Yoooooo-hoooo...how are yoooouu? Haha, oh, it's good to be back. It has been a busy two months. I reached a year graduated from college, a year at my first adult-type job, moved to my first, very own apartment. I was also able to go back to Pennsylvania, sadly for a funeral. But while I was there, I was able to refresh my memory on the landscape of this fic and update my memory on places I hadn't seen in years. Hopefully this will pay dividend later on as events begin moving around, and outside of, Philipsburg and Osceola Mills. Coal Country is riddled with places that time has simply passed over, tree-tunnel dirt roads, two hundred year old mining towns, sections of unknown forest. If you're willing, I'll try my best to bring this world of my heritage to your computer. In the meantime, let's check in on Rig, Naota and Haruko, and their meeting with Craig...I hope you're excited as I am!
. . .
'Hmmm…no, no…that can't be right…' The Man in Black mused, observing his pocket watch's many faces. 'Too soon, this is much too soon.' He focused on one of the smaller faces, watching its two hands spin faster and faster, picking up speed as they turned. He didn't understand. Events were proceeding smoothly. The Iron was on schedule, local dissent was non-existent, but with the usual growing rumors, Haruko's arrival on Earth had proven thus-far inconsequential, Naota was in the area and already a hunt for him was being organized. Craig Kauffman had performed exceptionally well in sowing chaos and setting the stage for what was to come; which made what The Man in Black's watch was telling him all the more upsetting.
"Well, I suppose I'd best see what can be done about it; if anything at all." He sighed as the largest face's hand swiveled to a new heading. The Man hefted his attache case, paid for his bourbon and exited RJ's pub. "After all, he has done well…but then again, in the end is just a human…"
. . .
"This's one swingin' place Nao'." Haruko was gazing around the YMCA's café, her head on a wide-eyed swivel to take in every twinkling neon light, each photograph of locals and places around Philipsburg, and all the coming and going foot traffic; a raucous, laughing horde of teens with nothing to do and all night to get it done. "You guys come here often?"
"Buncha times with Rig." Naota said while watching the front and back doors, expecting Craig to burst in any moment. "We come up to shoot pool a lot, play some table tennis, use the workout area, that kind of thing. Rig's never seen a body of water bigger than the pool here, and since I lived next to the ocean in Japan…I got to teach him how to swim."
"And I trust good times were had by all." Haruko had a small laugh thinking about Rig learning the art of not drowning. "All the rest sounds pretty fun."
"There are Magic, Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokemon, and Dungeons & Dragons leagues that meet here too, if you want to unleash your inner nerd."
"Okay, that sounds boring."
"I dunno, with that competitive nature of yours, I think those games would be perfect for you. And, Dungeon Master Haruko…it just…sounds right."
"I've got plenty of better things to do with my time than play card games."
"Oh yes. Napping, screwing off at work, messing with your Vespa, eating my Dad, Gramps and I out of house and home, that all would take precedent. Did I miss anything?"
"Uhmmm…yeah! Being adventurous, delightfully spontaneous, out-of-this-world awesome?" She explained with her best 'Uh…duh' "How'd you forget that? Oh that's right. You were too busy being laaaammme…"
"So what I do isn't all, or any, of those things?"
"Nope. Okay, lemme use slow words. Here's my Naota impression, to put it in perspective." She let her eyes fade out of focus, as if gazing on a distant horizon, drew herself up and put one hand on her hip, then threw back her shoulders and out her chest, and put her other hand in the shape of an 'L' on her forehead. "Hurrr-durr, my name's Naota! I'm always trying to be super-mature and act like nothing bothers me, durrrr-durrr-durr, I take life too seriously and never let anyone have any fun, deerrrrrr-heerrrrrr, and I always walk around like I've got a stick up my ass, herrr-derrr-durrr…" She concluded, sticking out her tongue and blowing a raspberry for good measure. "So…there."
"Yeah?! Well…my…my name's Haruko! And, I'm a sociopathic, genocidal airhead that can't tell her ass from her elbow! My hobbies include pathological lying, treating life as a running gag reel, and having the mental stability of an Etch-A-Sketch!" He retorted, feeling a rush of color to his ears as they mashed each other's Jackass Buttons.
"Better than having the emotional dynamic of a dead jellyfish!"
"You keep talkin' smack and you're gonna be a dead jellyfish!"
"Ohhh…I'd love to see you try."
"Bet you would, you'd probably pay good money to see that…oh wait…"
"You callin' me poor?"
"Please, I'm not calling you poor. It insults poor people."
"Pretty manly words for someone who's a…"
"The pair of you is just too cute." Rig caught them. He had a burger basket overflowing with fries in one hand, the yellow envelope tucked under his arm, a tape recorder poking from his pocket, and a Type II diabetes sized pop in the other hand. "Do you two do this 'Lover's Spat' thing often? 'Cause it is just adorable."
"I hope you choke on that burger." Naota fumed, embarrassed for having been caught arguing down at Haruko's level.
"And drown in your pop, for good measure." Haruko nodded in a 'would serve you right.' At least they agreed on something.
"Where's Craig anyway?"
"On his way, I'm sure." Rig assured, then took a deep draw on his pop. "So here's what'll happen. I'll be in the booth right behind you, should be able to hear us talk. I'm gonna 'xplain what's up, ask some questions, get some inevitable resistance, introduce some leverage, get some answers, and then we frog-march Sir Craig the Lewd to the train station…we kosher?"
"And what if he leaves, or starts something?" Naota asked, worrying for Rig's, and his own, safety. Craig had torched people's homes, blown up trucks, and derailed a train. An entire goddamn train. A fist fight, no matter how public the venue, was far from out of the question.
"We let him leave. And if he's violent…resist valiantly, then run like hell." Rig answered. "And no, Mizz Haruko, yah can't beat him up."
"And here I was thinking you weren't half-bad." Haruko griped as Rig took a physical beat-down off the table.
"W'all, I can't really stop you." He conceded. "I would prefer you didn't do anything…"
"At the very least, don't kill him." Naota added.
"Spoil-sports, both of yah." She pouted. "How's about…maim?" She asked after a pause.
"Hospital; nothin' mortal." Rig allowed. He settled into his booth, then peeked over the backrest between them. "Also, just as a reminder…oh damn, here he comes. Luck be with us all!" Rig sat down while Natoa and Haruko buried their noses into menus; while watching Craig walk by out of the corner of their eye. He sauntered by dressed in his finest usual attire, standard issue half-grin on his face, and a ten dollar bouquet from the Comet grocery store in his hand. This was gonna be good. Naota put his ears on their 'High' setting, and listened in.
. . .
"Hey, I need this booth. Get lost." Craig had made it. "Wait…the fuck're you doing here, Carson?" Annnnd, he's also read my hat. Showtime.
"Havin' a burger an' fries, hangin' out. Oh, nice flowers. Who's the lucky lad? Are those pansies? How'd you know they're my favorite?"
"Screw off. I'm s'posed to meet someone, and you're in our spot." He looked 'round and 'round, searchin' for Natalie. "She should be here…"
"W'all…why don't…" I took a bite of my burger, licking off the dribbled over ketchup from my fingers. I put enough of the stuff on my burgers so it looks like a murder took place. Anyway… "You take a load off here, I'll finish up eatin' while you wait…an' in the meantime, have us a friendly chat?"
"Heh, heh-heh-heh…yeah…uh, I don't think so. Now, I'm going to ask you nice one last time. Fuck off on outta here like a good little dipshit Carson…"
"Craig, I insist…we talk." I interrupted, picking up the envelope from the bench. It had been sitting there next to me, and next to it was the running tape recorder; getting every word.
"What's that?" Seeing I wasn't immediately browbeaten, and the appearance of a large envelope, he sensed something was off. "What's going on here?"
"Sit down and find out."
"Listen you!..." Craig's voice an' temper flared, then he remembered where he was. "Okay fine, you creepy little shit. But as soon's my girl gets here, you're gone. Got it?"
"Of course, of course. This shouldn't take long." Craig got settled on his bench, still glancing over his shoulder. From my seat, I had a view of the entire café, including the front door and counter. It was a great vantage point, except for the strange feeling I got when I looked at the front windows that opened to the terrace seating. It was a mental fog, like some mist was trying to cloud over my thoughts and muddle my brain. I shook my head to clear it, blinked a few times and got on with it.
"Alright, make it fast Carson."
"So…what've you an' yours been up to lately? How's the state of things over at Kauffman Central?"
"Fine…I guess?"
"Cole still workin' for the State Troopers?"
"Yeah, he is…" He continued to look more 'n' more befuddled as we talked, wonderin' where'n the hell I was takin' him on this train of thought.
"He's gotta be pullin' a ton of overtime these days."
"Makes you say that?"
"All the tanker trucks blowin' up, for starters. That coal yard fire, the houses getting burned down that all belonged to supervisors from Dahl LP Inc. Then there's that train that derailed…"
"Oh yeah? Guess all that'd keep him busy. I don't know anything about any of it. Besides, Cole's not allowed to talk about his assignments."
"That's gotta be a drag. Having a brother on the up-n-up an' he can't even tell his own family what he does all day." Yes, yes, I know what you're dyin' to ask. 'Oh Rig…are yah gonna go anywhere with this…or is your plan to small-talk him into suicide via stabbing himself with a soup spoon?' Patience, my young Padiwan. We're gittin' there, don' you worry none.
"Guess so…" He said, still lookin' for Natalie and now started checking his phone. "Where is she? She's late…" He muttered, getting more uneasy by the second.
"Then again, you're a smart guy; I'm sure you've put it all together."
"I have?" He was surprised to find himself a regular Sherlock Holmes.
"W'all yeah! If I've got it figured, then someone with your social graces, an ear to the rails, and charm of course, must've heard the whole story by now."
"Really? Since you think you're so damn smart, what's your theory?" He challenged. Here goes…
"W'all…none of the incidents were at the same time, so it would have to be one guy. He'd have to be someone of reasonable intelligence to figger out the truck's times and routes; same as the train. He'd have to have a thing for pyrotechnics and mathematics to engineer his method of taking out the trucks; and bringing down that bridge too. He's surely a local because an outsider would stand out an' be noticed; in a town this small. He'd lastly have a motive, of course; an' I suspect it's highly personal. After all, who else'd burn down that Dahl's supervisor's houses; and the same to Mister Dahl himself? Last I heard, the poor man's still in the hospital."
"Look, this's fascinating and all…" He pulled out his phone again to check the time. "But I've got better, any really, things to do. So why don't you…"
"Don't you wanna know who it is though, who's been setting the county on fire?"
"Uhhhhggg…" He sighed, obviously annoyed with me breathing his air. "Fine, fuckin' who?"
"Ain't it obvious? It's you, Craig." He'd been looking over his shoulder, and for a good ten seconds, froze statue-solid as he processed what I'd said. I think we've struck a nerve folks! All day, I'd been mentally rehearsing this conversation, running over as many different iterations as possible. 'What if he says this? What if he says that? How do I phrase this, ask this question?' Again and again, verbally sparring with my best read on Craig's personality; trying to account for any variable. Now that the trivialities were out of the way, the hard part began: actually prying information outta him.
"Care to repeat that?" He asked, more as a dare than anything else as his lips pulled back into a gritted-teeth baring of fangs.
"It's you. It can't be anyone else; who's been setting all the fires. Oh, and I almost forgot. The logic bomb in King Coal's network? That's what gave it away, you're one of a very small group of people in town who could've written that."
"The joke's over now, got it?" He was havin' none of my business, but I wasn't going anywhere. "Now, my girl's supposed to be here any second…"
"Natalie's not coming."
"…How…do you know that?" Something in Craig's brain must've tripped, a warning indicator had gone off and it worried him. "I never said who I was meeting."
"It doesn't matter how I know. Tell me about the fires, what do you know?"
"I've had enough, I'm outta here." He started to slide down his seat. I knew my rules didn't allow forcibly restraining him, but was wasn't going to let him go without a fight.
"Natalie doesn't even know you're here." I opened up the envelope, stopping him mid-scootch on his seat. "And neither does…Julia, Rebecca, Lisa, Kelsey, Maria, Jennifer, Ashley, Sammantha, Katy, Sarah, Noelle, Jessica, Mandy, Debbie, Morgan, Sasha…" I started pulling pictures out one after the other, laying them in neat rows for Craig to take in. All were of him and a girl, either at his car, her house, or somewhere around town. His eyes went from narrowed in anger to ever widening shock as the pile of pictures grew. "Abigail, Christina, Elizabeth…"
"Okay, okay, okay…" He cracked, trying to cover the mat of pictures. "Think you're real funny huh? W-what? Got good with photoshop or something?"
"I had a feelin' you'd say that…so I came prepared." I put down the envelope next to me, then took out my pocket notebook, and lastly brought up and flipped open the burner phone I'd set up earlier.
"What's that, a notebook?"
"Sixteen-thirty hours, July twentieth, a Wednesday. Three hundred Hill Street, Sunny Slope Park, Chester Hill. You met with Natalie Ritter for five and a quarter hours. She wore a pink tank-top, grey running shorts…"
"Heh?"
"Twenty-two hundred hours, July twenty-third, Saturday. Two-seventy Railroad Street. You met Laura Grey; climbed in through her bedroom window. Such a romantic you are. Left at oh-five hundred hours."
"H-how…how do you…?!"
"Twelve hundred forty-five hours, July twenty fifth, Monday. Number Nine, North Centre Street. You met Kali Frescona. Stayed for three hours, leaving at fifteen forty-five hours on the dot. She wore that blue sundress you're so fond of…"
"What the FUCK…!" He slammed the table, attracting a café full of stares. Remembering himself, he took a few forced breaths. "What the fuck is this? Huh? You been creepin' on me? What's the matter, jealous or something? Pissed I get ten times the pussy as you or what?"
"Well, any number times zero is still zero, but I digress. I have not been following you. But, very talented friends of mine have. They find you exceedingly interesting. Now, I'm gonna ask you again. What do you know about the fires?"
"Hey, I'm flattered they think I'm so interesting." He certainly didn' sound flattered. "And I don't know shit about the fires. But what I do know, is that if you don't get outta my sight in the next ten seconds, I'm gonna beat the hell outta you; and I don't care who sees me do it. Then, I'm calling Carl and he'll play with you for a bit."
"Yeah…I wouldn't do that if I were you…"
"Really?"
"See this phone? It's preloaded with a group message to all the contacts in your phone. It has copies of all these pictures on the table, and then some." I turned the phone so he could see the 'Group Message ready to Send!' alert, along with the 'Fifty-three contacts included' clarifier at the bottom. "You so much's look at me funny, I hit send, and everyone and their brother in town will know how, and with who, Craig Kauffman spends his free time. So, if I were you, I'd simmer the fuck down."
"You wouldn't." He sounded more like he was tryin' to convince himself than me. It seemed like he was starting to come around, just a little more pressure if I could manage it. You see…I was sweating bullets on that vinyl seat, my shirt'd stuck to the backrest. Things were actually going so relatively well I was sure it was gonna blow up in my face any second. I'm not a hardass by nature, but I was pretending to be to keep Craig cowed. With two inches in height, prob'bly twenty pounds and four years in age on me, I knew he could put a serious hurtin' on me if given half a chance. I didn't want to even begin imagining what Carl Kauffman would do. Also, I didn't know if he had a knife, pepper-spray or mace, one of those stealth-pens, or hell, even a gun on him. Working for M-M, any of those were in the realm of possibilities.
"Don't tempt me..."
"Wait. Wait a minute. You can't do this, Cole's a cop!" He crowed, proud of himself for that little check, and, mate.
"I don't give a flyin' fuck if Cole's a cop, the Governor, the President, or even the mother-lovin' Pope! 'Cause, none of 'em can stop all the fathers, uncles, brothers and cousins of these girls from showin' up at your house to throw you a boot party; once they find out you've been bangin' their Little Princess. And that's if they're in a GOOD mood. Now, that doesn't have to happen…if you tell me about the fires."
"Grrrr…motherfucker…fucker-fucker-fucker…" He growled and gnashed, twistin' an' writhin' in useless fury. It was plain's day he wanted to slug me, but he wasn't anywhere near that dumb. He was agonizing over his options, runnin' shaking fingers through his hair; the flowers forgotten on the table. Craig was searching for a solution, and prob'bly wondering about The Man in Black…I was not about to feel any kind of sorry for him though. Banish that thought.
"C'mon Craig, we're both busy guys. I ain't got all day for you to sit here and chew your nails."
"You…" He stopped, conducting a quick sweep of the café's customers. He came back to me, speaking in a subdued tone. "You don't understand. Even if I did know anything, I can't tell you."
"And why's that?" I waggled the phone to remind him. "C'mon Craig…"
"I'm dead either way." He muttered, barely audible over the café's hubbub. I think he meant it to be only for himself and it slipped out. "Ohhhh….fuck-fuck-fuck…okay."
"Whatcha got man?"
"Don't!...Fuckin' rush me. Alright, here's what's up." I checked the recorder and it was all kinds of kosher. Down the Rabbit Hole we go.
"'Bout, two months, two months and a half ago, this guy approached Cole. Some F.B.I. or C.I.A. lookin' spook. He said he works for this company called Mecha Mining, something or other. Cole didn't give me word-by-word, but basically, some changes are coming to this area. BIG, changes, and this guy wanted us to be part of his team."
"Kinda changes?"
"What'd he say? A…new paradigm, a new world he said. And we, bein' my bros and me, are to be part of the group callin' the shots. When the dust settles, central Pennsylvania's going to be renamed Kauffman Country."
"So what's that got to do with setting things on fire?"
"Eliminating competition? Setting the stage for something bigger? Fuck if I know, and fuck if I care. The Man gave me to-do's, and I did 'em. I did my job to the letter, and had a blast doing it. It was almost as fun as screwing. But, more importantly, I've already got my promissory note. Written in blood and all."
"Promissory…promise. Promise of what?"
"A promise that when The Man's goals are met, his people take over the show, and I have a seat at the table, and a never ending all-I-can-fuck buffet of any bitch I want. The Kama Sutra's gonna look like the Bible by the time I eat my fill."
"So…this, Man, put you up to everything? Is it just the promises he's made, or does he pay you?"
"Yep. He's the Long-Legged Mack Daddy. Gives me my orders and pays me too. Mad stacks Carson, all in cash; tax and duty free. All I have to do is jump when he says."
"How does he get in touch with you?"
"The Man's weird like that, well, weird in a lot of ways. But he just…finds you. If he wants something, he just shows up. Never calls, texts, emails, no electronics. He'll tell you he wants to meet somewhere, and when. When you meet up, he'll either give you a list you're supposed to burn or will just tell you. Again, no records." He looked 'round once more, like he expected The Man in Black to be right at his shoulder. Once Craig'd gotten wound up, he really started talking. He either felt comfortable enough to do so, or just liked the sound of his own voice. You decide.
"That is weird. What's he got your brothers doing?"
"Don't ask, don't tell. Plausible deniability for one, compartmentalization and all that shit too. But, I can tell you this much…"
"What?" He'd gotten over his shock of earlier. Now the suave and braggart Craig was back.
"Consider it a, uh, friendly warning. I may be the guy that's got his fingers up this county's hootch, what with how much of a whacked-out tizzy everyone's gotten into over a few fires…but I'm a low-level boss. The shit-storm we've got planned for you, stacks a lot higher than me."
"How high we talkin'…exactly?"
"High enough that I've said too much as is. High enough that, people like you and your ilk are dead men walking. Oh yeah. That's right." Uh-oh. I didn't like the way this sounded. Craig had that half-grin, half-leer back on, leaning across the table to be sure I was graced with his every word. "You, your family, your little mining and gas friends; scratching in the dirt. We've got the power of Johnny Law, the Gavel, the Purse, and even the Centre and Clearfield County Seals of Approval as two little ribbons on top. You may think you've got me over a barrel now, and good on you for that, really. But even if I go away, your world is still gonna burn…whether I get to light that fire myself, or not."
Well…shit Craig. Way to go. In scarin' the Bejeezus outta me, you've also let go that your family is just the tip of the iceberg…actually, the implications of that're even scarier. But now we are reassured one hundred percent a Man in Black is calling the shots, all of the Kauffman brothers are involved, and also the Powers-That-Be. At the very least City Councils, the County Commission and mayors are in cahoots as well. And so, our Official Overwatch Shit-List grows ever so longer.
"I…see. Now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Pretend you're cool, pretend you're cool, you're not secretly feeling sick, pretend you're cool…
"Oh go sit on a cactus and spin." He sneered. "Now what? I answered all your questions."
"Yes, I suppose you have."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. So how's about you give me those pictures since I cooperated, and we go back to hating each other, out of each other's sight, forever?" He'd put on a good show sure enough, but that envelope and phone had been right at the forefront of his mind the whole time. The phone had stayed in his vision and he'd been watching it like it might jump out of my hand and scurry out the door.
"I'd love to give you all of them, since there's a lot more where they came from. But, you're in such a rush, I don't think there's time." I insinuated, my thumb sliding over a button marked with a green phone.
"C-c'mon, quit fuckin' around and let me be already. And those pictures…"
"But I thought you said you had to get going?"
"Get…go…where?"
"Get the hell outta Dodge of course!" I grinned, mashing down on the 'Send' button.
"…You…did not…just do that…" Craig blinked twice, his eyes growing wider in horror as the implications of what I'd just done sank in. "Oh fuck me, why?" Bzzzzztttt! His phone buzzed. Better answer that Craig-man, sounds like it's for you. "Hello?"
"CRAIG!...KAUFFMAN!" A shrill shriek erupted from his phone. I'd say…Julia Roth, judging by the volume. "What, kind of joke is…" Craig hung up on her before she got into full screams. Bzzzzzztttt!...Bzzzzttttt!
"I think that's yours. You gonna answer that?"
"H-hello?"
"Yeah, this Kauffman?!" If a curmudgeonly Russian's voice and a grizzly bear's growl had somehow produced a love child, but their relationship had a lot of underlying hate, and resentment in it...that voice had called Craig's phone.
"…Depends on who's asking?"
"This's Bruce Ritter. You've got some explain' to do, you fuck-happy rabbit; and if you can come up with at least ten good reasons why, I'll make sure your death is quick. No guarantees on painless though…"
"You've killed me." He faintly said as he hung up on Mr. Ritter too. "Now what, goddamn jack-off! Happy?!"
"Looks like you've gotta leave Craig. Take a vacation, a lonnnng one. And, I wouldn't try leaving by car. With yours being as, signature, as it is, it'll have a big target painted on it now."
"You…Carsons, think you're so goddamn special, don't you?! Like you're some kind of Holier-than-Thou 'cause your shit don't stink elites, aren't you?!" Craig suddenly wasn't scared anymore. He'd found some fire deep down, and it was spitting from his eyes; sparks flew off his tongue. "Didn't get enough running our good name, my Grandad's life, driving my Dad to cirrhosis…now you're going for a clean sweep? Okay, fine. But ask your Grandad how that works out…oh wait…"
"Listen here, yah scroungy little fuck. In 'bout five minutes, ah lynch mob is gonna be combin' the town for yer scalp. An' if yah keep sittin' here bitchin' an' moanin' at me 'bout yer thievin' cheat of ah Grandad, an' good-fer-nuthin' dead-beat drunk of ah father, in some deluded notion yer gonna make me feel bad 'bout it all, yer gonna be a dead man. Now Ah'm willin' to let this little temper tantrum of yers go, 'cause Ah'm better than that." I'm really not some days, but I'd been ordered to keep this professional. Even if Craig did not. "An', Ah'll even help yah slink yer skeezy ass up to the train station in Clearfield if it means you'll be gone all that much faster."
"Well okay then!" Craig backed down as I boiled over. "Jesus-Fuck-H-Christ! Don't have your goddam period, we're in public. And hey, if you want to waste the gas, fine by me." Bzzzztttt!...Bzzzzttt!...Bzzzzttttt! His phone had been ringing non-stop, and everything went straight to voicemail. We needed to go if Craig really didn't want to get lynched. It really was going to be five, well three now, minutes before a roving band got organized and started looking for him. "I won't say no to a free ride. Lead the way, Jeeves."
"We'll take the alley door; I'm parked out back." I packed up everything, stood and we headed through the kitchen. We ignored the chef's yells as we went and reached the heavy steel door that opened to the dumpsters and an L-shaped blind alley. It emptied out into the back parking lot, surrounded by other dumpsters and back doors; hidden from street view. "Ladies first." I held the door open, and with a dismissive snort, he started out the door and down the stairs.
. . .
'So little Jeffy Carson fancies himself a detective?' Craig fumed, following Jeff through the YMCA's kitchen. 'He's got some real nerve, I'll say that much. But where'd he get all those pictures, how did I never see him following me?! Damn him! Fuck him, fuck his family, fuck his friends, his dogs, his truck, his stupid notebook, fuck it all!' He raved, stopping at the exit door.
"Ladies first." And that shit-eating grin too…it burned Craig in the worst kind of way. But nowhere near as much as the entire town being made wise to his escapades. Jeff was right, Cole's status as a State Trooper accounted precisely for fuck-all when it came to social outrage and ostracism.
'At least I didn't give him too much info…I did brag a bit though…' He hadn't spilled his guts, and it was true he didn't know what his brothers were up to; but was aware of what their actions were to lead to. 'Oh well, he'll get to find out for himself soon enough anyway. As long as I can keep The Man in good graces…oh yeah…him…' Craig started down the steps, shuddering as he wondered if The Man had somehow learned about his meeting with Jeff Carson. The Man seemed to find anyone wherever they were without a phone call or any prior warning. You just felt a sifting mental fog, a dizzying, empty, bewildering daze…and there he would be.
"Hey, watch your feet!" Jeff warned a moment too late. Craig had been too preoccupied peering down the alley, looking for a looming figure in a suit and fedora waiting for him, that he didn't see the greasy stack of crushed Hi-Way Pizza boxes; dumped there by an overworked server waiting tables for a birthday party. Down the stairs Craig tumbled, landing with a soggy crunch on the asphalt. In keeping an optimistic outlook, Craig was lucky in that his face was able to cushion his landing, and his world promptly went dark.
. . .
"Oh Rig…oh Rig! What did you do, what did you do?!" Haruko tisked and chided as she followed Naota around the alley corner. They came upon Rig and Craig, the former trying to hoist the latter into a fireman's carry.
"I didn' do shit!" Rig snapped, almost standing Craig upright, but dropped him onto a pile of garbage bags. "Damn it all…stand up! Klutz McTwo-Left-Feet here tripped down the stairs and knocked himself out. Can one of y'all help me out here?"
"I'll get this arm, you get the other." Naota offered. He and Rig hauled a conked-out Craig through the parking lot and, once Haruko put the tailgate down, deposited him into the bed of Rig's truck. For this venture, Rig had put the Bronco's cap back on, so Craig was hidden from easy view. "So, we got what we came for right? What now?"
"Oh yeah, we got some good info buddy." Rig said and started the Bronco with its usual rumble. "Now we've just gotta get to Clearfield 'fore Sleepin' Beauty wakes up."
"I gotta say, from a pro to an amateur…" Haruko appraised, looking between a nervous twitch Rig, who was running a continuous scan of his mirrors, and a snoozing Craig. "That wasn't half bad. You did alright." Rather, she thought to herself, a little too well. Either Rig had gotten extremely lucky in his meeting with Craig, or he'd had some sort of training. He hadn't used pliers or jumper cables and a car battery, so no training like hers in the G.S.P.B….but at minimum some coaching. If asked, she wouldn't have been able to identify what the smell was coming from; but the fact that something around her was giving off some serious funk, was undeniable.
'And if Craig's description if even half correct…' She replayed her own mental recording of the interview. Haruko's memory may have been selective, but what it did hold onto, it latched into with steely jaws. 'I'd say a Man in Black is in the neighborhood; mucking up the place as usual. Something to think about. No way to contact him, of course; that's just soooo like Medical Mechanica. Seems like sticking around is actually going to pay off, this time. I'll just have to be patient…'
. . .
"Oh Craig…poor, poor Craig. I'm so disappointed." The Man in Black turned to watch an orange and black '78 Bronco emerge from a side street and thunder north, bound for Clearfield. The Man slowly shook his head, checking his pocketwatch. "And you'd done such talented work; it was a delight to see you perform. Given some guidance, you stood a respectable chance of coming into your own. But I did warn him about his philandering, and how it would undo him…poor Craig…" He snapped his watch closed. The hands he'd been studying had stopped. "But now your part in this story is over; and time to see if Clyde can build on your foundations."
"Here's the check, no hurry." The waitress smiled, laying the booklet down on The Man's table. He had chosen the veranda seating to better take in the humid and lung-filling richness of the evening air. "Thanks for choosing the Y's café, come again!"
"I'll make a point of it, thank you." He smiled and readied to leave. On the sidewalk now, he began strolling south for the trailer park along the banks of the Red Moshannon. 'They'll be going to the station in Clearfield, I believe…' The Man paused to reopen his pocketwatch, putting his thumb to the smallest face; at the bottom of the main face, and closed his eyes. A blink of time later he reopened them, stowed his watch again in his waistcoat and carried on.
"That should settle things. I'm sorry Craig, but business is business. Now…how did that one go? Hmm-hmm…no…ah, yes. *Hmmm-hmmm, hmm, hmm-hmm! Hmm-hmmm, hmm, hmm-hmm! Hit the road Jack…and don'cha come back no more, no more, no more, no more! Hit the road Jack, and don'cha come back no more! What'd you say?! Hit the road Jack…and don'cha come back no more, no more, no more, no more! Hit the road Jack, and don'cha come back no mooorrreee…* Oh, listen to me! I sound ridiculous. But, it is such a catchy little song…"
. . .
"'Kay Craig. Come on! Up 'n' at 'em!" I encouraged, Natoa and I attempting to heave him standing. He must've fallen a lot harder than I thought; especially since he was barely cognizant after a half hour ride. The golf ball sized lump formin' on his noggin' didn't help none either. "Yoo-hoooo…anyone home in there?"
"Uhhhnnngggg…" At least the lights are on.
"You sure it's okay to let him get on the train like this?" Naota wanted to know for some weird reason. He turned Craig's head so he could take a look at a pair of out of focus eyes. "I'm kinda an expert at getting hit on the head, and I gotta say, he doesn't look too good."
"Have you already forgotten the derailed train, four burned down houses and five blown up trucks?" We each got an arm and started hauling him to the platform. Haruko was content to watch us struggle with Craig, who'd developed all the coordination of a marionette controlled by a whacked-out crackhead with late-stage Parkinson's. "And all the underage pussy he was screwing; amongst other things?"
"All very good points." Naota tilted Craig's head back again to speak to his face. "Sorry Craig…but fuck you man. You're one messed up piece of work."
"Nnnggghhhuuu…" Craig moaned in response. Look who's comin' around. "Whhhh…whuuuu…hhaaa…pppeennnd?"
"Ah shit, here comes the conductor." I'd hoped to toss Craig into his seat with his ticket pinned to his collar. We'd gone through his wallet and his credit card had bought him a very swanky first-class ticket on a non-stop train to South Bend, Indiana. Hey, just because I'm shippin' him out of town doesn't mean he's gotta ride economy. By-the-by, just for giggles, look up how much a first-class on a non-stop Amtrak costs these days. "Nao', conductor's comin'…" She was walking down the platform with ticket snippers in one hand, radio in the other, and a bad attitude all over. "Just be cool, and play along so we don't get the cops called on us."
"Okay, sure…how do we do that?"
"By acting like we're White-Girl-Wasted."
"Heh-heh-heh…that, I can do." Good to know, I'll be remembering that.
"Now boarding Car Three! Now boarding Car…" The Conductor announced, but was cut off by the drunken slob two bodies to my left…I mean, by Naota.
"Pssshhhh-yyeeeaaaayyyy! YO! T'uhmm…Ticket Lady!" He shouted and both've us dissolved into genuine giggles; this was too stupid to be really happening. "You! Ticket lady, person…with the hat!"
"Oh Lord…" I could already tell she was not getting' paid nowhere near enough to deal with our shit. "The hell you want, yah dang winos?"
"The, the choo-choo, ride the choo-choo…" I pointed, wagging my free hand at the steaming engine.
"Snrkt! You said choo-choo…" Natoa 'Chuckles' Nandaba, snorted.
"Lord, what did I do in a past life?" The Conductor demanded to know. "You comin' from a party or something?"
"Uhhhhmmmmmm-hmmmm! Thish man right ch'here!" I rattled Craig, mostly to check if he was still in this universe. "Turned the big Two-One! Came alllll…the way back from Yoder Dame to party wish hish pallllsshh."
"But he's got ah test…testy…testy-ees…testes…hee-hee-hee…testes…" Naota completely lost it over his own humor. Man he's a real showman, ain't he? A true natural if you let him some lee-way.
"Oh whatever." The Conductor was pinchin' either side of her nose, right next to her eyes real tight. "Just put him on the train and get stumbling your drunk-selves off my platform. You don't have to go home, but you sure's hell can't stay here."
"Yeesssss….ma'am!" I gave a tooth-filled smile and we dragged Craig aboard. We got him settled in his seat, and even leaned it back for him. Ain' we neighborly? Yukkin' it up, slappin' each other's backs Naota and I disembarked and passed the Conductor, doffing our G&R hats in low, sweeping bows as we went.
"Go and sober up!" She yelled, hopping aboard the train as its whistle blew and began rolling. We made it back to the parking lot, and a smilin' and waitin' Haruko.
"You two belong in the circus!" She laughed as the train gathered speed and trundled down the track. "Just had to put on a show, hog all the attention."
"And what a show it was indeed!" I declared and unlocked my Bronco.
"I still say we should've just slowed down, tossed him onto the platform and left."
"And that's why you're not in charge." Naota countered as I started up and for home. "Besides, you're not the one who's gonna wake up in the dead of morning, in Indiana."
"Hmm…" She gave it some thought, or pretended to." Nah, I don't get it; don't see your point."
"Figures." He shrugged. "But hey Rig! We did it! Craig's good and gone! No more derailed trains, no more blown up trucks."
"Nao', not to piss in yer punch bowl…you do remember there's seven Kauffman brothers, right?"
. . .
We made it back to town in good time and at the perfect moment. I took us past the Y', and the detour was worth it. A frothin' at the mouth, ragin' an' irate mob of fathers, uncles, brothers and cousins were in the parking lot, watching and cheering the glow of something eating a huge hole in the ozone layer. I slowed so we could get a better look, and saw what was left of Craig's pride and joy. His 2006 Civic, tricked out to high-heaven, had been torched and turned into a flaming hulk. Naota was quick to notice the crowd's armament, a collection of baseball bats, tire irons and metal pipes.
"Looks like Craig's fan club is having a bar-b-que in his honor." Haruko remarked from the backseat. "Humans really do take the whole 'don't ever mess with my kid' thing pretty seriously don't they?"
"That we do. For many of those guys over there, their family is everything; the reason they get outta bed in the morning." I tried to give her some perspective. "To have done what Craig has, is not just him physically having sex; but also a massive middle finger to that girl's family. It's basically him saying 'I'm treating your daughters like living gym socks and there's fuck-all you're gonna do about it. So sit back, and watch this.' Startin' to make sense now?"
"Well…when yah put it that way…"
"And I think his obsession with burning things adds to that." Naota chimed in as I crossed the Red Moshannon into Chester Hill. "For him, things are…disposable. But he doesn't like to reflect on or be reminded of what he does, so he burns it all away. I mean, he never burned the girls he had sex with; that we know of. So he had to substitute with burning other stuff; like houses."
"Hello?! Hey! Are you there?!" Haruko yelled from the peanut gallery. "Yo! Anyone home?!"
"Goddammit woman, tha' hell's tha matter with you?!" I demanded as she cackled herself into conniptions and kicked the back of the front seat.
"I'm sorry, it's just that you two were getting so deep, I couldn't hear you anymore. Like, soooo deep, really philosophical, waaaayyyy down there."
"I ask ONE serious question…"
"And you really expected ONE serious answer?" Touche, Naota.
"C'mon! Let's not kill the buzz talking about Craig, it's time to celebrate!" Haruko leaned over the seat to point, shoving Naota down to use as a platform and waggled her hand right in front of my vision. "Look-it! Hi-Way's right there! It's Pizza-Thirty Rig!"
. . .
"How'd it go with Craig?" George asked. Naota and Haruko had said their goodnight and gone home. Now I was giving my report to George and Tommy. I'd give it again to The Dogs when the three of us were done.
"He's alive, can't have gone too bad." Tommy said. "I heard over the scanner the fire department responding to a burning car outside the YMCA."
"It was…mixed." I admitted, laying the tape recorder on the desk. "He said a lot, and nothing at the same time. He basically admitted he'd done everything we accused him of. But, we don't have any additional names besides the ones we already have, future plans, or a method of figuring either of those out. But, he alluded to a broader conspiracy in local governments too; in addition to the police."
"I had a feeling the cancer had spread…." George sounded immensely disappointed in his fellow Man. "But didn't think it would go after mayors and city councils. Too late to stop it now. If I had done something sooner…" He trailed off in regretful thought.
"So then what?" Tommy pressed for more.
"I sent a message to Craig's contacts, remind me to thank Josh a million times for that little miracle he whipped up, and turned Craig into a pariah. After that, he agreed to leave, but he tripped going down the back steps and conked out on the pavement. While he was down, and before Naota and Haruko showed up, I checked him for anything illicit." Hey, gotta do your civic duty. "And found this little number."
I plunked down on the desk an inner-waistband holster, two spare seven round magazines, and a Walther PPK. Oh yes, the 0.380 auto pistol of James Bond fame, you read that right. Mister Craig fancied himself a lady's man, and what greater lady's man ever lived than Bond…James Bond. That aside, I realized my evening had been ridiculously, stupid-lucky. It was a miracle I wasn't filled with 9mm holes and stuffed into the Y's dumpster.
"Craig was carrying this on him, and since they don't allow guns on trains, I relieved him of that hassle should he get stopped. Indiana's a nice state, with the Amish and all, he won't be needing a gun there. But yeah, after I searched him, Naota, Haruko and I drove him to Clearfield and put him on a non-stop for Indiana."
"Good, very, very good." Both George and Tommy nodded in approval. "This little op went off without a hitch, you handled it well. Josh is going to finish picking apart the data from Craig's phone tomorrow…so I think we've managed to stop the chaos for a while."
"Hey, same's I told Naota. There's seven Kauffmans." George and Tommy looked at each other, two differing philosophies butting heads again. George would have us wait and see. Tommy wanted to start knocking on doors first thing in the morning.
"Well…?" George and Tommy both asked. "What's your plan?" At the moment, I was feeling swollen with confidence. The op had gone off smoother than new pavement and I felt the illusionary solidarity of can-do-no-wrong under my boots. Word would get around that Craig had been removed from the equation by one way or another, and his brothers would be rattled by the news. Rattled in my mind equaled vulnerable.
"Soundin' like a broken record, but there's seven of 'em. Well, six now. We'd best get started on the rest; work our way on up. What do we know about…Clyde?"
. . .
"Sir?...Sir…Sir!"
"Mrrpphhfflllmmuuugghhh…n'whut? Where am I?" Craig came to, nearly blinded by the fluorescent brilliance of the carriage and the station outside. The sudden surge of throbbing to his head didn't help either.
"Your stop, sir." A Conductor informed him. He gestured to the ticket stub tucked into Craig's shirt pocket. "Welcome to South Bend, Indiana. That must have been one barn burner of a party your friends threw you."
"Did I sleep the whole way?" Craig stood, wobbling while he found his balance; his brain felt like it was on fire. "And…party?"
"You woke up about halfway through Ohio, went to the galley, drank about six bottles of water and went right back to sleep." The Conductor shepherded him to the door and the cool darkness outside. "Like I said, a real ringer of a twenty-first. Two of your friends dropped you off, I think they're owed a thank you phone call. Anyway, thank you for riding with Amtrak, have a good night!" The Conductor drew up the stairway, closed the carriage's door and the train continued its journey west.
"Ohhh…wait a minute…shit." As Craig's brain came back online, it dawned on him just how sideways his evening had gone. It was now, he checked his phone to find its battery dead, he checked the clock above the closed ticket office…four in the morning. He was also two states removed from home. His phone, as mentioned, was dead. And worst of all, it felt like he was being watched. A sifting fog slithered into his mind, adding to his already aching concussion. He couldn't think straight, rubbing his temples and eyes, and gentle shakes to his head didn't clear it. Something was dreadfully wrong. With his vision's edges blurring in and out, and his mind filling with grey, he forced his uncooperative legs to propel him outside; back under the awning on the platform. In the fresh air his head cleared, vision widened, and ears pricked up…tuning into a pair of steadily approaching feet.
Click…clack…click…clack…they came, echoing off the bricks of the empty station. An invisible hand palmed his head, sinking in its nails to secure its grip and force his head to turn; to look back in morbid curiosity despite all of his being screaming to do anything but. Click…clack…click…clack…A pair of black shoes piously polished to a mirror sheen. Black slacks. A trim, custom-tailored four piece suit. Jingling, a silver pocketwatch chain flashed in front of a glossy waistcoat. Tight leather gloves grasped an attache case in one hand, a long coat in the other. Finally, a wry smile, a face hidden behind smoked sunglasses and under a wide brimmed fedora. Click…clack…click…cl-clack-ack.
"Good morning, Mister Kauffman." The Man in Black greeted, his smile growing on pace with Craig's dread. "We need to have a…little chat. Man-to-man."
. . .
He didn't waste a single breath with explanations, excuses or hotly worded arguments. He didn't simply wait for The Man in Black to begin their 'little chat.' Craig just ran. He didn't know why, but instinct shot him out from under the pavilion, sent him scampering across the parking lot and into the inky darkness. It was a rash decision, but what else was there? He only had a vague idea where he was, his phone was dead, and there wasn't another soul around. And, as he realized in growing panic, his gun was missing. The little Walther PPK he'd carried at the small of his back; plus its holster, and spare magazines were gone too.
'Carson must've searched me when I tripped down the stairs! Damn it, you've killed me!" He swore and crossed another set of tracks, hopped a fence and entered a railyard depot. Now he slipped under and between boxcars and tankers, barking his shins on the rails in his haste. Not once had he looked back, his only focus was distance.
'Gotta hide, gotta hide!' He wheezed, his old cigarillo and new vaporizer habits clogged his lungs. Ahead was one of the railyard's warehouses, and a door had been mercifully propped open. Craig slipped inside, making sure to latch the door behind him. No obvious hiding places presented themselves in the warehouse's gloom…except…
'This should do.' Craig swung himself up and down into a large wooden crate, pulling down the lid after him. 'I'll just wait here 'till morning and see about getting a ticket back home. Well…then again, I don't want to get shot stepping off the train. Maybe that vacation idea isn't so bad. I hear California's nice this time of year. I know I could use a vacation right about now…oh fuck. He's here.'
Crrreeeeeaaa…eeaaaa-click. The door swung open, then swung shut. CLUNK. And now, the locking bar had been set. Slow, deliberate click-clacks sounded off the crates and boxes. Craig tried peering through his crate's slats, looking for a lighter's flame or flashlight's beam. The Man in Black seemed to be finding his way around just fine without either, his focus on a large pocketwatch in his left hand; while his right hand was grasped on something inside his suit and under his left armpit. The Man in Black turned around twice while getting his bearings, looking between his watch and the warehouse. Finally, he looked up and focused on the crate Craig had chosen. SNAP! The Man in Black closed his pocketwatch, stowed it in his waistcoat…and smiled.
"There you are Craig. Found you."
. . .
"LET! ME! OUT!" Craig hammered against the confines of the crate. The Man in Black had latched the lid closed before Craig could mount an escape attempt or resist valiantly. Now he was being wheeled on a cart, out into the railyard. "Come on, let me go! I thought we were gonna have a chat, yah know, talk?!"
"That opportunity ran away when you ran away from me at the station." The Man explained, pulling the cart over a set of tracks. "I gave you the chance to discuss things civilly as an adult, and you ran like a naughty child."
"Discuss things, discuss what?!"
"Oh, if it will make you feel better, and stop complaining." The Man sighed and stopped the cart astride a set of tracks that ran straight through the yard. "Mister…Craig, Kauffman. I am here to inform you our contract has become null and void. You have violated the terms of which, and in the process, become more hindrance than asset."
"Oh-kay…could you explain that again, but not in legal-speak?"
"To be, what's the word…frank. Yes, to be frank, you talked. You have been compromised, blackmailed, and can no longer operate in your home region without being hung from a telephone pole. All after I specifically warned you this would happen if you didn't take the necessary steps. And now, I'm here for your comeuppance."
"For Christ's sake, I didn't give him any names or anything! What's the big deal?! I mean, what's he gonna do, call the cops?!"
"Do you recall…" The Man in Black ignored his questions. "The warning I gave you at Roman's?"
"Uh…no?"
"Naughty little boys that play with fire get burned; and you'll be next if you're not careful. I cautioned you to not let your flames of passion burn too bright." The Man recounted. "You have thrust your way down a path of fornication and wanton, indiscriminate lust; and it has been your downfall. I will never keep a pact with a Human that spends its time publicly rutting with any female in heat it comes across; and then shamefully loses its spine at the slightest twist of the screws."
Cl-click. The cylinder in Craig's head turned, and brought to battery the implication of The Man in Black's words. Now trembling in terror and jittery adrenaline, he struggled against his confines. The wood failed to yield despite him bashing his knuckles and elbows raw, cutting his scalp on the lid, and jamming his toes when he kicked and stomped. Momentarily spent, he paused to see if he'd made any progress. Instead, he saw The Man pull something from a coat pocket. A red cylinder inscribed in black, block letters with: AN-M14 INCEN TH3.
"This was something I kept for myself, I wasn't quite sure for what purpose. It was just a whim, but now, a purpose has been found." The Man in Black explained, examining the grenade that had been missing from the box Craig had been given.
"It has?"
"I have traveled to planets so numerous I have long stopped keeping track. I have also been watching you, Humans, for years now. Between your own and those other planets I have helped harvest, I have experienced a revelation about your species; and I think it's most relevant. It concerns what your race has dubbed Love, and Lust. They are not unique to your planet, quite common to be found really. Several common themes present themselves, even across light years." The Man spoke in a calm, soothing tone, cradling Craig's ears in his hands.
"Love, and fire, are intertwined flames, Mister Kauffman. A fire, like Love, must be tended, cared for from its inception. If held at an optimal distance and attended properly, it will warm your body, and your soul as well. Too close, and you will risk burns and even smothering that fire to death. You, Mister Kauffman, did neither. What you engaged in was not Love, but Lust. You were negligent in caring for your fires, setting more than you could ever hope to control. Furthermore, you only saw them as playthings. Each new flash of heat and light dazzled your eyes, and you danced, feeding the flames without a worry of where the flying sparks landed. All it took was one stray spark, an unintended consequence, carelessness in your watch, and the woods have caught fire. Now the forest that is your world will burn beyond control, burn to ashes."
"P…p-please…you don't have, don't have to do this…"
"Goodbye, Mister Craig Riley Kauffman." The Man in Black placed the thermite grenade atop the crate, and with a ringing Ping! Pulled loose the pin. Craig screamed and pleaded with The Man, rattling the crate to try and shake off the grenade; all while desperate tears began staining his face. The Man turned a deaf ear, pivoted on his heel and began vanishing back into the morning dark.
"Plleeeeeaaaaasssee! Heh, hic! Puh, puh-leeaasseee! Don't do this! I don't wanna dieeee…" Craig's bid for mercy echoed off the railcars, alerting no one to his impending doom. "Help! Someone help me! SAVE ME!" And for a moment, The Man in Black stopped. He looked back, with his wry, knowing smile leering back at Craig.
"Save you? Save…you? Save…you? HA!" The smile widened to a toothy, mad-hatter grin. "Save you? But, Mister Kauffman…I AM." As soon as Craig head those last words, the grenade ignited. A torrent of white-hot, liquid metal poured into the crate, dousing Craig in a burning to the bone pain. He twitched, rolled and writhed, too distracted in his agony try breaking out again. Brushing, slapping and shaking the splashing sparks did nothing once they had bitten into his flesh and began eating their way through skin, muscle, ligament, bone and nerve; then exiting back out again through the other side.
Now his clothes flared, melting and fusing to him in a fuming, smoldering second skin. Lastly the crate itself went up, roasting him and filling his lungs with burning paint fumes and wood ash. Coughing, choking, blinded by the brilliance of thermite and the dark stinging of smoke, his body riddled with ever-growing burned, charred, bleeding and sucking holes, his struggles lessened as his coffin burned and pyre raged. Every tenth of a second was an hour of agony, worsened by his diminishing ability to resist, and even move. Subdued by the fire, his final sensations were the searing of shrilly bawling nerves, the crawling prickle of crackling skin, and smothering crush of suffocation. Before the lights went off for good, Craig's eyes and brain recorded one last scene: A column of growing flames, pointed, waggling fingers outstretched to the heavens in a final flash of brilliant defiance; scrabbling vainly for a sky they would never reach…and then, nothing more.
. . .
It truly was a sight to behold: The Grand Temple. The central hub of all other places of knowledge, wisdom and guidance, spread across the planet. It towered grander and more magnificent than even the poshest high rise. And, The Head thought, as he strolled down the boulevard, that's how it ought to be. The Grand Temple's sand toned stone walls, polished fervently to a brilliant sheen, twinkled in the afternoon sun; a winking beacon of enlightenment.
The Head made his way without a security team or escort of Marines. After all, this was the capital, City of Megadon; the safest city for planets around. About him the city thrummed, citizens flowed in and out of shops, perused Temple Papers on sidewalk benches, or waited for one of the trams that shuttled along an endless loop throughout the city.
"…Production has increased by two-point-three percent in wheat…" One of the Templevision kiosks proudly announced as The Head passed, skirting the small crowd of suited businessmen and clerks listening to the latest news. The kiosks had been strategically distributed to keep everyone informed of the goings on of The Red Star of The Solar Federation, continuously updating and broadcasting tirelessly day and night. "Meanwhile, terrorism has struck again on the Frontier Planets…"
Ah yes, the Frontier Planets, and their ever-evolving terrorists. It was always something. Bombings, rocket attacks, shootings. But as the dust of each event settled, a slew of laws and directives were bequeathed from The Priests to maintain peace and order. And each time, new methods were found. Now stabbings, sabotaged vehicles and attacks via computers and related networks ruled the day. If anything positive came of it all, at least the attacks galvanized the peoples of The Red Star of The Solar Federation, banding them together to fight the cowardly scourge that menaced them all. Well…that was the Templevision and Temple Paper's take on the matter; not The Head's. He kept his own opinions on the issue of the terrorists, and many other matters, in the last truly private place in the entire Federation: his own mind.
To be fair, life in the Federation and especially the capital, was certainly ideal. When The Head compared it to earlier times of his career, spent under the atmospheric domes of the Frontier Planets, there was no contest. Here crime had been virtually eradicated. There was not a single atmospheric dome to be found. Instead, a modern, glittering society of glass, polished metal, stone and fine lines had been built for those, who ensured the society's function, to relax and live in worry free, careless tranquility. The Priests had provided it all through their grand visions, weaving together their benevolent teachings and the calculations of their ingenious Machines housed within their Temples. They directed and developed the quality of every facet of life from books to music, play and work. And Medical Mechanica was the implementer of The Priest's will, ensuring their directives were carried out to the letter. It was an honorable occupation; and the reason The Head was visiting the Grand Temple that day.
'And both Moons are out today, that's surely a sign of something.' The Head looked up, seeing the twin, pale orbs lazily tracing across the sky. Both were dead planets, ones that had refused to open their ears to The Priest's songs.
"Sir! I beg your pardon." A Courier had found him, case shackled to his wrist. "But this was received with an Urgent type marker."
"Urgent?" The Head asked. They were now on the sprawling, half-mile wide terrace that preceded and surrounded the Grand Temple. Seeing no one within reasonable distance, he asked for the message. "If that's the case, then let's have it." The Courier checked the case's time, then used his thumbprint to unlock it. Inside was the standard single sheet of paper, folded once in half. The Head withdrew it, unconcerned about security when he was a stone's throw from the Grand Temple's doors. Still, he held it close so only his eyes were privy.
'To the Head Director and Chief Officer of the Medical Mechanica Industries' The header read. 'A report from True Believers assigned to the 262nd Expedition. The timeline still holds. Rumors of local dissent growing. All have been thus far unsubstantiated. One of seven initial contacts compromised. Terms of contract violated through contact's moral failings and an unknown third party. Investigation will be made to prevent a recurrence. Contact in violation has been addressed and relieved of responsibility. Will update at scheduled intervals and as events warrant. May the blessings of The Priests be with you.'
The Head finished reading and refolded the paper, committing its contents to memory. Patting his suit, he searched for his lighter.
"Please, allow me Sir." The Courier extended an open lighter, its flame dancing bright.
"Ah, many thanks." The Head lit the message, pinching it between his fingertips until it had burned in its entirety to ash. "I require no reply to be sent. Thank you for your services, you are dismissed." The Courier nodded, saluted and departed with his case.
'So an Operative on Earth has killed one of his Scouts.' The Head thought, taking the steps of the Grand Temple three at a time. 'And for moral failures as part of the reasons. We certainly wouldn't want someone that clashed with The Priests, would we? But, as I understand it, potential Scouts on Earth can be found behind every rock, bush and tree. This shouldn't slow an Operative down, they're the best at what they do after all. But now…time to focus. You're meeting with The Priests. Deep breath, straighten your tie. Check your pocketwatch and its chain, and your shoes are clean. All is well.' The Head ran over one last cursory check of himself before approaching the massive doors.
"You are expected." A sonorous voice boomed from above. "Please. Enter, and be at peace." By itself, one of the doors swung open and The Head quickly slipped inside; the door showing its immense weight by crashing tightly shut behind him.
. . .
Songs and translations:
*Hit the Road Jack - Ray Charles
Whooo-eeee...was that somethin' or what? Craig sure could act like a charmer when it came to the ladies, but he was downright nasty when he wanted to be. And now, as The Man in Black said, he has gotten his comeuppance. I only notice now the irony of him meeting his end in a train yard, when he had derailed a coal train himself. Poetic justice I suppose, the spirit of that train getting its revenge perhaps.
I always find myself torn between trying to give hints as to what is coming, but without giving too much away, or sounding grossly cliche. If you're putting things together, my kudos to you. If not, and even if you have, you'll just have to keep reading. Now that Craig is gone, things are going to start picking up; especially once his brothers figure out what the hell just happened. And, if Craig is any indicator, their reaction will not be based on 'forgive and forget.'
And finally, we come back to Medical Mechanica. Having an antagonist that previously was virtually nonexistent except in name and robots, have been probably one of the best parts of writing this fic. I get to play planet/society maker, and y'all...it's awesome! The Head, now known as the 'Head Director and Chief Officer of Medical Mechanica Industries' is going to be the eyes we see his world through, unless for some reason I make up ANOTHER character. Highly unlikely. But you have mentioned in reviews and messages how you enjoyed the look into M-M's realm, and that is a trend that will continue.
Lastly, thank you all again for reading. As I have said, it would be ideal for a chapter every two weeks or so, rather than every two months. But now that I have gotten settled, and work is slowing down with the season, I hope to up my productivity. You have all been beyond patient, and I will continue to thank you every time. Thank you for reading, and your feedback, I really do appreciate it. See y'all in October...