Glass Shore

by Stefan Jackson

  The food courts are hopping. I see lines at the noodle kiosks and falafel shops, Brazilian stew pots and Asian flash grills. With all the good smells pulling at me, I can’t believe I’m drawn to the dirty water dogs. And I’m not alone in my culinary yearning, I see over a dozen people eating and standing beneath a beautiful wrought iron sign that simply reads: HOT DOG.

  As I near the hot dog stand, I note that the walk-in closet back at Bobby’s place is larger than this guy’s shop. I nod to the lone man behind the short counter.

  “One with onions in that spicy sauce … yeah, that’s the stuff.”

  “Drink?”

  “No.”

  The tall, Latin server passes me the foot long tube of mystery meat topped with wet red stringy onions. Mouth watering and tasting the cumin, I’m about to take a bite when I notice that the guy waits for payment.

  “Scan my eyes. Either one,” I instruct the vendor.

  He whips out his pen, points it at my face and presses the black button on the unit. I see a solid thin red line.

  He checks his monitor … then nods with a big smile.

  I bite my dog and walk away.

  “Excuse me, we’d like a word.” The voice is small but firm and full of self-importance. I take another bite. I’m gonna finish this meal. And so I turn to meet the voice and see it belongs to a thin and proper man that stands as high as my nipples. He’s got two friends with Bang sticks at the ready. All three men wear tidy blue uniforms with the large and daunting insignia of the Underground Police.

  I walk and smile and say, “Yes?”

  The little man stays in step with me. He’s not sure what he’s dealing with so his manner remains polite.

  “We noticed that you don’t quite photograph, nor do you produce body heat. Yet you were cleared. No doubt that you’re a healthy normal male. Forty-two years of age. Single. No children. Baptist. Claims adjuster. Blah-blah-blah … You’re not military are you, Mr. Jack Barbarosa?”

  I continue to smile. Who gave me that name? Had to be Nikki.

  “There is coding within your visual signature. That would indicate active military. Yet you do not register as active military. So we have a point of confusion.”

  Looks like Geek, Nikki or Liz – whoever set up my profile forgot to update the blonits. I usually appear as retired military. So what line of bullshit do I feed this guy now? And I can’t take aggressive action because that will turn the place into a war zone.

  I finish my hot dog.

  Then it hits me and I do my best to keep from smiling. Let’s see if this sticks. I say, “There is a man over there that went undetected by Paws. My job is to follow him. I’m an Ambre agent.”

  I can see from the glint in his eyes that he’s running the line. Then the little guy stiffens. He breaks free of his trance and nods.

  “Sorry to inconvenience you,” he says. He’s not happy about it. He pulls away from me like fresh Velcro, keeping a hard eye in the direction of my alleged target. His buddies secure their Bang sticks as they leave the scene.

  The crowd relaxes. I feel hundreds of eyes on me, every one of them questioning how I was able to make the UP quietly go away. Hell, if the crowd knew what an Ambre agent was, they’d rush away from me as well.

  I hang out for a moment, look about the bazaar. Then I continue through the mall on my way to Yellow Bob’s. The problem is that I’ll now be tagged for the entire time I’m down here. So I have to hook up with my crew without making true contact.

  I see a blinking red light above a trash bin. All near the receptacle take a few steps back, making sure they are now standing outside the yellow circle. The bin slides into the wall. A new bin juts from the wall as I walk by. The light stops blinking.

  The tunnel music slides from Basque downbeat to insane beat and guitar.

  “So how long did it take you to realize you’re an Ambre agent?”

  The voice – you must be kidding me! No, no, no… I turn and see Griffin walking at my side.

  Practice thinking. Do not open mouth until process reaches a satisfactory conclusion. Repeat.

  And all I can ask is why? What did I do to deserve this?

  My personal Satan observes the silence.

  “You sent a clone to the restaurant. It was a clone that committed suicide.”

  “You’re talking to a clone now. You’ve never met the real me,” Griffin says.

  I find comfort in that.

  “You didn’t answer my question. How long did it take you to realize you’re an Ambre agent?”

  “I didn’t realize anything. I just ran a line of bullshit and it was golden.”

  “It wasn’t bullshit. Ambre is my division. You’re my point man, but somehow you keep forgetting that fact. And yet you fulfilled the assignment. You did the job no one else could. You got next to Nikki. You are the only person she truly trusts. We’ve had a dozen agents in her play but she always seems to catch on and all goes ice cold. But you, she likes you.

  “And then you got the Project Blue Book file but didn’t bring the prize home to papa. I thought it was all lost when Nikki kicked you to the curb, but you lived, and found her again and led us to her. Then you saved her ass!

  “We can’t seem to override or erase Geek’s original programming. You … are not like the rest. In that sense, you’ve become a true human: a pain in the ass.”

  “That’s twice I’ve found cheer in your words. Keep it up and I’ll kiss you.”

  “You see, that’s the crap the bugs me, sarcasm is not part of the encoding!”

  Griffin pulls out a pack of cigarettes. Tugs one free from the pack and quickly lights it up.

  Pressure….

  “Okay, we’ve been listening. We’re no longer in Yellow Bob’s. Moving down the line.”

  “You’re listening?” I send Geek the thought.

  “Looking and listening. I’ve got real time feed on you. Like Griffin just told you, they can’t override my program. You always have been, and always will be, my tool.”

  “So … I’m really an Ambre agent? My assignment was to get next to Nikki and secure the file for Griffin?”

  “No. To secure the file for me,” Geek states.

  “You know, she killed Ezra,” Griffin says to me between puffs. “Ezra was our contact.”

  “Sorry I lied to you, Apollo.”

  What the hell? “How are you talking to me?”

  “We’re all online with you, Liz too,” Geek says.

  “Hi Apollo. Like your outfit. Ask that asshole about my mom.”

  I ask Geek. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Keep walking and talking to him. Do whatever he asks.”

  The pressure dissipates as the tunnel music crosses over to bouncy Côte d’Ivoire pop. And Griffin and I cross over into a wonderful FunRow.

  Multitudes of beautiful women and men stand before colorful doors for rooms of eight square meters or less. All rooms have their own theme, from Tiki beach with real sand, real water to simulate surf, gas torch lamps and blazing overhead heat lamps, to concrete closets with silver steel bars and black rings set in the walls, ceiling and floor. In some cases, patrons are required to furnish their own toys; which can be purchased at the sex shops sandwiched between the studios.

  A tiny blonde dressed in a sky blue ball gown with hot white pearls and bright white heels waves at me. She opens her blue door to reveal a terrace with a Manhattan at night skyline. I note service for two at the glass table by the railing, while a shy Spanish boy-toy in white tie and tails and holding a wine bottle stands at the ready. I could jump into that fantasy.

  “You got nothing to say?” Griffin asks.

  “I’m … just … taking it all in.”

  “Stop looking at the women.”

  Like that’s gonna happen.

  “When did Nikki become an assignment? I’ve known her for years. I’ve killed dozens of people for you. I remember each and every order – direct from you. I never received an order in
any effect to track Nikki and secure files.”

  “This is just insane … I’m arguing with a machine,” Griffin says.

  “Screw you! You’re the real artificial life form. Damn clone. In fact, that’s all clones are good for – sex. Expensive as all hell but you make great sex toys.”

  “And you’re a great tool that’s good for nothing. Pull out your cell phone right now and contact Geek.”

  I shake my head. “Lost my cell in Geek’s mot. Along with my wallet. That’s why I had to give blood at the gate. No Lifecard.”

  Griffin nods. “Okay, didn’t understand that … I thought you were reaching out to us. It helped me find you. That’s how I got to you so quick. So where are you going to meet them?”

  “Reaching out to you?”

  “Shut up. Where are you meeting Geek?”

  “I’m not. I came down here to hide. We did that scatter thing.”

  “Here, call Geek.” Griffin hands me his phone. We stand in the middle of the strip. I glance over at the tall brunette cheerleader standing by a neon yellow door. She blows a bubble and quickly snaps it. She smiles, I smile then politely turn away.

  Now I face a sex shop called Magical Thinking. The slender window adjacent to the business entrance displays herbal and pharmaceutical enhancements and aphrodisiacs in pure root, pills, powder, liquid and ampoules.

  Suddenly under pressure… “Apollo – turn off his phone,” Geek orders.

  “Why?”

  “Because when you turn it on again, it’ll display his IP code. I can track that to true Griffin’s real location.”

  I turn off the phone. We hear the tiny familiar beeps that indicate disconnect.

  “What the hell?” Griffin snaps at me.

  “Wrong button. Can’t stop looking at pussy,” I say with my eyes on the sour-faced redhead looking for someone to punish.

  “Idiot!”

  I reboot the unit. We hear the universal uplink ping.

  And there’s the IP display.

  No pressure.

  “Got signal. Now waiting for green light,” I advise an anxious Griffin.

  I watch a couple exit a studio with a silver flecked door. The guy walks away with a smile in his step. The girl fusses with her hair. The set is a dark alley, trashcans along both walls and litter on the ground. I see a knife on the ground. Then the lights come on in the studio. I see two guys in yellow suits enter the studio through a hidden back door. They begin to sanitize the set. Housekeeping, not a way I want to make money. Like pulling a watch from a giraffe’s ass. I pass.

  I punch in Geek’s number.

  NO SERVICE appears on the tiny monitor of Griffin’s phone.

  “He must have lost his cell too,” I say.

  “Call the others,” orders Griffin.

  “What about Liz’s mom?” I ask as I dial up Liz.

  NO SERVICE appears on the screen.

  “What about her?”

  “Why not let her go?”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because she has nothing to do with anything.”

  “You got one more call to make.”

  I call Nikki.

  NO SERVICE appears on the screen. “Nada. No one is home. Now, if you were to pass legislation that would allow civilians to have access to similar mental communications as the military, police and fire, then we’d be in contact with someone at this point.” I give the phone back to him.

  Griffin laughs at me as he pockets his phone. He smokes his cigarette with glee.

  “That’ll never happen,” Griffin states. “What I can’t believe is that with all the new body modifications Geek has made with you, that he didn’t put in a direct line. I can’t believe he can’t contact you.”

  Griffin looks me in the eyes and says, “Hi Geek. I’m sure you’re monitoring this Creep. You’ve got one hour to come to the Flatiron. You, Liz and Nikki. If you’re a minute late, I’ll kill Liz’s mother. Then I’ll really start messing things up. I want you. I want specific operational details for that special blue light. I want the Jump One file. One hour.”

  Griffin turns and walks away.

  “What about me?”

  “What do you think?” he says without looking at me.

  Well, I think I ought to be there.

  I wonder what Geek, Liz and Nikki think? I’m sure they’ll tell me in a moment.

  I also think I have time for a quickie. But I always think that. Trouble is, either I follow Griffin, back to the main exit, or I continue down FunRow and sex will happen.

  Let me follow Griffin. If I keep my eyes on him it will keep my dick in place.

  Standing before a matte green door is a very pretty Asian woman with the hottest eyes … she wears a simple silver teddy. Damn! But I keep walking.

  Two plain-looking girls dressed as Americana housewives are engaged in a shouting match in front of an orange door. Now they grapple and punch and buttons fly from white blouses and pearls shower down … The tall, firm blonde with big red lips tosses her cigarette to the ground and pushes the thinner blonde into the studio and four clients rush to follow the fighting girls into a clean kitchen set with the morning sun streaming through rose-patterned drapes over a porcelain sink.

  Keep walking and keep your eyes on Griffin – how the hell did the fat clone get so far ahead?

  I pick up my step. I can see the start of the bazaar. It’s like a sick race to make it out of FunRow without paying. I’ve never made it out of one before. Never even thought about trying to. What’s the point? I like to cruise a FunRow as long as I can and until that particular fantasy just slaps me in the face and grabs my dick with a vengeance.

  Real funny thing is that human behavioral scholars design most of these fantasies. The FunRow is actually a working lab for behavior therapy. Therapists will recommend studios to their clients. The actors are provided scripted flowcharts and costumes and speech cues; aromas, fabrics, mementos and fetishes that will best succeed with the client. The client may have a wonderful sexual encounter, or just a heartfelt conversation with a kindred spirit, all with the belief that they have been in charge or control of the event.

  And I win. I guess. Off FunRow with no cash or dreams spent. I wade lightly through the static bazaar crowd because I don’t want to catch up to Griffin.

  Can’t believe that Geek hasn’t reached out to me.

  I rush through the barrier, exchanging rocking tunnel music for the normal din and flutter on the public platform. It feels like every law enforcement agent on the platform is looking at me. I’m sure some will physically tail me while command watches me on the monitors.

  I walk up the exit ramp. Before me reads, Mkeyinc Inc. Business at its Best. I laugh as I walk through the shimmering mercury advert.

  The sun is fading. Soft amber streetlights wash over the avenue. Once again, I marvel as I glance up at the buildings. A harsh setting sun forces colors to dance off the faceted panels of the ultra tall buildings. It’s like looking at stars, only not.

  39

  “Apollo!”

  Nikki. I look around and spot her waving hand on from a cab. I bull ahead, bumping into a few people who aren’t moving fast enough, or are just in my way.

  I get into the cab. Geek, Liz and Nikki. I relax because this is home. I’m not angry with my family even though they have all used me in some capacity during the last twenty-four hours. I appreciate the proper use of tools.

  “You got the message?” I ask, completely aware of the answer.

  Geek nods.

  “Oh yeah,” says Liz.

  “He’s an asshole,” says my future wife. Nikki and I lock eyes. Her eyes are the greatest. With her at my side, I could be happy watching grass grow.

  Silence. I look at the citizens on the street. Happy, smiling people at work, walking tiny pets, or walking and talking.

  “So did you figure out where real Griffin is?” I ask.

  “He’s here in the city. Having dinner at Ernesto’s.”

>   “What are we going to do?” I ask.

  “Kidnap him,” Nikki states.

  I nod. “Okay. Trade his life for Liz’s mom. I get it.”

  “A little deeper than that,” Geek says. “No disrespect Liz. Securing your mother is important but not the main goal. We’ve thought this out and it’s a viable course of action.”

  “We?” I start and Geek pats the air in a calming fashion.

  “Everybody works for somebody. I work for somebody. Griffin is the party nominee for the next presidential cycle because he has a lot of power. As does my boss but he’s in the minority pipeline. So we’ve figured out how to make this work for us.”

  “Do tell,” Nikki says.

  “Offer Griffin’s clone the chance for life,” Geek replies.

  Silence. Liz’s face is twisted in disgust. Nikki shakes her head.

  I get it. “Clones only live for three years. We offer this clone access to real Griffin’s DNA. He makes a new body when required. We erase owner protocols so that the clone gets to make his own decisions. He gets to live his own fantasies.”

  Geek nods. “Politically, we’ll make his decisions. That’s all we care about.”

  The girls still don’t like it.

  Liz says, “Won’t people get suspicious if Griffin goes against the party?”

  “What about Griffin’s internal security?” Nikki asks. “Clones have a direct link to the master. Once we offer the deal to the clone, real Griffin will immediately be aware. And clones are registered and tagged with life clocks. So how do you make a new clone without the million and one steps required by the government?”

  “Plus real Griffin must remain alive to initiate new clones. You can’t clone the dead,” I state.

  Geek replies, “Griffin’s clone was not coded nor had a life clock. My old mot would have made me aware of that. I will ask the clone where he was created.

  “As far as the party goes, Griffin and Gliddin are the independent thinkers for their party. They’ve been at the helm in one way or another for better than twenty years. Griffin has reversed his positions many times in the past. As he goes, so does the party.”