by J Battle
Oh no, I thought.
They were checking all of his known associates, the report continued.
Oh damn, I thought.
I really need to learn some more effective expletives, I thought as I began to delete all history of searches involving the recently deceased from my computer.
So, to sum up my position; a man was dead, and I'd just given his address to Mr. Grimm, and the man was dead, and any investigation at all would track down my searches, and connect me to Mr. Watt, who was now dead.
And Mr. Grimm was probably on his way already to my office to get the addresses of the other two men, so that he could kill them as well.
At least, I thought, I haven't got their addresses, so it will all end there.
What I relief, I thought.
Then a little voice in my head said, what will Grimm do when he gets here and I don't have the addresses, and he can tell from my face that I know what he's done?
Sounded like a situation where I should make myself scarce.
Then the front door slammed, and I jumped, and came very close to needing a change of underwear.
I looked desperately around my office for something that might pass in the right light for a weapon. All I found was a silver pen, and it's not true, you know, about the pen being mightier than a sword. In any given fight, I'll take the sword every time.
Then Sam walked in, and I could have hugged him, if we'd had a huggy sort of relationship.
'Hi,' he said, adjusting the positioning of his hat, 'you're in early.'
'I am,' I said, 'I had… if you weren't expecting me to be here, why are you here?'
'I always come at this time.'
My face may have given away my puzzlement.
'For coffee, and the quiet sit. And they don't know I'm here.'
I decided that it wasn't the right time to delve into the misconceptions of his convoluted mind.
'Come on, we’ve got to go.'
'But…I've only just got here.'
I grabbed him by the shoulders and spun him around until he faced the door.
'We have to go now, before he comes.'
It was a sufficiently vague imperative to get Sam moving, as he has a fear of the non-specific.
We almost reached the front door; we almost made it. But we were too slow.
'Hello Mr. Chandler,' he said, with one eye on me, and the other on Sam, 'you got want I came for?'
'I…no. I was just…'
I stopped because he was shaking his head, in that 'whatever you say is going to be wrong' sort of way. He was also holding up a very big knife. And it wasn't the sort your mum would use to carve a joint of meat; it was broad and shiny, and it had far too many jagged teeth for my liking.
'Just tell me, son,' he said, and his voice sounded quite gentle and sad, as if he was about to say this is going to hurt me a lot more than it hurts you.
'Look, let's just calm down now, and put away the knife and we can talk all about it.' It sounded like the right thing to say, even though my voice was shaking a little too much to be really convincing.
'Just give me the addresses, and no-one needs to get hurt,' Grimm said, waving the knife by way of emphasis, which didn't really give me a warm feeling that he was speaking the truth.
'I don't…I don't have the addresses.' There, I'd told him.
The knife fell still, hanging in the air between us. Both his eyes settled on my face, and he raised one eyebrow.
The pause might have lasted as long as 30 seconds; it just felt like 30 hours.
'Yet,' I said, at last, because I couldn't hold out any longer.
You try it; it's not easy facing up to an armed thug with only right and a silver pen on your side.
'Good,' he said, as he lowered the knife, 'get to it then. I want it all sewn up by noon.'
He might have said more, or he might have waved his knife about a bit, just to be sure that I fully understood the situation I was in. He didn't do those things because Sam hit him over the head with a sock, and he fell to the ground like a man who has been hit by something considerably harder than a sock.
'Come on!' said Sam, as he stepped over the unconscious thug.
'Shouldn't we tie him up, or something?' I asked, hesitating. In films, you always tie up the bad guy, usually just before you get the girl.
But Sam was gone, and I was alone, standing over a thug who was becoming less unconscious with every second, and you know what I think about confrontation.
So, I went after Sam.
The street outside the office was empty, which wasn't a surprise to me. You don't find Sam unless he wants to be found, and usually, he doesn't.
I checked my watch. Where could he go at this time of the day, with the pubs still closed?
There was only one answer.
I looked back at the entrance to my office, and thought about the awakening thug. It was close, but that prospect was even worse than breakfast at Joey's Café.
I ran.
I ran away from the certain danger of evisceration at the hands of Mr. Grimm, and towards the undoubted but less specific danger of Joey's Café. I'll be alright, I thought, as long as I don't eat anything, or drink anything, and don't use the bathroom.
When I reached Joey's Café, I stopped for a moment to catch my breath. I wasn't very fit, and I'd run something like a quarter of a mile, so I felt I deserved a moment to myself.
You can't see inside Joey's Café, though it is surrounded by windows. They are just so dirty that you can't see through them.
Sam was sitting at a table by the door, with a large mug of tea in front of him. Fortunately, he hadn't completely lost his senses and ordered something to eat.
'Hi,' he said, rubbing his thumb against an unidentifiable, but certainly grubby, and maybe life threatening mark on the outside of his mug.
'Well,' I said, as I joined him at the table, trying not to think of the germs my bottom was coming into contact with, even through my pants. 'That was something.'
He nodded, and I watched with considerable trepidation as he brought the mug up to his lips. At the last moment, he seemed to realise what he was doing, and he lowered the mug without taking a drink.
'You know,' I said, 'it looked as if you hit him over the head with your sock.' I laughed.
Sam nodded. 'I did. I always carry a sock full of sand on a Thursday. Just in case.'
'Why…' I knew I shouldn't ask, but sometimes, even when you've known Sam as long as I have, you have to ask. 'Why on a Thursday?' You'll notice that I wasn't asking about the carrying of a sock full of sand per se; it was just the day that puzzled me.
'Thursday. You know? Thursday.'
I shrugged. He wasn't making any sense to me; not even the tenuous, one finger still in touch with reality sense I was expecting.
'Thursday. Named after the Norse God of Thunder. More properly pronounced Thor's Day. Need I say any more?'
I may have tried to come up with some sort of answer, but I failed.
If you understand what he meant, I'll take answers on a postcard, please.
Chapter 6 Then, getting Grimm
'What made you hit him, anyway?' I asked, somewhat later.
We'd survived the threat of all sorts of hideous illnesses at Joey's Café, although it was a close-run thing, and I did have an itch that I don't want to talk about.
We'd made our way to the Horses Bed, which likes to open its doors early for the racing, and we'd sat down to our first pint of the day. A little early, I admit, but it was happy hour somewhere in the world.
'What d'you mean?'
'Why did you hit him, out of the blue like that? I was going to talk him around.'
Sam raised one eyebrow, as if he was going to challenge that last statement. Then he seemed to relent.
'I had to; he mentioned noon.'
'Oh,' I said,' and…?'
'I told you. Yesterday, I think; yes.'
'What did you tell me? Specifically; you tell me a lot.'
'About the Law & Order AI coming on stream.'
'At noon?'
'Yes; on the dot.' He checked his watch; he doesn't have a wrist-top, for obvious reasons. 'We've got 90 minutes before our lives are changed forever.'
'No,' I said, 'it won't make that much difference. They're not putting up extra cameras, or anything.'
Sam sighed, and I knew that I was in for a bit of a lecture. Sam can never understand why I don't see the world in quite the way he does.
'Look, it's simple really. You're right; they won't be adding extra cameras. They don't need to; we're already pretty well plastered with the things, watching everything we do, and taking our temperatures.'
'They take our temperatures?' Despite my best intentions, it's easy to get caught up in Sam's delusions.
'Of course, so they can identify us when it's dark.'
'OK.' I nodded.
'What you don't realize, and no-one else either, is that, even though we have had all these cameras looking down on us for years, nobody looks at the captured content.'
'The captured content? That's like, the pictures and the videos?'
'Of course. So, nobody looks, 'cause who's got the time? Well, that's going to change, in 82 minutes.' He nodded for emphasis, and took a long pull on his pint.
'So, the Law & Order AI will have the time?'
'Yes; time means nothing to them; you know that. I've told you before.'
It's quite possible that he had told me before, but time does mean something to me, and with so many words that all sound the same coming from his mouth, he can hardly expect me to pay attention to every single one.
'So you hit him because…?' It’s not just me, is it? This is hard work.
'He knew about the deadline, and he wanted to kill them blokes before then, and probably us as well.'
When you knew Sam as well as I did, it made a kind of sense.
'So, what do we do about Grimm?'
He finished his pint, and then he nodded towards the bar, in an I-think-it-might-be-your-round sort of way.
'But I got the last,' I protested, knowing that I was going to lose, again.
'When you come back from the bar, I'll tell you what you are going to do.'
I did as I was told and we were soon both sitting before cold glasses of wonderful gold.
'Well?' I said, by way of a prompt.
He looked at his watch once more.
'In 74 minutes, you're going to call the Lord & Order AI, and you are going to tell it that a Crime Against Others has been committed.'
'A Crime Against Others? What's that?'
'Don't you follow the news at all, Phil?'
'I watch the weather forecast; that's part of the news.'
'From Noon, when the Lord & Order AI ramps up, there will only be Three Crimes. Crimes Against Oneself, Crimes Against Others, and Crimes Against the State.'
'That's it? What about robbery?'
'Crimes Against Others.'
'And, what, suicide is a Crime Against Oneself?'
'Only attempted suicide. Successful suicide can't be a Crime, because the perp is dead.'
'What happens when I report him?'
'He'll be arrested and squirted to Gotcha!, the new orbital prison platform.'
'And where will you be while I'm reporting Grimm to the AI?'
'I'll be nowhere, Phil. You won't know who I am, you won't know where I live…'
'Are you moving out of your mum's, then?'
'You won't even remember my name.' He stood up, and began to move silently away from the table.
'Sam,' I said.
He hesitated, and then he half turned towards me.
'See,' I said, softly, 'I still remember your name.'
Then he was gone, and I was left looking at his half-drunk glass of beer, wondering about the etiquette of finishing it for him.
After a moment's consideration, I reached over for his glass.
It's what he would have wanted.
Chapter 7 Now, But…it's all black!
'So, there you have it folks; my first case, and how I started on the road that brought me fame (well, just a little) and fortune (I was for a very brief time, the richest man in the Universe, and not many people can say that).' (Perhaps the guy who actually is the richest man in the Universe? You know, for more than 30 seconds? N.F.)
'If you have any questions…'
A lady in the second row puts up both hands and jiggles about a bit. I try my best not to notice, but she is a woman, and she has breasts, and she is jiggling.
'Yes, Miss…?' I say, hoping she'll stop with the jiggling.
'What happened to Grimm?' she asks; all sort of breathless.
'Well, that's a good question. He was picked up by agents of the Law & Order AI. In fact, he was the very first criminal to be arrested this way. I think he was more than a little surprised to be arrested, tried, convicted, and squirted to Gotcha! In little more than an hour.'
'Will Sam be here soon?' Not him again.
'Or Julie; what about Julie?'
'And Strange; you haven't even mentioned Strange. Can we meet Strange?'
'I'm sorry. Strange is not in this story, nor is he in the new…'
The lawyer leans closer and mutters into my ear.
'He may not be in the new book.'
'But he's so…' She seems lost for words, so I help her out.
'So, moving on, a little reading from the new book: N…'
The lawyer again, and I don't mind saying that he's really getting on my nerves.
'What d'you mean?' I hiss; trying to smile at my audience at the same time. You try it; it's not at all easy. 'What d'you mean, we can't tell them the title?'
He smiles in a sort of, I don't have to tell you anything sort of way.
'OK,' I say; always ready for any situation, 'let's carry on with a reading from…the new book, number 3 in the These Foolish Things series.'
The lawyer hands me the book, and this time he has a smug, I know what's coming next sort of smile. I'll give him that; he knows his smiles.
'OK.' I took a sip from a glass of water, and then I open the book. 'I'm going to start at…'
I stopped then, because I couldn't go any further.
I turned to the lawyer. 'What's all this, then?' I say, waving my hand at my book.
He seems to speak without moving his lips.
'It has been redacted,' he says, in a slimy sort of, so there! way.
'But…it's all black!'
'It's all been redacted, because it is all to be kept under wraps until the launch date.'
'But…you knew I was going to read from it!'
'I knew you were going to try. Your failures are not within my remit.'
'But, what am I supposed to do now?'
'Do you know any good jokes?'
I give him one of my dirty looks, and then I turn to the audience.
'I'm sorry folks, but apparently I'm not allowed to read from the new book, even though that's half the reason you're all here. If you want to find out what happens, you're going to have buy a copy of Nobody Puts a Fool in a Corner. There's a satisfying groan from the lawyer.
'Thank you and good night.' I bow, and wait for the applause.
Still waiting.
(Now readers, as you've missed out on the dubious pleasure of an excerpt from the next torrid installment in Phil's story, perhaps now would be a good time to mention my heroic saga of Pixies, entitled The Eventual Glistening, starring…where are you all going? Don't leave. You'll like this. It's got Pixies, and everything. Just…don't go; not all of you. You, sir. You, madam. Please…N.F.)
Appendix II The Eventual Glistening
(You're going to like this; believe me. I would put it in bold so it stands out, but the quality of the writing and the narrative stand out all by themselves. N.F.)
Volume 1 (of 27)
Part 1 (of 17)
Chapter 1
His long fingers rubbed… Blah, blah, blah…the end.
It’s just not fair. This was my opportunity to put my work before a wider audience and now...well, it’s not fair, is it?
You should complain, because you are the ones who are missing out on an opportunity to be amazed.
If you want to see what you have missed out on, you could go to: [email protected]
Click on the tab for The Eventual Glistening. You will not be disappointed, I assure you. It will certainly take the sour taste of Phil from your mouth, if you forgive the expression. Forever your Narrative Facilitator. N.F.)
Postscript
‘Well, Philip. Is this all you hoped for?’
‘What do you mean?’ I say, as I take a moment to stretch.
‘Are you not a little bored?’
‘Bored? Why would I be bored? I’m living in this tree with the woman I love. What else could I want?’
‘Have you noticed a certain coolness lately from your young lady?’
‘I think you’ll find that she was very warm towards me last night, if you know what I mean.’
There is no immediate response from Neville, which isn’t good, and I’m sitting up now, and beginning to feel a little tense. He can do that to me with just a couple of questions and a short period of silence.
‘What’s wrong?‘ I say, because I know something’s not right, and the sooner I know about it…hang on a minute, perhaps I don’t want to know about it, because it might be bad and unpleasant, and I might have to do something about it.
‘Tell me all about it, Neville; but, tell me tomorrow.
‘What do you know about the local breeding imperatives, Philip?’
‘What! I don’t like the sound of…well, not much, I suppose. What’s to know?’
‘The Felari are much less fecund than humans, and, on average, a heathy mating pair will have 1.3 children.’
‘How do you even have 0.3 of a child?’
‘Don’t be deliberately obtuse, Philip. It is a mean average, not a model average.’
