10 A BOOT STOMPING
20 A HUMAN FACE
30 GOTO 10
By
Jess Gulbranson
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PUBLISHED BY
LegumeMan Books at Smashwords
10 A BOOT STOMPING 20 A HUMAN FACE 30 GOTO 10
Copyright © 2010 by Jess Gulbranson
isbn: 978-0-9870496-1-2
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1. LOVE WILL KEEP US TOGETHER
Do you suppose customers thought that wanted posters looked quaintly romantic back when a marshal used to get off his horse to post them at the general store? The modern ones are all business – tacky little printouts that seem like afterthoughts. Missing kids, too, at least had the iconic milk carton. Now they get some notice at the front of the discount store, a card slipped in with the pizza coupons and ignored.
I probably saw Nelly Jones on one of those, because I used a lot of pizza coupons. Didn’t pay much attention, though. It’s the human touch that stands out in this type of thing, and the human touch in this case turned out to be a fat man with a funny hat. That’s definitely hard to ignore.
It was early summer – June. It had been hot and humid, of course, just bad enough that everyone seemed to be on edge. I considered myself lucky that Aileen’s idea of ‘vintage’ didn’t translate to ‘no fucking air conditioning’. Apparently record albums were people too, so it was a real joy to come to work all summer. In fact, it seemed like I was there a lot even when I wasn’t on shift.
“Terry, tell me about that thing,” Aileen said to her girlfriend as they puttered around the stock, straightening stacks of vinyl out and generally wasting time. “That one thing.”
“With the dogs biting the robot?” She didn’t even look up from the pile of hard bop titles that were perpetually out of order. No one ever looked at that crap, but they were always askew.
“That’s the one. Tell Eric.” I was behind the square counter in the center of the shop, listening to my headphones at a reasonable level. I gave Aileen a look – who knows why she wanted me to hear this story. Probably to embarrass me with some sort of girl-on-girl stuff. I kept listening to my music and threw some barely polite attention to Terry’s story, while keeping a glance every now and then at the door in case some customers decided to make an appearance. That actually seemed doubtful. It was still early in the day, but already sweltering, and overcast. Nobody was going to roll in until lunchtime, and Aileen and Terry would get antsy by then, ready to go eat their vegan tacos or whatever.
I was surprised by a pretty savage pinch on the arm. “Dammit, Aileen!” I tried to swat at her hand but she was too quick and already out of reach as usual.
“Daydreaming again, man. We’re out of here. It’s Tuesday – fifty cent vegan taco day down at the Polar Bear.” She grinned at Terry, who was laughing and apparently unconcerned that her story had fallen on deaf ears. Perhaps the whole thing was just a setup for the pinch. I’d buy that.
“You guys have fun. It’s gonna be a slow day.” I threw a hand up to wave as they headed out the door, and rubbed my arm only half for show. “Try to not to pinch too many people.”
“Big baby.”
“One of these days you’ll come back and I’ll have sold all the rare vinyl and moved to Amsterdam.”
“Not a bad idea, Eric,” Terry said, and then they were gone.
The day passed pretty much as I predicted and I listened to a lot of music and read as much of my book as I could stand. I’d been trying to get through some French writers – Sartre and Camus. It was rough. The Camus guy was better; he at least seemed to just be writing a slow medical thriller. The other one though, was a book of plays, and I quit after the first. It was about three people trapped in a room, and I had been stuck at work once in a snowstorm with Aileen and Terry, so I didn’t exactly feel like reading about the French version of people doing the same thing.
Maybe it was a little pointless, reading. I had been on a date, my first in a long time. Awkward, though, because I’m sure I came off as a big creep. One-sided. It seemed almost stereotypical, that when the topic of reading came up, she mentioned Existentialism and wanted to have an interesting conversation about that. Big fail there. I figured I would bone up for the next date, but so far it had been two weeks and there didn’t seem to be any sign of that.
It was towards the end of the day. There had been some decent business, but nothing to write home about. Aileen had called after lunch, and with one earphone out I had listened to her playfully make up some bullshit reason that she and Terry weren’t going to be back in that day. And could I open up tomorrow? No problem there. Despite her flightiness, she was a great boss. As far as I was concerned, I was overpaid and under worked. I didn’t really consider hanging around in a music store all day to be any sort of burden. Besides, she kept my mp3 player filled with music. I didn’t do computers.
I was starting to think that I could shave a few minutes off closing time when someone walked in who obviously wasn’t a customer. Our patrons are all hipster kids in various ridiculous getups and gaunt elderly record collectors. This guy was stout, red-faced, in a peach polo shirt, and most amazingly, a captain’s hat. He was an 80’s rum ad writ large and not looking so good. In my mind I immediately nicknamed him Captain Darryl Dragon.
“Can I help you, sir?” He approached the counter tentatively, a conflicted look on his face. There was a sheaf of papers in his hand.
He held them up to me, and opened his mouth but didn’t manage to say anything yet. MISSING was the most prominent word, and then the picture. There was Nelly Jones, according to the poster, age 19. Missing. I had never seen her before, but there was something about all those missing pictures that looks familiar and pulls at your heartstrings.
“Please,” he said, and pointed at the front door. There were a number of flyers for concerts up. “Can I post one of these here? I’ve been going around the neighborhood. I’m her uncle.”
“Here, let me do it.” I took one of the posters from his unresisting hand. “I might have to take down one of the older flyers. It’s no problem.”
“Thank you… thank you.”
“I’m so sorry. How long has she been missing?”
“A week. Her parents are a wreck. We’re trying everything.”
“A week… they say –” Well, I’m sure the authorities had probably already told him what being missing a week meant. I mean, if I knew what being missing a week meant just from watching cop shows, then there was no point in saying it. “Look, you can go ahead and post it up. Maybe you’ll feel better doing it with your own hands.” I shrugged and handed it back to him.
He walked back to the door and taped the poster up in an available spot, smoothing each piece out as if it were load bearing on his soul. When he was done, he looked back at me and nodded.
“Thank you.” Then he was gone.
There were no more customers, and it was closing time. I turned off all the lights, and locked up. On my way out the front I looked at Nelly Jones’ face in the poster. Her eyes seemed darker, more piercing. Then it hit me, in a profound way that was alien to my shallow life. Nelly Jones was dead. Nelly Jones was dead, and putting up posters was not going to bring her back. The futility of it pissed me off. I reached out and tore the poster from the doorway, feeling an almost electrical contact as I did so. I crumpled the paper in my fist and tossed it on the ground.
Eric no
But Nelly Jones was dead. If she didn’t want me to tear her posters up, she had better tell me face to face. She had missed her chance. Then I thought of her uncle, plastering the neighborhood with the things.
“Okay, Nelly, you’ll have your shot at me. Let’s try the pizza place, shall we?”
* * * * *
2. LOVE WILL TEAR US APART
Pizzazza had a Hawaiian with extra pineapple that no one had come to pick up and let me have it for cheap. I could pick the pineapple off. They also had a poster. When the kid at the front wasn’t looking I grabbed it and crumpled it into the dumpster outside with the excess dough and outdated ranch dressing.
No no no
“You’re going to have to do better than that.”
There was a jewelry store and a coffee shop in the strip mall with Pizzazza. Both were closed and both had posters. I pulled the posters down and held them together as I stood next to the dumpster again. This time I ripped them to shreds. I threw the shreds on the ground.
“Eric, what are you doing?” I could actually hear her voice now, not in my head, but echoing off the side of the building. It sounded like her heart was breaking. I thought you were supposed to be beyond pain or something when you were dead.
“Look, you’re dead. You were murdered, right? Maybe you can tell me who your killer is. I’ll have to pretend to be psychic so they believe me… but then you can go into the light, or…” I was floundering. And there was no answer. I had no idea what I was doing. Maybe I really had lost it. I grabbed my pizza box and headed home. There had to be more of these on the way that I could try to make contact with.
It was a long walk, and ordinarily I didn’t mind, but on top of it being muggy, I was kind of creeped out. I stuck to the bus route, hoping to get there a little quicker. There was a lady waiting at the first stop.
“49?”
“Just passed,” she said. That meant another twenty minutes. I might as well walk, so I headed back into the neighborhood. The post office was nearby – sure enough, on the outside was a poster. Forgetting that just a moment ago I was starting to freak out, I ran over and tore it off; actually tearing it in half as it came off the glass. Nelly Jones didn’t say anything this time but instead flickered into view for a moment, the shade of a young girl as she saw herself in death – all harsh lighting and features blurred where she felt ashamed. The eyes held me for an instant like they had for the first time in the poster, then she was gone.
“Come on, Nelly!” I found myself wondering stupidly what ghosts ate.
Walking again, I realized my hands were shaking. I didn’t see any more posters around – it was all residential for a couple of blocks. Maybe that was for the best. This was just an episode of weirdness, like one of those weeks when every time you look at a clock it’s 7:11 or something.
“You son of a bitch.” It was a real voice and not Nelly’s.
I turned and the fist connected solidly with my cheek. I ended up on my ass, the pizza box on the ground, my earphones coming loose and dangling wildly. Captain Dragon loomed over me, his right fist still poised in the air after having done its damage, the sheaf of poster rolled up in his left. His face was redder than before. “Is this your idea of a joke? Is this what you’re going to joke about with your buddies? A girl is missing!” I tried to scoot backwards away from him, still reeling, but he shuffled forward and kicked me solidly in the ribs. I groaned, and got a glimpse of his face. He wasn’t enjoying this. I wasn’t being bullied here, and that scared me.
“Why the hell would you pull down these posters? Why?” He kicked me again, and I coughed, almost puking.
“Trying… to… find out… where she… is…” It took him a second to process that.
“That doesn’t make any fucking sense!” I suppose it didn’t. I tried to sit up, but didn’t have the strength. “I think maybe you already know where she is. Covering your tracks, you sick fuck? Taking souvenirs?” He dropped down on one knee next to me and punched me in the face again, over the eye. My whole world flared into white and there was a crunching pain. Something broken. “Where is Nelly?” He backhanded me, other side of the face, thankfully not so hard this time, but whatever was broken still hurt like hell. “Where is she?”
God protects fools and people getting the hell beat out of them. I started having a fit or something, my body deciding it didn’t want to die as he began choking the life out of me with his free right hand. At this point Dragon was so mad he didn’t seem to care about answers, just brutalizing the guy who might have killed his niece. A wild grab got lucky, though. I got hold of the sheaf of posters in his left hand, and between his death grip on them and my desperation, I manage to tear them all raggedly up.
I could feel it – the electric shock I had felt the first time was almost like the feeling before a thunderstorm this time – but he didn’t notice until Nelly Jones laid her hand on his shoulder. That got his attention.
His hand went limp, and I could breathe again. His face was pallid except for some spots of high color, and I could feel how cold it was where her hand had touched him. Dragon looked up at his niece, and when he locked eyes with her he gasped and rolled off me. Fallen over on his side, he was at a loss for words, but she bent down and whispered something in his ear. He was crying now.
Nelly Jones – her ghost – rose and turned to me as I lay on the ground next to her weeping uncle. I was in bad shape, but pretty sure that something important had happened. I looked into her dark, dead eyes and couldn’t see myself reflected there. Maybe I was not important in the grand scheme of things. Maybe a douchebag in a nautical hat getting closure is more important than me living or dying. At that moment I was fine with it. Nelly Jones smiled. She leaned down and kissed me on the mouth, which was wonderful even though it was icy cold and I was sure I would lose my lips like an Everest climber afterwards. She stood and looked at us, then abruptly disappeared.
That was good. I let myself drift off.
* * * * *
3. EVERYBODY KNOWS THIS IS NOWHERE
I woke up in a hospital, which was no big surprise. The surprise was that waiting by my bedside like a worried relative was Captain Dragon. I didn’t say anything to him, as in my room with him was a nurse and a police detective.
“Eric, how are you feeling?” The nurse asked as he gave me a sippee cup of water, like you’d give a kid. I sipped some, though I was sure it was more for the horrible oyster taste in my mouth, as I was hooked up to all sorts of IVs. I grunted noncommittally in response. “Well, you should feel better. You had a minor skull fracture and some serious swelling on the brain but they approved a dimethyl sulfoxide lavage and, after that, everything is clearing up nicely. Mr. Jones has been waiting very patiently for you to wake up.” He looked over at the nightstand, where there was a large and garish bouquet of flowers. With a mylar balloon that read THANK YOU.
“Glad you pulled through okay, son. Detective Nelson here has a few questions, and then we can catch up.” His tone was a bit forced on the familiarity side, and the bastard actually threw in a wink.
Nelson was a tired-looking woman of about 40 and clearly had other things to do than question me when she already had all the details. I nodded or shook my head to confirm or deny all her points. It seems that Dragon had concocted some hooey about me having gotten into a conversation with some guys at the shop who knew some guys who knew something and when I started playing amateur detective I had ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time and he had mistaken me for a crazy stalker. But we had cleared it up and with valuable info that had led to Nelly and her killer being found. It was all very neat and complete bullshit with a grain of truth.
The detective thanked us and left. The nurse did the same, and while Dragon’s forced smile dropped, the tension in his body seemed to as well. He scooted his chair closer to the bed and took his hat off, revealing an actual head of hair.
“I brought your iPod, Eric. I guess that is the very least I could do. Your pizza got cold, though.”
I did my best to shrug. “It had pineapple on it.”
“Your boss left a message, said to take all the time you need and get well. Hero disability pay.”
“That’s nice. Did you talk her up too?” He shook his head.
“Didn’t have to. Word gets out. Well, not about everything. A few things will, I’m sure. You did have a concussion, so any talk of ghosts or psychics will be pretty easy to laugh off.”
I gave him a meaningful blink. “You don’t have to worry about me embarrassing you.”
“I’m more worried about what it will take to convince you to tell me how you did it.” I didn’t have a quick response to that. “Eric, I’m serious. I know what I saw. I know you did it. We don’t have to have this conversation now. But we’re going to. So tell me when.”
“When do I get out of here?”
“A couple of days then rest at home.”
“Fine, let me get settled at home and then we can talk.” He nodded. “You realize I was just trying to find her?” He gave a long look then put his nautical cap back on.
“Yes, Eric, I do. Maybe you can find other people. It was too late for Nelly, but maybe it won’t be next time.” He gave me a curt little wave and left the room.
What the hell was I going to do about this? Maybe it wasn’t even real. I’m sure there were plenty of drugs that had been pumped into me. I was feeling loopy, alright but that didn’t seem to cover everything that was going on. I let myself sink into the pillow, stiff and crinkly – unyielding. Come to think of it, I had never been in a hospital, not for myself like this. After everything, I was exhausted, even though I had just woken up and there was a distant ache in my skull that seemed to just barely be kept at bay by whatever chemicals were at work.
Eyes closed, I debated whether or not I wanted to be like some kid in a predictable movie seeing dead people. I had never thought of myself as psychic, never put much thought to that stuff at all. The last thought before I went back to sleep was a strange and irrational one of being afraid of disappointing Dragon by not being able to do it again.
* * * * *
4. STITCHES IN MY HEAD
A couple of interchangeable doctors looked me over and pronounced me fit to leave, provided I rested at home for a week. I could do that. The nurse signed me out, and even though I didn’t have health insurance I found to my great surprise that the bill had been covered already. Thanks, Captain. I headed home with a brown bag full of various hospital dope, made sure that I had brought my headphones and mp3 player from the room, and caught a bus back to my apartment.
I didn’t have any animals to starve, or roommates to worry, or relatives to leave a hundred messages. Or many friends. Or a girlfriend. So apart from some stale air from the place not being walked around in for a couple of days, it was pretty much as I left it. Spartan, to be trite. Though I doubt the infamous Greeks had wall-to-wall crates of meticulously organized LPs dominating their single living areas.
I went in the kitchenette, checked the fridge and there was nothing. I hadn’t been able to eat the hospital food, except for toast. There were about a dozen magnets with Pizzazza’s number on the door of the fridge, so I got on the phone and ordered three pizzas. – to be delivered. They probably thought it was a prank when they heard who it was. I was taking the head injury thing seriously, though.
Back in the living room, I went to the records and grabbed one at semi-random: Herbie Hancock’s Headhunters. The colors on the sleeve hurt my eyes, so I quickly placed it in the turntable. The blue light from the 1010 was more soothing when I powered it on, and I laid down on the couch and let the room fill with funky fusion.
What is it that people don’t get about music? There’s nothing more powerful in the world to work on your brain. It resonates, for good or for bad. You just have to open yourself to it. Without realizing it, I had picked an album that always makes me feel good and, even though its bouncy rhythms seemed like a mismatch to convalescence, I knew it was perfect. If I had picked out some CopShootCop, let’s say, even though it’s great stuff, my head would be pounding and the fracture reopening.
‘Chameleon’ played on as I lay there and waited for the food. I wondered how long I should wait before I went back to work. It’s not like I was going to be running a jackhammer or anything. More importantly, how long could I wait before I needed to get in touch with Captain Dragon? He had left his number and an email address (useless to me) in the room when he left.
Well, I had promised, so as soon as I was done with the doctor’s term of rest I would go back to the shop and give Dragon a call that day.
Pizzazza really put the speed on, because as I got up to flip the record at the end of ‘Watermelon Man,’ there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see the kid that was usually clerking when I went in.
“Three pies, Mr. Taliaferro. Everything okay?” I nodded.
“Yeah, Jeff. Just got out of the hospital. I’m on bed rest for a week. Figured I’d better stock up, you know.”
“That sucks! What happened?”
I gave my head a very gentle tap, not near the actual fracture area. “Broke my skull.”
He grinned for a moment, like he didn’t believe me and maybe he hadn’t seen my bruises in the dim light. He flushed. “Well, feel better, Mr. Taliaferro. These are on us.” He refused my money then waved as he hopped down the stairs. Before I closed the door I saw that he had left a couple bottles of soda as well. Okay.
Back on the couch I dug into the sausage with garlic combo thing that had sounded good at the time. The music washed over me, and I was feeling good, but… I started thinking about Nelly Jones. If I was the one who could get her to cross over or go to the light or whatever, it seemed like a bullshit coincidence that her uncle would start putting up her missing posters right near the record shop where I worked. Okay, so if the coincidence was bullshit, then maybe it wasn’t a coincidence? Then how would Dragon know I was psychic if I didn’t even know? Maybe he was too. I pictured him, in his stupid hat, pictured him back in a rum ad under a palm tree with a cigarette boat, and thought that that possibility was just plain ridiculous.
I ate and decided I was ready to start some serious healing. The questions were nagging me. I suppose at this point most people would be firing up the old internets and looking for answers. Or going to the library. Those options didn’t work for me, though. So, to continue my meditations on ghosts and other matters, I turned off all the lights and put on Bauhaus’ The Sky’s Gone Out.
* * * * *
5. THIS IS NOT AN EXIT
The week got older much faster than the pizza in the fridge did. I was driving myself a little crazy. It seemed like a week of uninterrupted rest and musical appreciation would have been heaven. I was alone with my thoughts, and for once in my life they were deep and bothersome. Aileen had called twice, wishing me well, and put Terry on to tell me some sort of random story. She couldn’t pinch me over the phone. It might have been lulling me into a false sense of security and I could be walking into a major ambush when I went back to work. It was nice that they called but I missed the fickle non-rhythm of their presence in the shop.
It was also killing me to have so many unanswered questions about what had transpired with Captain Dragon, and his dead niece. I could speculate all I wanted, bat half-assed theories back and forth in my head all day, but the only way I was going to get any real answers was by meeting with him like I had promised.
I decided the week was up. My head felt fine and my bruises weren’t quite so terrifying. I picked up the phone and called Aileen.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Are you sure you’re feeling up to it? You can take as much time as you need. We’ve been busy but nothing a couple of entrepreneurial girls can’t handle.”
“I’m fine. A little stir crazy.”
“Okay.” She held the phone away from her mouth. “Terry! Eric’s coming back tomorrow! When he gets back you need to tell him about that ventriloquism thing! Wait, tell him now.” She spoke into the mouthpiece again. “Eric, Terry’s going to –”
“Tomorrow,” I said, and hung up.
I grabbed the little scrap of paper with Dragon’s number on it from where I had ditched it when I came home. After a little hesitation I dialed, and he answered.
“Eric.”
“So, I’m on the mend.”
“Glad to hear you will be rejoining the land of the living.” His gladness sounded forced.
“Yeah. Look, I’ll be at work tomorrow. I think I’ll be taking a long lunch.” In reality I was thinking of taking a half day and not pushing it. “How about we get together like we said.”
“That’s fine, just fine. Anywhere in particular?”
“Let’s do the little coffee shop around the corner from where I work. Around two.”
“Eric, I have a feeling you want some answers as much as I do. So do you mind if I bring someone?”
That felt a little dodgy, but what was I going to say? “Fine. See you at two.”
I spent the rest of that day cleaning, which took all of ten minutes, and making notes about everything I knew about ghosts and psychics, which took about two minutes because it wasn’t much. There just wasn’t enough to do at this point, and I got a little depressed because I felt like I should be out doing something. I would normally be walking, headphones in, getting some exercise. So maybe it was just cabin fever. I tried to convince myself of that but deep inside I knew that this was different. I had touched a dark corner of life that I had never been to before – gone into a ‘NO ADMITTANCE – THIS MEANS YOU’ room.
It was just as frustrating as when I had seen Nelly Jones’ poster. It felt very much the same, in fact. Maybe that was the key. I reached out and grabbed a college music magazine from the coffee table, and ripped the cover off, then folded the whole thing in half angrily and tossed it into the wastebasket.
Nothing.
I felt foolish. What was I expecting to happen? Who was going to show up, the mailman? Music critics? Yeah, it was past time to get out of the apartment. If I hadn’t lost it earlier when I thought I was some sort of ghost talker, I had certainly lost it now with my wanton destruction of rock periodicals. I made sure this was an early bedtime for me, and figured I would start work and get a fresh perspective on things.
* * * * *
6. TOUCH ME
I showed up at the record shop in time to open. Maybe Aileen thought it would be weird for me if she were there on time to open the shop that she owned, breaking routine. That was fine. I didn’t expect any kind of special treatment and it actually would have been awkward had I got any. The morning went just like any other: sorting new stock from local record labels, pricing resale pieces that had been brought in yesterday, and sourcing special order requests… a few people browsed here and there. I was welcomed back by a couple of regulars.
Aileen and Terry appeared through the back. To my surprise I wasn’t greeted with a pinch, but a rare hug from Aileen, then one from Terry who was apt to hug and kiss pretty much anyone to come through the door if they weren’t careful. As she released me, I felt a searing pain in my arm. Pinched again.
“Goddamn it, Aileen.”
“That’s called the honey trap, Eric. You think just because we’re dykes and you’re a retard it won’t work?” She rubbed my arm and they started towards the back office. “Glad you’re back. Let me know if you need anything.”
I handed over my mp3 player for a new set of uploads as she went back to her office. I sat back down on the stool behind the central counter and wondered if I could get a refill on the pain meds just for future pinch attacks.
The rest of the day kept me busy, and when it got to be almost two I endured a lengthy story in order to tell the boss I was taking the rest of the day off. Instead of ventriloquism as promised, this one was about a Venezuelan leprechaun. That pretty much beat anything I had heard, or actually listened to, from her before. Aileen gave me my mp3 player back and, browsing through the artists on the little screen, I could see that she had put some wild stuff on there. Despite all appearances of blasé, my employer at least had a good feel for me musically and how important that was to me. I thanked them both, out of arms reach, and left the shop for the day.
It felt good to be out walking around again; getting some air; walking and listening to some tunes. I covered the short distance to the strip mall in no time. It was nice enough outside and I could see Captain Dragon sitting at one of the outside tables on the side patio of the coffee shop, nautical hat firmly in place. At least his polo shirt was a kelly green today. Next to him, and I could not have expected this, was Detective Nelson, who I barely remembered from the hospital. She looked much more relaxed in a regular blouse and jeans instead of the generic lady cop pantsuit she had been in before.
Dragon waved to me. “Good afternoon, Eric. Why don’t you go hustle yourself some coffee and join us.”
I nodded then turned to Nelson, “Hello again, Detective.” She smiled politely.
Turning to go inside, I thought for a moment about just walking the other way and getting the hell out of there. Well, if the police were involved that was probably pointless. If Nelson had it out for me, I’m sure it would be obvious. I continued inside and ordered the largest, strongest-sounding coffee drink on their menu. I’m not much for this stuff normally; I had only suggested that we meet here because it seemed like the place you bring people to meet them when you want to talk. I got my drink and went to pay only to be met with another refusal.
“Already paid for, sir. Enjoy.” I threw a buck in his tip jar. Can’t stop that.
Back outside I joined Dragon and Nelson at their table. Dragon took a long pull from his cup, then sighed and rubbed his hands together.
“Eric, I know you’re probably a little surprised to see Alexandra –” She gave him an irritated glance. “Detective Nelson, here. Don’t worry, though. You’re not in any kind of trouble but I think we might be able to do what I said in the hospital.”
“You mean help people. I mean, I want answers, but I guess it’s kind of pointless if it doesn’t help people in the end.”
Nelson chimed in. “Eric, Mr. Jones has filled in all the details of what actually happened. You were lucky that I was one of the people handling this case. I’m a bit more open minded than some of the boys on the force.”
“He told you about Nelly…” I had been forgetting to drink my coffee, and took a sip then. It burned my throat.
“I told her everything: about how by touching her posters you got visions of where she was.” His face was unreadable and I’m sure if he could have winked at me then he would have.
“We use psychics in police work more than most departments will admit, more than you’ll ever see on tabloid TV. It works less than the people who do it claim it should. Way more misses than hits and maybe, for skeptics, it’s statistically meaningless. But we do a lot of things like that as humans so why dismiss something that might save a life or put grief to rest?” We all nodded to that. “If the army could use their remote viewers as actionable intelligence, why can’t we?” She lost me there.
“Eric, I’ve promised to help Detective Nelson with this little project. I know a few people – have some connections – and funds. That’s only if you’re willing to work with us because you’re the key to it. And it would be on your terms.”
She handed me her card. “If you decide to do this, we would be able to provide a variety of cold case materials connected with the victims, things that have already been cleared by forensics and that you won’t have to worry about contaminating. We’ll see what results, if any, we get there, and compare it to some control tests. If things look promising we’ll move on to some current cases and see if we can’t help some people.”
“Okay.”
“I’ve devised a full testing protocol, Eric. This will be very scientific, not loosey-goosey astrology patchouli stuff.”
Detective Nelson pointed at the card she had given me. “Feel free to talk more with Mr. Jones, but if you decide to go ahead with this, call me to set up an appointment at the station. Believe it or not, there will be waivers and such for you to fill out.” She grabbed her iced mocha something and took her leave.
Dragon looked at me and waited until her car had left. “I told her everything,” he said. “But I didn’t show her this.” He pulled the collar of his polo shirt back over one pudgy shoulder. The rosy skin there was interrupted by a slim hand print in white, frostbitten flesh.
* * * * *
7. A TALE OF MORANS
We took a walk. Dragon seemed like a vigorous guy but probably was used to driving places he needed to go. That put me at a little advantage.
“Alexandra wouldn’t have bought it if I’d said that my niece’s ghost came to you then told me where to find her killer. Well, she might have bought that but, if she had, she would have buried it right there.”
I thought about that for a second. He was hanging on my silence. Dragon had had me in his power earlier and maybe he still did but needed my buy-in here.
“I don’t care so much about why. Let’s talk about who you are.”
“You know that already.”
“Nope. Not enough. You can sweet talk a detective backwards and forwards with promises of some sort of psychic lab and experiments. Not to mention the money. You’ve paid for everything since you beat me down, so I assume that part isn’t a lie. So give. Or I walk.” At that I started to walk a little faster, and he did have some trouble keeping up.
“Fine. Here’s me: I went to school to be an engineer. But I always wanted to be a rock n’ roll organist. Like John Lord. That never happened but, in the seventies, I wrote some tunes for a few big names. I won’t say who and it was under an assumed name, so don’t bother Googling me. Suffice it to say the royalties have been enough over the years to make me and the family comfortable. In the eighties, when it really was all about money, I took up the engineering bit again, and with a little money behind me did some defense contracting. So – money. Big contacts. Knowhow. And I’ve heard about some real true things that would make you wonder about everything you’ve been told.” He was panting after all that, so I slowed down.
“So I guess it’s safe to say you’re the representative of some vast government conspiracy?”
Dragon ambled over to a bus bench and sat down. I stood next to him. “No… there is none. Actually, not one. Not a big one, at least. Everybody wants there to be a big bad behind it all; someone mysterious and easy to blame.”
“I don’t.”
“Well, you’re special. The reality is just like everything else… boring. The Illuminati – real and bullshit. Majestic 12 – real but a bureaucratic dodge. Et cetera. The secret thing is great, you can get a lot done that way, but we’ve evolved past the mysticism and ritual. They didn’t know about expert systems and scalability and emergy calculation. But we do. I do.”
“Shit.” I shook my head. “If you’re some hotshot new school conspirator, then why are you messing around with ghosts and psychics? That doesn’t make any sense.” We had flipped from our last disagreement.
“You don’t know your history, Eric. For me, it fits perfectly. And I think it’s a blessing that my niece gave of herself in death to solve this crime, and to lead the way to solving more. Who knows, we might be unlocking more secrets than just this CSI stuff.” He wiped his sopping brow.
A bus came down the street and blinkered as it pulled over. I waved it on, but it stopped anyway. The driver opened the doors with a hiss of air and pointed at Dragon.
“He okay?”
“Diabeetus,” I said. That seemed to satisfy him, and the bus went on its way.
“‘Diabeetus,’ Eric?” He shook his head.
“I don’t want to go down to the police station. You can take care of that, am I right?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll have to work out something with my job. Can we do this in the evening?”
“Fine, fine. We can accommodate all sorts of things to get this project rolling.”
“How about dropping the conspiracy nonsense? It feels a little a silly.”
Dragon frowned. “It’s not nonsense at all. You just don’t understand yet.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the newest touch-screen phones. Scrolling through a list of names or options or something, he began selecting a number of lines. “I feel like I should convince you of how serious I am. Ever heard of a flash mob?”
I nodded. He hit send, and the phone emitted one of those generic soothing tones that sounded generically Asian, but was probably just a heavily reverbed block of wood.
“Umm…” He motioned for me to wait. I sat down on the bench next to him, and a few minutes passed. Another bus came barreling down the street. It was too early for another bus. It stopped just short of the stop and, when the doors opened, about twenty people came milling out. It was the usual assortment you see on the bus – old ladies, businessmen, students. I also noticed that about another dozen people were wandering toward us from various points on the block.
I jumped up from the bench and started backing away, feeling almost like I was in the middle of a crap zombie film. Dragon put his hand on my arm and stopped me, then addressed the crowd in an imperious tone.
“Cabal of Silence! You have been called to assemble. Do you heed the call?” The assembly murmured their assent. “The time of change is coming. You must maintain the silence until you are called again. Will you maintain the covenant?” They murmured again, stronger this time. “Our scion soon will rise, watch and ward him until his time, Eric Taliaferro. Now go and maintain the silence until you hear the call again!” He touched the screen on his phone and there were a multitude of answering tones from the pockets of everyone in the crowd. Then they all rose and either got on the bus or wandered off again. As soon as the bus roared off, it was if the whole strange incident had never happened.
“So you brainwashed all those people.” He shook his head violently.
“No, not a bit. I just activated a brand new conspiracy right here and now. Those people have all been interested in the same things on the internet, ordered the same books online, asked the right questions on forums, had the right kind of phone, and happened to be in the right place at the right time. And are gullible as hell, like the rest of the world.” He looked giddy. “That is how we do it nowadays. Ad hoc! And it’s only the beginning.”
“I’ll be in touch, okay. Let me know when your lab thing is ready.”
“Eric, I’m sorry for the dramatic demonstration. I’ll find someone who can explain it a little better than I can, okay?”
“Fine.” I stalked off, cranking up Sheer Terror in my earphones. That was as good of a ‘fuck you’ in music as I could think of, even if it was only for my benefit.
* * * * *
8. ZERO
I came home to find that someone had broken into my apartment and taken a shit on the floor.
The door had been clumsily jimmied, not that it would take much with the loose frame and I could see that the rug had been moved by whoever came in. Since I didn’t keep much of value other than the stereo and all the music, that was the first place I looked. They were untouched. I could tell my most valuable LPs were all still there in place, and of course the 1010 itself. Since it weighed over 50 pounds it wasn’t an easy target anyway.
There were a few things askew – one of the lampshades was off, and the threading destroyed as if someone had tried to screw the brass nut back on but couldn’t figure out how.