Manic Monday: (Dane Monday 1)

by Dennis Liggio

  "Is this your secret lair?" said Dane with excitement. No one answered him.

  Before the blindfolds were removed, they went through a few doors and made a few turns. Dane guessed hallways and corridors, but he wasn’t sure. The doors sounded fairly conventional - door knobs and mechanical locks, not electronic security doors.

  One of the guards cut off the zipties and their arms fell free. When the blindfolds were removed, Dane and Abby squinted and blinked for a few moments. The room was dimly lit, but the change from dark blindfolds to light was dramatic. When they could see again, they found that the men had left the room in those few moments of disorientation. They recovered their sight in time to look at the door when it locked with an audible click.

  Leaping out of his chair, Dane immediately looked for another exit. There was a second door. He grabbed that handle and tried to open it.

  "Locked," he said. "Shouldn't be a problem, but let's check the room. And I do kind of want to see where this all leads."

  The room was a warmly lit by dim wall sconces of Avalon Brass. The room had opulent leather couches and armchairs as well as wooden side tables. The same wood was repeated in paneling and fixtures. It was an odd chestnut color. There were decorative fixtures on the walls as well as elaborate crown molding, all made of Avalon Brass.

  “I'm beginning to think you're just a bad luck charm, like a bad penny.” said Abby. "With you everything goes from bad to worse."

  “Nonsense!” said Dane, “This is exciting! Aren’t you excited?”

  “Oh yes, I'm thrilled, Dane! I am picked off the street by a man with a gun, driven while blindfolded and tied up to some unknown location, and thrown in some luckily nice room to sit and await my fate, which will probably be me being killed and stuffed in some meat locker somewhere. And this after the crazy day we had. It's incredible. And do you know something? This freaks me out more than everything else. Somehow a man with a gun is even more dangerous than robots. It feels more real."

  "Robots are real!" said Dane.

  "At least with robots I could pretend it was a dream, this is all too real."

  "Real can be exciting too."

  "Oh yes, Dane, this is just thrilling. I’ll be sure tell my grandkids this story – oh wait, I can’t, because I’ll be dead and in a meatlocker!”

  “Well, think of this as your journalistic opportunity! Trapped in a strange room by men with guns in the belly of the beast! So get your camera out and start filming!” said Dane. “Isn’t this the good stuff? Cinema Verde?”

  “Okay, first off, that’s Cinema Verite, not Cinema Verde - that would be a green movie. Second, I wouldn't want to film this in case it turned into a snuff film. Y'know, one of those low budget horror movies where it's like, 'all they found was this footage' and you sit there knowing all the people are going to die or have bad things happen to them. Except it's not fake, it's real. I don't want to be one of those people!"

  "It'll be okay," said Dane.

  "It won't be okay!" said Abby. "And thirdly, I don't have my camera. Alastair has it, remember? But speaking of, why didn't they search us? Why do you still have your bag? Why did they tie our hands but not take any of our stuff? You could have had a gun in there."

  "We've been over this! You know I don't have a gun in here," said Dane. "Technically, I have a gas-powered grapple gun in here, but that's not the same sort of gun and it's rather broken. Half the time you pull the trigger you just get a disappointed hissing noise, which is no good when you needed a quick grapple. Which is a shame. It was rarely of any essential use, but I loved that grapple gun."

  “But they didn’t know you didn’t have a gun. As far as I saw and heard, they didn’t search your bag.”

  “No, they didn’t, it's been slung across me the whole time,” said Dane. “According to experience, that means either they were confident in having more guns than me, they had some other way to protect themselves which would make my gun possession irrelevant, or they just don't think I'm a threat.”

  “If I didn’t know you, I wouldn't think you were a threat,” said Abby. “In fact, there's a part of me that isn't even sure if you're a threat to them. Though right now, I'd really love it if you were a threat. So we could, y'know, get out of here."

  “Perhaps I’m trying to lull them into a false sense of security!”

  “I'm beginning to be lulled as well,” said Abby, "And would love to see more." She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "I'm sorry, I'm being kinda bitchy. I'm just freaked out. Kidnapping and whatever. I'm not used to having to fear for my life... multiple times per day."

  "It's fine," he said. "This really isn't something to worry about, even if it looks bleak. I'm really more of a skin-of-your-teeth kind of hero. It often gets a lot worse before it gets better. But we always come out safe... eventually. With stuff blown up. So maybe there are some inconveniences. Maybe your ear drums will be a little hurt. By the way, have you considered ear plugs? I'm thinking ear plugs would be a good idea."

  "Despite your rambling, I appreciate you trying to console me. But even hearing that you always succeed at the end does little for my nerves," said Abby. "Despite your optimism, I'm always going to wonder when your luck is going to run out. No amount of protests from you are going to change that."

  "Understood," said Dane, beginning to look around the room. He began tipping and lifting chairs, either to get their weight or to see if they had a secret passage under them. Or perhaps he was just clumsy. Abby wasn't sure which.

  “Do you think that they just might be bad at all this?" said Abby. "Those men, I mean. Maybe they didn’t search your bag because they didn’t think of it?"

  “I guess they could be amateurs,” said Dane, “but I’d like to give them the benefit of the doubt! It’s no fun going up against amateurs!”

  Abby turned to him. “You really do find this exciting, don’t you? You actually want this difficult, because you want the excitement of actually being challenged and possibly killed, don't you?”

  “Well, why wouldn’t I?”

  Abby paused. "Because... because it's dangerous, I guess? Most people are afraid of danger."

  "It's not like I go searching for danger," said Dane. But then he noticed the eyebrow raised look Abby gave him. "Ahem. I mean I don't usually go searching for danger. It's just that the exciting things, the great investigations, the meaningful conflicts are usually dangerous. I don't have a death wish. I just am not afraid to risk my life... often and recklessly."

  "I think you need that on your business card..." said Abby as she looked around the room, "...or your tombstone." She shook her head. "Sorry, sorry. Freaked out again."

  "It's okay," he said. He ran his finger across the wood that was all over the room. It was a strange color that was sort of chestnut brown but not. "Do you have any idea what type of wood this is?"

  “It’s Yage Wood,” said a new voice. “It’s the only wood used in the entire building.”

  Dane and Abby turned to the speaker. While they were talking, a woman must have entered one of the doors. Lines of worry and aging marred her pretty face, putting her at forty or fifty years old. She wore a smart business suit and talked with an air of informative authority. Dane recognized her as one of the two who had helped the bandaged man out of the Egan Street apartment.

  She continued, almost as if repeating a memorized speech. “You’ll notice every wood fixture in the building is Yage wood. All the metal fixtures are of Avalon Brass, only found locally in the New Avalon mines. There is no room in the building that does not have Yage wood or Avalon Brass. Both the wood and the Brass were distinctive qualities of the building particularly specified by the Architect. While giving the building its own flavor, it has presented quite a challenge for restoration. At great expense, each needed restoration was done authentically, replacing it only with Yage wood and this Brass. A labor of love, no expense was spared by the Friends of –“

  She stopped her little speech, realizing she had almost gone too fa
r. She paused for a moment, collecting herself.

  Dane jumped forward, putting his hand out to shake hers with a big smile. “My name is Dane, this is Abby. Pleased to meet you again! Are you the person in charge here?”

  She reached out her hand slowly, saying “I’m –“ then stopped herself and withdrew her hand. She shook her head to clear her mind. “Just come with me.”

  Abby looked at Dane, who shrugged, then they followed the woman out the door. Abby wondered why the woman was willing to turn her back on them, but as they walked outside the room, she saw Kripp waiting outside. He fell into line behind Dane and Abby, his gun kept in his shoulder holster, but very visible.

  "Yage wood," said Abby in a hushed tone. "I think I know where we are."

  "The Terminus Hotel," said Dane.

  "How did you know?" asked Abby.

  "How did you?" he countered.

  "The Terminus Hotel was the architectural masterpiece of Roger Carmichael, the same man who built Avalon's Hope." Dane cocked his head and Abby explained further. "Besides Carmichael being taught about in every Avalon public school, I researched him for my story. It was built with excessive amounts of Avalon Brass, even for when it was built in the 1920s. And Carmichael had a great deal of Yage wood imported at great expense, though not all his investors felt the finished building was worth the money. But for better or for worse, it's the only building like it." As Abby finished her description, she noticed the woman leading them seemed to stiffen, as if she was listening. Abby turned back to Dane. "So how did you know?"

  "Oh, there was a pad with the hotel's letterhead in the room," said Dane.

  "You weren't going to mention that?" she said.

  "When it became relevant, yeah," he said.

  They followed the woman down a well furnished corridor of carpeting and side tables. Dane noticed Avalon Brass fixtures seemed to thread the walls of the hallway. Dane and Abby were ushered through double doors and found themselves in a large ball room. The room was filled with tables arrayed with white table cloths and flower arrangements. While it seemed set up for meal service, it was completely empty save one table.

  On one wall was a gigantic picture. Dane couldn’t tell if it was a painting, a mosaic, or some kind of fresco. In dark, rich colors it depicted some nearly naked Greco-Roman figure. In one hand he held a brilliant fire. The base colors of the picture were very dark, but the light was the true focus of the picture. Wherever the firelight illuminated, it created an amazing contrast against the darkness. Behind the figure was a dark mountain that was only hinted at.

  The woman led them through the sea of tables, but all the time Dane and Abby’s eyes were glued to the picture. Besides being impeccably painted, there was something about it that was awe inspiring, almost majestic. It was hard not to feel small while looking at that grandiose image.

  The woman ushered them over to a table that was positioned right below the picture. At the table sat a thin man. His skin was pale but pink and his head was bald. His age was difficult to determine. He was clearly an older man, but whether he was in his fifties or his seventies was unknown. In places his skin was stretched taut over sharp features, which gave the impression of a nearly emaciated and elderly person. But his skin was free from any lines of aging, smooth like a newborn child. He was dressed impeccably in a dark suit cut in a very traditional style, wearing cufflinks even as he meticulously ate dinner alone with a fork and knife. As he saw them approach, he signaled to the two chairs across the table from him, the only other chairs at the table.

  Abby sat down reluctantly, while Dane sat down still staring at the picture. The woman and Kripp retreated to a safe distance: neither intruding on the conversation, nor allowing either Dane or Abby to forget their presence.

  “It is magnificent, is it not?” said the old man.

  “Huh?” said Dane, jarred from his appreciation of the picture.

  “The painting. Prometheus stealing fire from the gods. There is no greater model for humanity than this one moment of mythology. It shows the best of humanity - the yearning for something greater, for creativity, for innovation. The very fire that burns in men's chests. Yet we live in a world where most men do their best to squash that fire in return for the bounties of mediocrity."

  Dane again looked the man over and stuck out his hand. "I'm Dane Monday, who might you be?"

  The old man chuckled, a lean and sharp sound. "I already knew your name. But a name does not give the measure of a man. Any Johnny Come Lately has a name. The question is whether that name has something to measure up against."

  "You're a funny one, aren't you?" said Dane with a smile.

  "It looks almost like Rembrandt," said Abby, staring up at the painting. "The way the light is used sparingly, contrasted against the darkness."

  The old man smiled and looked up at the painting. "You have a good eye, my dear. Yes, Rembrandt is a very good guess."

  "But he was not known to ever have done Prometheus," said Abby. She turned to meet Dane's questioning stare. "Art history class."

  The old man smiled. "No, he is not known to."

  "So who are you?" said Dane. "I know that you had us brought here at gunpoint and that this is your show, but are you really going to be this cagey and impolite? Inviting us to this dinner - of which you have not offered any, by the way - and then being evasive about your identity makes you seem weak, when it's clear you're in the position of strength. You talk about what burns in men's chests, but you seem to be hiding your own." Dane paused and smiled. "See, I can play your banter game too."

  The old man grinned. "You impress me, Mr. Monday." He clapped his hands. "Bring them dinner." He turned back to Dane and Abby, giving them an appraising glance. "My name is Roger Carmichael."

  "That name sounds vaguely familiar," said Dane, but Abby stared at the man intensely, almost dumbfounded.

  "You... you look just like him... it's uncanny..." said Abby.

  "Like who?" said Dane.

  "Roger Carmichael," she said breathlessly.

  "That's who he just said he was!" said Dane.

  "Were you not listening to me?" said Abby in exasperation. "Roger Carmichael was the architect of this building and Avalon's Hope. The man whose plans were instrumental in the design of New Avalon. All the sewers, tunnels, bridges, highways. Don't you know any of the local history?"

  "I had other things to do during school," said Dane with a shrug. "So why is that a big deal? So he's one of our important citizens."

  "Roger Carmichael, the Roger Carmichael, the famous one, disappeared in the 1920s. No one knows what happened to him. There's no way this man could be Roger Carmichael, he'd be far over a hundred years old. And he didn't have any known descendents."

  They looked to the old man, who smiled faintly, but said nothing in response.

  "So we're dealing with magic then," said Dane. Abby frowned, but the old man just stared at Dane with an intrigued look.

  Before there was further comment, the food arrived. White-clothed waiters brought out a plate of lamb shanks for Abby and Dane. Having not yet had dinner, they both decided to trust the food. Dane was used to villains and knew not to expect poison. Abby was just so hungry and the lamb shanks looked so amazing that she was willing to risk poison. New Abby would approve of that recklessness, suggesting the meal might even taste better.

  "It seems you have more than some passing familiarity with my work, Ms...?"

  "Connors, Abby Connors," she said. "And yes, I had done some research on you because I was doing a news story on Avalon's Hope."

  "Ah yes, my greatest disappointment and my most mortal betrayal," said Carmichael wistfully. "The greatest example of what happens when men let mediocrity and profits rule their hearts."

  "I'm not sure I get what you mean," she said.

  "Ah, how it all must have been forgotten. The petty struggles that are long gone, history rewritten or simply obscured by the victor. Another sign of society's decay. But I digress," said Carmichael,
taking a sip of his wine. "Avalon's Hope was created as an example. It was designed as comfortable living for all of New Avalon's residents. Worthwhile sized apartments, beautiful hallways, thicker walls for privacy, yet not too expensive to build. Not the cheapest project, but nor was it intended to be a luxury just for the affluent. By making places where all could live well, not just the rich, I envisioned a New Avalon not marred by poverty or crime, a New Avalon where men could achieve the best. I envisioned Egan as an egalitarian paradise for the new age. Even if great men excel, it is best not to forget the others; if the average man was cared for, he would not rise up, he would not turn to crime to try to take more than his share."

  "Sounds admirable," said Dane with a shrug.

  "Yes, and it would have been if my business partners followed our agreed upon plan," said Carmichael. "Leave it to lesser men to destroy vision, to destroy virtue. They took my example of a New Avalon of prosperity and gutted it. Instead of building to my design, instead of creating apartment buildings that men would be proud to live in, they denied my vision. They cut costs. They hired hack architects to take my work and reduce it in size, so they could fit more apartments per building. They took away the beauty and replaced it with ugliness to maximize profits. For the sake of money, they destroyed my vision and produced squalor for people to live in. And they started this infection of Avalon's spirit in Egan. The Egan neighborhoods are a sickness upon the city which has festered and spread. They built for mediocrity, and so mediocrity came. They blighted my designs, and their result became a blight."

  "That part of town is rather bad, but is that all just them not following your vision?" said Dane. "I'm no scholar of New Avalon's history, but surely it's not just them changing your designs. There are other reasons that Egan fell apart. You can't blame decades of crime and urban decay on the architecture!"

  "The ideals we pursue resonate with the world," said Carmichael. "I saw that in the horrors of the Great War. When I returned home, I tried to put my positive ideals into New Avalon, knowing that it would resonate with the result. I wanted Avalon to be the glory of America, a shining star. A hope for a new age. But I see how that has failed. I have seen how my vision was distorted and destroyed. I have seen the city I loved turned into a festering pit of mediocrity, depravity, and crime. In one short day I have seen the filth my beloved city has become. It deserves to die."