Mike Pitcherman wore a dark blue buttoned uniform with a police token attached to the place of his heart, a high cap with a flashlight, snow white gloves, black shiny shoes and a black baton on his leather belt. He was tall and strong, taller and stronger than anyone in the city of Wellington Wells, maybe not measuring up to some of his comrades in the Constabulary where he had worked for as long as he could remember himself; he estimated five years as it was the farthest border his Joy-impaired memory was able to pry, everything beyond it - an abyss of nothingness that spoke in incoherent murmurs and fooled a persistent eye with evanescent glimpses of what must had been his life once.

The only things he remembered always, what he had engraved into his mind were Laws, Regulations and Rules, and above all he bore the two truths in his heart:

Happy is the country with no past. And:

Happiness is a choice.

Therefore his duty was to save people from their own foolishness if they chose not to be happy and stopped taking Joy.

Mike was an officer, a decent one, quite respected but leaning closer to the average type of a person, not very dedicated and still very reliable at the same time, who kept to himself. If one was to ask any of his co-workers to describe Mike, many of them would just shrug their shoulders and say something like, "Oh, him? Haven't seen him have a single drop of liquor so what can I say about this bloke?"

Everyone in the Constabulary, from regular patrolmen to the Chief, fancied drinking a lot. What could be better than a bottle of scotch after a hard shift (and, on a rare occasion, during one, when a Wellie would be so kind enough to express their gratitude in such a distinguished way for all the pains the bobbies of the city had to take to keep it safe and sound)? Perhaps only a night in the House of Curious Behaviours, where you could have both liquor and sensual entertaining simultaneously. To refuse liquor was unbelievable. However, Mike wasn't the only one with a deviation like this. There was another officer who was a total abstainer, even more so than Mike who would let himself have a drink when he was off work.

His name was Konstantin, and it just so happened that he was the only person whom Mike could call his, well, if not friend but a pal at least. They didn't have anything in common except for their indifference for drinking, though in Konstantin's case it was sheer antipathy. He was far too short to fit the requirements of the Constabulary, but thanks to his physical strength and absolute commitment to the regime he was easily accepted and since then he had been proving to be one of the best. Oh pray for your life should he as much as have a vague feeling you were doing something illegal! He was the officer to find crime even where there never was one, and it earned him the red uniform.

(Him being a tenor also helped a great deal when there was the question of whether he should be accepted or not, and he became a splendid addition to the Operetta Club.)

Mike felt somewhat honoured to be pals with him: he respected Konstantin for his devotion - this man was an exemplar of a perfect constable. But Mike was never at ease around him. He didn't like the latter's rigidness of mind and his sharp, hawk's eyes. They used to patrol streets together back in the days when Konstantin still wore the blue uniform, so Mike knew well what he was capable of. He saw him knockout downers with one powerful blow, he saw him beat people up mercilessly until they turn into a bloody withering mess. It made his hands tremble and got his chest seized with a strange, unwelcome feeling. Sure downers violated the law but did they deserve this kind of treatment?

Mike never shared these thoughts with anyone, and they lingered, raising their voice every time he witnessed unnecessary cruelty, which was quite often for a city that claimed to be the happiest. Blackberry had been doing great job of silencing them, though. Being an exclusive flavour of joy, it was far harsher and stronger and only distributed to the bobbies since they were the ones who could appreciate its harshness and endure its withdrawals due to the kind of work they did. Ordinary joy could never compete with the Blackberry, and if one tried it once, then the addiction would sink its claws deeply into one's flesh demanding this very flavour and nothing else.

Konstantin once compared the feeling you get when you are pounding a person till blood flows and bones break with the Blackberry effects.

Then he added, agitated by the smell of blood that covered his cuffs, that it was the price for choosing to suffer when they had everything to be happy about provided for free. Unhappiness was to be punished, happy face was to be preserved. The war had damaged Wellington Wells greatly but the city revived quickly and had been faring magnificently since that time, and why all this? Because a smile crossed out the bad memories enabling people to move on.
Mike shuddered at this. No matter how much Blackberry he'd had since that moment it stuck in his head bringing out uncomfortable thoughts, like should he take a closer look at himself if the person who considered him worthy among many others would say such a thing? What if he beat downers in the same monstrous fashion but didn't remember? Was he doing everything right?..

The easy way was to not think about it. Blackberry, long shifts, a lot of sleep, and problem solved.


Mike usually patrolled Apple Holm and a part of Maidenhill. They were fully reconstructed colourful streets with festive decorations hanging in the air - a holiday that would never come to an end. (Unless you decided to be a spoilsport and that's your own fault.)

Mike lived in Apple Holm, near the bridge to Lud's Holm. Everyday on his way to work he glanced in that direction, saw red lights of the police station that prevented citizens from going there and downers from entering the city, saw shallow waters of the river below, and thanked his fate internally that he wasn't on the opposite embankment. For the constables, Lud's Holm was a punishment means of sorts. Kept failing tasks? Betrayed your duty? Wasn't responsible enough? Then off to Lud's they sent you, in most cases to guard the Apple Tree - the only source of fresh fruit in the whole city. It was a huge miracle that the tree had survived what had transpired there, namely bombing and chemical attacks. The whole area was heavily contaminated, its soil along with waterbanks poisoned, and the downers who inhabited it were either plague-eaten or about to be. So just breathing its air was dangerous, let alone spending days and nights around the tree that was like a beacon promising heavens for the certainly empty bellies of the inhospitable downers. Mike had never seen a constable return from there in a more or less good shape; without exception they staggered, stumbled where an old man wouldn't, and emanated alcohol. Often they started blabbering about some supernatural rubbish that, they claimed, was real because they saw 'witches and magic' with their own eyes; if anything this only proved that hallucinating while intoxicated was real.

Not the centre of intelligence as the Constabulary was, the officers were bound to lose their last brain cells in that forsaken place.

Formally cheerful hello's and how-do-you-do's were exchanged as Mike entered the Constabulary and went on to the changing room where he put on his uniform and replaced the civilian mask with the officers' one. Its features were extremely exaggerated: very protruding, long chin, inhumanly wide smile with little hooks to keep the corners of the mouth up, and big crooked nose - a face of cartoon villain, not of a policeman. Mike hated it just as long as he was off Blackberry but once he had his respective dose the face of the mask was no longer ugly. It was hilarious.

Just before the morning briefing commenced Konstantin came up to him. He nodded his head slightly in a silent greeting, never sparing a word for formalities, and said, "Don't leave just once after the briefing. I need to talk to you."

He didn't wait for an answer, quick to disappear behind the doors of the room where all the officers were gathering. Mike joined them and took his usual seat.

Today's agenda was fraud of Joy. Listening to the captain, who was giving his typical animated speech, but not really paying attention Mike looked cautiously at Konstantin who was standing - he could never be found seated at this kind of meetings unless he absolutely had to by order - near the exit, leaning a bit against the silver wall, arms crossed. He was immovable, a statue made of steel, as if he was consuming every word the captain was saying:

"... Now there's this bloke or a number of individuals going around our beautiful city doing some nasty things, like selling illegal variations of Joy - totally disapproved by the Docs, lemme tell ya - and we still don't know who it this! Shame on you! Shame on you all! We must catch this little rat and pluck his whiskers out…"

Mike wondered what Konstantin could possibly want to tell him.

Finally everyone was dismissed, and Konstantin stopped him just at the exit with a slight jerk of his chin suggesting to step a tad to the side so as to have some semblance of privacy.

By the way he clasped his hands behind his back and by the way his shoulders tensed even more than usually Mike got a feeling that it wouldn't be a very comfortable topic for his pal.

"So?..." he prodded as Konstantin seemed to be unable to start the conversation.

"Do you remember my wife? Domna?"

That was something surprising.

"Sure," though it wasn't completely true Mike opted not to admit having only remembered her existence just now. He saw her once and it must have been a long time ago. "She's a wonderful lady."

"She is. She wants to know if you'd like to come have dinner with us today. I advise to accept."

Konstantin always talked in a deadly serious, stern manner, and coupled with the cartoonish mask and the character of the proposal that should sound polite and amiable but have sounded like an order it almost made Mike snort a laugh.

"It's unexpected but I'll come with pleasure."

"Good. We'll be waiting for you at nine. Now let's get to work."


Even if I had some plans for this evening, Mike thought to himself striding down the colourful street, he would have made me cancel them. Mike could feel that it was on the tip of his tongue, literally the next thing Konstantin was going to say but didn't have to. Mike didn't have anything arranged for today or any other day and wasn't it for Blackberry in his system it would have still be bothering him greatly and not just for the short amount of time that had passed between their conversation and the moment he got his daily share of the drug.

Dinner with a company certainly was going to be a nice change from the routine of long and exhausting shifts. Everyday there was something that needed to be dealt with, like a broken motilene pipe or a downer or an accident with a Wellie… The latter was quite a frequent thing, sadly. Addled by Joy many forgot the basics of living like a proper human being, and during his tenure Mike had to save lots of careless citizens who'd forgotten their way home (nothing drastic, but still), who'd fall unconscious in the middle of a street because they'd forgotten to eat (quite drastic, but nothing a Doctor couldn't solve), who'd cut or somehow injure themselves without feeling any pain and bleed out (drastic, hard to notice while on Blackberry, required quick aid).

To some Wellies all of this seemed to happen on a regular basis, and there was one among them that stood out particularly.

The bloke caught Mike's eye in the beginning of spring, about three months ago. Mike learnt that his name was Leo, he worked at the tailoring studio and most often could be seen around three different girls - whether any of them was his significant other Mike couldn't tell but he wouldn't be surprised if it was so with the looks like his.

He had red hair that looked like he attempted to style them in the morning but gave up, and usually wore a brown single-breasted jacket with cuffs, matching trousers with turned up bottoms that revealed his ankles, and black shoes. The air of youthfulness surrounded him and whenever you looked at him he was in a joyous disposition that seemed to live inside of him instead of solely being the illusion Joy gifted to everyone.

There was one problem with Joy, though.

Mike had started to think that he was taking the regulation about it too close to his heart and had it for breakfast, lunch and supper since the goofy bloke had lost his way home two times on Mike's watch, came up to Mike and asked to help him get there, which was quite a time consuming task, and one time after that he'd come across him unexpectedly. They introduced and talked to each other, and Mike even dared to assume that Leo was flirting with him off-handedly but all his timid hopes crushed against the inevitable after-effect of Joy - memory loss.

That was the problem. Leo didn't remember him, probably forgetting him completely right after thanking him for the help.


Something was happening near Leo's house, there were telltale signs of trouble: an officer interrogating a man and light violet streaks of motilene coming out of an opened window. His heart clenching, Mike quickened his pace.

"... my friend and saw the vapors," the man was explaining to the officer. He seemed to be relaxed, both hands in the pockets of his grayish jacket, posture slack. He was quite tall, not skinny as most of the Wellies but not making it to the sturdy type of body, and along with the suit most often seen in this city he was wearing a peaky blinder. "So I got into the house to see if everything was alright with them. The door was open, my friend forgets to close it from time to time."

The officer noticed Mike approach and turned towards him to share his thoughts with an earnestness of a man brought up on a farm.

"Oi can you believe it - the guy right 'ere plays a hero of the day and goes and drags out these two lil' lovebirds out," with a short laugh he pointed with his chin to the bench nearby where two bodies were positioned. One of them was Leo and the other was a girl, both unconscious. Mike let out a sigh.

"What's happened here? Did a pipe break?"

"That fella' says so but tell you what - he's a sleazy one, so we're waiting for the Docs to show up and see what they have to say."

The man seemed unfazed at the prospect of being examined by Doctors continuing to roll on his hills and whistling a quiet chipper tune as if it was just another sunny, careless day.

"How long have they been exposed to the motilene for?" Mike asked, coming closer to the two 'lovebirds' on the bench. They were leaning against one another, serene, like two babies sleeping, and their skin was covered in an almost invisible fleur of violet dust. Mike felt an unpleasant pang inside of him as he checked for pulse - it was weak and slow for the both, and they needed medical aid, quickly.

"Who cares, they're either gonna' die or live, and it's in the Docs' competence, not ours," the officer blabbered making Mike's fists itch - why was he so stupid? Was he drunk? The way he slurred while talking - he had to be drunk, and god it was driving Mike mad, the total stupidity of the Constabulary -

He took a deep breath. It was just Blackberry washing away.

"Do you know?" he addressed the man in the peaky blinder, and it came out harsh.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Well I'm not an expert but I'd bet they've spent the whole morning like this."

"You said they were your friends?"

"That's right! Just came to pay them a visit but I guess our humble tea-party is postponed now."

Mike was about to ask his name feeling with his gut that there was something off about the lad even though his pupils were tiny which meant he was on Joy, but the Doctor came drawing Mike's attention away, and the next moment he looked there was no trace of the lad. Cursing Mike looked around, checked the nearest corner and even went through the house - to no avail. The other officer, of course, didn't see where he'd gone to either.

The rest of the shift Mike spent torn between two contradictive feelings - grateful that there happened to be somebody to save Leo and his friend and frustrated with that somebody for obviously doing something criminal.


Konstantin's wife, Domna, was a short plump woman with sparkly eyes and short, neatly done hair. She wore pearly earrings and her palm was soft and warm when she stretched it for a handshake.

"It's so nice to meet you, Mr. Pitcherman! My husband is such a grumpy it always warms my heart when he finds a friend," she was talking in a joking voice casting glances full of love in Konstantin's direction who was standing awkwardly by the staircase with his arms crossed tightly. It was so unusual to see him in a plain attire - it was hard to believe he had family at all.

"It's nice to meet you, too."

Their house smelled of apple pie. Mike was shown to the living-room adjoined with the small kitchen in bright orange and red colours. The modest dinner was already served in the living-room but Domna was making last preparations in the kitchen.

"He's rather reticent about his work," Domna said while Konstantin was in the bathroom. "I'm afraid he's becoming too reserved. Don't you think so, Mr. Pitcherman?"

"Just Mike, please. And reserved is not the word," not being used to this kind of social interactions Mike couldn't quite find what to do with himself, so he opted to lean against the back of the sofa and place his hands on its on its velvety fabric, squeezing it between his fingers. "To be honest, I'm surprised he's a family man."

Domna laughed. "Oh I still can't believe it myself! That he asked me to marry him, that is. Oh I just noticed, what nice hair you have! It makes me embarrassed for my curt pigtail," she pulled at her hair which was styled into a hairdo far from resembling any kind of pigtail. Joy and memory loss.

"Thank you," Mike said feeling extremely conscious about the length of his hair, that he made into a ponytail for the sake of the evening. He liked them the way they were but having to hide them inside the police cap most of the time he'd almost forgotten how people usually reacted to it, though at the moment Domna's compliment was welcomed.

"It's feminine," he heard Konstantin, who'd appeared silently in the doorway, put in his two cents and then he took his seat at the table.

"It's a new wave in fashion, dear," Domna told him, "one that is yet to be heard about." She winked at Mike and immediately clasped her hands, "Now make yourself at home, Mike, and please enjoy the meal with us!"

The dinner rolled by pleasurably, with Domna making most of the talking. She was interested in everything concerning Mike: work, personal life, favourite episodes of Uncle Jack's show; halfway through Mike had stopped feeling uncomfortable about her straight, simple questions. The spirit of the evening warmed up, Domna was no more the wife of his superior and the silence of the latter himself was no more a heavy pressure against Mike's shoulders. There weren't many things, though, that he could share about his personal life as he didn't quite have it - his little, shy crush on that Leo guy was pathetic, Mike had to be honest to himself. It stung all the more painful as he saw Konstantin turn docile at Domna's side, saw them touching chastely, saw the love between them. And his life? Old empty apartment, Blackberry, sleep and forbidden cravings.

When the dinner came to an end and Domna left them to themselves, Konstantin started to talk.

"Why didn't you tell my wife that you have certain interest in that boy from the tailor shop?"

The question, bold and confident, hit Mike like a bong.

"How… How did you notice?"

"I saw you several times. It wasn't that hard to tell. You couldn't tear your eyes off him."

"Well… It's nothing serious yet, it's practically nothing, so…"

"Good. I don't typically do it but. I think I can trust you not to jump head over hills at what I have to say to you."

Mike tensed.

"I know for sure the Chief wants to promote you. So you must show that you really deserve it and there's an excellent opportunity for that. Do you follow?"

He could only nod.

"We have an illegal Joy vendor. I have solid grounds to assume it's somebody named Ethan Kravchenko. And do you know who he's associated with?"

"Can't be," Mike breathed out.

"That's right. Your boy, Leonardo LaVey, and probably the whole establishment he works at, is somehow involved with this person. Here's your chance to prove yourself."

There was a pause.

"I don't think he buys anything from this Ethan person," finally said Mike.

"Maybe. But if he does, he belongs to the Garden District. This is why you shouldn't get your hopes..."

"Yes I know!" he snapped and chid himself at once. "I know… Sorry."

"Just take extra Joy. You'll forget."

You'll forget, repeated Mike to himself, knowing full well that he didn't want to.