The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Cartoon Network, Sunrise, and Bandai Visual.
THE BIG O:
ACT 29
THE NINE MUSES OF DEATH!
Chapter Four: Erato
"Just what is the meaning of this Dastun?" Roger Smith snarled as he slammed his fist on the Colonel's desk.
"For crying out loud Roger," Dastun shrugged wearily. "Try to look at it from our point of view. Two murders in one day. And both you and Miss Wayneright at the scene of both of them. You know damn well that I've got to check to see if there's a possible connection."
"The only connection we have is being at the wrong place at the wrong time!" Roger protested childishly. "You have no right to hold us here!"
"I have every right to keep you here!" Colonel Dastun retorted as he raised his voice. He stood up to lean across his desk and lock eyes with the indignant negotiator. "Just be glad I only brought you down here for questioning. If you two aren't suspects, I can still hold the two of you as material witnesses!"
"Dorothy and I have nothing to do with these bizarre murders!" Roger insisted. "We just wanted to have a night out on the town! Is going outside a crime these days?"
"Roger, we can place you at the scene of two of the murders," Dan Dastun protested as the two men stood up straight and allowed the colonel's desk to separate them. "And on the night of the first murder the only people who can verify your whereabouts is your butler and your devoted little assistant here. Both have a history of keeping your really big o' secrets if you catch my drift. You can see where this puts me."
"What is it with you?" Somehow, Roger Smith managed to make a whine sound manly. "Last year you tried to put me away for kidnapping Francis Wise. Then you suspected me in the Ellen Waite case. And now you think I'm bumping off the Paradigm executives? This is ridiculous Dastun; you know everything I do. What have you got against me anyhow?"
"It's not like that and you know it!" Dastun growled. "Look Roger. This is serious. Violet Web was on the Paradigm Board of Directors! If it looks like I'm not doing my job they'll replace me with somebody who will you damn fool! Somebody who won't hesitate to lock you up just for being there. Just be grateful that the jerk you have to deal with is me you idiot!"
"Grateful?" Roger widened his eyes in sarcastic surprise. "You expect me to be grateful for suspecting an innocent man?"
"Darn right," Dastun nodded. "Let's take that incident last year in the cabin with Francis Wise for instance. That was some stunt you pulled with your remote control car. Do you really think that anybody else wouldn't have given the order to open fire?"
"What? I'm supposed to thank you for hunting me down like a criminal?" Roger huffed indignantly.
"That's right you ingrate," Dastun nodded as he scolded the young negotiator as if he was an unruly child. "When the military police got the tip that you kidnapped Francis Wise and where to find you I volunteered to lead the squad that would bring you in. I hoped that if you saw that it was me you wouldn't run. Instead you jumped through the air like the human cannonball and drove off in your Smithmobile. You fool! Don't you know that a dead man is easier to frame than a live one? Old man Wise came clean and explained the whole thing that very night. If you had just come along quietly you would have been out before daylight. Instead you ran off like a fugitive and risked getting your head blown off by some trigger-happy cop. What's wrong with you anyway?"
"I control my own destiny and don't let someone else control it for me!" Roger insisted. "I took matters into my own hands and found the proof to clear my name on my own!"
"Old man Wise cleared your name," Dastun insisted. "And it was the black megadeus that brought us the kidnappers not you, you moron!" Dastun put his finger to his lips signaling Roger to be quiet.
Roger made a growling noise as he struggled to keep his tongue still. Dastun was signaling that he believed that someone could be listening in.
The grizzled cop sighed and allowed himself to relax. "Look Roger, personally I don't think you had anything to do with it but I have to check every lead. If you share what you know I'll share what I know, deal?"
Roger crossed his arms and nodded, attempting to rein in his temper. Dastun was offering to share information, and Roger decided to take the offer before it expired.
"Let's start at the juicy part," Dastun sighed. "What where you doing at Violet Web's table?"
"She wanted to hire me," Roger huffed as frowned at the floor. "She knew her life was in danger and she wanted me to investigate."
"Did you take the job?" Dastun asked.
"Hard to say," Roger shrugged, his voice finally softening. "She died before we could complete the deal."
"What was Dorothy doing there?" Dastun glanced over into the corner of his office, where Dorothy Wayneright was silently standing as still as a statue.
"We went to Rosterman's to celebrate our anniversary, not to conduct business," Roger admitted. "She wanted to know what I was doing at Web's table just as much as you do."
"Great," Dastun grumbled. "That leaves us back at Square One."
"Okay, what do we know?" Roger looked up from the floor to address Dastun. "So far we have three mysterious deaths, all Paradigm executives. Two of them had mysterious names left at the crime scene, one did not."
"Names?" Dorothy spoke up. "What names are you referring to, Roger?"
"Do the names 'Clio', and 'Thalia' mean anything to you?" Dastun asked.
"They are both women's names," Dorothy responded, "but not common ones. Is 'Eurterpe' a name?"
"'Eurterpe'?" Roger repeated. "Where did you hear that?"
"It was inscribed on the cigarette holder that shattered in Violet Web's mouth," she told them. "The inscription was very small and hard to see. I assumed it was the manufacturer."
"We could have three mysterious names," Roger said as he turned back to Dan Dastun. "Have you figured out what happened to Fraiser Owens?"
"We found a mysterious drug in his hip-flask," Dastun told him. "So far it defies analysis, so we sent a sample to Paradigm Labs. Everyone who knew Owens knew that he always carried a flask of whiskey with him wherever he went. He used to say that it was 'his secret public vice'. We're still trying to find out how it got in there in the first place."
"Any idea who sent the flowers to Phil Gasset's funeral?" Roger asked.
"Yeah, some bag lady ordered the flowers," Dastun replied. "Paid in cash. Didn't give her name."
"I see," Roger nodded. "What happened to Violet Web?"
"It turns out that cigarette holder wasn't one of hers," Dastun shrugged. "Apparently it had been booby-trapped to fire a spike–like projectile when the trigger mechanism in the holder became hot. Her autopsy is still pending, but the coroner says that the mouthpiece had been driven up through the roof of her mouth and into her brain. She must have been killed instantly." A knock at the door caused him to turn his head. "Come in," Dastun called out. The door opened and Dastun's mouth gaped in surprise before he groaned in resignation at his latest visitor. "I should have known the home office would send you. It was just a matter of time."
"R. Frederick O'Reilly," Roger announced sarcastically. "The Paradigm Corporation's android inspector from the home office. To what do we owe this dubious honor?"
R Frederick O'Reilly was dressed in black slacks, white gloves, tan trench coat and gray fedora. With his coat shut it was difficult to see his shirt, but he had a white cravat at his metal and plastic throat. His head appeared to be gas mask worn over a motorcycle helmet, for the speaker he used for a mouth dominated the lower part of the android's face. "Good evening, Mister Smith, Miss Wayneright," he said in a polite and gentle voice. "Please forgive the intrusion but I have business to discuss with Colonel Dastun."
"That's okay, we were just leaving," Roger told him before glancing in the beleaguered Colonel's direction. "Isn't that right, Dastun?"
"Sure, don't pretend that I give a damn," Dastun shrugged. "Have a good evening you two, and don't let the door hit you on the way out."
As Roger and Dorothy walked down the hall, they got more than their fair share of stares because of their fancy clothes. They looked like a teenage couple on prom night. They may not have been going to a prom, but now it was night. Dastun had detained them for hours.
"Well Roger, what now?" the android asked.
"Our first anniversary looks like a bust Dorothy," Roger sighed as he put his hands in his pockets. "I was hoping that we would go dancing but we might as well go home."
"You were going to take me dancing?" Dorothy's quiet monotone made her sound shy.
"Yep," Roger nodded. "Why not? You can sing and play the piano. I'd surprised if you didn't know how to dance too."
"You want to help Colonel Dastun solve the case don't you?" Dorothy's words sounded more like a statement than a question.
"We're involved whether we like it or not," Roger shrugged. "Besides I feel like I owe it to Violet Web. Even though she probably deserved what happened to her, it's hard to turn down a woman's cry for help."
"You are not responsible for what happened at Rosterman's," Dorothy pointed out.
"True, but it seems foolish to ignore the power struggle taking place in Paradigm," Roger countered as he examined his wristwatch. "As Big O's pilot I'm on the radar whether I like it or not." He twiddled with his watch and tiny words appeared on its face: AUTO RECALL.
Back at Rosterman's parking lot, the long black sedan known as the Griffin started it's engine and activated its headlights. The parking attendant could only stare in slack-jawed disbelief as the empty ebony automobile drove out of the parking lot and onto the street.
This place, Paradigm City… is a city of forgetfulness. Over forty years ago, everybody, human and robot lost all memory of what had happened before. But memories, like nightmares, have a habit of appearing when you least expect them…
The sleek onyx Griffin pulled up in front of the Military Police's 1st precinct building and double-parked as Dorothy and Roger walked over to it. As Roger entered the driver's seat, a tiny gray screen on the dashboard chimed with the word 'CALL' blinking in capital white letters. A panel slid open revealing a microphone/speaker that was attached to the secret compartment by a curly telephone cord. Roger picked up the mike and pressed a button with his thumb to speak into it. "Yes, Norman?"
"Master Roger," the words on the screen vanished to be replaced by a gray monochromatic image of a balding elderly man in formal dress sporting an eye patch and a magnificent white mustache. "You have a telephone call from a young woman. From the tone of her voice she seems to be in a considerable state of distress."
"Another damsel in distress?" Roger blinked. "Very well, I'll take the call."
"Very good sir," Norman's image disappeared to be replaced by a horizontal line that vibrated with each word and sound being transmitted to the speakers in the car.
"Roger?" a woman's voice asked hesitantly. "Roger? Are you there?"
"Angel?" Roger gasped. Ever since the surreal three-way battle between himself, Alex Rosewater and the Union, he had only seen the buxom blonde bombshell in hallucinations and flashbacks. "Is that you? Where are you? I've been so worried."
The shadows cast by the streetlamps' light filtering in through the car's windows made Dorothy's neutral expression look like a frown.
"Roger!" Angel's frightened voice pleaded. "Roger, they're after me! They're all after me! But he's different! He knows where I am! I think I'm being followed! I don't dare go back underground! There's no place I can hide! You've got to help me!"
"Now Angel, calm down, you've got to calm down," Roger insisted as he struggled to keep calm himself. "Where are you? Can you get to the mansion? Or someplace full of people? Where can we meet? I'll come pick you up and then we can talk about this."
"I'm at a public pay phone," she told him. "Remember the diner we ate at? The night Vera… Agent 12 arrived in town? It was the night that…" her voice trailed off.
"Yes, before we went to the seashore," he replied. That night held so many bad memories. Almost kissing Angel and breaking her heart instead. Alan Gabriel wounding Dorothy, and getting away. Suffering from visions of barcodes and tomatoes while battling what should have been a pushover giant robot. It was hard to forget that evening no matter how hard he tried.
"We can meet there," Angel's voice confirmed. "I'm close by, it's just a couple of blocks! You've got to protect me Roger, there's no one else I can turn to!"
"Gotcha," Roger nodded. "We'll be there in a few minutes. Don't worry, Angel. I won't let anything happen to you."
As the Griffon drove off, outside the domes it started to rain. Dorothy stared straight ahead, saying nothing. Roger wasn't better company. When the car left the dome, he had to give his total attention to the slick and treacherous roads. The constant detours and blocked off streets didn't make driving any easier, and the sky had managed to let loose a downpour that nearly obscured his vision. Several times Roger was forced to use the sonar and City Positioning System whose readouts were visible on television screens placed at either side of the steering wheel.
At a stoplight, Roger spared a glance at Dorothy, but she turned her head to look out the right window. The light from a passing car's headlights briefly caused Dorothy's window to reflect her image, allowing Roger to glimpse the stoic expression on her face. For an instant, her reflection obscured the raindrops on the window, but swollen drops of water could still be clearly seen running down her mirror image's white cheeks.
Despite all the detours they had to take, Roger and Dorothy finally parked across the street from the diner. "Stay in the car," Roger told her as he shut off the engine. "There's no point ruining your beautiful dress and I'll be back in a minute."
"I want to come with you," Dorothy replied in her stoic monotone. "My cloak is in the trunk, remember? We are going inside. We won't be out in the rain that long."
Roger frowned in irritation. Angel said she thought she was being followed. If whoever was following her decided to get rough he would rather have Dorothy safe in the car than in the line of fire. Unfortunately, Dorothy was smart enough to figure out that Roger could be in danger and didn't want him going in alone. Or was Dorothy worried that Roger's reunion with Angel would be tearful and romantic? Hard to tell with an android, even she didn't have a face like R Fredrick O'Reilly.
Knowing how stubborn Dorothy could be he simply growled "Fine," and left the car. As he opened the trunk and retrieved the folded black cloak he felt the rain go down the collar of his shirt and trickle down his back. He had once said that 'Sometimes a man chooses to stand in the rain without an umbrella. That's what it means to be a free human being.' He had to admit that sounded a lot better than 'Darn it, despite this city's unpredictable weather I forgot to pack an umbrella just in case.' As he jogged to Dorothy's side of the car he estimated that if he had simply dashed into the diner instead of getting Dorothy's cloak he would be a lot drier.
He opened the door and handed Dorothy the black cloak without a word, although the scowl on his rain soaked face spoke volumes. Dorothy stepped out of the car wearing the cloak with the cowl pulled up. Roger pulled out a small device and pressed a button with his thumb, activating the armor that completely surrounded the car and made it virtually impossible to steal.
There weren't many customers in the diner that night, so it wasn't hard to spot a bedraggled blonde in a pink coat and a black cocktail dress hunched over a cup of coffee. "Roger," she whimpered timidly from the corner table.
"Angel," Roger nodded curtly. Even soaked, starved, and shivering Angel still looked beautiful, but she didn't look healthy. Her skin was pulled tight against her bones, and the dark circles around her eyes made her look ten years older. She had lost weight. Her curves weren't quite as exaggerated as he remembered them. Her hands shook as she lit a cigarette, reminding Roger of the last blonde who lit up in his presence. "The car's outside. I'll take you to my place. You should be safe there."
"Thank you," she smiled weakly at him as before she slurped her coffee down. When had she slept last? She looked like she hadn't gotten a good night's sleep in days.
Roger's stomach chose that moment to growl, reminding him that the police had detained him before he got a chance to enjoy his dinner. "Sorry about that," he shrugged. "Let's get you out of here and see if Norman has anything for us. You look like you could use a hot meal as much as I do."
"It's a deal," she nodded as she rose shakily to her feet. "If there's anyway I can thank you just name it," the bedraggled blonde spread her arms to embrace Roger, but backed away when she saw Dorothy lower the hood of her cloak. "Oh! Dorothy…" Angel blushed; giving her pale face some much needed color. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."
"I'm used to it," the android replied stoically.
"Come on, let's get out of here before the storm gets any worse," Roger said as he gallantly gave the frightened blonde his arm.
They paused after they stepped outside, using the narrow awning over the door to the diner to survey the distance to the Griffin through the obfuscating torrent of rain. Dorothy's head jerked to the side so she could look at a poster-board sign leaning against the wall. "That sign. It wasn't there before," she said quietly.
"What?" Roger gasped, and both he and Angel stared at the sign. It depicted an exotic stringed instrument and a single word: Erato.
"He's found me!" Angel shrieked. "He's found me!"
On the roof of the building across the street, a shadowy figure in a worn and threadbare raincoat peered through a scope that was attached to a crossbow. He could see the woman's terrified expression quite clearly even though the view through the night vision targeting scope appeared to bathe everything in a green monochrome. Not even the crosshairs placed over her face could obscure the fear in the Angel's eyes.
On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Norman's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:
Next: Broken Birds
