The David Lynch Blues
Me And The Devil Blues
By Machiavelli
Somehow, he's turned himself around on that ledge before he can think. And Keats standing there, maybe thirty paces across the roof over by the wall. Jet realizes his gun's pointing towards him now, not his head, and before the neurons even have a chance to line up his finger pulls back on the trigger.
The recoil is pushing him backwards, towards that fifty stories. Somehow he ends up falling to the side instead, and rolls away from the edge. Then he's up on his feet, gun out, eyes trying to scan everywhere at once. No sign of Keats, no sign of blood.
Then Jet's brain finally catches up. What the hell am I doing ? I didn't come here to deal with him.
Then he sees Keats to his left, holding a gun in each hand. And that's right about when Jet feels a bullet rip into his flesh shoulder. Knocking him back towards the edge.
He catches himself an inch from the fall. Only cover in sight is the elevator housing - he just runs towards that fast as he can. Hears a bullet goes by his ear, another one hits the roof. But he makes it to the wall, swings himself around it.
Shit, shit, shit. His arm's screaming, his legs, his heart - everything hurts. That son of a bitch. That fucking son of a bitch.
I'm too old for this shit. I'm old and I'm tired, and nothing in my life makes sense anymore. I just want to open my eyes and have all of this be some fucking nightmare.
He hears footsteps around on the other side of the wall somewhere. Slow, careful pace. Getting closer. Jet looks down to check his ammo - but he can't, because it looks like he dropped his gun on that last run between the edge and the wall.
Shit.
And somewhere around the corner, he hears the footsteps stop.
It sounds like Keats is standing up against the wall, right around the corner. Jet hears a clip being ejected from a gun; couple of seconds later, another click - new clip being loaded. A couple of seconds pass. Then the same thing for the other gun.
Come on, you son of a bitch. Come and get me already.
Jet's been trying to force himself to stay on his feet. Hasn't really worked out. Has to kind of lean against the wall.
Just come on. Do something, you bastard.
Another footstep. He's coming closer.
Finish it.
"You may be interested to know," says Keats, so quiet that Jet can barely hear him over his own breathing, "that the Mimetics' next album comes out in a month."
Jet stays still. He tries to move his left arm. The metal one.
"But I never thought I would see you become a coward, Jet Black. I never saw fear in your eyes back in Ganymede. Not even in the alley, with the light on your face."
It starts to respond; the elbow first, then the wrist and the shoulder.
"You have all the pieces of the puzzle in your hand," whispers the man behind the wall. "They know you're close. They are afraid of a person like you. And here I find you, with all the information you need right in the palm of your hand. Only you lack the courage to put it all together."
Fingers are working now. Plus the endorphins are starting to kick in; doesn't hurt as much. He thinks he has a switchblade in his right pocket. Took it off an arrest years ago.
"Come around the corner, Black Dog," whispers Udai Taxim. "Come around and face me."
There's nothing in there except the miniplayer from last night. So it's just the arm, then.
He waits for Taxim to make some kind of move around the other side. But he doesn't hear anything, not even breathing. So he just counts to three and throws himself around the other side.
Except Taxim's not there anymore.
Something makes Jet look up, and there's Taxim, standing on top of the elevator housing. Then Taxim's two feet in front of Jet, the concrete shattering under his right foot. Jet pulls himself back, both his legs collapse underneath him. He glances to the side and sees his gun there. Reaches out for it with his arm as he falls.
Except then there's Taxim right beside him, holding Jet's arm. And everything's going blurry for Jet, he can't seem to move, he's heading downwards. And then Taxim's got something in his hand, he's sticking it next to Jet's ear. Some piece of plastic, not a gun, looks like one of those old tape recorders...
"Listen," says Taxim.
And Jet hears a click next to his face. And that's right about when he's hits the ground, and everything goes black, except for the music…
Someone's pulling some kind of shit on Jet. There's this bright light right in his eyes. Hurts like hell.
He opens them just to see what it is. Takes him a couple of minutes to realize it's the sun. It's pretty weak on Mars, but still, he's staring right into it. So he tries to get up, except that doesn't work out, because it feels like every bone in his body has been broken or at least fractured. Especially his shoulder.
So he just moves his head, even though that hurts too. And there's Keats, sitting on the other side of the roof near the edge, about ten or twenty paces from Jet. He's watching Jet out of the corner of his eye (shit, thinks Jet, he is Taxim. He's even wearing those glasses he had on the prison transport). Holding some kind of battered-looking machine in his palm - looks like one of those old tape recorders people used to have. It's making some kind of whirring noise, like it's fast-forwarding or rewinding or something.
Jet wonders if he can talk. He tries to say something like "just kill me already," but it turns out his face as a whole hurts too, so all he can get out is a vague kind of gagging sound.
But it's enough to make Taxim look up at him. His look is something like a glower, especially through those glasses. He holds up something in his other hand - the red disc (where the hell -- oh, that's right, still had it in the player).
"You listened to this, I assume," he says. He makes a fist and crushes the disc in his bare hand. "You still don't know anything, do you ?" He opens his hand, lets the powder fall off over the edge.
Shit, thinks Jet. I liked that song.
There's a loud noise in the distance, coming closer. Taxim stands up. He's wearing a black trenchcoat, which twists and ripples in the light breeze. He walks closer to Jet, pocketing the recorder.
"You and I have unfinished business," he says quietly. He reaches out his arm, like he's stretching; next instance, there's a knife in his hand. "The alley, the transport."
Jet doesn't even blink. Then the knife's stuck in the solid concrete, about a quarter of an inch from his eye. Blocks his view of the guy.
"But you're useful to me alive right now," says Taxim or Keats, or whoever the hell he is. "As a distraction. You may even be a threat to them, if you find Julia."
There there's an unholy racket above Jet - sounds like a ship landing on the roof. But he can hear Taxim whisper over it, right into Jet's ear:
"Meet me at the crossroads. Then I'll kill you."
Then the sound of his footsteps, walking slowly away. A little while later, there's what sounds like a small explosion, but it's just the ship taking off.
And then there's just Jet. Alone on the rooftop.
Eventually he manages to get enough energy to lift up his head. Yeah, that hurts too, and he can't do it for very long. But it's enough to for him to see his shoulder's still bleeding. Plus, his left arm's damaged - there's a big dent in the metal, just below the elbow. It looks like the imprint of a bare human hand, each finger visible in the shape of it.
His gun's lying over near the elevator housing, maybe five paces from the corner.
He also sees something sitting on the edge of the roof, over where Taxim had been sitting. It's his phone, propped up next to the edge.
And after that he collapses back and lets himself ache. It's close to afternoon, judging from the sun. For some strange reason, he doesn't feel hungry right now. Cigarette would be nice, though he thinks he smoked the last one back on the bus.
He briefly lets himself wonder how he's going to get down from the roof. But he can't really think of a way, what with him not being able to stand up. So eventually he just lets it go.
Me And The Devil Blues
By Machiavelli
Somehow, he's turned himself around on that ledge before he can think. And Keats standing there, maybe thirty paces across the roof over by the wall. Jet realizes his gun's pointing towards him now, not his head, and before the neurons even have a chance to line up his finger pulls back on the trigger.
The recoil is pushing him backwards, towards that fifty stories. Somehow he ends up falling to the side instead, and rolls away from the edge. Then he's up on his feet, gun out, eyes trying to scan everywhere at once. No sign of Keats, no sign of blood.
Then Jet's brain finally catches up. What the hell am I doing ? I didn't come here to deal with him.
Then he sees Keats to his left, holding a gun in each hand. And that's right about when Jet feels a bullet rip into his flesh shoulder. Knocking him back towards the edge.
He catches himself an inch from the fall. Only cover in sight is the elevator housing - he just runs towards that fast as he can. Hears a bullet goes by his ear, another one hits the roof. But he makes it to the wall, swings himself around it.
Shit, shit, shit. His arm's screaming, his legs, his heart - everything hurts. That son of a bitch. That fucking son of a bitch.
I'm too old for this shit. I'm old and I'm tired, and nothing in my life makes sense anymore. I just want to open my eyes and have all of this be some fucking nightmare.
He hears footsteps around on the other side of the wall somewhere. Slow, careful pace. Getting closer. Jet looks down to check his ammo - but he can't, because it looks like he dropped his gun on that last run between the edge and the wall.
Shit.
And somewhere around the corner, he hears the footsteps stop.
It sounds like Keats is standing up against the wall, right around the corner. Jet hears a clip being ejected from a gun; couple of seconds later, another click - new clip being loaded. A couple of seconds pass. Then the same thing for the other gun.
Come on, you son of a bitch. Come and get me already.
Jet's been trying to force himself to stay on his feet. Hasn't really worked out. Has to kind of lean against the wall.
Just come on. Do something, you bastard.
Another footstep. He's coming closer.
Finish it.
"You may be interested to know," says Keats, so quiet that Jet can barely hear him over his own breathing, "that the Mimetics' next album comes out in a month."
Jet stays still. He tries to move his left arm. The metal one.
"But I never thought I would see you become a coward, Jet Black. I never saw fear in your eyes back in Ganymede. Not even in the alley, with the light on your face."
It starts to respond; the elbow first, then the wrist and the shoulder.
"You have all the pieces of the puzzle in your hand," whispers the man behind the wall. "They know you're close. They are afraid of a person like you. And here I find you, with all the information you need right in the palm of your hand. Only you lack the courage to put it all together."
Fingers are working now. Plus the endorphins are starting to kick in; doesn't hurt as much. He thinks he has a switchblade in his right pocket. Took it off an arrest years ago.
"Come around the corner, Black Dog," whispers Udai Taxim. "Come around and face me."
There's nothing in there except the miniplayer from last night. So it's just the arm, then.
He waits for Taxim to make some kind of move around the other side. But he doesn't hear anything, not even breathing. So he just counts to three and throws himself around the other side.
Except Taxim's not there anymore.
Something makes Jet look up, and there's Taxim, standing on top of the elevator housing. Then Taxim's two feet in front of Jet, the concrete shattering under his right foot. Jet pulls himself back, both his legs collapse underneath him. He glances to the side and sees his gun there. Reaches out for it with his arm as he falls.
Except then there's Taxim right beside him, holding Jet's arm. And everything's going blurry for Jet, he can't seem to move, he's heading downwards. And then Taxim's got something in his hand, he's sticking it next to Jet's ear. Some piece of plastic, not a gun, looks like one of those old tape recorders...
"Listen," says Taxim.
And Jet hears a click next to his face. And that's right about when he's hits the ground, and everything goes black, except for the music…
Someone's pulling some kind of shit on Jet. There's this bright light right in his eyes. Hurts like hell.
He opens them just to see what it is. Takes him a couple of minutes to realize it's the sun. It's pretty weak on Mars, but still, he's staring right into it. So he tries to get up, except that doesn't work out, because it feels like every bone in his body has been broken or at least fractured. Especially his shoulder.
So he just moves his head, even though that hurts too. And there's Keats, sitting on the other side of the roof near the edge, about ten or twenty paces from Jet. He's watching Jet out of the corner of his eye (shit, thinks Jet, he is Taxim. He's even wearing those glasses he had on the prison transport). Holding some kind of battered-looking machine in his palm - looks like one of those old tape recorders people used to have. It's making some kind of whirring noise, like it's fast-forwarding or rewinding or something.
Jet wonders if he can talk. He tries to say something like "just kill me already," but it turns out his face as a whole hurts too, so all he can get out is a vague kind of gagging sound.
But it's enough to make Taxim look up at him. His look is something like a glower, especially through those glasses. He holds up something in his other hand - the red disc (where the hell -- oh, that's right, still had it in the player).
"You listened to this, I assume," he says. He makes a fist and crushes the disc in his bare hand. "You still don't know anything, do you ?" He opens his hand, lets the powder fall off over the edge.
Shit, thinks Jet. I liked that song.
There's a loud noise in the distance, coming closer. Taxim stands up. He's wearing a black trenchcoat, which twists and ripples in the light breeze. He walks closer to Jet, pocketing the recorder.
"You and I have unfinished business," he says quietly. He reaches out his arm, like he's stretching; next instance, there's a knife in his hand. "The alley, the transport."
Jet doesn't even blink. Then the knife's stuck in the solid concrete, about a quarter of an inch from his eye. Blocks his view of the guy.
"But you're useful to me alive right now," says Taxim or Keats, or whoever the hell he is. "As a distraction. You may even be a threat to them, if you find Julia."
There there's an unholy racket above Jet - sounds like a ship landing on the roof. But he can hear Taxim whisper over it, right into Jet's ear:
"Meet me at the crossroads. Then I'll kill you."
Then the sound of his footsteps, walking slowly away. A little while later, there's what sounds like a small explosion, but it's just the ship taking off.
And then there's just Jet. Alone on the rooftop.
Eventually he manages to get enough energy to lift up his head. Yeah, that hurts too, and he can't do it for very long. But it's enough to for him to see his shoulder's still bleeding. Plus, his left arm's damaged - there's a big dent in the metal, just below the elbow. It looks like the imprint of a bare human hand, each finger visible in the shape of it.
His gun's lying over near the elevator housing, maybe five paces from the corner.
He also sees something sitting on the edge of the roof, over where Taxim had been sitting. It's his phone, propped up next to the edge.
And after that he collapses back and lets himself ache. It's close to afternoon, judging from the sun. For some strange reason, he doesn't feel hungry right now. Cigarette would be nice, though he thinks he smoked the last one back on the bus.
He briefly lets himself wonder how he's going to get down from the roof. But he can't really think of a way, what with him not being able to stand up. So eventually he just lets it go.