The Pink Heist

by Adam El Shalakany

  The Pink Heist is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright (c) 2016 by Adam El Shalakany

  Excerpt from The Skreech (c) 2016 by Adam El Shalakany

  All rights reserved.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book The Skreech by Adam El Shalakany. This excerpt has been set in this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  For Dad who read, for Mom who did, and for Aly and May who pushed.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sweetspot, Disappear

  There exists in the outer reaches of the Kepler Region of known space a small exoplanet which orbits between four revolving stars. This exoplanet is known only to a select few inhabitants of the 'verse, all of whom share a singular quality: the need to disappear from everyone and everywhere, and in some rare instances every-time. The reason for this being that the exoplanet's erratically changing position between the four stars allows it to disappear from all interstellar tracking systems and more importantly, for the residents at least, from the authorities. For this reason, and to allow the 'verse's criminals to double-speak, the exoplanet's name is Disappear. Which is why throughout the 'verse when someone says they're going to disappear you can never really know what they mean. These statements are usually followed by questions as to whether the 'D' is capitalized or not.

  Another queer feature of Disappear is that due to its proximity to four large suns, only one small town is able to exist on the surface of the planet conveniently located in the one spot not irradiated by the orbiting stars. The town, tucked between the shadows of the gas giants, is called Sweetspot.

  On one particularly cool day in Sweetspot, when the suns revolved low in their multicolored dance over the horizon and when the winter air blew irradiated dust through the streets, a woman named Mancy La2x walked into a dingy little bar called the 'Gone Baby Gone'. The GBG, as it's known, is the place you go to in Sweetspot, Disappear when you don't want to be disturbed. Calling the GBG a bar is an exaggerated compliment to the run down old saloon, with its creaky broken swinging doors, bad alcohol, bad service and even worse clientele.

  As Mancy La2x walked into the GBG her pink cloak billowed behind her. It billowed because she'd had top people working day and night, designing and making her pink cloak to billow dramatically when needed.

  The creaky saloon doors to the GBG swung limply back and forth behind her as she entered. Her hard face stern and serious, she looked up and down the bar for the man who, for over a year, she'd been searching for. Her pink hair was perfectly made and fell off her shoulders in waves. Aviator's goggles were pulled up over her head.

  The GBG's clientele, people, pseudo-people, aliens, robots and the unclassified, all looked depressed, bored and down on their luck. They stared listlessly at their glasses and seemed to be thinking about their pasts and how to get past them. Finally, Mancy seemed to find whatever or whomever she'd been looking for and approached the bar.

  He was a tall, gangly man at the end of the bar, dressed in a short pilot's jacket, hunched over a large glass filled with bad whiskey. She didn't know how she knew the whiskey was bad but she just knew he was the sort of depressing man who would order the worst whiskey available. He had a scraggy, full, dark beard erupting from his face, the skin of which was scarred and pimply behind the hair.

  As she inspected him she could see that the whiskey even came in a dirty glass.

  Mancy walked over to the gangly man, fished around in her cloak's inside pockets, and took out two iridium chips which she then placed on the bar in front of the man.

  He barely moved. All he did was angle his neck a few centimeters to the left, looking at the chips and then followed the hand that placed them in front of him up to its arm. He overshot the arm to Mancy's hair and eventually landed back on her face. She was an attractive woman. Her hair along with her slim delicate eyebrows were pink but the color contrasted nicely with her bronze tanned skin. Large hazelnut eyes looked down at him. He broke out into a nervous smile with several missing teeth. His hand, however, went over the iridium chips possessively.

  "Hey there." His voice was squeaky and nervous. "To whom do I owe the pleasure?" He pulled the chips on the bar towards him, still showing a gap toothed grin.

  She put her hand over his on the bar, keeping the chips in place. "The name's Mancy. Mancy La2x. We haven't met before."

  "La2x? Of the La2x family of Alpha Centauri?" He put his other hand over hers, trying to pry the chips away.

  "The same."

  "The La2x family who own the iridium mines of Alpha Centauri B, who captain the dark fleet, the La2x family with the reputation of getting what they want from whomever they want, whenever they want, otherwise a few legs get broken?"

  "The same."

  The man removed both his hands from the bar, leaving the chips. He pushed himself away, took his dirty shot of whiskey in one gulp, and stared Mancy in the eye. "Never heard of them. What can I do you for Nancy?"

  "That's Mancy with an 'M' and I'm looking for a blacker by the name of Qruise. Have you heard of him?"

  At that the patrons of the bar who'd been silently listening to the conversation, breaking the humdrum of their barfly lives, went even quieter. At some psychic signal only they could hear, the barflies all gasped in orchestra and pretended to stare at their drinks. Their ears were all angled towards the pair and their curious discussion. It never hurt to gather information in Sweetspot. Folks were always paying for information about people there.

  The gangly man nonetheless was unperturbed. "A blacker?" He asked before sucking air in through the gaps in his teeth. "A blacker you say. We don't know nothing about no blackers around these parts. You'd have better luck around the bar next door. Isn't that right boys?" The man chuckled to himself and looked around for support. None was forthcoming. He scratched nervously at his beard.

  Mancy, no longer entertained, slammed her fist down on the bar. Then, quietly, she sat next to the man, on a squeaky stool, and ordered the finest shot of mescal from the bot bartender. The creaky rusty bartender pulled a dirty glass from beneath the bar, wiped it down with an old rag and filled it from a dusty forgotten bottle behind the counter. The gangly man tapped his empty glass on the bar and the bartender filled it from the same bottle. Mancy held her glass of mescal firmly in her pink-gloved hands up to the light, before sighing and continuing the conversation.

  "Mr. Qruise, I've been looking for you for quite some time. Do you know how much it cost for the coordinates to this armpit of the 'verse? I know exactly who you are. You're an unlicensed archeologist. You were on board the ill-fated 'Jebed-dia3' when it went black all those years ago. You've only appeared back in our time-space recently and well, you're a blacker, you're strange and you're the man I'm looking for. So, can we please skip the part where you pretend not to know what I'm talking about."

  Mr. Qruise looked at Mancy and smiled. He straightened up and looked visibly more confident. "Ms. La2x, do you know what the best thing about being strange is?"

  "Enlighten me."

  In response he raised his glass, took one gulp of bad mescal, and said in his squeaky voice, "we're unpredictable," before snapping his fingers and popping out of existence.

  Mr. Qruise ran through the shambling and bizarrely designed alleyways imagined by the citizens of Sweetspot. He lurched through the 4-dimensional alleyways of the lizard folk of the Fourth District. He didn't look behind him as his thin legs dragged his fear ridden body in front of him through the streets. He leapt over a few hovering rickshaws and ran against t
he oncoming travel-ways. The lizard folk shouted obscenities at him in their weird slithering tongue.

  It was only when he was on the other side of town that he dared look back. He shouldn't have looked back. It never pays to look back. Mancy was there on his tail, unfazed and unhurried. She was riding a hover bike, her cape billowed dramatically above her shoulders. It had had taken her designers a year to think of that feature.

  Mancy was still on his tail after he'd popped in and out of existence and run half across town. Surrendering, he collapsed on the ground and pulled his jacket around him. He panted heavily, pink with exhaustion.

  Mancy stopped her hover bike and disembarked. She walked up to him slowly, smiling and laughing.

  Mr. Qruise was anything but smiling. "You've caught me. Congratulations. Now what exactly do you want to do with me?" He asked from the ground.

  "Wonderful." She clapped her hands. "Simply wonderful, Mr. Qruise. Amazing. I've never seen a blacker before, and a strange one at that. Simply wonderful. The whole thing's like magic. Tell me how do you do it?"

  "Yes, like magic." He said panting. "Only horrifying. Popping in and out of existence isn't fun, I'll tell you. Why do people think it's fun? Does it look like fun? I've never seen it from your point of view, so I can only guess. From mine it's terrifying, I think I said that just now. I'm not exaggerating. So," he stood up, dusting himself off, "I'm sorry but for whatever reason you need a stranger, change your mind, go back home, forget about it. Dealing with strangeness will only make your life complicated and most likely both of our's much shorter."

  Mancy couldn't stop grinning. "Well, you see," she said helping him up, "what I have in mind can only be done with a stranger."

  "And that is?"

  "You and me, Mr. Qruise, we're going to rob the La2x family vault."

  Mr. Qruise looked at her, his mouth open in disbelief. He snapped his fingers and popped out of existence once more. He left behind him, however, an unmistakable scent of fear.

  After another hour's chase Mancy caught up with Mr. Qruise on her hover bike once again. She held him down over a vat of boiling wiry noodles in the inorganic neighborhood. The noodle seller was screaming loudly in binary that the two should go do violent and sexual things to each other, elsewhere. A gaggle of oddly formed machines gathered around the ruckus curiously watching organic matter act irrationally. Their laughter sounded like a bunch '0's.

  Ms. La2x pulled Mr. Qruise out from over the vat and threw him on the ground. She turned him on his stomach quickly and pressed something to the back of his neck. A hot flash of pain seared through him.

  "Ok. Mr. Qruise," she said releasing him, "what I've just put in you is a nano-bomb. It's dug itself into your medulla oblongata and will explode if I press a trigger, which though I currently look mad and violent, I will not do, I assure you, so long as you don't pop away again. Understood?"

  Mr. Qruise still writhing on his stomach, slowly calmed down. He stopped squirming and turned around facing Mancy. "I'm so sorry, Ms. La2x. Can I call you Mancy? I think we've reached a certain level of familiarity, you having accessed my med… medusa elongata?" He scratched furiously at his beard. "It seems that we're going to be partners after all." He chuckled sarcastically. "Of course, I'd love to rob the vault of the wealthiest and most dangerous family this side of the 'verse but if I may ask, what's in it for me? Other than having my head attached to the rest of my body, of course, which, while being a good incentive, in my experience you need some carrot to go with the stick."

  "I'm glad we can finally talk business. Are all strangers so difficult to get a hold of? Never mind. What's in it for you? How about a hundred iridium chips, will that do?"

  Mr. Qruise laughed harshly. "If you want me to commit almost certain suicide by trying to rob the La2x family vault, then I'll need a little bit more incentive than some metal. I mean, you know everything is basically free, right?"

  "Well, if iridium won't do it. How about the spatial coordinates to a hitherto undiscovered civilization?" She blinked, uncertain.

  "A hitherto undiscovered civilization?" Mr. Qruise's hand went from scratching his beard to rubbing his jaw.

  She nodded.

  "If the civilization's hitherto undiscovered how do you know where to find it?"

  "Some space merchants traded me the coordinates for it, guaranteed undiscovered."

  "What I mean to say is that if they found it and got the coordinates for it, then it can't be undiscovered. It's by definition discovered."

  "They guaranteed me that they just saw it from afar. No one's been down on the planet. They classify it as technically undiscovered."

  "Oh…technically undiscovered. That's…" Mr. Qruise paused, "that's fantastic." Mancy gave a sigh of relief. "Oh, Mancy," he continued, "you do know how to push my buttons. You know how much entertainment you can get out of an undiscovered culture? Years and years. You've got to decipher the language, you get to hear their stories, learn their culture. I'll be the talk of the 'verse. I'll entertain the gamut of bored sentience. I mean the inorganics will get a couple of hours of novelty out of it, at least. This'll make my name. I may even get my license, finally. The archeologist's society can be right bastards. You have to know someone or…. Say can you get me into the society as well?"

  "If we survive the job, sure why not? I mean, I'm sure Daddy can get you in. He knows oodles and noodles of people."

  "If we survive of course." Mr. Qruise fiddled with his boots, and began taking them off. They'd somehow gotten mixed up on the wrong feet when he'd popped. He gave a sigh of relief when he saw his feet. "Do you know it happens sometimes…sometimes when I go… there. The shoes get mixed up or sometimes my feet, or worse. It's a terribly stressful business. I've got to check every time. Just to make sure. And damn is it painful. I mean look, I've got blisters." Mr. Qruise wiggled his bony calloused feet in front of Mancy, who could only grimace. "So what exactly is it that you want to steal from the vault?" He put his shoes back on.

  "That, my dear Mr. Qruise, is for me to know and you to find out." She helped him back on his feet. "The spatial coordinates and the recommendation to the Society do not come with questions about what I'm going to be getting out of the vault. I'm pretty excited. You were the hardest person on the team to track down."

  "Yes. Of course. Mancy. Excited. I'm definitely that." He gave her a thumbs up. "So I guess the next question in this ridiculous affair is….when and how?"

  "The 'when' is soon. We're going to need a few other partners to join this party before we're ready. And as for the 'how', let's first go relax on my ship and I'll explain everything to you there. Now, just to cement this thing, are you in?" She said extending her hand to him.

  He looked at her outstretched hand. "Are you going to blow my brains out if I don't agree?" He asked.

  "Pretty much."

  "Then I'm in." He took her hand and shook it weakly.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Plan

  Mr. Qruise and Mancy went aboard Mancy's private QIT space yacht aptly called 'The Big Pink'. Inside, Mancy showed Mr. Qruise to his quarters, an elegant large cabin, decked out with its own en-suite jacuzzi, a replicator and a window view of 'verse.

  Mancy left him in his quarters and told him to meet her in the lounge when he was ready.

  After he made himself comfortable, in the best accommodations he'd ever stayed in, he began to admit to himself that maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea to have signed up, though he still had to resist the urge to snap his fingers.

  He stared at himself in the full length mirror. It had been a while since he'd really looked at himself, other than through the reflection in the dirty mirror behind the counter of the GBG. His jacket was torn and worn out. His black leggings had large holes in it. His clothes hung loosely on his thin body. His cheeks were burnt from staying too long under Disappear's suns. His wrinkled skin sagged over his thin cheekbones. He looked in the cabin's closet and found freshly replicated clothes already hung up fo
r him, all of them to his taste. Mancy had done her homework. There was even the ceremonial archeologist's rimmed hat and whip. He grinned despite himself and changed.

  When he was ready he searched the rest of the yacht for his new employer. He found her in a large lounge at the front of the ship. He was surprised to find another person there with them. It was a six foot inorganic dressed in black robes which popped off its narrow shoulders, and flowed across its thin body. The robe was tied by a black belt across its waist. The ends of the robe dangled like a skirt around the inorganic's wooden sandals. It stood in front of a large bay window by the side of the lounge which looked out into the dark reaches of space. Mr. Qruise could see its chrome face in the window's reflection, two eyes slits at the center of its face were lit up in a calm orange light.

  "Umm… hello." Mr. Qruise said. "Who's our friend?" he asked Mancy, who was sitting at a long table in the middle of the room.

  "That," replied Mancy, "is our third crew member, the Zenbot. The muscle in our plan. It's a master in every martial art ever and is a tactical and strategic genius. There's no better person to have by your side in a pinch."

  "Nice to meet you. Do you have a name?" Mr. Qruise extended his hand to it.

  "I do." The Zenbot answered in a calm neutral voice. Its hand remained by its side.

  "Do you mind telling me?"

  "No," it answered.

  "Ah.. Literal fellow, ay? Um… What's your name?"

  "It's Zenbot, idiot." The inorganic's voice was monotonic and uncaring.

  "Oh… I thought that was your model type. No reason to call me an idiot, friend. My name's Mr. Qruise. So, Mancy's roped you into her suicide mission as well?"

  "No first name?" Zenbot asked.

  "First name's 'Mr.'."