Fractal Paisleys

by Paul Di Filippo

  An hour’s silent drive onward, the neon of a motel sign caught their eyes.

  SEVEN BIRCHES MOTOR COURT

  COLOR TV—WEEKLY RATES

  VACANCY

  “Looks as good as any place else we’re likely to find. Pull in, Trace.”

  “None too soon, neither. The road was starting to float up at me.”

  “Ain’t it funny,” chirped Catalina. “I’m not sleepy at all! I feel like the night’s still young!”

  Tracey grunted, but refrained from comment. Jay Dee assumed a nervous look.

  Coasting across a cindered lot, past the sputtering sign, they pulled up next to six long-decaying stumps and under a lone birch tree, its foliage as draggled and dusty as that of a desert palm. Jay Dee and Tracey piled wearily out of the car, while Catalina bounced around, holding Mister Boots, who had his forepaws on her shoulders and was butting his head under her chin.

  “Cat, can’t you quiet down?” said Trace. “I’m getting more and more tired just watching you.”

  “I can’t help it, I feel wonderful! I’m shed of my horrible job, I got a new dress on, and I’m in the company of two rich friends. What more could I want?”

  “Ain’t you worried ’bout your kids?”

  “Hell, no! I left ’em with my sister when I went to work, and she knows what to do with ’em if I don’t make it home. I could stash ’em there for months! Cindy’s got six of her own, so two more don’t hardly make a ripple.”

  “Well, that’s fine for you. But tonight already I done got my ass grabbed by a drunk, was humiliated in front of a whole room full of people by my boss, who immediately became my ex-boss, smashed my car into a thing from another world—which I apparently killed in some unnatural fashion—had my house come tumbling down around my ears, seen a man turned into a moose, and had to drive sixty miles just to find a place to lay my head down. So you’ll excuse me if I’m not in a mood to party.”

  Catalina, crestfallen, stopped pirouetting; Mister Boots turned his head and hissed at his mistress. “Gee, Trace, I was just trying to be cheerful and show I was grateful for the rescue and the clothes, like.…”

  “Well, just stow it till morning, okay?”

  Jay Dee stepped conciliatorily between the two women. “Listen, girls, we’re all dead beat. If we gotta have a contest of feminine wills, can’t we get ourselves some sleep first?”

  Tracey and Catalina said nothing. Jay Dee took this as assent. “Okay, good. One thing first, though. I wanna do something about this heap of ours. It’s too easy to spot if anyone comes looking for it. Not that I expect Larry to have much luck tracking us down, even if he decides to venture out, looking like he does.”

  Pointing the remote at the old Valiant, he smudged it out to a heap of quivering nothingness. Then he peeled off the image of a new Lincoln Continental parked next to the MANAGER’S OFFICE, and superimposed it atop what had been their car.

  Two Lincolns, identical down to the license plates, now stood a few yards apart.

  Jay Dee laughed. “This is a hundred times better than boosting a car! Ain’t nothing for the owner to report stolen!”

  “Don’t you think somebody’s gonna notice something though?” asked Tracey.

  “We’ll be gone pretty early. And who compares plates, long as their own aren’t missing?”

  They headed to the lighted office.

  The clerk was a guy in his early sixties, strands of white hair across a bald spot, crabby face like a clenched fist. He had a full ashtray in front of him and a lit Camel in his hand. Something old, grainy, black, and white filled the small television screen before him, Leo G. Carroll with the sound turned down.

  “Two rooms,” said Jay Dee. “Cash up front.”

  “You can’t take that mangy animal in, buddy. I ain’t having fleas in my sheets.”

  This was the last straw for an exhausted Tracey; she began to weep. “Muh-mister Boots always sleeps with us.…”

  “Hold on, Trace, I’ll take care of this.”

  Jay Dee raised the remote to point at the clerk, who remained unflustered at the seemingly innocent, though odd threat.

  Tracey grabbed his arm. “No!”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake.… All right, look—take this money, pay the man and sign us in. I’ll put Mister Boots in the car for the night.” His back to the clerk, Jay Dee winked broadly at Tracey, as if he knew what he was going to do.

  Outside, Jay Dee, carrying the tom, stopped by a parked car. Visible in the back seat was a suitcase. Jay Dee paused, everything now clear.

  “Box, save what this cat looks like, then smudge it.”

  The remote said, “Done.” Then Jay Dee peeled off the image of the suitcase, which materialized like a wraith outside the car.

  “Superimposition of a larger mass-pattern atop a smaller one causes an energy deficit which must be made up from some source,” warned the remote. “I have been handling this automatically, but thought I should mention it.”

  “So you mentioned it. Now just turn this cat into some baggage.”

  The lights in the parking lot seemed to dim momentarily. Without further delay, the spatio-temporal digital suchness of the suitcase was layered onto the featureless lump of cat.

  Jay Dee carried the suitcase back in.

  “All set?” he asked.

  Tracey held one key, Catalina another.

  “Great, let’s go.”

  The clerk warned, “Now don’t try sneaking that cat in, ’cause I’ll know it—”

  At that moment, the suitcase meowed.

  “So, you got it inside there. I thought so. Open it up.”

  Jay Dee set the suitcase down, flipped the latches, and sprang the lid.

  The inside of the suitcase was lined deeply with fur, top and bottom, side to side; a clawed paw occupied each corner. Mister Boots, apparently none the worse for being turned into a living rug, looked up imploringly from his somewhat flattened skull.

  “Meow?”

  The clerk’s eyes bulged out rather like Mister Boots’s. He held up his hands as if to ward off an apparition. “Shut it, shut it!”

  Jay Dee complied. “Can we go now?”

  The clerk nodded violently. He made to reach for a bottle in the desk drawer, then apparently reconsidered.

  The cinderblock units were strung out in a line, each sharing two walls with its neighbors.

  Tracey and Jay Dee accompanied Catalina inside her room. The ex-waitress seemed to have crashed from her high. “Ain’t it funny—I feel kinda sad now. Scared a little, too. What if Larry and his buddies come after us? I don’t think I could take looking at somebody without a face all by myself, never mind three somebodies. Couldn’t I—couldn’t I share your room?”

  “No way, Catalina. Look, we’ll leave the connecting door open. And you can keep Mister Boots for company, since he seems to like you so much.”

  “I don’t want no furry suitcase in here.”

  “No, we’ll put him back together like his old self.” Jay Dee quickly restored Mister Boots to his saved appearance. The cat rubbed itself happily against their legs, until Catalina reached down to pick it up.

  The remote spoke. “Although your strategy worked, it would have made more sense simply to store the animal in a cube, shrink the cube, then open it inside the room.”

  “You can put living things inside one of them packages and roll ’em up eleven ways from Sunday without hurting ’em?”

  “Yes.”

  Jay Dee nodded sagely, as if storing the information away for future use. “Well, goodnight, Cat. See you in the morning.”

  In their own room, Jay Dee and Tracey stripped and climbed bone-tired into bed.

  Jay Dee awoke. Although it seemed he had been asleep for only five minutes, weak sunlight filtered in around the mishung curtains.

  Catalina stood, naked and shadowy in the door.

  “It’s morning,” she said.

  Jay Dee hissed. “Jesus, Cat, go away—”

&nbs
p; “Oh, let the poor girl in.”

  “Trace?”

  “Shut up and slide over.”

  “I really do appreciate this, guys. Guy, I mean.” Catalina giggled. “And girl.”

  Mister Boots joined them later, when things had quieted down.

  Around noon, when Catalina was in the shower, Jay Dee said, “I don’t know how many more nights like that I can take.”

  “Oh, don’t pretend with me. You loved it.”

  “No, I ain’t kidding. You’re plenty of woman for me, Trace. Tossing Catalina into the pot is like adding fudge on top of butterscotch. It s just too much sweetness. And Lord, that girl would wear a mule out! No, we got to fix her up with someone fast.”

  Tracey came to sit in Jay Dee’s lap. “I’m glad to hear you feel like that, Jay Dee. I don’t mind comforting the poor thing for a while, but I’d hate to think you wanted to make it permanent.”

  Jay Dee leered. “Well, maybe we don’t have to exactly rush to find her a man.”

  “Jerk!”

  At their car, Tracey made to enter by the passenger’s side, out of long habit, till Jay Dee stopped her. He conducted her to the driver’s door and, with mock elegance, opened it for her.

  “Why, thank you, sir.”

  Seated next to Tracey, Jay Dee looked over his shoulder for Catalina. Missing.

  She stood outside the car, waiting patiently.

  Jay Dee sighed, got out and opened her door for her.

  “Why, thank you kindly, Mister McGhee.”

  They had a late breakfast at a truckstop diner named SHECKLEY’S MIRACLE CAFE and discussed their plans.

  “Basically, Trace, I see us getting as far away from this crummy state as we can, out to where no one knows nothing about us, and settling down to a life of leisure. A nice big house, some land, maybe even some animals. Nothing too fancy. Swimming pool, maybe. And Cat—we’ll set you up in a similar place, and you can send for your kids.”

  Tracey clinked her coffee cup down. “Sounds good to me.”

  “Me too,” chimed in Catalina. “You can just fetch me a little old shat-toe from France or someplace and plunk it down next to a private beach.”

  “Oh, man, Catalina, get real! Wouldn’t you stick out then like a tick on a bald dog’s butt? You don’t think your neighbors—not to mention the cops, the feds and anyone else you’d care to name—wouldn’t get a little suspicious when they woke up and saw a house sprung up overnight like a toadstool? No, the safest thing to take is money, and just buy what we want, like any other person who never earned their cash.”

  “Oh, right. I see.”

  “So are we agreed that’s what we’re gonna do? Great. But there’s one little personal matter I wanna attend to first.”

  Tracey looked dubious. “What?”

  “Never you mind. You’ll see soon enough. Now let’s get going.”

  Out in the parking lot, while Tracey was unlocking the Lincoln, Jay Dee watched the traffic stream past. Toyotas, Fords, Hondas, Saabs, a Cadillac driven by a moose with its antlers sawed off, three faceless men in the backseat—

  “Just saw Larry,” said Jay Dee, once they were in the car and on the road. “He seemed to be heading for the city.”

  Tracey pulled into the breakdown lane and stopped. “Let’s turn around, Jay Dee.”

  “’Fraid not. That’s where our chore is. Don’t worry, nothing’s gonna happen. City’s a big place.”

  “I don’t feel good about this, Jay Dee, but I know better than to argue with you when you got your mind made up.…”

  “You hear that, Cat?”

  “Yes, master.” The plump woman made a mock bow. “Salami and baloney.”

  “Hunh.”

  In the city, Jay Dee directed, “Pick up Fourth at Main and head east.”

  “The meat-packing district, right? Jay Dee, I never claimed to be a genius, but a person would have to be senile, blind, deaf and have her head up her ass not to be able to figure out your pitiful schemes. You’re going after Gene, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right. I reckon we still owe him a little something for all the grief he put you through.”

  “Give it up, Jay Dee! I learned to. Gene don’t mean nothing to me no more, good nor bad. I put all that pain behind me when I met you.”

  “You are a saint, Trace, and I love you for it. However, it is more in accord with my personal nature to be a little less forgiving. Not only does it require less willpower, but it can be downright satisfying to the soul.”

  “All right. But if you get your head handed to you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Jay Dee patted the remote in his pocket. “I think this little equalizer here will prevent such a sad occurrence.”

  Catalina, quiet till now, said, “I agree with Jay Dee. It’s not good to bottle up your feelings. Sometimes it’s like trying to put a cork in a volcano.”

  Jay Dee snorted. “Good comparison in your case, Cat.”

  “Hey, lets keep this conversation above the belt.”

  A district of brick warehouses assembled itself around them. Most still retained their old industrial tenants; a few buildings, however, had been vacated and retrofitted for new occupants. On the ground level of one such a sign was hung.

  GENE SMITH’S WORLD-CLASS GYM

  NAUTILUS, STAIRMASTER, SPARRING

  SHOWERS AVAILABLE AT EXTRA COST

  They parked in front and got out, leaving Mister Boots meowing aggrievedly in the car.

  Jay Dee clutched the remote so tight his knuckles were white as cream cheese.

  “If you’re scared, Jay Dee, it’s not too late to leave.”

  Jay Dee stiffened right up. “C’mon, we’re going in.”

  The gym was a large open space with equipment scattered around the floor, a boxing ring in the middle. Many of the machines were in use. In the ring, two men were sparring.

  “One of them Gene?” whispered Cat.

  “No,” answered Tracey. “That’s him punching the bag.”

  Gene Smith wore only a pair of spandex shorts and some unlaced sneakers. He sported short black curls and an NFL-style mustache. His body looked like that of a gorilla which someone had tried to shave with only partial success. The sound of his bare fists pummelling the bag sounded like a hail of hams striking the roof of a circus tent.

  “Oo-whee, he’s a hunk!”

  “He’s a pig-ignorant macho shit,” countered Jay Dee. “It just ain’t apparent if you let your hormones do your thinking, like Tracey done.”

  “I beg your pardon.”

  Gene spotted the visitors. He ceased his flurry of blows and came over to them, massaging one taped hand in the other.

  “Well, if it ain’t Mrs. Smith. Oh, I forgot. It always hadda be ‘Thorne-Smith,’ didn’t it? I never could knock that crap out of your head.”

  “Nor never will.”

  Gene smiled. “I had a feeling you’d be showing up here, after I read about you this morning.”

  “Read about me?”

  “Why, sure, didn’t you hear yet? The police got a few questions to ask you, about how the First National roof ended up on top of that dump you were living in.”

  “Oh, Jesus.…”

  “Well, I guess you can hide out with me. Though we’ll have to get a few houserules straight first. Hell, I’ll even put your buddies up too. Who are they anyhow? Your little brother and his old lady, maybe?”

  “Old lady? I ain’t nobody’s old lady, kiddo.”

  “And I’m Tracey’s man, you asshole. The man you never was.”

  Gene smiled cruelly. “Is that so? Well, looks like we’re gonna need one less place setting than it first appeared.”

  Cracking his knuckles, Gene advanced on Jay Dee, towering over him like a falling building.

  “Hold on a minute—I ain’t quite resolved what to do with you yet.…”

  “That’s okay, baby. I know what to do with you.”

  “Shit, this is moving too fast— Box, get me a
cube!”

  A small silver cube appeared in midair behind Gene, who now had one massive fist cocked level with Jay Dee’s nose.

  “Bigger, bigger!”

  The cube expanded to man-size.

  “Open it!”

  The cube’s vertical face swung out. Jay Dee lowered his head and ran forward, ramming Gene in the midriff. Taken by surprise, the big man lurched a couple of steps backward. His calves caught on the sill of the cube and he toppled backwards into its capacious interior.

  “Close it up! Quick!”

  The cube snapped shut and shrank along eleven dimensions.

  From outside the gym came the sound of several car doors slamming. Catalina went to the window to look. When she turned around, her face was drained of blood.

  “Its Larry and the smudge-faces. And there’s some other guys—with guns.”

  “You told Larry all about Gene, I take it,” said Jay Dee calmly to Tracey.

  “A girl’s gotta get some things off her chest, even if the person listening is a jerk.”

  “Well, cant change the past. We’ll just have to deal with ’em. Let’s go out, where we can move.”

  They opened the door and filed out, hands raised high.

  As Jay Dee had seen from a distance, Larry had sawed off his cumbersome antlers. Otherwise, his long and hairy moose’s visage was unaltered, attesting to the permanency of the Master Remote’s changes.

  The moose opened his mouth; sometime during the past night Larry had mastered—to a degree—his new vocal apparatus.

  “Gib muh back muh faaaace,” he brayed. A long thread of slobber drooled from his jaw with the effort.

  “Larry, I’m plumb sorry, but I can’t. The most I could do—if I wanted to—is to give you and your buddies somebody else’s face. But I can’t restore your own familiar ugly puss. But listen, why do you want to change? Before, you were just another mean and undistinguished son of a bitch. Now you’re unique.”

  Larry raised a gun and began to squeeze the trigger. One of the new syndicate goons batted his arm down. The bullet ricocheted off the pavement.

  “Listen, wiseguy—I don’t know how you done this to Livermore or my bosses, but you better put them right. Or there’ll be big trouble for you and these dumb broads.”