The mailroom might be the only place you feel comfortable. Everything is in neat piles, the floor and walls are cleaned by ghosts, and the mail goes to regulars you’ve never met.
Hardcastle: The swivel chair creaks on its ancient joint
You wiggle your feet rapidly but from above the desk you turn smooth like it's all automatic.
Your nervous grad student sits across from you, you were saying something to him. What was it?*
Bourbon: i finger the burger king application in my lap
"i don't know if you want to write your thesis on poodle dogs, son"
"i never did."
"you have any other ideas?"
Hardcastle: Man what is this class even
Your TA is terrified, you see him shake and you smell his sweat
He's sweating up your seat
Your air
Good God man what will you do about this?*
Bourbon: alright,
ok
calm down.
i wink at him and pull out a dixie cup and a plastic bottle of airplane taaka.
i pour him a chamberpot and pass the cup across my desk
"take a drink and a deep breath and think, son"*
Hardcastle: Mark or marcus whatever the hell his name is trembles as he takes the cup
he's reaching out for a hand
a mentor
Maybe you should just give him some papers to grade
Kid is eating up your Wednesday*
Bourbon: his girlfriend looked so promising, too
i press the burger king application against my knee and write Marcus Dicksuckerus in the name space and place the application on top of some undergrad work
"here, see if you can get any ideas from these"*
Hardcastle: It's totally okay to use undergrad work as thesis fodder
That's why
you're the mentor
Oh shit! You have a 4:30 today! Do you step?*
Bourbon: fuck yeah i do
on my way out of the room i pat marcus on the shoulder and turn off the lights
he'll find his way out
ok get a cup of coffee in the break room
i can't do this without the jitters*
Hardcastle: You level off a piping hot mug of folgers but the usually full platter is empty
This is why no one likes evening class
You walk down the stairs, full of acne faces and frat smell, making uncomfortable eye-contact with every face.
You don't spill a drop of coffee
You walk in the lecture hall, no notes or anything, just a podium and your voice.
It's way too late to learn anything, and they all seem to know that
That's okay
You feed off of this energy
What is today's lesson professor?*
Bourbon: i pull down the presentation screen and savor the noise it makes as it slams into the ceiling
the screen reveals enormous chalk letters reading "HITLER WAS RIGHT"
"alright girls and boys"
"cab drivers"
"trashmen"
"who's got something to say?"*
Hardcastle: Two kids get up and rush out
Maybe they were in the wrong class
You lock eyes with them real hard. They stop and everyone stares between the two of you*
Bourbon: "door's locked, cholos!"
the door isn't locked
"you got something to say?"
"most action i've seen in years in this room"
i point to the gay one
"i know you're itching for this"
Hardcastle: (oh no)
Bourbon: i whisper "fairy"*
Hardcastle: They positively reel
The girl rushes out red-faced and teary eyed
The tall boy, the gay one as you pointed out, sits down all agog. You see he's wearing a yamulke*
Bourbon: i put my foot on a chair
"haha come on, son"
"you're as silent as a (mass) grave!"*
Hardcastle: One fat frathead in the second row busts out laughing
Everyone else just looks at their notes.
It's time for a movie! And a smoke break*
Bourbon: "did maximus marcus dickerelus tell you guys there was a movie today?"
"you guys like the theatre?"
i point to a black girl and then the fat fratboy
"you guys get up here"*
(i said you guys three times jesus)
Hardcastle: You pay no mind to your word usage
you guys
They rise and hesitantly come down
All except the phi delt, who pushes back his seat and struts over, looking back and making "Whoa WTF" faces at his bros all cracking up in unison*
Bourbon: "this is american history!"
"every goddamn day since columbus"
"alright kappa kappa kappa"
"hit her right where it hurts"
i start singing the battle hymn of the republic*
Hardcastle: People are so confused
but as you clap the rhythm they can't help but clap and hum along
Your cell phone rings
It's that student, the one with the thing
and big cans
God she's clingy, "last time I hit a freshman" you said, and that was before
Her name is something stupid like Candy or Destiny
Do you answer? The class is jubilant with the song now as phi delt is waving them on with the chorus*
Bourbon: yeah
i put her on speaker phone and set it down on the podium as i guide the frat boy's outstretched hand against the face of this girl
"I CAN SEE HIM IN THE WATCH FIRES"
"OF A HUNDRED CIRCLING CAMPS"*
Hardcastle: He just starts swirling his hand and she can't stop him.*
Bourbon: i stand behind the podium and grin as the phi delt completes this ancient act
"GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH"
"GLORY GLORY HALLELUJAH"*
Hardcastle: "Hello? Hell-Hello?"
Buzz buzz from the phone on the podium, but you can't even hear it. Is it time to take this show out into the commons?*
Bourbon: well wait
how is the black girl looking?
i put the phone up to my ear
"what's going on my little candestiny?"*
Hardcastle: "What? My name is Cheryl you asshole. GOD this is JUST LIKE YOU! WHAT IS THAT SINGING! YOU NEED TO COME BY THE DORM AND GET YOUR SHI-"
You cut that off
Buzz buzz buzz in your ear*
Bourbon: yeah yeah whatever
i'm teaching the future!
molding brains like they're mine!
an honest king treats his crown like a toy!
"alright everyone ACT TWO"
"O SAY CAN YOU SEE"
i take the gay kid's hand and pull him out of his seat
"BY THE DAWN'S EARLY LIGHT"
i make him dance with me
"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE AMERICAN?"*
Hardcastle: "G-g-g-g-g-"
Oh lord he has a stutter too
Your class is positively bleeding students but the faithful stay true
phi delt is standing with his hand on his heart belting it out
phone's ringing again dude*
Bourbon: well i have to do some damage control
so that slut can wait
"ROMEO, JULIET"
i look at the gay kid
"CINDERELLA"
"to my office"*
Hardcastle: What about the class?*
Bourbon: i taught them more today than they've learned in their lives
i lead the way to my office*
Hardcastle: You kick the door in and Maerquis (so he tries to correct you every time) falls out of his chair (haha dumbass)
Ignoring the buzzing from your belt holster you pull up your waist and look at your devotees fondly
What now they all wonder?*
Bourbon: "julius marcus aurelian blowjoberus what in the hell are you still doing in here?"*
Hardcastle: "w-w-w-w-work... grading these papers you asked"
stutters all around here today*
Bourbon: "i turned off the lights! did you turn them back on?"
"jesus, oedipus diealoneicus, don't ever do that"
"get the fuck out!"*
Hardcastle: He scrambles out and down the hall*
Bourbon: "alright my merry crew, take a seat and pour a drink"
i push the taaka and some more dixie cups across my desk
"what happened in there was magic"
"better than disney"
"mickey mouse couldn't spread peanut butter and i just changed the world"
"cinderella you did a great job, that waltz was right on point and"
"my two carpetbaggers here"
i wink at the frat boy and his partner
"i can't feel my legs"*
Hardcastle: They don't take you seriously at first
Frat guy chuckles like a goddamn ogre
It's not dawning on them yet*
Bourbon: "what i'm saying is"
"A's all around!"
hahahaha!
i stand up to pat cinderella on the back and
oh my god
i actually can't feel my legs*
Hardcastle: They all appear concerned
"Prof-professor?"*
Bourbon: i snatch somebody's vodka and toss it back
where are
i grab hold of cinderella's knees and vomit in his lap
are the demons out?*
Hardcastle: Frathead’s eyes roll to the bottle. “oh shit oh no man”
“that taaka”
“Prof how long has that been there?”*
Bourbon: "just"
"see yourself out"
"don't bother coming to class next week, you earned it"
i look down to cinderella like "especially you"
fuck
i get to my mazerati*
Hardcastle: You roll off your desk and crawl into the hall with just the strength of your arms
You somehow make it outside, people just kind of stop and stare
you get into your mazerati and peel out
you don't show up for class next week
you were never seen again. but you left a note on your desk, scrawled just before you vacated forever
Hardcastle: A large executive's office with a view of the city skyline. You sit at your desk, pressing strained back into your chair obviously affected by what sits before you
A hallmark card rests atop its unsealed envelope, the words "GAME ON" in red lipstick on the inside cover.
Looks like you aren't taking calls today*
Hardcastle: That crunch is still good
How does the Colonel do it?
There's a knock at the door. Blinds drawn, you can't see who it is.*
Groy: Startled, I jump out of my seat. The chicken bag that was lying in my lap goes flying across the room tossing fried crunch-doodles on my Punjab rug that my mother gave me for Christmas
I quietly grimace "fuccck" through clenched teeth as I wipe the mess off of my now-stained Banana Republic tailored suit
I push back my hair and walk over to the door with my chest puffed out. I grab the knob and fling the door open and let it violently bounce against my grey plastic trashcan that hasn't been emptied in two weeks*
Hardcastle: It's the new one. That young pup named Henderson. He's white as a ghost and smells like frightened animal.
"S-s-s-s-sir, can I talk w-w-w-with you a m-m-m-m-m"
but you cut him off!*
Groy: WHY ARE YOU STUTTERING HENDERSON? WAS YOUR MOTHER SO DESPERATE FOR CRACK CHANGE THAT SHE NEGLECTED TO SPEND -ANY- TIME TEACHING YOU TO SPEAK?*
Hardcastle: He freezes.
Now tell him*
Groy: DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE THE NASTY TRASH YOU ARE, GET -IN- HERE
I pull him in my office and slam the door back shut, too hard that it flies back at me but I boot it back into the socket with my foot without a glance
I take three big steps towards my desk where Henderson is already standing and push him into the metal chair in front of it
Hardcastle: (double-slam. nice)
Groy: I go around and take a seat. And wait*
Hardcastle: "Sir it's about those documents you had burn-binned"
"I looked them over and I think there might be a way out."
He sounds hopeful, like a baby deer rising to stand for the first steps
You gotta check him or he could go into hysterics.*
Groy: I reach into my already-open drawer and take out a candy bar that looks like it came from a Navajo reservation. I unwrap it, take a bite and get through three big chews before I begin:
"Henderson. You're new. Let me reiterate. You. Are ~New~. How long do you think I've been burning guys?*
Hardcastle: He lowers his head knowingly.
There's an uneasy creak in his creak but it might just be gas.*
Groy: "Let me tell you how this happens. A guy shows up. He takes out the trash. It's a revolving door. Life. Work. whatever. Some fuck up, some fuck up and are able to hide it for a while. But they gotta get burnt, Henderson. That's that."
I hand out the half-eaten Navajo bar to Henderson*
Hardcastle: He takes it and the gesture calms his tremors some. But he's probably too scared to eat it.
"But the files are gone. We don't need them all we have to do is-"
But by now you're not even listening. You step into his dialogue.*
Groy: "Let's go get some fishcakes. Do you like Fishcakes, Davey?"*
Hardcastle: "Sir my name is-"
How cute
Groy: DAVEY
Groy: IT IS DAVEY
Hardcastle: He falls silent
Hardcastle: It's 11:00 am
Hardcastle: But you'll call it lunch
Hardcastle: Suddenly there's another knock at the door*
Groy: "Alright, Davey. Follow me and do not stop. We have to get to this place early to get a decent seat. Whatever this clown has to say he'll have to do it on the walk to the elevator"
Groy: I get up, open the door and storm out of the office with glazed eyes, taking two steps for everyone else's one. I don't look back. The elevator is the only thought in my mind*
Hardcastle: You start out but Grace, your matronly secretary, keeps pace like a champ
"I couldn't use the intercom because I knew you had him in there. But there's a detective here, he's saying something about asking you some questions"
She looks worried
Grace is your dragon, she can't be worried*
Groy: "Alright Davey this place has a kickin' ass chipotle sauce that you gotta love."
(shit how did they find out so soon?)
"Yeah Cindy get them to leave a message."
I slam the elevator button seven times within two seconds
I tap my foot on the tile while I wait and hold my suit jacket on my shoulder*
Hardcastle: Grace knows what to do so well she doesn't do a thing
The elevator door opens, one occupant
Hardcastle: Cheap suit, sunglasses. Cell phone holster to the front, meaning a gun to the side.
Cop
"Ah! Mr. Smith I am glad I grabbed you. I was hoping to ask you some questions"*
Groy: I look through the man pretending I don't notice him. I put that "oh fuck" face on that says I forgot something in my office. I rush back to my office, slip inside and close the door behind me
"fuck. fuck. FUCK"*
Hardcastle: You close the door, but Grace hits the intercom
"Detective here to see you Mr. Smith"*
Groy: I get to my glass-top lamp stand where I keep my juicer and hit the button labeled :CHOP:
'WHAT'S THAT GRACE? SORRY ONE SECOND"
in my dim office I get back behind my desk, :CHOP: still going, crouch behind the desk and flip out my phone and get Bobby on the ringer*
Hardcastle: B-o-
Phone completes Bobby
It rings once and Roberto Minavetti is on the line
Grace on the intercom "Mister Smith! Can you hear me? Mister Smith! Mister Smith! Mr. Smith!"
"Mr. Smith!"
The detective stands in the doorway
Phone- a distinct Jersey accent "Y-ello"*
Groy: 'YO BOBBY I GOT A, UH, SITUATION. YEAH. YEAH. UH-HUH. OKAY. YEAH JUST BRING THE BIG ONE. YEAH I CAN STALL FOR FIVE MINUTES. YAH THESE GUYS MUST HAVE JUST GOTTEN OUT OF THE EAST DAM ACADEMY. HAHA. YEAH, THAT'S MY JUICER. ALRIGHT, I'LL HANG TIGHT"
I hang up the phone and stand up immediately and look at the young buck in my doorway
Groy: "oh hello. Uh, who the hell are you?"*
Hardcastle: The detective has to shout a bit, with the background noise.
"Seems like you appreciate a good juice!"*
Groy: I walk towards him, my body language saying I'm leaving my office to get past him
I gesture for him to turn and walk with me
"Hey, you look awful familiar. You aren't related to George Thompson are you?"*
Hardcastle: He's matching you but makes a firm but gentle gesture.
"Afraid not. Mr. Smith I need to ask you some questions, and you may want to do this in your office."
The secretaries have all but stopped working at this point.
Your partner Rick has disappeared into his office.
All eyes are on you*
Groy: 'typical Rick. God, fuck that guy'
"Say here now, let's keep walking. we can do it on the fly. I've got an appt to make. You like fishcakes?"
I keep making fast steps towards the elevator but make the slightest grimace as I hear a loud mechanical pop from my office, realizing my juicer probably just toasted itself after two solids minutes of :CHOP: *
Hardcastle: "Sure I love a good cake"
The two of you enter the elevator, and the doors slide close.
41st floor
But the detective calmly steps forward at 32 and presses the red 'STOP' button
"You're in with some bad guys, Mr. Smith"
"We got a file on you, it's spillin' over. Tax evasion, fraud, money laundering for the Minavetti's over in Providence..."
"...unlicensed firearms with trace amounts of cocaine dust"
He pauses for effect*
Groy: For the first time that day a calm falls over me. I look him coldly, boldly, and with force directly in his eyes.
"You don't know the half of it." *
Hardcastle: "ATF, FBI, DEA they're suiting up right now, gonna take you, Richards, your whole firm down when they hit Minavetti"
"And they hit hard. You can soften the blow, I can help but you gotta help me, Smith"
He looks at you with a crooked yet honest smile.*
Groy: I continue my gaze. Seemingly not hearing a word he has said.
"Tell me. Do you consider yourself a lepidopterist?" *
Hardcastle: "What is that... butterflies?"*
Groy: "Are you familiar with the Papilio antimachus?"*
Hardcastle: "No, Mr. Smith" he says entertained "I can't say I am."*
Groy: I whisper through clenched teeth, "You should read more books."
leaning forward to say it in his ear, I take a thin needle and puncture the back of his neck. A needle laced with the poison from Papilio antimachus*
Hardcastle: Holy shit
He jerks back at the sting but quickly falls into convulsions
He collapses on the elevator floor. *
Groy: I push him over to the side where he is relatively concealed. Thankfully we're in a roomy freight elevator. I hit 31st and step out.
I take out my phone and get Bobby on the ringer *
Hardcastle: The door opens and you step out into accounting
No one noticed the incapacitated man dying in the elevator
Bobby on the phone "Yo whaddya need? I'm in the car now"*
Groy: " AYE BOBBY. YEAH JUST ONE OF 'EM. PROBABLY NOT DEAD YET. YEAH JUST GET THE CLEANING CREW TO TAKE CARE OF THE MESS IN ELEVATOR C2. YEAH. YEAH. ALRIGHT. GET IT DONE NOW, WE SHOULD HAVE SOME ON STAFF HERE. THIS ISN'T THE FIRST TIME THIS PROBLEM’S COME UP"*
Hardcastle: Audible click as Bobby takes the reins on his duties
What that punk detective didn't know was that your relationship with the family went way way beyond money-laundering and a little blow.
With the boys on the way and the storm momentarily cleared you have some clarity of thought for yourself
First off, was the pig lying about a raid, or was there substance to that claim
Second
You got a leaky boat
Hardcastle: The Monroe St. Files. They didn't get burned*
Groy: Couldn’t have been Henderson, that shit should have been gone before he stepped foot in the building. Might have been one of the unpaid 'interns' but they ain't never gonna move up through the ranks by fucking me like this. Besides, those kids gotta be family to even get started in this business. Rick? No. He's dumb but he's not an idiot. These dolls know they get chopped as soon as I smell a squeal
I decide to worry about this later. Right now I need to get with Bobby. He should be showing up with the buggy any second. I decide to take the visitor elevators down to the garage *
Hardcastle: You sit beneath the fluorescent light in front of the elevator
You hear tires squeal and two escalades, with Rhode Island plates, pull up before you
A large man kind of hops out of the driver's side, as the second white escalade's occupants file out and go to the service elevator.
Bobby walks up to you, bluetooth in place, cigar smoking in hand*
Groy: When he steps out I can hear some Coolio playing in the hitch. 'he loves to play that shit when it's time for work'
"Alright Bobby. Let's get out of here. You want to hit the G-Top?" *
Hardcastle: "You goddit"
You all hop in, leaving the second car to deal with the issue upstairs. They're good guys, all family.*
"I gotta grill a bone, Bobby. Hit me with some of that merck"*
Hardcastle: A snap of the fingers and immediately the young man in riding bitch in the back (their own version of an intern) produces a rollup.*
Groy: I quickly turn around and give the intern a steely gaze that says "where the fuck am I suppose to hit this without a clipboard or some shit?"*
Hardcastle: No no!
Mirror's in the glove!
It's all non-verbal but the kid sits back trying to lay low*
Groy: I calm down as I realize what he's thinking. I do a double-take quick turn back at him just to check him
I grab the mirror and proceed
"oh. Oh yeah. What is this shit? I hope it's from CoCo. That guy's got the best" *
Hardcastle: CoCo Columbo
You know it
exclusive distribution rights via Minavetti supply train
You arrive at the palace and you all step in
An ancient Chinese man ashes his cigarette and welcomes you*
Groy: "Aye doo. Hey, just cause' I went to college doesn't make me WHITE. Hahahaha. Bobby, let's get this shit done and goood."*
Hardcastle: No one understand a goddamn thing you are saying but they are all so in the flow it doesn't really matter
You walk to find a table but you see Henderson sitting at a table
Pretend I know what his name is and motion for him to come before me*
Bourbon: he closes the door, kneels down on the carpet, and crosses his arms over his chest*
Hardcastle: Uh huh yeah
Wait for him to rise
Admire the spectacle*
Bourbon: he throws himself backwards and makes a show of his struggle to stand up
"DON'T HELP, LORD"
"MY LEGS ARE WEAK FROM THE FIELDS"
he rolls forward and onto his stomach and pushes himself back up onto his feet with the held of your desk
he wipes off his fingerprints with his tie*
Hardcastle: What does he want?*
Bourbon: he lays a manila folder on your desk and recoils from fear of punches*
Hardcastle: Punch at the air and shout him across the room
When the door slams punch the play button on MJ's BEAT IT and open the envelope*
Bourbon: you hear him laugh with a coworker out in the hall
inside the envelope is a an order of execution for an american tourist
he took pictures at the National Museum of Culture and Splendid Works of the President Who Protects Us All, God Save His Place at the Table
with
flash.
it awaits your signature*
Hardcastle: Just break his camera
Then drive him to a gypsy neighborhood
SUCH IS MY JUSTICE
Roll out
Stand in the hall and look for that punk*
Bourbon: he's chuckling with your secretary
he feels your gaze and falls to the floor
"OH WHO COULD BRING SUCH PLEASURE BUT OUR DREAD PRESIDENT"*
Hardcastle: "Your day's about to get ruined, boy"
Give him the devil's grin*
Bourbon: he leans against your secretary's card table and chatters like an animal*
Hardcastle: Pick up a magazine off the waiting table. Roll it into a tube.*
Bourbon: he stretches out his neck*
Hardcastle: Don't show
weakness
the choice is so obvious
Smack him until I feel better about myself. Then roll to the taco bell*
Bourbon: his neck is red like your presidential playtime escalade
there is one taco bell in the capital
they continuously remake your favorite five meals every twenty minutes just in case you show up
a chipper woman is running the drive through window
"LORD RICK SCOTT, PRESIDENT OF ALBANIANS AND DREAMTIME?*
Hardcastle: IT IS
“Give me the usual, my angel.”
Man I saved this country but Taco Bell saved me*
Bourbon: "hahaha yes lord, right away lord"
a gorgeous man brings you a double quesadilla pizza with your name written in salsa
"it's on the casa, my president"*
Hardcastle: “I serve you, you serve me”
“Can I get a crunchwrap and a dew with that?”*
Bourbon: he pulls it out of his fanny pack*
Hardcastle: ?*
Bourbon: does it displease you, lord?*
Hardcastle: “No dawg we straight”
Step over to the parking garage to enjoy my meal in peace.*
Bourbon: your aides
read: funtime buddies with guns
lean against the outside wall smoking
BEAT IT is playing on the car stereo
you are alone*
Hardcastle: Oh how that sweet sweet cheese substitute flows down my chin
wash it back with that icy dew
Haha
they even do the ice like the American ones, all small crushable cubes
I am president I can chew ice
Total
Relaxation*
Bourbon: your phone buzzes*
Hardcastle: no
NO
FUCK
click it “WHO IN THE FUCK…”*
Bourbon: "HEY BABY I'M SO SEXY FOR YOU"
it's your wife
you married her for the money
her parents gave you your office*
Hardcastle: Wife.*
Bourbon: "MY BELLY'S FAT WITH HOGSKIN, BABY"
she snorts
"what the fuck are you doing, you imbecile?'
"god i'm so borrrrrrreeeed"*
Hardcastle: “SO CALL YOUR DEALER”
“Are you not wearing the regulation watch?”
“It should tell you right now I am in the MIDDLE OF TACOBELL TIME”
“click”*
Bourbon: you see a shadow*
Hardcastle: Take a bite and turn
who is at my window?*
Bourbon: you see a glimpse of a man with a ski mask on
the car starts rocking*
Hardcastle: step out and spray my mouthful at him.
“Lather up bitch”
YOU STAND TO ME I WILL SLAP YOUR SHIT
THIS IS TACO BELL TIME
DOES NO ONE UNDERSTAND THE FUCKING RULES
Pummel him to beat it*
Bourbon: a man crawls out from under the escalade and pulls your knees towards him
you collapse onto the pavement and black out
you wake up in a cage
in a room
full of rebels*
Hardcastle: Is there
Is the Taco Bell
“WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MEAL”*
Bourbon: (hold on i'm hungry and)
Bourbon: (i mean all this tacotalk)
Bourbon: (do you mind if i go get a five buck box?)
Hardcastle: (No dude it's cool I need to go eat too)
Bourbon: (ok and)
Bourbon: (break)
Bourbon: they're all eating taco bell
there's an empty five buck box on the floor of your cage
everybody's grinning but you*
Hardcastle: “WHAT THE HELL”*
Bourbon: a man in a judge's robe walks down the stairs
he's carrying a dozen eggs
he stands against the wall and charges you
"FOR ALLEGATIONS OF CRIMES AGAINST ALBANIA, ALBANIANS, THE STATE, HUMANITY, AND THE SAVIOR, YOU HAVE BEEN DETAINED BY ORDER OF THE PEOPLE. YOU HAVE BEEN DEEMED FIT TO STAND TRIAL AND WILL COMPLY WITH COURT ORDERS TO PROVIDE EVIDENCE IN THIS CASE. HOW DO YOU PLEAD?"*
Hardcastle: I plead
BEAT IT
I direct them to tie my arm to their greatest warrior's
and we will knife fight it out
to the song which they undoubtedly have queued up*
Bourbon: the judge throws some eggs at you
QUIET
QUIET, CRIMINAL
the strongest man in the room has his arm tied to you
You stand before a glossy white twin-paneled door on the porch of the oddest house on the block.
Under your feet is a WELCOME mat that seems to be smelling your shoes.
There’s a big blue button that reads BELL right at eye level. What do you do?*
Bourbon: i stare straight into the door and blindly press the blue button
my smile is mild*
(smild)
Hardcastle: You just follow the invitation like a good boy
BUZZZZZZZ
The door whooshes open and you are wafted with an odd lysol scent
sterile, clean
You step into the shiny chrome landing and a mechanical arm dusts you and puts your hat and coat on a rack.
“Welcome to the House of Tomorrow tour, Mayor Levi.” A disembodied woman’s voice calls out. Please step into the kitchen to begin.
“Bing”
Bourbon: (big man)
Hardcastle: The doors seal behind you. There is a dull humming, and you can see straight through the living room to the tiled chrome flooring of the kitchen. There are stares going up to a second floor.*
Bourbon: (somebody’s exacting)
(vengeance)
and search my pockets*
Hardcastle: You have a pen for signing, a lighter for lighting, a knife for peeling, and a wallet for buying.
You also had a hat and coat but they are busy retracting into the wall closet.
However the mechanism is malfunctioning on your coat sleeve and is smoking as it swings into the un opened wall panel over and over
bump
bump
bump
“Please remember, Mayor Levi, all devices are prototype phase II and may suffer minor malfunctions. If you are caught in a malfunction please do not call out. A technician will be with you shortly. Proceed to the kitchen please”
Another blast of lysol into the air.*
Bourbon: does it know
i pull my coat off of the mechanical arm
how can a house know if it’s sick?
i step into the living room and take a good look around*
Hardcastle: You rip your coat free, now missing its left arm, and hang it in your free arm as you pick up your hat (now more brim than top, I’m afraid)
You step onto the polyester rug of the living room and notice how simple the open spaces look.
The easy chairs on either side of the sofa look like the least comfortable hospital-grade chairs you’ve ever seen.
There is a TV with “high-science” minimalist rabbit ears and a stereo-record player set in the corner.
There is a coffee table with a copy of the New Yorker May issue on it
It’s November.
The carpet is pulsing blue beneath you, as though the house tracks your every move. There is no sound other than the bumping of the coat arm in the foyer.*
Bourbon: i roll up the copy of the new yorker and slip it into my coat pocket
check the record in the stereo*
Hardcastle: “Babbette Rockerforth Sings to the Troops”
There is a switch panel, entirely unlabeled save LIVING ROOM, on the wall adjacent to the record player. Some buttons glow blue, others glow bright yellow*
Bourbon: ok yeah
i want this
unplug the stereo system and put it in the foyer
i go back over to the rug and lift up the corners
are there any tags?
who designed this*
Hardcastle: Everything has a LegitCo stamp on it
You notice even the carpet does.
Another spray of lysol as you push the heavy player into the foyer.
It has no wiring!*
Bourbon: i step right up against the line between the kitchen and the living room and stare inside
this won’t be enough
is there like a coat rack or a broom around?*
Hardcastle: You see no signs of either, which to you implies there is some automatic function in place
for everything
The coat-hanger arm is still bashing a dent into the wall in the foyer
An alarm goes off
Talking like air raid loud
A man sized panel opens beneath the stairs
And a robot shaped like a Q-tip with tiny tank treads for feet rolls out
It pushes a dust bin out front of it and its arms are bolted to a steel handle broom that sweeps into the pan
It has an almost child-like chant to it “Sweep sweep sweep” as it rolls slowly into the foyer and starts sweeping up with particles of chrome paint and plasters as the coat hanger arm continues to bash the wall
The alarm does not stop.*
Bourbon: do i follow the motherlode?
i rip the mechanical arm out of its socket and hop on top of Qtip
kind of kick his sides a little bit like let’s go*
Hardcastle: You break the arms off of sweepbot and it does not scream
Hardcastle: In fact it seems to ignore it’s fatal injury as it sparks and rotates it’s tiny broken joints
You hop on him but as you are a average man of average gravity you feel the electric motors in sweepbot strain as he bears forward
“Sweep sweep sweep”
Bourbon: (oh my god)
(no no no)
Hardcastle: It seems you can’t control him*
(Bourbon you monster)
Bourbon: terrified of a short fall, i try to jam the arms back in their sockets
try to get the rotors to line up
hyah hyah
i nudge him in the sides*
Hardcastle: You focus all your hyah but sweepbot won’t stop running into the wall! : (*
Bourbon: i press the arms against the wall and push Qtip away like a boat from shore
i steer Qtip into the kitchen by appropriately pushing his arms against the floor*
Hardcastle: You guide him to the kitchen threshold but he presses on through and into the cabinets across the room
“Sweep sweep sweep”
It’s an acoustical anomaly
from over on this side of the room you cannot hear the air raid siren as clearly as you could on the other.
Like the problem is distant
yesterday
past
You look into the kitchen and see the same chrome-lined everything
There is a frozen man sitting in a chair at the kitchen table. His face is a paralyzed mask of terror. His body is completely covered in what looks like wax
There is a soft “bing” as the kitchen recognizes your presence
Welcome ACCEPTED LIST Mayor Levi
ERROR Code 2135*
Bourbon: whoa
whoa whoa
i hop off of Qtip and creep up to the man
kind of brush against his face with Qtip’s arm
examine the waxy material*
Hardcastle: It’s solid like
plastic?
something
Dude is locked down like Han Solo
But you don’t know anything about any of that
His name- tag bears his non-horrified image and reads Dan Mueller, LegitCo Rep 9999999034 How may I Guide Your Tomorrow, Today?
There is another control panel on the wall opposite you and frozen Dan
There’s another guide
He’s also frozen in place but in the prone position*
Bourbon: look into his face*
Hardcastle: He was running and tripped?
Maybe he was already crawling
His face was caught mid-yell as he was going for the control panel
His arm is out-stretched for it*
Bourbon: hop back on top of Qtip and steer him over to the control panel
i need to be ready in case
ok examine the control panel*
Hardcastle: You hop on Qtip and unbalance him, the two of you crashing to the tile floor.
Another burst of lysol
You get up and run to the control panel as Qtip pathetically tries to right himself
“Sweep sweep sweep”
You see a series of buttons
some blue
some pulsing yellow
There is another smaller panel next to this one
It has two buttons with arrows on them
UP
DOWN
ELEVATOR
“Please feel free to inspect the features of the kitchen until your guide Dan Muellar RATED 5 GOLD STARS arrives, Mayor Levi.*
Bourbon: i take a sad look at dan
and realize
that the buttons
are playing mozart’s ninth symphony
i sing along with the buttons
look down at the guide on the floor
and have a flashback*
Hardcastle: You remember the sweetness of her
not just the taste of her lips or the small of her hair
but the sweetness of her intent as she cradled you
she held you through all of the storms
all of the earthquakes
you felt safe once
you had her
Psst
Another burst of lysol*
Bourbon: she did
what i’ve never done
she tried to teach me and i just rejected
that
lesson i
pick up dan and throw him against the floor until his plastic shell breaks*
Hardcastle: You push him from the chair but he does not fracture
It’s pliant yet
hard to the touch
You notice the water faucet has moved.*
Bourbon: i watch the water faucet and press the first button in mozart’s first symphony
stamp out the song on dan*
Hardcastle: One and uh two and uh
You stamp and Dan’s bulk doesn’t give to your foot
The faucet squeaks quietly as it turns with you, tracking you
You push the first button
SINK EMPTY bing*
Bourbon: ok not too scary
ok
start searching through the drawers and cupboards, i’m looking for a knife or a small saw
“HOUSE”
“HOUSE I NEED A SAW”*
Hardcastle: You have your paring knife!
Bing “MAYOR LEVI SAWS ARE LOCATED IN GARAGE WORKBENCH 27”
“WORKBENCH 27 IS OFFLINE DUE TO COCKROACH ERADICATION PROCEDURE, MUST USE AUTHORIZATION PROCEDURE
ZERO ZERO ONE EIGHT SIX SIX ZERO”
The sink faucet twists sharply yet fluidly to face you where you stand beside the counter.
You have a paring knife. There is a drawer full of eating utensils, but no knives.*
Bourbon: carefully
so carefully
i make an incision into dan’s plastic shell
and cut away his coat*
Hardcastle: You chip away at the shell
It’s working
You get a nice chunk off but progress is slow. You see something that looks like a very large laser emitter above the table,
perhaps that could help? Then again who are you waiting on?*
Bourbon: let’s try a new technique
i peel the plastic off like i’m skinning a deer*
Hardcastle: They say the greats always saw their piece
buried in the stone
David had to be freed just as Dan does now
This is still taking forever*
Bourbon: man maybe
i pick up Qtip and run him over the hole i’ve made over dan
do i have a flashback?*
Hardcastle: Summer afternoons on the roadside
walking back past the vineyards that ran on into pasture
The grinning smiles of the laborers as they finished their day’s toil and waited for the truck home
The smell of the wet earth and clay
A cool wind
You wake up, Qtip’s treads are just scuffing Dan. You look and see his compatriot (but perhaps they were enemies you never know) who is reaching for the control board he never made it to
Everything points towards that panel
You just
have
to
choose*
Bourbon: i realize dan is laughing
sickening
i’m sickened!
i push dan away and let Qtip fall
Hardcastle: (dick)
Bourbon: i pick up david and move his hand to the control panel
lining up the fingers perfectly with the buttons i
push*
(poor Qtip)
Hardcastle: There’s the reason you’re Mayor
right
there
Fucking laser kicks right on
ENTER PARAMETER CODE
uh oh*
(Bourbon it needs to know what to cut)
(Don’t you see? This is the FutureHouse. You don’t use knives or tank treads. You use experimental lasers to cut your steak. Or to cut your friend loose from carbonite)
Bourbon: (how am i supposed to control what i don’t understand)
Hardcastle: FutureHouse is intuitive Bourbon)
The TRA: (computer, initiate download sequence)
Bourbon: i duck the laser and punch in mozart’s ninth sympony
dada
dadadadada
dadad adada dadada *
Hardcastle: The laser rotates in some form of acknowledgement
A swift outline of Dan Mueller is burned into the tile floor
A hacking wheezing man emerges from his waxy cocoon. He is sweaty and smells pretty strongly of body odors.
He stumbles into the bathroom and you hear water running for a good 3 minutes.
He comes out, still visibly shaken. He looks to you, then to the other on the floor.
“Shit”
“Congratulations Mayor!”
“You passed the test! I am your LegitCo guide Dan! Welcome…”
…he pauses for effect…
“to FUTUREHOUSE!”
He seems a little disappointed, as though something was supposed to happen when he said that.
He looks to you*
Bourbon: what did you do
what did i remember
Hardcastle: “What?”
“Oh!”
“This was a test of several of FutureHouse’s systems!”
“You see everything is intuitive in FutureHouse”*
Bourbon: do i have a flashback*
Hardcastle: You’re lying on your back in the grass
The sun shines through her hair as she smiles down at you
You lips touch for just a moment and she pours you some wine.
You picked it up, making a joke about class
you swirled the wine and sniffed
A fresh spray of lysol
Dan is starting to sweat. He kinda needs a response from you to move on*
Bourbon: i lift up david’s head
“get his legs”
“where is the control room?”*
Hardcastle: “Oh him. No no, don’t worry about him. Is his name David? He’s of no concern.
Have you explored the control panel? It’s very intuitive. Here! Let’s make some drinks”
He goes to the panel and starts pushing buttons. Two metal clamps appear almost instantly from the wall and begin pouring bottles from the liquor cabinet.
Two gin and tonics sit pristine on the table before you
Dan takes one and gives it a courtesy sip.*
Bourbon: i grab a bottle from the metal clamp and break it against the counter
threaten dan with the bottle
“get david”
“where is the control room?”*
Hardcastle: “Hey…HEY”
Dan’s eyes widen and roll as he embraces the situation
it’s out of his control now
He is inching towards the wall saying
“Whatever it is Mr. Mayor, it can be handled by FutureHouse. I’m sure you already know…” he looks around wildly for a moment “this house is quite intuitive”*
Bourbon: hold the bottle out so dan knows i’m serious
engage the laser to cut david out of the plastic*
Hardcastle: You push the buttons and the laser cuts the other prisoner free of his shell
He sputters and collapses into a fetal position, shaking.
Dan scratches the back of his head looking pretty confused.
The faucet head emits the smallest squeak as it adjusts to face you.
Qtip, the now double-amputee cleaning robot rolls in a pathetic semi-circle across the kitchen singing “Sweep sweep sweep”
. And the foyer is full of wreckage, but the arm continues to try to close on the unopened door slot*
Bourbon: “pick him up, dan”*
Hardcastle: Dan reaches out for the whimpering man on the floor.*
The Reptilian Agenda: There’s a light hail falling outside your apartment here in Dresden. The little pellets of ice knock with surprising tenderness on the window pane before shredding the petals of your camellias. One of the stones neatly decapitates a red flower, and as it hits the black dirt of the flowerbox a memory comes at you unbidden, like a body rising from the bottom of a lake.
TRA: Friedrich’s gas mask slipped- he hadn’t fastened it properly, and he fell to his knees there in the trench, drowning in the air that was thick as pea soup with mustard gas, trying to scream, trying to breathe. You killed four, maybe five of the Brits that came into the trench with your knife, a devil killing devils, down there in an ocean of poison.
TRA: Your knee twinges painfully and you light the first cigarette of the morning here in your apartment in Dresden.
TRA: As you exhale slowly, watching the smoke spiral towards the yellowing ceiling your little gray cat rubs her bullet head against your shin
TRA: she's probably hungry
TRA: There might be some cream in the icebox but you're pretty sure you're out of sardines
TRA: What do you do?
Hardcastle: Put some cream in the little chipped saucer by the window.
Hardcastle: We're leaving tonight.
Hardcastle: Assess inventory.
Revolver
Cigarette case
Book of matches from the Schwarze Katze Weiße Katze cabaret
50,000,000,000,000 Papiermarks
TRA: The hail seems to be letting up, the little taps on your window become less frequent as your cat laps up the cream like a reward hard-earned
TRA: you've finished your cigarette and think about lighting another but your silver case is empty
TRA: There's a tobacconist just down the street though
Hardcastle: Put on heavy coat and hat. Look at the crooked photo on the wall by the door.
Hardcastle: Step out in the hall, leave the door open
Hardcastle: Exit the building. Go to the Tobacconist and walk up towards the Elbe.
TRA: You turn up your collar and pull the brim of your hat down low to keep your neck from the stinging hailstones
TRA: At the tobacconist you have to wait a minute for the old man behind the counter to come up with today’s prices
TRA: "10,000,000,000,000 an ounce today. Headed to the cabaret, Klaus?"
Hardcastle: "You know me, Henrich. An old man and his habits"
Hardcastle: "You'll know someday"
Hardcastle: Light one and hit the road
TRA: Henrich chuckles at your little joke and bids you good day
TRA: out on the street the morning's warmed up a bit and the hail has become a chilly rain
TRA: The Schwarze Katze Weiße Katze is down this way, towards the river. It's the rut your wheels usually fall into these days. There's a corner table there that is essentially your office, if you feel like stopping in.
Hardcastle: Nod to Monty on the way in
Hardcastle: What was my nickname again?
TRA: Some of the regulars have taken to calling you Sarge for some reason, though you never made it past Private. Most people just call you Klaus.
TRA: Monty gives you a brief wave before returning to his bar. He prides himself on keeping it clean, and the place is beginning to fill in for the day
Hardcastle: Who is on stage tonight?
TRA: Tam and Katherine, doing a variation on their usual routine. They're thinking about switching roles; Tam wants a turn to do the whipping. The Friedrich Ebert outfit looks better on Katherine anyway.
TRA: They won't be on for a while though
TRA: Right now there's a dapper little gent at a piano, plunking out some soft tunes
Hardcastle: Walk right up to the piano
TRA: "Hey there, got a request?" He says, not looking up from his playing.
TRA: he picks out a little melody with one hand and lights a cigarette dangling from his lips with the other
TRA: plinkety plinkety plink
TRA: a little music box tune
Hardcastle: "I knew your father to be a coward"
Hardcastle: "He died like a dog in a ditch, and now look at us"
Hardcastle: Turn to the crowd
Hardcastle: "Look at what we have become"
Hardcastle: Take the cigarette from his mouth and take a good 4 second drag off of that
Hardcastle: "If you want a request go ahead and bring us back to the glory"
Hardcastle: "Play the Kaiser's March boy"
TRA: he gives a little laugh and goes right into it
TRA: just starts banging it out on the keys, putting his back into it
TRA: there's some scattered applause
TRA: Monty sighs behind the bar
TRA: "Klaus if you keep doing this shit I'm gonna have to start paying you and I can't afford that"
TRA: a few titters from the crowd
Hardcastle: "YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH MONTY I'M NOT FINISHED"
Hardcastle: "YOU BUILD YOUR HOUSES OUT OF MONEY AND THINK THERE WERE GOOD OLD DAYS"
Hardcastle: "I... we used to take an old boot and hold that over the fire"
Hardcastle: "It was a few coals, and it took a while, but you get that boot nice and warm where the rubber and mud start to mush"
Hardcastle: "I mean we used to have sex with anything down there"
Hardcastle: "Do you even know what a nutzskukkle is you, bourgeois pigs"
Hardcastle: "I fought for the goddamn Kaiser"
Hardcastle: Take the nearest glass and drink it
TRA: The crowd is getting into this
TRA: people are slapping their knees, piano guy is still pounding out the march
TRA: he's got his head thrown back laughing and laughing
TRA: you grab the drink from off the top of the piano and as the warm libation caresses the back of your throat another memory comes, crystal clear
TRA: It was the moment before a charge, it could have been any charge, they were all functionally identical
TRA: Everyone crammed into the mess, drinking coffee, rolling cigarettes, smoking cigarettes, talking in low, low voices as if to avoid offence.
TRA: Everyone trying in vain to conceal raging erections which were impossible to relieve by any means, even the boot.
TRA: Impossible until after the charge, after the rush and the roar, the charnel stench of the bloodied trough of the trench
TRA: Impossible to relieve until after the charge when you came back bathed in the golden afterglow of Mars's embrace or came back not at all and nursed the never ending hardon of death
TRA: Piano lad has gone into a different, equally patriotic tune
Hardcastle: "I can still see his face"
Hardcastle: ...
Hardcastle: I look down off the stage at the emaciated young man with the dark hair. His stein that of an out-of-towner, maybe Munich
Hardcastle: "I know your face for there are so many like us"
Hardcastle: I squat beside him. "What is your name son"?
TRA: He is eating this up
TRA: his first time at a Dresden cabaret and it's better than he'd hoped!
TRA: "Henri! It's Henri, old friend!"
TRA: laughs and laughs all around
Hardcastle: "Henri"
Hardcastle: try to hide my distaste for the name
Hardcastle: Pick up his stack of fliers and fling them into the air
Hardcastle: Take another drink, keeping the cigarette in my mouth as I do
Hardcastle: Trench-trick
Hardcastle: "Have you ever sharpened your bayonet, boy? Do you know what the short walk in a long field is?"
Hardcastle: "There was a rat this one time"
Hardcastle: "You had to catch them"
Hardcastle: "And reduce them to a mash"
Hardcastle: "Rub that between your hands to keep warm. Maybe put it down your front too, that way snipers won't aim for your swanzstikker"
TRA: The papiermarks sail through the air with the grace of doves
TRA: a flock of worthless white birds, flying at a leisurely clip through the smoky air of the Katzen
TRA: somebody finds a 1,000,000,000,000 mark note and lights a cigar with it. It'll need another set of zeros on it before it's worth anything more
TRA: "Ohh," Henri says, "I used to sharpen my bayonet every night but I have my wife for that now hahahaha"
TRA: hahahaha
TRA: hahahahahahaha
TRA: the Katzen is alive with laughter, this is the best early morning show they've had in years
TRA: the piano lad has stopped playing for a moment to catch his breath, he's doubled over at his bench with laughter
Hardcastle: Drink until I remember
TRA: a few fragmentary and half-real images- a body caught on a coil of wire, a helmeted face so close you could smell its breath, the feel of your rifle butt in your shoulder, the bruise it left there after you'd fired and fired and fired it across no-man's land.
TRA: you see Friedrich, just before he died that day, dealing out a hand of skat
TRA: he'd had a cigarette dangling from his lips unlit
TRA: he always looked so serious
TRA: you remember the piece of mortar shrapnel that ruined your knee, and as you do the damn thing gives out
TRA: you give a little "oh" of surprise and fall down to the floor
Hardcastle: Do they laugh?
TRA: of course!
Hardcastle: Is this the real life?
Hardcastle: Is this just fantasy
Hardcastle: Caught in a landslide
Hardcastle: No escape from reality
Hardcastle: The gun is in my hand now, I let one round go into the ceiling
TRA: everyone stops laughing except for the piano player
TRA: he's cackling away as he begins to play something very grave and somber
TRA: playing it the way he plays everything, with a sneer and a wink
TRA: somewhere in the commotion he must have rolled another cigarette because he's got one between his teeth, puffing away
TRA: the cherry on the end looks at you like the bloodshot eye of God
TRA: everyone's backed away, Monty even ducked behind the bar
Hardcastle: "I knew you then as I am now"
Hardcastle: "Come to collect"
Hardcastle: I level my pistol
TRA: the piano player is in another world right now, his own nihilistic paradise of sarcastic pianos and cabaret matchbooks
TRA: people are hiding behind chairs, peeking out nervously
TRA: is
TRA: is this part of the act?
Hardcastle: Squeeze the trigger
TRA: After the police came and hauled off your body, Monty was heard to remark "It's a shame we can't do a repeat performance". He used the money he made that day to leave the country- they say he runs a tidy little place somewhere in Rome now.
TRA: The piano player continued playing, even after that final gunshot, continued playing until Tam and Katherine showed up early and started screaming, played and played and played until he collapsed from exhaustion. He never woke up, died in the hospital there the next morning
TRA: Tam and Katherine started working shows at a different place, a little more uptown, but they had to take a week off to recover
TRA: Henrich the tobacconist wondered where you'd gone for a few days then forgot all about it
TRA: Your cat was picked up by a young couple walking by the Elbe. She lived with them until she died from choking on a fishbone at the ripe old age of 18
N E O N H E A R T (with apologies to M. John Harrison)
The Reptilian Agenda:
Send me/
A Neon Heart/
unarmed/
with a walk like a girl/
The TRA: that's how it started
The TRA: a scrap of a poem, inscribed on the freshly-shaved armpit of a young street girl, done in the old style; a needle soaked in ink plunging into the skin impossibly fast
The TRA: the girl was murdered, her throat cut. the boys at forensics said the tatoo had been done post-mortem.
The TRA: they couldn't figure a motive but maybe crimes went searching for motives now- a reversal of previous truths, so like this century
The TRA: you're a detective, this is your case
The TRA: nobody's really sure why you've taken it upon yourself like this but you've got the credentials to pick and choose
The TRA: there's been another murder, the same killer
The TRA: the scene's been taped off and you've just arrived by rickshaw
The TRA: what do you do?
Hardcastle: Forensics already come through? Ask officer on duty if not apparent.
The TRA: the officer's a young man, but with old eyes underneath the brim of his uniform cap. he tosses his cigarette to the ground and stubs it out before telling you the forensic team should be by in about fifteen
Hardcastle: I have... plans
Hardcastle: I'm gonna walk the scene
Hardcastle: softly
Hardcastle: Crouch next to the body and let out a deep sigh
Hardcastle: This is the process
Hardcastle: Was she pretty?
The TRA: it looks like she'd gotten some light tailoring done, pretty tasteful stuff really. She had Maryln Monroe lips, which were in fashion this season. A few wrinkles around the corners of the eyes, a downy coating of transluscent hairs on the chin. Nothing another trip to the cut-shop wouldn't fix.
The TRA: There's a couple of smart tattoos on her left shoulder, still pulsing and writhing feebly on the scant electromagnetic current running just under the skin
The TRA: the little light they give off shows a scrap of a word scrawled fresh in the flesh under that arm, but the way she's fallen has obscured it
Hardcastle: Victim is prone or supine?
The TRA: supine, her eyes are still open and are a shade of blue that is almost certainly not naturally occuring
Hardcastle: Hands are visible?
Hardcastle: I glove up
Hardcastle: Pop the buds in
Hardcastle: What's the song I do this to?
The TRA: a New Nuevo Tango number called Black Heart Rum, a sort of waltz time dub, with a bit of those muted, saltwater sounds that were popular a year or two back
The TRA: the synth violin screeches into place and you begin to work
Hardcastle: Alright okay this is just like
Hardcastle: every time
Hardcastle: you do this
Hardcastle: just another synth, broken property
Hardcastle: nothing is everything and everything is worth taking note of
Hardcastle: ever so tenderly lift that arm. check for ports. I want a better look at that tattoo too
The TRA: you remember the words of your old mentor
The TRA: "The true detective places himself at the center of the labyrinth, and lets the crime make its way through to him"
The TRA: she's got the usual line-ins, like almost everyone these days. It looks like she had a data-stream scroll set to run down the inside of the forearm, but it's not running. maybe corporate, then?
The TRA: the blue ink in the red flesh of her armpit reads
Oh/
how I wanted you to just/
fuck me but then/
I became greedy/
Hardcastle: Someone paid a lot for this piece.
Hardcastle: Was a claim ever filed?
Hardcastle: Whose building are we in? Pop out the dos and check to see who owns this place*
The TRA: you patch into the local nano-feed and your vision swims briefly as the information floats into your field of vision
The TRA: The local scanners pick up that she's organic, which is a bit of a surprise but not totally unexpected
The TRA: the club is owned by an ex vacuum-jockey, seems to be a front for some fairly light smuggling and a fight ring
The TRA: it attracts the old explorers, the rocket burn-outs, the castaways and survivors of a recently passed age
The TRA: they do good specials on wednesday
Hardcastle: Ha! Kzecuchenko would probably say that
Hardcastle: I need to get on the horn and see if he knows who-
Hardcastle: oh
Hardcastle: black suit. black tie.
Hardcastle: funny how you forget where you're coming from when you're caught in the moment
Hardcastle: Check the personnel records. Who's got a gold star?
The TRA: The boys at the station pull up the dossier on an old entradista by the name of Emile Bonavanture
The TRA: seems Emile mostly traded in pretty low-end black market tech, scavenged out of the edge of the Tanhauser Tract a few dozen lights off. He pulled something nasty out on his last run though, killed the rest of the crew and left Emile a little... scrambled.
The TRA: he's good for information though, he's friends with most of the low-lifes around and he'll sing like a canary for a little drinking money
Hardcastle: Let's go see Emile! We're done here. Wrap her up, see if anything comes up in facial. We'll see who to contact
Hardcastle: How's my gun?
The TRA: you've got a Chambers tucked tight into a shoulder holster
The TRA: a gift from Kzecuchenko, part of his vacuum-commando days. The damn thing is a particle-jockey's nightmare, but you've kept it in pretty good shape so there's a good chance you'll kill somebody other than yourself with it if you have to fire the damn thing.
The TRA: You close out the nano-feed and feel the slight whirl of nasea that always accompanies it.
The TRA: The interior of the Black Cat White Cat is huge and open, made to look like an old moderne warehouse club. Bars occupy the two walls opposite the entrance, and there's a few mostly empty tables scattered about
The TRA: the lighting is a little strange, but you can't quite place why
The TRA: Emile's working the bar to the left if you want to go chat
Hardcastle: "Emile Bonaventure!"
Hardcastle: "Questioning"
Hardcastle: "Let's Go"
Hardcastle: How about my other gun? The one I keep in the trunk?*
The TRA: A cut-down 10-guage. Not quite the compact engine of extreme property damage that the Chambers pistol is, but it's also a good bit less likely to violate any known laws of physics
The TRA: Emile pauses with his back turned to you as he reaches up to put a bottle of black-currant gin back on the shelf.
The TRA: he sighs "Let me just close out here, I suppose. The place is fucking dead anyway."
Hardcastle: Get real bad cop coy-mouth on him
Hardcastle: "Oh great! Let's take a step outside."
Hardcastle: "She work here? What ws her name?"
The TRA: as he steps out from beside the bar you get a better look at Emile
The TRA: he used to be well-built but years of ablative radiation took the steel right out of him and left him flabby, with skin thinned to the point where you can see the blood pulsing under it in places
The TRA: "Seen her around a time or two, nobody special. Drank off-world white wine, mostly, I think. Pretty expensive stuff but not the best"
The TRA: he says, as he follows you out
Hardcastle: "You ever get in the ring, B?"
Hardcastle: "I mean mix in just to keep your hands sharp. Just to show them young shits you still got it?"
The TRA: "Not sure I know what you're talking about, detective. Am I being charged with anything or can I go back to my bar?"
Hardcastle: "Nah man nah, off the record you know? Just us guys. You know I used to box a bit. I've been in the heat, I've seen the fear in another guy's eyes when he's too tired to go on. When the money falls and the liquor pours. You know what I'ma talkin' about, B?"
Hardcastle: What are his eyes doing as I act this charade?
The TRA: he looks at you like you just said something really fucking dumb, which is not quite the reaction you were expecting
The TRA: "Alright, strictly off the record have you ever been to a fight here? Those boys could swallow the both of us with a drink of water. Tailored all to hell, I keep my hands off of it mostly"
The TRA: "Messy business. Vic handles most of it"
Hardcastle: Nod a bit, knowing if you bullshit lower than a bullshitter he's bound to tell you how it is
Hardcastle: Get real with Bonaventure. "What happened with the girl?"
The TRA: "What does it look like? She got her throat cut and somebody left her by my dumpster. If I knew anything I'd tell you fucks, believe me it would save me a hell of a lot of trouble."
Hardcastle: "Nah nah nah I think... You know I think you would have seen who she was with. Someone that tooled out like that? She's been more than paid for, she's been groomed, B. Someone put in for her, and I'm not saying it was you, or Ennicio, but I wanna know who she came here with. What the hell was she doing in this hole, and why didn't she get to leave it?"
Hardcastle: Gonna denzel this fountain
The TRA: he looks to each side for a moment
The TRA: "I saw her talking to a tour-guide calls himself Misha a few nights ago. They might've done some kind of deal, they might not have. I dunno Misha, Vic does. You talk to Vic maybe you find the tour-guide, that's all I can do."
The TRA: "I've got a bar that needs tending, you got anything else?"
Hardcastle: "Where's he set up?" Then let him be*
The TRA: "Down by the water, back room of a little cut-shop called Uncle Ezno's. Don't tell him I sent you, alright?"
Hardcastle: I've heard about Vic
Hardcastle: Roll over there. Knock and Talk. Real calm, maybe don't need a warrant.*
The TRA: It starts to come down a thick, pissy rain on your ride over. After you get off, the rickshaw girl, as huge as a horse with all of her tailoring, works some more life into her legs in a cloud of her own steam as the rickshaw's cloud of phosphorescent smart-ads congeals around the carriage.
The TRA: the door to Uncle Ezno's is opened by a little Chinese-looking kid, maybe twelve
The TRA: you see the usual accoutrements of the low-end tailoring trade: protein vats, electron microscopes a decade obsolete, micron-thin myomer needles in hermetically sealed bundles
The TRA: "what you want, cop?"
Hardcastle: "Aw son... Is your daddy home?"
Hardcastle: Show and shine
The TRA: he eyes you up like a miser
The TRA: "you got warrant? if no warrant then fuck off, cop"
Hardcastle: Is the door closing?
The TRA: yes.
Hardcastle: "I just wanna talk to Vic. Now you gonna take me to him or am I gonna have to come back with a warrant and rain hell down on you"
The TRA: he pauses a moment, then ushers you in
The TRA: "touch nothing, Vic in back"
Hardcastle: "Vickey"
Hardcastle: "Guess who?"
Hardcastle: Listen
The TRA: The kid hits you in the back of the head with a pipe spanner
The TRA: you hit the floor like a sack of crap and wake up tied to a chair, God only knows where
The TRA: it's a little concrete room, filled with the smell of standing water, illuminated by a single, old-fashioned light bulb
The TRA: Vic's here
The TRA: "You dumb fucker", he says
Hardcastle: "Ha... You hit me? Figured it might be the kid"
Hardcastle: "Hell Vic... I've been wanting to talk to you."
Hardcastle: Who else is in the room?
The TRA: Just Vic
The TRA: Vic's in a wifebeater and old fatigues tucked into old combat boots
The TRA: he looks like a coyote; lean, hungry and a little insane
The TRA: "It was the kid. He's good help- smarter than he looks but a little over-enthusiastic."
The TRA: "Sorry about that"
Hardcastle: "Hell of a kid, Vic. Go on"
The TRA: "But hey, since I've got you here, and we've both got some free time, let's chat."
The TRA: "I might know a little something about these murders. Tell me what you know first."
Hardcastle: "Look who's just out of the fuggin' academy. How about I tell you shit, asswipe, and you spill who was with the girl that night."
Hardcastle: "You got a cig?"
The TRA: Vic is all smiles
The TRA: he leans down and puts a Royal-Tee in your mouth, lights it with a microfusion torch
The TRA: "no need to be hostile, gumshoe. I don't know names or anything but I might know underlying causes. Step back a bit, perhaps?"
Hardcastle: Suck in hard and tell him how it is. "I know you're connected, connected enough to know I'm plugged up, and that they know where I am regardless of where I decide to stop and shit"
Hardcastle: "So help me out V, who killed the girl. This ain't gotta be complicated. This ain't gotta be guns and broken doors, or your kid in there growing up in the system. I'm guessing she's imported, and if that's the case you just gotta turn me towards the sun and I'll leave you well in my wake"
Hardcastle: I'm saying it as reasonably as the situation allows
The TRA: Vic lights a Royal-Tee of his own, blows smoke up into the cieling
The TRA: "The kids not mine, for starters, he's hired help. But let's engage in a hypothetical situation for a moment."
The TRA: "Say there's a fella runs a fight ring, has a few boys of his own to send in. Say he's got a friend with a couple of smuggling connections, and say one of them brings back some xenocode that looks like it might juice his boys up a little bit. They haven't been doing too hot lately, see?"
Hardcastle: I sit back and puff "I do Vic I really do"
Hardcastle: "Go on though"
The TRA: "Thank you"
The TRA: "Now let's presume for a moment that this code is completely and irrecoverably fucked, and that this is evident from the moment it's unpacked. Let's say that it pours out of the datacore like cold tapioca and crawls into some dumb bint's mouth and starts living in her"
The TRA: "Here's where it gets foggy for this hypothetical fight manager, because at this point our hypothetical broad runs off and gets herself killed."
The TRA: "This is where you come in, gumshoe. I need Xenocrime up my ass like I need a fucking hernia and if they catch wind of this shit they're going to be the least of my problems. I help you out, give you a lead or two and you make sure that none of this touches me."
The TRA: He blows smoke again
The TRA: "how's that sound?"
Hardcastle: "You're always smart, Vic. Your son should be proud."
The TRA: "This wasn't the girl from last night, you understand? The first one. This was the first. Alright? Said she was gonna go see her man up near Perdito street, lives in some townhouse there."
The TRA: "You head up that way maybe you find something out."
The TRA: he holds out the pack
The TRA: "one for the road?"
Hardcastle: "No I don't smoke"
Hardcastle: I step
Hardcastle: Once unrestricted
The TRA: it is so
Hardcastle: Vic's not okay, but he can't blabber before I can report
Hardcastle: Maybe it's better they see me coming
Hardcastle: So more than one
Hardcastle: What number was the girl? 2? 6? More?
Hardcastle: code trafficking is not new, but this was certainly innovative.
Hardcastle: Minimal Cleanup
Hardcastle: I'll go see the other one. Up on Perdito. See if anyone is still looking out for her. Maybe I can follow the breadcrumbs
The TRA: Perdito is currently on the very edge of the upswing of the gentrification cycle. The houses and businesses are run down, just on the edge of having some character and being kind of a shitheap. The style is late aughties moderne; chipped whitewash over dark wood, some rusted iron and bricks the same color. Identically tailored prostitutes, with some fairly high-end work, hail at you from the streetcorners.
The TRA: semi-sentient micro-ads brush past your face like bats, or ghosts, or friendly old women as you approach the townhouse. you mount the stairs and come to the room Vic told you to find; the door's closed but unlocked.
Hardcastle: Knock knock
Hardcastle: "Hello?"
Hardcastle: Crack the door
The TRA: it's an odd apartment
The TRA: looks like somebody knocked the walls down between about four of these upper-story rooms. Each one is square, with a single large window facing the street
The TRA: The walls are covered with little scraps of paper, pinned or taped or held on with magnets to brushed-aluminum picture frames
The TRA: doesn't look like there's anyone home
Hardcastle: Call out once more and step into the apartment. Search room to room, Chambers out
The TRA: your words fall softly around you in the close, warm space
The TRA: The rooms are all empty of furniture, save a hard metal chair and a cot in the last room. There's a strange smell, like ammonia in the air.
The TRA: something brushes the back of your neck
Hardcastle: Turn it!
Hardcastle: Shit
The TRA: your finger tightens just a hair on the trigger of the Chambers
The TRA: but it's just a scrap of paper, come loose off the wall
The TRA: it flutters about in the currents caused by your abrupt movement
Hardcastle: Snatch that. Where's the girl?
The TRA:
A Neon Heart/
wet/
and red/
disengaged from time/
The TRA: "she's dead" says a figure in the doorframe, a gun leveled at you
The TRA: he pulls the trigger
Hardcastle: If I live, fire back
The TRA: his shot goes wide- adds a new ventillation duct to the wall behind you
The TRA: the Chambers screams like a damp finger across the rim of the Devil's wine glass and tears a hole through the air between you and your assailant
The TRA: it takes out most of the doorframe to his right, two layers of wall immediately behind that and removes his right arm pretty neatly halfway between the shoulder and elbow
The TRA: he falls down the stairs
Hardcastle: Let's go see who's the lucky winner
The TRA: he's in the street, trying to crawl away, but he's losing blood like it's going out of style so he's not gonna be at that for long by your estimation
The TRA: one of the hookers comes to try to help him because holy shit he's missing an arm and she's really not the brightest anyway but a good heart, part of the tailoring package
The TRA: he vomits what appears to be cold tapioca into her face, accompanied by a smell like ammonia
Hardcastle: Good god
Hardcastle: Call them in, get her and carry her down to protective custody
Hardcastle: Product control needs to take a look at what she just ingested
Hardcastle: Is he still speaking? Let's see
Hardcastle: "Hey gucker if she's dead then what got her?"
The TRA: he's breathing weakly, lying on his back. It looks like whatever health department nanos he had in him aren't working because he's still bleeding horribly and he's pretty clearly in shock.
The TRA: "I think..." gasp for air "it might have been me"
The TRA: he dies
Hardcastle: Well shit
Hardcastle: Check the apartment. What about that paper? Anything unique about the cogging on it?
The TRA: The paper is all bits of the poem the killer's been leaving tattoed on the victims. You find the first part you and Kzecuchenko found, on the first victim.
The TRA:
Send me/
A Neon Heart/
Unarmed/
With a walk like a girl/
The TRA: the paper itself is just paper, cream-colored synthetic wood pulp, with faint blue lines. It came back into style a few years ago- writing on paper. The killer probably bought a bunch when the fad was on and had been using it ever since.
Hardcastle: That's dumb. How dumb of him
Hardcastle: How could he be so dumb?
Hardcastle: There's a point...
Hardcastle: Look
Hardcastle: It's backwards
Hardcastle: They catch it like a bug
Hardcastle: someone comes and cures the wound
Hardcastle: I've been looking at it all wrong
Hardcastle: Who's coming down on them
Hardcastle: We gotta start from the top down
Hardcastle: Get a sample of the regurgitated code- product
Hardcastle: Who made this?
The TRA: You get back down to the precinct and the boys down at the Xenocrime lab are already losing their shit
The TRA: Everywhere you see people with the glazed look that accompanies using the nano-feeds, everywhere somebody running around with a data-tablet, everywhere somebody who needs another goddamn cup of coffee before they can even begin to deal with this shit JESUS
The TRA: Gundersson, the head of their forensic code crew, pulls you aside
The TRA: "Holy fucking shit do you have any idea what you brought in here? This is absolutely insane, we have never seen a single goddamn thing like this and you sent it into the goddamn station you dumb fuck"
Hardcastle: "What the hell are you talking about? It's a juice feed, file and catalogue like always"
The TRA: "The fucking hell it is, this is some kind of... who fucking knows what?"
The TRA: "It's self-replicating, it... for fuck's sake it seems sentient and it can interface with organic life and it's god damn bug fuck insane"
The TRA: "That goddamn hooker about chewed the end of one of her fingers off and has been using the blood to write fucking poems on the walls"
The TRA: "it's all the code seems to want to do"
Hardcastle: What's the speculation? The poem is a carry-over but what's underneath?
The TRA: Gundersson just looks at you exhaustedly
The TRA: "The fuck if I know. This is your goddamn case, seems to me. You look into it."
The TRA: Over the next few weeks you do, and a picture starts to emerge
The TRA: the poem, what's been written, anyway, appears to be a fragment of a fragment of a fragment
The TRA: a piece of cultural debitage divorced from context by species and time, and translated inexpertly into our foreign tongue
The TRA: the street girl in the cell continues writing- they bring her a pen and paper after a while, she won't use a datapad
The TRA: They send a squad down to pick up Vic but it seems he'd already been shot, by who knows who
The TRA: Emile skipped town
The TRA: all grains of sand within the mandala, all turns in the labyrinth
The TRA: a month later another murder, the begining of the poem again or maybe just a refrain
