by Ryan Burnett
Once I had managed to get myself ready the waiting game began. Unfortunately, waiting had a way of making a man edgy, and edginess was a character trait that could ruin even the best laid plans. So when Rob’s message did finally arrive I was in the middle of nursing a beer at the Curio. It was my first of the night and the crisp tingling bite did more to center me that it did to unbalance. The right amount of lager could imbue me with some measure of lopsided focus and make sure I was just relaxed enough to be ready for the task at hand. On the eve of a big job I rarely took my drinking to the extremes that Rob did, but it was an undisputed fact that the correct balance of chemicals in one’s system could make all the difference in the world. As it was right now I could walk a straight line with ease. I was determined, alert, and mentally prepare to compensate for Rob’s near certain impairment.
I strolled briskly through Arc’s city streets with a casual demeanor of inattention that served to hide the agile mind that called this place home. Any idiot knows that oblivious wandering opened you up to danger…but many failed to realize that paying too much attention to the wrong people at the wrong times could be even more dangerous. The nervous twitch of a wound up man could do little more than paint a target on his back and make others wonder what he was so intent on hiding. Over the years I had found that traversing the city’s pavement was a little like walking across a cement tightrope, the two keys were balance and having the good sense not to overthink what you were doing.
I knew I was getting close to the rendezvous when the curbside decoration began taking on increasingly brilliant neon tones. Glowing colors and flashing images battling for attention, all while promising plethora of entertainment and vices at every corner. In my humble opinion the tawdriest temptresses of all the venues on 15th street had to be Club Pangea. The squat and wide building seemed drab from the outside but like a hooker with a heart of gold it was what was on the inside that counted. Their music was the loudest, their parties the wildest, and their crowd the weirdest.
From the people gathered outside the main entrance I could see that the dress code “norm” (if that word even had meaning here) appeared to be to wear as little clothing as possible. As far as the women were concerned, the little clothing that had to be worn to stay (just barely) on the right side of the law had a tendency to be brightly colored, transparent, or crafted to look like an item never originally intended to cover a human body. Occasionally you could catch a glimpse of a diva in chroma-cloth lingerie strut her way to the entrance. I could understood the status symbol factor of it all, but displays like that had always seemed like a contradiction to me…..I mean was a guy supposed to be looking at the goods or the space odyssey kaleidoscope that was being projected across them?
The men on the other hand were more fully clad, yet somehow managed to be just as bizarre. It was as if to compensate for the modesty of pants, they had decided to array themselves with odd talismans and spikes that glowed or vibrated or whistled. They brought to mind the idea of feral tribesman, somehow displaced from the jungle and let loose inside an abandoned electronics shop. What both sexes had in common were the masks worn over their faces and the odd hued fluorescent paints that adorned their exposed skin
I had been wearing a fairly typical pair of artificial denim jeans, clean white t shirt, and a chroma-cloth necktie for this occasion. Earlier in the day I had synced the piece of cloth with my VRN, and as I drew closer I executed the fashion display program that I had downloaded earlier. In an instant my tie transformed from a drab strip of fabric into an oblong strip of flame flaring across my chest and flickering in the wind. Normally something like this was too garish for my tastes, but here looking like a normal and decent human being was the only sure fire way to stick out in the crowd.
I tried to smoothly force my way to the front of the mob like mass that somehow vaguely constituted a line and managed a degree of success. Enough success at least to get me within the front team of bouncer’s range of vision. I managed to catch the attention of the one I knew as Tuck with a wave. Tuck wasn’t someone I had ever personally spent a lot of time with, but rather someone who knew me through reputation. This meant that Tuck could make the logical conclusion that I had enough cash and knew enough people to warrant a quick entrance. He waved me forward and as gracefully as I could manage (which was only a few steps up from the stumblings of a newborn baby giraffe) I shoved the remaining way up to him through the crowd and passed beyond the velvet ropes….being careful to
discreetly wave my phone and click the accept transaction button over the paypad I knew these bouncers kept in their back pockets as I walked by.
I would like to think I was hardened enough to the scene to not be phased by the exotically beautiful and erratically ordered nature of the clubs interior but a small part of me was awestruck each and every
time. The walls floors and ceiling all had geometric patterns which coalesced and shifted into each other like lunatic tetrahedrons. If you, like many of the patrons of this establishment, were determined to leave your sobriety at the door this kind of setup could make it difficult to find your bearings, but I suppose that was part of the fun. It had been a few months since I had last been here and everything looked even stranger than usual. I supposed they had probably upgraded their visualizer programs…or their display surfaces. I guess without change and variety even Babylon could get boring.
The only thing about this place that I knew that could remain static and still maintain their popularity was the second floor. It was an incredibly poorly kept secret that on the second floor one could purchase a private booth with a calibrated alternator.
Illicit drugs had long been simple to synthesize. It had become child’s play to manufacture nearly anything a chemical connoisseur could ask for at a purity level that made the substances much safer than they were in ages past. It had gotten to the point where most of the authorities hardly bothered with small arrests and prosecution anymore.
Attempting to fight against this slippery counterculture had been a drain of manpower, resources, and the public’s good will until the practice of turning a blind eye became the rule in the streets and a policy of “don’t ask, don’t tell” prevailed concerning drug use in the professional world. Nowadays besides the odd bust of a dumb dealer trying to capitalize on naïve children the only time I ever saw drug charges make the news were when they were being used as a minor violation to hold someone for questioning or to keep them off the streets for a day or two. Inevitably the accused would be pay a fine or and go back to business as usual or the prosecution would find other charges that actually held some weight. Public opinion and social crusaders were far more concerned with the latest psychoactive scourge to afflict the masses: modified VRNs.
With a little knowledge and an alternator outfitted with a VRN current calibrator one was capable of directly sending electrical impulses to stimulate the pleasure centers of the brain. If the stories held true this was the only high that was so intense that it was extremely psychologically addictive despite not containing any of the chemicals responsible for physical addiction. That small positive made the practice no less destructive. Apparently man was not meant to know pure and unadulterated pleasure because jolt junkies were known to be violent, cruel, and willing to do anything to anyone for some more juice. The most popular term for electronic brain stimulation was “the zap”.
Personally, I was no stranger to dealing with addicts. Hell I had a lot of friends who fit the clinical qualifications for the term. However the men and woman I knew, well, you could work with them. It wasn’t always pleasant and they weren’t very reliable but it was possible given the right motivation…but I had never seen anything like what the zap could do to a person. It was almost as if nothing else mattered to them and never would. People died on the zap all the time, not from overdose but from starvation or subjecting themselves to insane risks to score enough dough for another hour of bliss. There were also the idiots who tried to rig their VRN without t
he proper know how and ended up with their brain stem fried to a crisp. I didn’t know what aspect of the zap was scarier the fact that there was no way to truly remove the supply of electricity in this modern era or the fact that I had yet to know, meet, or even hear about a single user that had successfully quit or been rehabilitated away from it.
I moved deeper into Pangea while trying not to stare at the dirty and gaunt bodies that waited along the elevators and staircases for a booth to open up on the second floor and navigated my way to the main bar to look for Rob. The bar itself was composed of the same display screens that broadcasting the wildly gyrating patterns across the rest of the club, however it cycled between more serene shapes such as clouds or floating bobs of water. It lent the bar the feel of a calming oasis in the hot press of music and bodies reveling in chaos. In other words it was the perfect spot to unwind and have a drink. It didn’t take me long to find Rob who was actively engaged in a conversation with a dwarf seated on his left and a young girl who had decided to sit on his lap.
The dwarf seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood, wearing something akin to a glowing jester’s foolscap on his head, the jingling of which could not be heard over the bass. The girl appeared as if to prepare for her night out she had wiggled into a too small bikini and then took a shower in glitter. Her carefree almost vapid expression was outdone only by her shininess. Rob really knew how to pick them. I took a seat on Rob’s right lightly thumped him on the shoulder to draw his attention and then screamed at the bartender for a shot of whiskey. Rob’s short curly blonde hair did a bad job of framing his naturally jolly features. Something in me specifically thought that the mismatch was a part of his charm. Something to keep him from appearing too intimidating despite his solid build, it wasn’t too terribly long ago that he had been a recreational football player and I had seen him in enough fights to know exactly the kind of damage he could inflict.
At the moment he actually looked like he had just came from practice, wearing mesh shorts and a muscle shirt. His front side had acquiring a thin layer of glitter from the girl playfully bobbing up and down in his lap. He turned and gave me a big grin. “Well if it isn’t my number one all-time favorite son of a bitch! How’s your mom Marcus?” He yelled to me.
“Good Rob, and how’ve you been? “ I shouted back, his eyes flickered over to the glitter girl who appeared to be blissfully oblivious to the entire conversation. “Well…I can’t complain” another grin spilled sloppily across his face. He ordered a round of whiskey shots for the four of us pushing one my way despite the untouched shot glass already in front of me. “There you go hoss, you gotta play a little catch up”. I shrugged and downed one after another in quick secession. Closing my eyes I concentrated on enjoying the warmth that was now settling the core of my stomach. For a moment the music wasn’t too loud and even though I could distinctly feel a bead of sweat drip down my back the club didn’t seem too warm or crowded.
I snapped my eyes open…and was about to grill Rob about what the night’s business was going to entail only to see another shot glass full to the brim placed immediately in front of me. I looked incredulously at Rob who only grinned and raised a shot glass of his own as if to propose a toast. I shook my
head no, “Somebody has to watch our backs” now it was his turn to shrug and slam both the shots back. “So….what’s going on?” He inclined his head and with a playful pat on the rump removed the glitter girl and brushed himself free of the sparkling dust. I followed him to a corner of the club a little further removed from the dance floor and speakers so we could have a little chat. Once we had found a suitable booth he began to fill me in.
“Funny you should ask because I’m not exactly sure, a few days ago I was doing my usual route across the city, when I get hailed over by this weird guy, and I’m not talking about your normal weird, I’m talking about a black suit, black tie, and black glasses, looked like fricken secret service or something. He asked for a ride over to the University district. Normally that’s when I would start a little chat with the customer. You know. Maybe raise my tip by a few bucks but this guy just seemed cold. Like he’d rather be doing anything else than talking. Ever since our last job I have been keeping my nose clean but this dude made me nervous. So I end up driving him all the way over there in complete silence, I mean I literally have had longer conversations with the deaf and I only know one word in sign language.” At that last remark he raised his middle finger and grinned again. He then resumed his story after a little laugh “right before he leaves he speaks up and grunts at me ‘You Rob?’ out of the blue. So I tell the guy ‘No man I’m no thief, the only thing I steal are hearts”, needless to say he didn’t appreciate that bit of humor. Anyways he tells in this dead pan voice “Very amusing Mr. Eli. There are men who speak very highly of you. Mr. CamelIo assured me that you were someone who could get things done.” That name drop opened my eyes a bit, I figured I could at least play some kind of ball, so I told him ‘sure if the price is right’ he told me to meet him here tonight, left the biggest damn tip I’ve gotten all year, and walked away without saying another word. That’s when I took an early break to hit the liquor store and texted you. Might be some pretty heavy shit tonight.”
“Heavy” I repeated scanning the room for anything out of the ordinary, as if there was an “ordinary” in this place. While Rob was recounting the events of the day I had been observing the club security and cameras. I was satisfied with the knowledge that nobody seemed to be paying us too much attention. Things hadn’t really started yet but I could at least be sure that we were going into this safely under the radar. Pleased with my assessment I added my two cents on the situation, “Weird. But with the weird ones they usually have no money or a LOT of money. This guy sounds like the latter. I can see this being well worth our while”. All of a sudden I felt the desire for another drink. But before I had time to consider the repercussions of ordering another shot, Rob poked my shoulder and pointed my attention to a tall man who had posted up at the far side of the bar area, fiercely clutching a black briefcase in one hand.
This was unmistakably the guy Rob had met and his black secret service ensemble stuck out like a sore thumb in here. I couldn’t believe the absolute lack of common sense from this guy, but no matter, we weren’t in any hot water yet so we could let it slide. I suppressed a queasy feeling in my stomach as Rob and I crossed over to the seats next to him. Those double shot may not have been the greatest idea but I had to keep my head straight on this one. I had to keep myself together despite the sweaty chills that started to tingle up and down along my spine. By the time we had moved through the press of party goers the bubbling had been compounded by a sudden dizzy spell that did not seem to want to cease anytime soon. Usually I could handle my liquor much better than this, hopefully I wasn’t getting sick. “Who is this?” the man asked Rob as he approached the bar tightening the grip on his briefcase and nodding his head in my general direction.
“An associate of mine” Rob replied. This time the man gave me a much longer look almost as if he was trying to appraise my total net worth from behind those black shades of his.
“Another person was not part of the arrangement.” He said after a short pause. “What arrangement? You told me to meet you here and I’m here. Just think of my buddy here as my moral support. I thought you knew a lot already but I don’t think Mr. C has told you quite as much as you would like me to believe”. The man is quiet and I can’t tell if his silence is the result of hesitation or contemplation. After another short pause he decides to continue on as if neither he nor Rob had said anything, “My employer has tasked me with finding an individual capable of locating someone who does not wish to be found. Are you such a person?” Rob smiles again “I might be, I have a couple of questions for you first. I know you’re not a cop but you’re definitely a suit. That means this isn’t no ordinary missing persons bit. How much trouble is the person we are looking for in?”
“None whatsoever. However i
t is very important to my employer that he is safely recovered as soon as possible. You are correct in your assumption than I am not law enforcement… but IF you do decide to take this job I can guarantee a certain degree of police cooperation.” Even through my turbulent stomach and light head I recognize the significance of this statement. Could this guy actually be a part of some kind of covert government organization? If he could wield that kind of influence there was no telling how much of a heavyweight his employer could be. Mob boss, President, Pope? All the dizzying possibilities jumbled one atop another in my head. The good news was that power did mean money…but it could also mean consequences. My curiosity aroused, I tried to stop focusing on myself and pay closer attention to the conversation at hand.
“Police cooperation? So does that mean you’re not a hit man either?” Rob asked. “No I am not a hit man but ultimately who I am is not important to you. What is important is whether you will take the job or not”. The man finished curtly. Rob looked at me with a skeptic expression illuminated by a whirlwind of lights, and replied “Sure as long as the price is right, who we finding and how much you offering?” Since Rob seemed to have the conversation under control I abandoned listening to the words and tried instead to interpret the man’s facial expressions. They were mostly obscured by the sun glasses but something was telling me that he was insulted that he had to even talk with people like us. He radiated a feeling as if we were beneath him. His body language was closed off and unwelcoming, I was sure his arms would be crossed if he did not have that briefcase to hold onto. He had the air of an adult being forced to come to a business arrangement with a couple of poorly behaved children. I had to admit the comparison did tickle me a bit.
