Chapter 2: Beginning of the Pilgrimage... An Ugly & Sudden Call to Action

In regards to this Plegia bound misadventure, the story begins where I left it, at a restaurant/bar called Low Frequency, a jazz club in Ylisstol. It was around a quarter past three. Henry and I were sitting at a corner booth table, eating chicken club sandwiches and sniffing small bits of cocaine while the waitresses weren't looking. I was passively reading The Royal Press newspaper, and no article was particularly eye-catching. The only news of interest was a series of robberies targeting confectionery stores and bakeries that have been going on for several weeks. The thief not only cleaned out the cash registers, but also swiped bagfuls of merchandise. Police have no leads yet, and have put out a search for men under thirty with diabetes and/or a history of high blood sugar.

Henry snickered as I read him the article. "Talk about a sticky situation!" he joked. "What kind of weirdo goes around robbing candy shops?" His voice was muffled from a mouthful of half chewed bread. He liked to take huge bites of his subs and then drink to soften the food in his mouth. Once it was soft enough he would consume with an audible gulp. I have already had to perform the Heimlich on him several times.

"Maybe there is some underlined kindness in the act. He doesn't have the inhumanity to steal candy from babies, so he steals from the stores. Cuts out the middlemen."

We both laughed, enjoying the conversation. Sure the news was nothing but boring fluff, but that was a good sign compared to the savage headlines that plagued the papers two years ago. Back when Ylisse had been plunged into a pointless bloodbath of a war with Plegia for what seems like forever. It was all thanks to the bigoted, violent-hungry leadership of Ylisses's former commander and chief, whose name I've spent the last couple years forgetting with late drunk nights and horrible drug abuse. The memories of that brutal epoch weighed heavy on my mind: Plegian towns turned to battlefields, Ylissean protesters branded as traitors and beaten or gassed. However, now it was just another distant era. Another example of the beastly side of humanity's duality. A new twenty-six page long do-do stain in the history books ten years from now.

Peace has returned since those evil times, more or less. However it is still not completely behind us yet. Both countries still taste the bitter consequences from the battles; especially Plegia, who wound up with the piss end of the shit stick. Rumor has it that some Plegian citizens, even politicians, secretly hope to reignite the war. Open those freshly sealed scars and finish what was started by a dead man. For some men, vengeances is as good as gold.

Suddenly a sharp sound broke my concentration. An out-of-place tune rings in contrast with the jazz. It was my cell phone, playing a high pitched melody and vibrating against the wooden table, adding a low, dull hum to the orchestra. It was my editor at The Ylissean Times, probably with another assignment. I let it ring for about twelve seconds before picking it up.

"Hello?" I greeted into the phone. An anxious voice replied back, mumbling out some demands and instructions. I wrote the rough details in my little notebook, offering many "Mmhmm"s and "I see"s to the man as I did. There was a sense of worried urgency in his tone, which worsened when I told him where I was. Apparently I wasn't suppose to be there. Finally, once I gathered the order, I blew the man a kiss and hung up abruptly.

"Who was that?" Henry asked, reaching over to steal my fries. I smacked his hand away with a rolled up portion of my newspaper.

"My man up at Ylissean Times headquarters. They want me up in Las Grimas and checked into The Thoron hotel by tomorrow afternoon. A photographer named Stahl will seek me out and give me the specifics on the story."

"Tomorrow afternoon? Nya ha ha! Talk about rush hour! We better get moving now, or we'll have to break the sound barrier to make it there on time."

"I know. Apparently I should have been there by now, sleeping drunk by the pool and prepping for the job. The man on the phone said my manager was suppose to of informed me of this assignment two days ago."

Henry stared at me with a clueless expression, ignoring my narrowing glare. Finally his face lit up, and laughed. "Oh yeaaaah. Nya ha ha! It's all coming back to me now."

I rolled my eyes, out of annoyance or habit I no longer know.

"Hey don't look at me like that! It's hardly my fault. Those eggheads should know better than to drop responsibilities on me on a Friday night. I'm usually drunk and twisted by sundown."

"And what's this 'we' stuff you're babbling about? How are you so sure I'm bringing your demented ass? You think I forgot what happened three weeks ago during Governor's public briefing? The shit you pulled that awful afternoon!? Of all the poor skirts to sexually harass you chose the Police Chief's wife."

"You didn't see the looks she was giving me dude! She couldn't keep her eyes off."

"Because you walked into the joint shirtless and muttering like a schizophrenic. We're lucky I got you out of there without so much as fractured femur. That cop was ready to stomp you until your bones leaked marrow."

"Aw come off it. You love having me around. Besides, are you gonna manage yourself up there in Las Grimas? Hell no!"

I shook my head as I called our waitress for the bill. No point in debating with Henry. The bastard loves road trips, and in truth I fully intended on bringing him from the start. Even if I didn't though, there was no time to argue or even think about it. My most pressing problem now was getting to Las Grimas, checking into my suit, and signing in for the press passes before the clock ran out.

As a journalist you have to deal with all sorts of stressful deadlines. I have only missed a handful of them in my career; each one badly nerve-wrenching, each one an all-nighter. Though Father Time was against us, I had a good feeling we could make this one, but only if we hightailed it. The drive from Ylisstol to Las Grimas was going to be long enough, but we had a list of errands to complete before that.

"So what's this story about again?" Henry inquired as we walked out to the bus stop.

"The 18th annual Thunder Auto convention. It's the largest gathering of gun and car enthusiasts this side of the continent."

"Well obviously we should gather some automatics. Something classic, like an old fashion tommygun. Also a nice vintage convertible."

Now walking into the bus, I considered Henry's thought process, and agreed completely with his thinking. "You're right. We'll have to immerse ourselves in the culture to properly report this story. You wouldn't send an ice skater to cover a football game would you? No, we can't afforded to be out of our element."

Indeed. But given our immediate financial situation, we could not afforded the resources to be in our element either. At hand I had only about 60 bucks with me, and Henry keeps all his wealth at home like a miser from a Charles Dickens novel.

So, the first task at hand was to hit the bank and drum up some cash from the Ylissean Times' coffers to support our campaign. Have Henry forewarn the bastards, reassuring the accountants that it was purely a business expense. He did this on our way over, and from what I overheard, the process when smoothly.

"We're gonna need some serious cash for this trip bud," Henry spoke into his cell phone, talking to some poor sobe at HQ with a plea for financial support. "There are certain expenses that have to be made for this to happen."

I could hear a muffled voice screaming back at him. Some nonsense about mother ducks and dirty dishes.

"But I never got that message last Friday. Someone there must of messed up. Too bad huh? If you people were more on top of things we wouldn't be in this situation."

The bus ride was unpleasant, like all bus rides in the summer; humid and clammy. For most of it I just retreated into the labyrinth in my head, contemplating the plan. And then, realization hit me. Today was a Friday, and it was past noon. The bank would surely be crowded today, like the DMV office after a holiday.

I cursed under my breathe several time, waking Henry from deep daydream.

"Take it easy man. It'll pass just play it cool."

"It's not that you bastard!" I shouted. This turned heads and attracted eyes, and I gave each one a quick passing glare. "Listen, we're going to need to be a bit more time effect here. I'll get off here in the bank, and you run the rest of the errands."

"What is it you need doing?"

"Let's start with the essentials. First off, make some calls about finding a nice convertible. Nothing too old fashioned, but refined and tasteful. Something to show those high-rollers and hotel clerks we're nothing to be trifled with. I'm thinking a black 1998 Griffin convertible."

"Nice. I'll see what I can do. What then?"

"Go to our homes and pack. You know where my spare key is right?" Henry nodded, and I resumed before he could lapse in reality and revealed the information out loud, on public transportation. "Go to the garage and find my set of white hard plastic suitcases. Load one of the fuckers with shorts, multicolored V-shirts, and undies. The other one we use to keep the drugs."

"Speaking of, what did you have in mind? Anything specific?"

"The usual."

"Smorgasbord, got it."

"Good. Once you have all that meet me back here." The bus approached the stop in front of the bank, and I got up to take my leave. "Oh yeah, and open a fresh bag of Meow Mix for Milo and leave it laying on the kitchen table. Don't fuck this up you hear? Or I'll turn you in for that public nudity incident."

"Oh please, have a little fate in a friend huh?"

Off the bus, I quickened my step as I made my tired way to the bank. Looking into the large reflexive mirrors that made up the walls, I caught a glaze at myself for the first time that day. I looked like complete shit. A walking and shining example of the new generation of grotesques. The night before I was at a wild fiesta, and haven't been home yet to repair myself. Pale and dirty skin, with two grey bags and black holes for eyes. Moist pools nestled in my under arms, a welcomed contrast to the other unidentifiable stains on my shirt. I could only imagined what I smelt like.

Outside or on the bus, I could pass as just another loon ignored by the system, but this look would definitely not fly at any established place of business, let alone at the bank.. Depending on their mood and whatever bizarre shit they might have already dealt with today, the guards might wrestle me to the ground and toss me out the door as fast as it would take them to look at me. Well appearances be damned! I had no choice.