Snake Eyes

by Joseph D'lacey

  “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “No, you won’t.”

  Johnson struggled with the handle of his front door and finally managed to get in. Angelina came into the hallway to investigate the open door. He could tell by her face that she half hoped it was him returning after his disappearance. She looked

  right through him and out the front doorway onto the street.

  “Matthew, Rebecca?”

  The calls came back from the living room where the kids were playing on the MEC.

  “In here, Mom.”

  “How many times do I have to remind you to make sure this door is closed properly?”

  “We did close it.”

  “You may think you did but you didn’t.”

  She slammed it shut and locked it.

  Twilight crept over the city and then night. In the Johnson household the remaining three members of the family ate Pizza for dinner and then, bored with Spider Hunter, they took turns at Narco Cop until it was time for the kids to go to bed. When she was alone, Angelina took the gin bottle and a glass and sat on the sofa swigging the warm aromatic spirits until she was drunk enough to sleep.

  Johnson followed her up to bed. She brushed her teeth half-heartedly and lay down in bed having taken off only her slacks. He lay down beside her, his insubstantial body making almost no impression on the mattress.

  He closed his eyes.

  Chapter 14

  The light hurt.

  It invaded his entire head even through his clamped eyelids. He tried to raise a hand to shield himself from the glare.

  His arm moved a few inches before stopping. He tried again, harder this time and became aware of some kind of cuff or strap around his wrist. He moved the other arm and then his legs only to find that he was completely restrained.

  “Take it easy, Officer Johnson. We’ll have you out of those in just a second.”

  He heard the sound of metal against metal at the end of what he assumed was the hospital bed he was lying in. A medical chart being replaced? A gentle hand loosened one of his wrist restraints and he felt its fingers settle firmly onto his pulse.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Blind.”

  “That’s normal. It’ll pass very soon. Any other problems?”

  Johnson concentrated on himself and his body for a moment, even though all he really wanted to do was look around and see where he was.

  “Thirsty.”

  “Also perfectly normal. I’ll get you some water. Congratulations, by the way, you’re the only one who passed.”

  Half an hour later he was sitting up in a ward surrounded by about twenty empty beds. The woman who had spoken to him was not dressed like a nurse as he had expected but wore a formal grey suit, with trousers and lace up flat shoes. Even in the masculine attire, there was no disguising her beauty. She had dark hair pulled neatly back into a tight whorl. Her skin was pale and her face, without either make up or lines, was exquisite. She looked familiar and he was glad.

  “How are your eyes now?” She asked as she stood beside his bed.

  “Better. A little haziness around objects. Do I know you?”

  She laughed at that.

  “You ought to. I’m the one who’s been making your life hell for the last few months of your training.”

  “My memory is really sketchy.”

  “Give it time. My name’s Dr. Weaver.”

  “Weaver?”

  “Correct. Is that a problem?”

  “No. It’s just that I was expecting you to say Shuckman or Fiori. Maybe even Angelina.”

  He searched her eyes for a trace of intimacy but there was none.

  “You trained with cadets by those names but they all failed the final exam. You probably imprinted some of them into your test. You won’t be seeing any of them again, I’m afraid, they’re all back in the lives they had before they applied for the job.”

  “I take it I’ll be staying.”

  “Only until your debriefing is over. Then you’ll be on the streets enforcing this nation’s illegal substance laws. Welcome to the Narcotics Squad, Officer Johnson.”

  She held out her strong small hand and he shook it firmly. A trace of perfume wafted his way leaving a hint of sweet spices and he realised that it was a long time since he got laid; somewhere back before his training had started.

  Chapter 15

  Sergeant Beckeridge handled Johnson’s debriefing. It felt more like an interrogation.

  “State your name for the record.”

  “Officer Robert Johnson.”

  “Thank you. Do you know where you are?”

  “These are the halls of the Justice and Harmony Department, Tier Two.”

  “Okay, so you can read signs and badges. That’s a start. What is your mother’s maiden name?”

  “Smith.”

  “Lucky guess. Current president?”

  “Crawford B Sinise.”

  “What planet are we on?”

  “Get real.”

  “What planet, Officer Johnson?”

  “Earth.”

  “Country?”

  “FSA.”

  “Okay, Johnson, I want you to fill in these multiple choice questions. You have five minutes.”

  He accepted the pencil and paper from Beckeridge and filled in the answers in less than thirty seconds before handing it back.

  “Sure you don’t want to check for mistakes?”

  “Positive.”

  Beckeridge passed the test paper to a white-coated assistant who took it out of the small interview room. Conspicuously placed cameras watched the proceedings. A one-way mirror was also in evidence but Johnson felt cool. His conditioning kept him focused and calm. The questions continued for another forty-five minutes during which time he gave information about his past, his previous employment, his relationships and his current physical and mental state. Nothing that Beckeridge could say threw him. His only problem was impatience.

  “You know, all I really want to do is get out there on the streets and put my training to some use.”

  “I realise that but we can’t have you experiencing a psychotic episode out there. Although you’ve completed your physical and academic training, the psychological endurance test you’ve recently undergone could still cause you problems.”

  “But I’ve passed the test and made officer.”

  “True. However, a small percentage of graduating Narcotics Squad officers experience mental breakdowns within a few hours of ‘passing’. The incidence of mental side-effects lessens the more time there is between you and the test. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re indestructible just because you’ve made it this far. On the street you will be undercover. You will be obliged to take many prohibited substances in order to enter certain groups before apprehending them–”

  “Come on, sir, I know all this.”

  “Listen to me, Johnson. You have to know who you are, you have to know where you are and you have to know when you are. You have to know what is real and what is not and you have to know it so well that you can lie about it under the influence of the most powerful drugs in circulation. This,” Beckeridge gestured around the cramped interview room, “is for the safety of the mission and for your safety too. More important than any of that, is how bad it will look on my record if you go out there and meltdown on your first mission. Get me?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Let’s continue, shall we?”

  Chapter 16

  It was a simple arrangement.

  The JHD gave him two card accounts, one for expenses and one for his salary. They provided an apartment just beyond the limits of the East Gate side of Tier Two. It meant he was living right on the edge of the action but could come home and sleep in ‘civilisation’. He didn’t need to show up for ‘work’—unless he was called in for debriefing. The less he was seen around JHD, the better. If he provided information leading to four dealer arrests in a year, he kept his job and go
t paid. Users were to be his pawns. More dealer arrests would bring bonuses. Any less than four and his contract would be terminated.

  The relief of escaping his psychological endurance test was short-lived. What had seemed so terrifying while he experienced it was no worse in recollection than a simple nightmare. Instead he wondered if the experience had truly prepared him for the job.

  The first night in his flat he opened a bottle of Wild Turkey and drank large mouthfuls to steady his resolve while he looked out the window at the city. He was on the fortieth floor and still he could not see the sky. Though it was technically dark, lights lit the rampways and streets, poured from uncurtained windows. Ads flashed from every available surface of brick or concrete and floated past every level of apartments on billboards that completely obstructed the view every few minutes.

  People walked and used traction scooters on the rampways. Between the buildings, driverless buses and taxis followed beacons to programmed destinations. A few motorised vehicles still ran on the surface but they were more for show than serious use; they had no way to access higher levels.

  There was enough activity in the air between him and the ground that it too was invisible to him from this height. The energy being used to sustain the city was immense; he could hardly comprehend the size and number of reactors that kept the city alive. It was a monstrous organism with a hidden heart. Parasites thronged in its every thoroughfare. The one thing he was happy about was that his windows had wave imitators which cancelled out every single sound. Inside the apartment it was as silent as a meditation hall.

  The flat was decorated grey and black. The kind of masculine minimalism that offered no comfort from the city. Johnson decided he would change it as soon as he made his first bonus. It was something to work towards. Meanwhile, he hoped the dangers of the East Gate side would take his mind off the solitude his new job brought with it.

  He drank more whisky than he should have that first night and fell into bed when he could no longer find any reason to stay awake. As his mind span him into a bleak stupor, he had the vague recollection that he hadn’t always slept alone.

  In the morning, all such memories had faded. In their place, Johnson discovered a flat, sick feeling accompanied by an undercurrent of regret. It was the first of many hangovers.

  Chapter 17

  McLaughlin’s was a drinking cavern in the old style.

  There were no waitresses to bring you drinks, you ordered them at the bar and to do that you had show real determination. Even during working hours it was busy; filled with scammers and gamblers, pimps and drunks. When everyone else finished their shifts the place really started to bounce. In the crush of bodies and under the thump of the latest Mantric Bass tracks, it was easy to become dislocated from everyone else; outside his apartment Johnson had discovered a different kind of isolation among the sweating hordes of potential leads.

  After two weeks of working hard to make connections, however, he was beginning to break into the scene. McLaughlin’s was a Mecca for every kind of offender within forty blocks. Johnson found it fitting that the bar was located below street level. Shit might have floated but heavy shit sank straight to the bottom and that was where he went to look for it; every day that he could bear to.

  Initially, the bartenders had been blind to him they way they were to all unfamiliar faces. That, too, changed after a couple of weeks.

  “What’ll it be, Spider?”

  “Draft Light. Turkey chaser.”

  “Coming up.”

  It was the first time they’d used any name for him. He hadn’t mentioned it to anyone but the spider tattoo on his chest appeared to speak for him. He wore his leather vests open to display the creature, even though he had no recollection of when or why he had opted for such adornment.

  Already he had scored and used several classes of drug in order to become part of the underground scene. He’d inhaled Beat, a simple mood enhancer preferred by dance club enthusiasts. The effects lasted about four hours and the come down was negligible. He had smoked Mist, his favourite so far, which was a combination of synthesised opiates and cannabinoids. It had drifted him into a day-long torpor that took two more days to recover from. Although he enjoyed it, he knew it was the kind of drug that would render him more or less useless in a difficult situation.

  He decided to concentrate his efforts on the greatest and most dangerous menace—the Sooth dealers. Sooth was cutting edge, the latest and most powerful psych drug available. It was hitting the streets hard. Turnover was immense and it was impossible to police conventionally. There were other characteristics that made it unique as Johnson discovered the first time he scored.

  “You know what to do right?”

  “Kind of.”

  The dealer had picked up easily on Johnson’s deliberate subtext.

  “First timer, huh?” The dealer produced a tube that resembled a roll of new coins and removed a Sooth unit. He held it up for Johnson to see. “Ok, ten Saturns—ten pills inside ten discs. You push the pill out of the centre of the disc; you stick the disc in your viewer and the pill in your mouth. If you get it the wrong way round, you’ll need the Heimlich manoeuvre and a new viewer.” The dealer had laughed.

  Johnson had decided to play himself real serious, real dumb. He shrugged, reached out. The dealer looked him in the eye. Johnson drew out a transparent hundred and handed it over. The dealer passed him the tube.

  “Instructions are in the tube, dude. You can’t go wrong.”

  Chapter 18

  Sooth was expensive, about ten dollars a disc, but it was the wildest drug in circulation and the one Johnson felt compelled to go after. It was also widespread; he could nail dealers all year round and never run short of business. If he did his job well, the bonuses would roll in and he’d be able to start making some adjustments to his lifestyle.

  He took the first Saturn, alone in his apartment. Popping Beat caps and smoking Mist were easier in public. The actions necessary could be disguised. Sooth, however, required at least a hand held viewer and the results of the initial effects were too obvious and instant to hide. The user would mumble a stream of incoherencies and for a few minutes would be incapacitated and immobile. It was the trancelike state and the rambling verbals that gave the drug its name. It was reminiscent of the oracles. Taking the drug was called Saying Sooth.

  The first night, he had planned to go back out after the initial babbling had worn off. He pushed the base of the black cylinder the dealer had given him for his hundred bucks—the first dealer he planned to turn in. The first Saturn came into view. Thumbing the tiny spherical pill from the centre and holding it in one palm, he placed the disc in his viewer and checked the enclosed slip of plastic before placing the pill in his mouth. There was only one other stipulation in the simple instructions:

  Think of what you want most.

  He swallowed the pill with a sip of Wild Turkey and sat back.

  “Play.”

  The screen showed only static, salt and pepper pixels. For ten minutes he sat waiting, convinced that nothing was happening until he became aware of a voice, speaking rapidly in what sounded like a foreign language. He looked around the room to locate the source of the voice. It was his own. He laughed.

  Looking back at the screen, he saw it was now blank. His babbling stopped. Before he could say ‘off’, the buzzer sounded on his door phone. He froze for a second and then reached for his pistol before studying the monitor to see who was outside his apartment. It showed four angles of a woman he recognised immediately.

  “You sure you should be here?” He asked

  “I think it’s early enough in your tour that no one will notice.”

  Johnson buzzed her in.

  The door closed behind her and she was then locked briefly in the security chamber which scanned her for dangerous items. The door phone display showed two blades, a telescopic baton, nylon cuffs and a pistol loaded with both sleepers and live rounds. He wasn’t about to ask her to depo
sit it before entering.

  Johnson opened the door manually to be polite and used the other hand to usher her in. He smelled her perfume again as she passed into the room, a tang of natural scents; flowers and cinnamon. He let the door close and followed her into his featureless home.

  “This is routine?”

  She turned to him.

  “I check on all first assignment officers. It’s essential after the testing process. Usually, if you make to three weeks without any problems, you’ll be fine.”

  “That’s a comfort. Why didn’t you come earlier than this? I thought the worst reactions occurred right after psych testing is over.”

  “True, but I’ve come to give you a physical check up.” She smiled. “Your behaviour we can see for ourselves.” Johnson scanned the room for optics, knowing they would be nearly impossible to locate.

  “Why wasn’t I told I’d be under surveillance in my briefings?”

  “We like to see two weeks of natural behaviour before we mention surveillance. We have a better understanding of our active officers that way.”

  “You make me sound more like an experiment than an enforcer.”

  “All the procedures are in place for good reasons. I can assure you that safety is the first priority.” She gestured towards his couch. “Why don’t you sit down and we can get the examination out of the way.”

  Johnson sank into the cushions and said, “Off.” His viewer, already blank, died. Dr. Weaver carried a small medical pack with her, the size of a wallet. She brought it out of her inside jacket pocket and approached him.

  “Take off you vest. Shoes and socks too.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll be more comfortable. This won’t take long, Officer Johnson.”

  She looked into his eyes and ears with her delicate scopes and scanned his chest and head. The tiny clicks and hums of the equipment reminded him of insects. Apparently satisfied, she replaced the small pack in her jacket.