right, man, ‘cause I sure as Hell am not going on any kind of one-man rampage against any kind of oily-muscled drug overlords”

Silent laughter. Daniel resumed his previous questioning.

“So where are you gonna go now that you’re getting rid of us”

“I’ll admit it does clear up some free time, not going to lie to you. Loretta and I are going south”

“Ah, how far?”

“Just crossing the border”

“Hope you’re not going to try and smuggle anything”

The younger man was still upbeat after his vengeance comment.

“Heh, not to worry, if I do then no one will find out”

“You been planning the trip long?”

“Not too long, no. Loretta got one of her sudden urges”

“I think you’ll have a nice time. You remember Sue? We took a trip ‘cross last summer”

“Yeah, you spoke of that”

Trickled out.

It dawned on the pair, simultaneously, that they were discussing the future in far too certain terms. That was the great unknown out there. On the other side of those van doors lay the real world, the now world, the task at hand. An unknown stretching out between them and whatever future they dreamt about.

“It’ll be soon”

The older of the two could feel it as well. Something had tightened out there, something was moving at their expense. There would be release.

“Once more, let’s go over it”

They did not need another recap, not for any technical or physical reasons, but the mental reasons were obvious. This was less of a job, Peter reminded himself, and more of a mood. And this would set it as certain as the casket at a funeral. An edge of near-mechanical detachment entered Peters voice as he went through the logistics surrounding them, the man-hours spent on preparing for the few – hopefully few – moments of frantic action.

There was no going back, there never was, history didn’t move that way, no returning to armchairs, jobs incomplete. The recap hammered it in.

There was a main character, the ‘real’ target, he could not be allowed to escape. Then there was the other party, most likely a nobody, someone hired for a single job, unaware of who was paying him. Most likely just happy to be at the receiving end of a paycheck. Logic said bum or other destitute existence. Probably not armed, but these days, who knew? Minimal danger and with a projected minimal amount of information. It would be bad publicity to let it get away but definitely not the primary target. No sticking ones neck out to get this one.

Primary was a John Doe, known to have killed at least five people, two of these officers on duty. Undoubtedly there would be a lot more they didn’t know about, a lot more people dead at the hands of the Primary.

It appeared to be his job. Some professionals would do three, maybe four jobs and then retire, putting their money on the stock market or just living small, careful lives, staying off the radar. That way everyone was usually happy. Someone had died and those who wished to grieve this could do so while conjuring up images of some unholy beast as the murderer of their loved one, meanwhile officials would be excused for not spending too much time investigating. But this guy. He was good, no denying that. It had taken a small army of profilers about a month to draw up even the preliminaries and even then it was a freak accident that proved that their theories might be true – for years it was believed that no single operative would take on that much work. Actually, it had taken two accidents and more than a few people acting above and beyond. DNA. Once under fingernails, twice as hairs left behind. No previous file and only three definite crime scenes to place him at, one of those was a doosy though. Leaving the scene – an alleyway somewhere abandoned – the Primary had been approached by two officers who had heard the telltale sound of a silenced pistol. One of them managed to get his nails to the Primary’s skin before he joined his colleague. Hair to hair. Hair to fingernail scraping.

Yeah, he was a cop killer and that was bad enough in and of itself, but the sheer scope of his operations usually took up most of the conversations about him. It was thought that there was some kind of Black Hand guiding him, some agency. The boys and girls in Organized Crime denied that any kind of ‘killer for hire’ agency of that magnitude could stay unobserved for so long.

Peter, however, could not help thinking about the words of Sherlock Holmes, when all the impossible ideas have been removed whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth.

Occam’s razor at war with Doyle.

Easiest explanation was that the Primary was a one-man show, renowned through word of mouth in the right circles, receiving contracts at cocktail parties from coast to shining coast.

Musing had made Peter miss half the recap.

“…upon you entering the hotel we will regroup and swiftly proceed to the designated room, assuming that the intel was correct and apprehend the Primary using all means necessary and hopefully preventing him from completing whatever task he may have been given”

All Means Necessary, the Primary wouldn’t be walking away from this one.

Maybe not from anything ever.

“Should trouble arise with the Secondary to such an extent that we are unable to pursue the Primary we will contact the three-oh-sixteen’s asap and request aerial backup, hopefully we’ll be able to give them at the very least a possible search area”.

That was something of a weak contingency and everyone knew it, the Primary seemed able to walk right by you without even being noticed, he would most likely be able to avoid a helicopter, no matter how well flown or equipped.

“Upon apprehension we will code in a nine-eight-seven and await the arrival of backup from the nearby fourth precinct, their eta from time of code receival is set at two minutes and thirty-five seconds”

Men and women storming in from seemingly nowhere, the Primary would love crowds – one could slip away in them, one could use them to block pursuing officers or other unwanted elements – but Peter felt certain that this was one crowd that would dismay the Primary no end.

He had to admit that thinking about any displeasure that the Primary might experience made him strangely content. It was a dangerous thing and the main reason that cop killers were always treated so roughly, so swiftly, it didn’t do to have consummate professionals running around feeling wounded or less than safe. If one sows the storm he reaps the whirlwind.

“Good, good, you’ve got it. Heck, even I’ve got it now”

Outside, the rain picked up, hammering the sides of the van.

“Seems like someone wants us to stay in here”

“Don’t start that again, Dan”

“Alright, alright, I was just kidding”

“Well, it’s not funny, you don’t think I feel the same way?”

“Everything will be better once we’ve done this”

“It should”

“It will”

Over the door of the van a small red lamp started flashing rapidly. Neither man seemed to notice at first. Seemed.

“You feel like someone’s pushing you on, Dan? See that? That’s what’s pushing you”

“Way to take the mystery out of my paranoia”

Pulling at belts, putting on jackets, checking ammo, heavy breaths.

A wave to hide in, a wave to ride on and a wave to break against the coast.

Just a wave to break against the coast.

“Ready, Dan?”

“Born ready”

“Never mind what you were born to do, just do what you were trained to do. And ordered to, the second you see him you buzz me”

“I know”

Heavy breaths, hands on the door. Levity.

“Hey, you look like a beat cop decked out like that”

“The better to trick someone into underestimating me”

The blinking stopped. Without another word Daniel jumped from the van, closing the door so quickly behind him that Peter for a moment wondered if it had even been opened.

Alone. Preferable. Old rule of thumb, deep thought over conversation.