Oracle: A Story from The Reels

by Brian Ewing

  “I didn’t know, Muh-Muh-Mr. Sisto. I just saw someone coming down—”

  “It’s forgivable,” Sisto shouted. “Hell, if you didn’t do what you did, I would be making sure Caden and Bell wrote your ass up. Hell of a job, Haskins.”

  The compliment eased the woman but the stuttering was still working its way down. “Thank you, Mr. S-S-Sisto.”

  “Listen, I was scaling the fire escape to see if there was any visible point of entry. Sick fuck must have walked right through the front door,” Sisto said, laying it on thick.

  “The fucking nerve,” the glorious, uniformed linebacker stated.

  “Piece of shit.” Sisto nodded in confirmation, feeling dirty at trying a Bell phrase on for size and instantly regretting it. “I have to keep assessing the surrounding area to see if we can figure out where this guy exited. Please, for the love of god, keep your eyes peeled.”

  The woman postured up with purpose, nodded, then turned to keep patrolling the surrounding area. Sisto trailed behind until he got street side, then hooked a right to go up Eighth Street towards Cobalt Avenue.

  CHAPTER 22

  Entering a bar on a Saturday night was like inviting every one of Sisto’s senses to be assaulted with a variety of cross-wired results. Walking in, the place was more packed than Sisto ever remembered seeing it before. He then realized he’d only discovered Flashy Jack’s after moving to Corden Palisades and was already accompanied by his tethered mind-mate, The Reels. Ever since Sisto was awoken to The Reels, he rarely hit the bars or clubs, especially on a Friday or Saturday night. There were two levels to Flashy Jacks. The first floor had a long, L-shaped bar that curved around the corner of the building and extended another ten feet, giving the bartenders maximum exposure to walk-up sales. The nights Sisto had frequented were much slower and never had more than two bartenders; however on a weekend it looked like the standard was four tending bar, with one manager intermittently changing out the banks, changing TV stations and other things like that in the background.

  There were high-top tables nearest the bar, another handful of sit-down tables beyond them, leading up to a stage, normally quiet when Sisto had visited. The spotlights were illuminated, but it looked like Sisto had just missed a set from a local band performing some jams to keep people in the seats. Between the sit-down tables and the stage was a small platform cleared for dancing. From the compiling headache Sisto had from the events of the day, he was thankful he had missed the entertainment. A polite waitress with her apron filled with pens and a notepad that had seen better days, approached the hostess podium to greet him.

  “Hi there, welcome to Flashy Jacks.”

  Her bubbly tone felt out of place around the endless chaos. It could have also been the intensifying scent of depression in his nostrils or the taste of ash from cigarettes forming in his palate.

  “Were you interested in a table or the bar?”

  “Are those booths over there open?” Sisto pointed to the right side, which seemed to be the furthest away from the energy of people letting loose.

  Looking over her shoulder, she replied, “Oh yeah, that’s not my section but I will let your waitress know you sat there. Our hostess went home sick early, so here is a menu and pick any booth you like.”

  Sisto hoped the owners of Flashy Jack’s didn’t hire hostesses from the same pool of applicants that Chrome Canyon had, or they would be getting a lot of call-outs, probably from the exhaustion of countless orgies attended. He thanked the waitress as she disappeared to attend to her designated section and sat down. Sisto sat in a corner booth and skimmed the menu before the same waitress came back up to him.

  “Sorry, your waitress is putting in a big order and asked me to stop over here and get you started with something to drink.”

  “Oh, no worries,” Sisto said. “Listen, do me a favor. Get me two shots of Jameson and a Miller Lite, then close my tab. I will stick around and have someone joining me so I will still want our waitress to stop by when she gets time, but let me settle this round with you.”

  Looking unused to the consideration he was showing, she smiled and took the card he presented to her as she walked away. Sisto rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to suppress the throbbing that was developing behind his eyes. So many things were running through his head—the fact that he had inadvertently gotten his best friend murdered being at the forefront. The waitress with her long, black curls maneuvered her way to the table with both shots and the beer in one hand, and the check presenter with his receipt in the other. He signed the paper, tipping ten on top of the eighteen-dollar tab, and handed it back to her. Before she could walk away, he put his finger up to hold her attention as his first shot was running down his gullet. He put the first empty back in her hand and took down the second shot with similar ease. He nodded to her as she left him with just the beer in front of him.

  “You see?” Ama asked, twenty minutes later, even though she clearly presented the screen on her laptop in his sightline.

  He was onto his second beer, trying to shake his nerves loose. The medicinal combination he’d prescribed himself hit his head pretty damn quick as he tried to remember how long it had been since his last meal. That in itself was enough cause for him to not have any idea what Ama had been talking about. Searching for a clue on the screengrab from the laptop screen she’d propped on the table, he took a guess like he had been throwing a lawn dart while blindfolded.

  “Can’t make out the plate. It’s too far away?” Sisto proposed, knowing his exhaustion was catching up with him and that was definitely not what was causing Ama to display a giddy smile.

  Perceptive as she was, Ama squinted and realized he was buzzed, but understood that under the circumstances, it had been appropriate. The waitress who’d initially asked for help from the first girl now made her way to the booth to greet Ama after getting her other big group situated. Shimmering blonde hair, the beautiful college girl had legs that had been molded from years of some activity like cross country or soccer. She smiled and asked Ama for her drink order. Realizing Sisto was far from sober, Ama decided that she deserved a drink as well.

  “Double Jack with a Coke back,” Ama blurted before she could stop herself.

  “Fuck yes,” Sisto chimed in. “A shot of Jameson and another beer for me as well. A basket of fried pickles too, please.”

  The young woman left, leaving Sisto to look back at Ama as she waited patiently for Sisto to try again.

  “Ama, I am pretty sharp nine times out of ten, but my fucking brain is fried. Can you just explain what I am missing so that way, when the shots arrive, we can toast in joy together?”

  Agreeing a toast could be used after such a horrific day, Ama caved in and gave him a clue. “Notice anything about his departure?”

  Sisto focused on the screen again, clearing his mind of the swimming horrors The Reels had made him witness through his friend’s eyes, and simply stared a moment. As the fog in his head finally subdued, he realized what he had been missing, which gave Ama her justifiably chipper attitude.

  “Fuck me,” Sisto called himself out, causing an ear-to-ear grin from across the booth. “He entered the vehicle on the passenger side.”

  “Someone was waiting for him, driving him away from your place!” Ama agreed.

  “So, we do have two people involved.”

  “Sisto, we don’t know shit until I can run the video through a pixilation tool and get that plate number. For all we know, it could have been an Uber,” Ama answered.

  Seeing his energy slump, she added, “But, logically, Uber would leave a digital trail. I don’t think he would be dumb enough to do that. So, yes, I think he has a partner.”

  Perfect timing from the tone-legged waitress, she smiled and dropped off the drinks, telling Ama and him that the fried pickles would be up shortly. The two grabbed their shots, lifted them for the small victory that they would have to make do with until the next break in the case, and let the burning liquid run its course
through their bodies.

  “Could Uncle Jackie have even flown or driven into Saratoga City without the feds knowing?” Sisto bounced the idea off Ama.

  Ama, circling the top ring of the half-empty shot glass with her petite index finger accented by black nail polish, thought about the question. “If he is under surveillance, I don’t see how he could have, but then again, how does any criminal get away with stuff when they are being watched?”

  The answer muddled Sisto’s increasing buzz as he started to wonder if Jackie Vinnova was in fact the driver in the footage, pulling the strings as the puppet master to his little psychotic marionette of a nephew. The fact that Sisto had never met either Jackie or Carson, outside of wearing Carson’s memories like he was renting a tux, boggled his mind. The sins of the past, of all guilty parties involved, were back eight years later to start a misguided war. Any sane person would realize Frank Vinnova had made his choices in life and if it hadn’t been Sisto that put him away, it would have been someone else. Frank Vinnova could have been killed a dozen different ways on site at any of his illegal ventures. Sisto had to remind himself that he was not dealing with sane people though. It was as simple as that.

  “I,” Ama hesitatingly started, breaking Sisto out of his thoughts, “I saw the video of Craig and the tattooed man.”

  Guilt hit Sisto in the chest like piston in motion from a train. With the chaotic string of events, he’d forgotten to warn Ama to stay away from that particular feed of video. Based on what The Reels showed him and what Bell further explained, there was nothing good that could have come from her viewing the atrocity. Ama, normally gorgeous with her punk Goth glow about her, had sat across from him at that moment with eyes that look like they had been squirted with Tabasco sauce. Her hair pulled back, which he had rarely seen her do before, showed off a decorative choker around her sleek neck, leading up to her tucked away tattoo of Skynet. Still beautiful, but obviously worn down, Ama sipped on her Coke to counter the burn from the whiskey. Sisto felt not only responsible but hurt by the fact that it was him that had caused her to go through something so horrific.

  The young waitress approached once again to remove Sisto’s empty shot glass.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name,” Sisto announced, trying not to seem like a drunk creeper.

  “Shelby.” the waitress replied.

  “Thanks for the great service, Shelby. I’m Sisto, this is Ama” Sisto explained, “My friend and I have had one of those really crummy days and I think we are both going to need another round of shots.”

  Shelby nodded her head in sympathy, recognizing how a rough day could drain a person, although Sisto doubted her bad days ever got close to the one he and Ama had experienced. “No problem, Mr. Sisto.”

  He wanted to correct her, but she had already pivoted with a fluid motion and was a booth and a half away before he could say anything.

  “Last one,” Ama stated. “I can’t be hungover tomorrow. It’s my only full day off to get my errands done before my hellish week begins on Monday. Based on the terrible shit I have seen today, I probably won’t sleep right away either.”

  “What is it that you actually do for a living?” Sisto realized he had never asked.

  Smirking as she finished her first shot, she replied, “Analyst for a medical billing company.”

  “Analyst by day, hacker by night, huh,” Sisto replied. “Ama, look, I—”

  He searched a moment to find the right words. “I appreciate what you did for me. Your information gave us huge insight that Carson isn’t working alone. You don’t deserve any of the emotional scarring you were subjected to tonight and I am truly sorry.”

  Ama assessed the tortured soul of the man across from her and came to the conclusion that Ojibwe was a good judge of character after all. She lifted her Coke to his beer bottle and clinked her glass to cheer him. She finished the soft drink and grabbed a few of the fried pickles. Sisto watched her analyze one of the glorious, golden-brown, fried slices; she took a small nibble to test the waters, then he witnessed her eyebrows rise in approval. The action made Sisto chuckle to himself, too exhausted to let his body react. Shelby swung around the corner to drop off the drinks and Sisto asked for the bill, to deter him from going against Ama’s better judgement of ordering any more drinks. Shelby replicated her now signature pivot, letting her long, blonde hair swing around like a boomerang from the quick action, and glided away.

  “I should have a plate by the morning,” Ama said, leaning towards her new set of beverages.

  “You’re going to keep working on it when we get back home?” Sisto asked, before realizing how domesticated that statement sounded. “I mean—”

  “I know what you meant,” Ama confirmed, seeing Sisto wriggle at his own verbiage. “I have a program that will work on it through the night. Shouldn’t take too long.”

  The last statement sounded heavy with uncertainty. Sisto nodded to back up her optimistic thought, now raising his last shot of the night to her glass. Shelby, with her ninja-like quickness, wrapped around the corner with a black leather check presenter. Sisto already had his card out and gave it to her without looking at the bill. She mechanically took the card and fluidly reversed her direction back to the computer station without saying a word.

  “Listen,” Ama suggested, “I think the plate should be digitized within the next six hours or so. Why don’t we plan on meeting up for breakfast and go over the results? I can get you back since you paid for drinks tonight.”

  Sisto appreciated the fairness of her suggestion, especially in the modern age where it was expected for the male to pay for everything, although he wouldn’t allow her to spend her money when he had a boatload sitting in the bank he would likely never put a dent in.

  “Sounds good. Let’s plan for nine?”

  “Perfect,” Ama agreed.

  Shelby dropped off the check presenter and Sisto opened it to find his card on the left pocket of the presenter and the bill to the right. At the top of the check was bright blue ink with the words “thank you” written across along with an exclamation point with a heart in place of the bottom dot of the mark. Sisto remembered his days working in bars and the waitresses trying to write cute notes to score a few extra bucks. The memory, pre-Reels, was refreshing. He took his dense, black metal card out from the left pocket and replaced it in his wallet. He could feel a burning question arise on Ama’s face from across the table but pretended he hadn’t and ignored the reaction as he filled out the receipt slip. Ama closed the laptop, replacing it in her bag, and the two stood up to go. Shelby thanked them from the computer station as she saw them exiting, and Ama waved back.

  “Did you walk too?” Sisto asked.

  “It’s downtown. Did I walk alone at night with an expensive laptop after encountering a murderer in my building? No. No I did not.”

  “Sorry. I tend to walk to my own beat most of the time these days,” Sisto stated. “My normal is not most people’s normal, but when you put it like that, yeah, I wouldn’t have walked either.”

  “You want a ride?” Ama offered.

  “I don’t think so,” Sisto said. Lots of thoughts went through his head at that moment, including the premonition he’d got when she brushed up against him earlier. “I could use the fresh air and a few blocks to clear my head before I crash out for the night.”

  Looking confused, almost disappointed, she nodded.

  “You okay to drive?” Sisto followed up.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Seriously. I only had the two drinks and we ate. I would leave the car here if I was really concerned.”

  It was Sisto’s turn to nod. He thanked her again as she broke off to the lot. He remained standing as she got into her car safely, then started his walk to clear his mind with the late-night city sounds. The pace of the walk was brisk on the way back to Corden Palisades. He was not afraid of the characters at night on the downtown streets, but after being reminded by Ama of where he was, he knew better than to press hi
s luck strolling around the shadowy corners of Saratoga City. Fifteen minutes later, he continued his powerwalk up the stairwell, hoping that the crime scene tape was gone and that neither Caden nor Bell had tried to circle back to find his empty apartment. He glanced at his phone with one eye, half squinting to see there were no missed calls or texts. He sighed in relief at the fact and replicated the sensation as he saw the crime tape had been removed from his side of the wall, and was now positioned to just cut off access to Craig’s apartment. Not a soul in sight, Sisto pulled out his keys and let himself into his apartment, which at that moment felt lonelier than it had for a long time. He thrust off his jacket and set it on the recliner chair against the wall, sat in the middle of his couch to take off his shoes, kicking them under the coffee table. He surfed a few stations, but the wave of emotions throughout the day rung him dry, causing him to drift off into sleep before he could settle on anything streaming on the television.

  CHAPTER 23

  The morning light crept in through the blinds of the kitchen window early that Sunday morning. Thinking he would sleep in, the heat had slowly been creeping in from the circular hole cut out of his fire escape stairway window, paired with a dream his subconscious chose to forget, thereby awakening him on the couch in a pool of sweat. It was barely six-thirty. Sisto knew there was no point in trying to steal a few extra minutes of sleep and decided he needed to get his body moving early so the shakes could go away. He’d had drinking sessions in the past that made the night before look like child’s play, but it had been a while. He rinsed the combination of panic and exhaustion, or in The Reels’ perception, Italian dressing and pineapple juice, off his body before doing anything else. He was heading down the stairwell right before seven and wanted to make sure he was outside for the 7:10 bus towards the precinct, which also happened to be a few minutes off route from the IHOP he frequented.