The Liquidation Order

by Jett Lang

  Head hanging, Jack shambled off to their dimly-lit kitchenette counter. “And a slice of that blueberry cheesecake,” she called.

  “You’re right next to the fridge. You get it, princess.”

  “I’m not a princess, and you owe me.” She snapped her fingers.

  He returned with her monetary spoils, opened the mini-fridge with a sweeping gesture and withdrew the polystyrene box. Out of his back pocket, he produced a fork and pierced the dessert Excalibur-deep.

  “Happy?” Jack said.

  “For the moment.” His bundle of credits vanished. “You’re really bad at gambling,” she said around a mouthful of cheesecake.

  “Can’t be bad at a game of chance. You’re either lucky or you’re not.”

  “It’s not about chance, though; it’s about skill.”

  “Bullshit. For the racer, not for you.”

  “Oh yeah? Is that how I robbed you blind the past three nights? Dumb luck?”

  “Unless you have insider information, then yeah, dumb luck.”

  She regarded him slyly, took another bite. Their check-in attendant had not exaggerated the quality of the food. “I’ve wanted to ask you something for a while now, Jack.”

  He turned the volume down. “Shoot.”

  “You remind me of someone back home. Central Intelligence guy. Murdoc. Does that name ring any bells?”

  “Should it?”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “You don’t back off when you’re committed, do ya? That was in your profile. ‘Determined’.”

  “Don’t sidetrack me.”

  “Not sidetrackin’, sister.” He toyed with the remote. “Just havin’ a conversation.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “Why?”

  She leaned in. Closer. “Because I’m interested.”

  “In what?”

  “In you, foolish man.”

  “Soundin’ to me like you’re interested in my old man, man.”

  “He’s a bit too dated for me. I like the newer model.”

  “You are horrendous at flirtin’.” Jack couldn’t find the right configuration for his legs. Crossed his ankles atop the fridge. Left leg on top. Right leg on top. “This is an interrogation.”

  “Yes, it is,” she said. “I’ll let you in on a gender secret: We interrogate, it’s what we do. Some of us are subtler than others, but that’s the only real difference. We’re difficult to satisfy, not to understand.”

  “You’re of a mood, aren’t ya?”

  Queen put her now-empty takeout box aside, swung her leg over to straddle Jack’s lap. “Accurate,” she breathed. She kissed behind his ear. Smell of hotel shower gel, aftershave. Musky, a little sweet.

  “Well, this quickened.” Yet his hands traversed her bare thighs.

  “Don’t sound so worried; it’s only lusting.”

  “In that case . . . .”

  His lips weren’t upon hers for a second before the power went dead. The backup generator kicked in and restored their brass-colored lamplight. Jack groaned when he pulled away. He leaned sideways and picked up the shotgun propped against the couch.

  “I should check that out.”

  She still tasted him on her lips, cool yet somehow warm. “I’ll come with.” Queen plucked her machine pistol from underneath an emerald cushion.

  “Are ya sure you’re up for that?”

  “Look at you, being protective.” She walked her fingers down his overpriced tropical shirt. Hard muscle beneath. Jack picked up her hand, laced his fingers with hers.

  “You gonna get off?”

  “I was thinking about it.” She ground against him, felt him harden.

  “Definitely of a mood, this one,” he said.

  Queen laughed. “Okay, I’ll save it for later.”

  She climbed off. Wiggled her bare toes in the plush carpet – velvet strands. She slipped into her leather sandals and met Jack by the opened doorway. He raised his hand to stop her, peered out.

  “Alright, let’s find out what’s goin’ on.” Jack soldiered down the corridor, Queen behind him. The directional arrows at the intersection of the hall branched off to the pool and exercise center.

  “Hey, reception is the other way, Jack.”

  He carded open the pool entrance. She quirked a brow, followed along. A late night swimmer was doing laps in a buoyed lane, waves of light undulating on the white ceiling above him. He wore thin goggles and swim trunks, both bright orange. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, relatively in shape. His iron-grey hair was matted over his ears. He spotted Jack and waved. Jack returned the gesture.

  “Packing heat there, son,” the man said. “Have my shareholders finally had enough of me?” His pearly whites clashed with his tan. She saw a .44 magnum on a towel close to him, but instead of wading toward it, he swam over to them. His elbow braced on the blue-tiled edge, his shoulders taut. He stared up at them. Grey eyes.

  “Just checkin’ on the outage, sir. Makin’ sure there’s no funny business.”

  “You’re too polite to be an assassin anyway. They never wave back.” He pulled himself out of the water. An old, jagged scar ran diagonally along his torso. He rubberbanded his dripping goggles to his forehead and looked between the two of them, as if appraising them. Stared a bit too long at Queen. Such was the price she paid for wandering around in shorts and a low-cut top.

  “Did you see anythin’?” Jack said. “Anyone strange?”

  “Stranger than your albino woman?” the man said. “Can’t say I have, son. Been here for an hour or so, and haven’t heard a peep before you two arrived.” He didn’t take his eyes off Queen. She made a show of checking her gun.

  Jack said, “We’ll be going, then. I’m sure the front desk has an answer.”

  “This one your wife?” The swimmer said abruptly. He sounded like he was ordering her from a menu.

  “Yes.” Jack took Queen by the hand and pushed the glass exit aside.

  When they were back in the hall, the man stayed at the door, saluted them. Arrow-glow lit his round face lime green.

  “You see how he was looking at me?” Queen said.

  “Yeah, I saw. Ain’t a thing we can do, though. Guy is upper echelon. Untouchable.”

  “Like your father?”

  “How else would I know?” he snapped.

  “Hey, don’t get catty with me, Mister Directionless.” She gripped his hand.

  Jack squeezed, smiled down at her. It was the first genuine smile she’d seen in some time. She returned it.

  “I lied,” she said as they entered the lobby.

  One male hotel-goer in a bathrobe and slippers berated the redhead receptionist from before. She politely handed him a reimbursement ticket, and he slapped it out of her hand.

  “I wouldn’t be here if I couldn’t afford the room, you stupid bitch. I want assurances that the power won’t go off again. Can you promise me that?”

  The redhead fingered at the ticket. “No, sir.”

  “I won’t be staying here again if it happens. You understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned away from her. Her expensive face soured.

  Similarly rich whiners filled the void he left. Some seemed more receptive to the reimbursement tickets, many more did not. Queen didn’t envy the redhead’s position.

  “Lied about what?” Jack leaned against a pillar of vined marble.

  “The lusting,” she said.

  “And here I was thinkin’ I had my mornin’ figured out.” Then it dawned on him. “You mean it’s more than lusting.”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  He looked around the lobby. “What happened to that girl I came here with? Is she grindin’ on someone else’s junk now? Shoot, I thought I had a chance.”

  She smacked him on the forearm. “Asshole.”

  “As long as this isn’t leading to marriage,” he said.

  “I want to have a meaningful relationship, so of course not.”
/>   “Dodged that bullet. We’re still havin’ sex later, right?”

  “I am. Don’t know about you, though,” Queen said. “Let’s find the reason for the power outage first.”

  Jack waded through the crowd to the dimpled receptionist.

  On the return to their room, he told her it had been a solar generator malfunction along the coast – had affected the entirety of Angel Bay. The receptionist was not at liberty to divulge any more than that, since security was still on-site and investigating. She advised Jack to wait until tomorrow, get some rest in the meantime. Queen advised Jack to strip down and get in her bed. Jack ended up going with her suggestion.

  ※

  Queen awoke at seven A.M. Jack was slumbering on his side, faced away from her. His breathing was quiet and rhythmic, a sound that soothed. She padded over to her zigzag bag and retrieved a pair of navy blue cargo pants and a dark tank top. She knelt on the floor beside him, poked his chest.

  “No,” he said, groggy.

  “Breakfast,” she said. “Get dressed and let’s have some.”

  He blinked and palmed the sleep from his eyes. “The taskmistress arises. ‘Time is it?”

  “Sevenish. Sleep well?”

  Jack sat up. White sheets clung to his body, and he smelled of dried sweat. “I did.” He peeled off the sheets, favored her with a smile. “Look at you, all happy.”

  “I’ll be happier with waffles.”

  “And I’ll be happier with a shower.” He delivered a kiss to her lips, then made for the bathroom.

  She watched the door shut. Perhaps this was as it should be – what she deserved after career fallout. Focusing on the now, the future didn’t seem so nagging and unattainable. There was pleasure to be had in the present.

  With these thoughts on her mind, she joined him for a shower.

  ※

  The Bistro was busy. They were seated at a booth overlooking a redwood biome, the trees so massive that their tops threatened to lance the cumulus clouds. Their waiter was an energetic black man possessing a photographic memory of the menu. He had tried every dish, and, personally, found a “kinship” with the eggs Benedict. His sales pitch worked on Jack, but Queen went for the blueberry waffles. No amount of salesmanship could dissuade her otherwise. They both ordered orange juice.

  As Queen nursed her tall glass, she looked around at the other tables. The patrons were garbed in polyester biking suits or swimwear and t-shirts. Somehow, Jack, in his vibrant tropical shirt, managed to appear less touristy. The old guy from the pool wasn’t anywhere in evidence, but there were plenty just like him. Upper crust directors and sub-chiefs laughing and carrying on. They discussed propositions and contracts in lingo personalized to their businesses.

  Only a short time ago, these were her unseen clients. She had probably fulfilled liquidation orders for every corporate head in this room at one time or another. A troublesome ex-wife, a rebellious programmer, or a small business owner cutting too large a portion of the market: each of these and more ended by her for a lucrative salary. Where did she fit into things now? Now that her gravy train was derailed?

  “Don’t stare too intensely; you might burn a hole through their skulls,” Jack said.

  “I wouldn’t mind,” she said. A pause. Then, “It’s strange that no one has pursued us, considering what I did. Have you heard anything?”

  “Boss said he’d contact me when things cooled off city-side. No call yet, but we’re covered at this place till the weekend. If there’s still no call by check-out time, then I’m to improvise. There are cheaper hotels than this, luckily.” Jack extracted the cutlery from his folded white napkin and meticulously arranged them. Polished silver.

  “I don’t like it.”

  “We didn’t leave a trail for anyone to follow. As far as New Paradise is concerned, you were fired and left the city. To where? No one knows. This is strictly off the books.”

  “Not that I mind in the slightest, but how long are you assigned to me?”

  “As long it takes. Boss said our profiles were compatible, said it’d be a good fit. Turns out he was right. Maybe a tiny bit more than he hoped.” A self-assured smile edged along his mouth.

  “You must have lied on your profile. It’ll never work out between us. You’re an eggs Benedict man and I’m a waffle girl.”

  “You’d eat anything with blueberries in it.” Laughter a couple booths behind Jack. Too loud.

  She peered out at the redwoods. “This is surreal. You get the training, land the career, and fall into a routine to pay off the debt. Then they sweep the rug out from under you, right when you’re really coasting. You think it’ll go on forever, that you’ll somehow be safe because you’re good at what you do, because the company needs you. But that’s not true; someone with your drive and your ability is waiting on the sideline for the moment when you fail. There’s a hundred more attempting to fill your place.” She drew a frown in the condensation of her glass. “But I don’t want them to have it. It’s mine.”

  “I hear ya, sister,” Jack said. “After I lost my medical license, I was full of bile.”

  “I knew the target had tampered with the recovery room somehow, but a bomb crew never could have shown up in time. Not in a million years. I knew that. I made the right call.” She clenched her hand into a fist.

  Jack rested his hand atop hers. “Everyone who matters knows you did. The politics are against you, simple as that. They don’t kill people with records like yours anyway. This will pass, you’ll be rehired, and it’ll all seem like a bad dream later on.”

  “Not all bad, I guess.” She half-smiled and looked over at him.

  The waiter returned with their order in tow, laid out the ample and temperature-regulated plates. He pressed a button under the rim of the dishes, and the hot surfaces cooled.

  “If you need anything else, call me over.” He turned and walked elsewhere to serve those rich and ever-hungry mouths.

  Jack pierced the yoke of his egg. Orange-yellow oozed down over the ham and muffin. “We should go to the city, take your mind off things here. You don’t seem too keen on the forests, and I need to scout hotels in case we’re in this for the long haul.”

  “Hm.” Queen kept her fork poised against her lower lip, chewing.

  “Can rent a couple bicycles, make a day out of it.”

  “Well now you’re being overly idyllic. It does sound like a nice change of pace, though. I need to spend some of my severance on things I don’t need.”

  “Like shoes?” Jack said.

  “And a pretty dress for you.”

  “Nicely played.”

  ※

  Angel Bay’s metropolitan wharf was home to kiosk salesmen, serial purchasers, and boaters. Vivid holographic signage ran parallel across the main coastal drag, the sound of seagulls calling close at hand. Twin cobblestone roadways were divided by a centralized island, where cyclists could, for a small fee, secure their bikes in large, thin alloy cases. Traffic flowed smoothly, consisting exclusively of bicycles and solar-engine scooters. The riders wore loose, lightly-colored clothing and appeared as blasé as humanly capable. Same for the pedestrians.

  Between the kiosks, the ocean loomed grey-blue, spraying against the white fiberglass docks. A decorated yacht captain in crisp, white naval attire stood beside a three-story cruiser. He watched the sea, cigarette smoke curling up past his receding grey hairline. An attendant leaned against a steel railing and said something Queen could not hear. The captain turned, his expression decorous, and replied. Then they both disappeared into the white belly of the cruiser.

  “Ever been on a boat before?” Jack had an arm around her waist as they crossed to the seaside stores.

  “Only for business,” she said.

  “Always thought it’d be sweet to own one. A speedboat, maybe. There’s some pretty modestly-priced rental docks south of here, too.”

  “But only for citizens, right?”

  “Yeah, that’s the problem. They’re not to
o big on people with dual citizenship in the real estate and rental markets. Space is at a premium and the city-born must be kept happy.”

  Queen looked around at the shoppers. Tanned and tripped-out, they sauntered past her on the concrete sidewalk. “They certainly seem to be.”

  The stalls to their right were canopied with company colors and acronyms, the similarly-garbed criers reading aloud the latest products, from pheromone sunscreen to bulletproof t-shirts. Potential buyers interfaced with product representatives or smudge-proof, three inch touchscreens. Smiling buttons of primary colors guided each customer through the purchasing procedure. Unread licensing agreements were signed and vendors coughed out wares readily and copiously.

  One man walked away from “Admiral Rick’s Arsenal” carrying a bouquet of high-powered assault rifles against his shoulder, the words ‘Happy Hunting!’ laser-printed on his clear, rectangular case. He appeared a little too happy, bobbing his head to a hidden beat and grinning wide. People glanced admiringly, but gave him a wide berth. Many were packing heat of their own variety – compact semi-automatic pistols on a majority of hips.

  A small minority had fully automatic carbines slung diagonally across their backs, along with an unnecessarily bulky complement of extra ammunition. Queen was glad she decided to bring her gun along after all. She’d seldom seen a security nightmare on this magnitude, and the lack of police only worsened her apprehension. Her waist holster rarely felt so comfortable. Or so essential.

  Jack led her to the far end of the strip center and stopped in front of a ‘Destination!’ kiosk done up in native maple and redwood stripes. The women manning it were preoccupied with a gaggle of questioning customers, so Jack and Queen riffled through the business-card-sized brochures slotted below and beside the representative booths. 3D avatars lit up the cards’ surfaces when Queen spoke a voice command that correlated to highlighted keywords. Jack repeated himself several times, but his cards would not work for him. He handed his stack off to Queen.

  “Here. My mods are actin’ up again,” he said. He stroked his thumb over the circuitry of his ring finger. “Always have a problem unless the card is rubberized.”