07.06.11
Posted in Acid Fiction at 8:23 am by O-DoG
He thought about the last couple of long years in his life and how he’d ended up at this point. Was it his fault? Had he pushed the boundaries of wanting to make a good life for himself too far and fallen in too deep with the wrong kind of people? He read the news, everybody did, but not everybody believed it. The media vomited horror stories at any given opportunity, they made the government, the mayor, the gangs, the drugs, the police, the corruption, the mad scientists, the cults, the conspiracy theorists and the wicker basket makers all look like corrupted out of control maniacs only after money and power. The one thing Powlo felt in his heart that they might be right about was the wicker basket makers… he never did trust those weaving bastards, it was something in their eyes that didn’t add up, something they were hiding perhaps.
The bus hit a bump and he remembered what he was supposed to be thinking about and got back to it.
The Clowns. In the media they were a cruel gang who sucked in young and talented delinquents, coaching and training them to pull off daring and audacious crimes. Jobs that require acrobatics, elite or unusual fighting techniques and freakishness.
Perhaps no job really requires freakishness, but the clowns like it that way, they trust freaks. Powlo knew because he ran with the Clowns himself, or at least he did until a couple of weeks ago. Contrary to what you read about them in the papers, the Clowns to Powlo were more like a family, a group of talented odd bods who banded together to get what they needed. They were led by Eddie, or “Insane” Eddie depending who you listen to. Nevertheless he was a powerful figurehead in the underworld of Cheese.
Powlo used to think of him as a bit of a Robin hood character, because he stole from the super-rich and powerful, but instead of giving to the poor he used the money to keep all of his crew fed and watered. He experimented heavily with drugs too, in their consumption and creation. Eddie only ever sold what he tried personally first, something his men were never too pleased about.
The bus hit another bump and he went back in his memories even further, back to how he ended up running with the clowns…
Powlo was brought up in boarding school, his father had run off when he was a young boy and his mother was unable to care for him on her own for long. She ran out of work and started to drink, and then she started to drink a lot.
When he was about nine or ten she came home in a panic, she had blood on the hem of her blouse and coat, it was stormy outside like it often was in Cheese and she was damp with the rain.
He always remembered that time, the last time, the time he heard the distant whine of sirens as she came home and closed the curtains, then ran into the bathroom rustling, banging and flushing as those sirens of great woe got louder and louder. He wasn’t too young to understand what was happening, in fact he’d seen it coming for months.
The neighbours in his tower block would gape and gabble out of their windows at the police outside, either telling them to ‘shut yeir fucking noise orf!’ and others hurled similar abuse at them, while calling secret whistles and codes to their up to no good cousins. ‘drumble snaps the crumble poppets are ready!’ they’d say. It was a code for ‘The police are coming’.
The police were coming and they knew they were coming and knew why they were there, they also knew they were assaulting a tower block, which meant no one could run – so any alarm call those inside could reap, would be pointless anyway.
Especially for Powlo’s mother, she wasn’t getting away from anything today. She came into the living room and gave him a hug, and then she told him all of those motherly things you hear in fairy tales or stories of the like, all the while her brown bangs wet on his face hiding his own scared tears.
‘Every-thing’s going to be fine my boy, don’t you worry.’ she said embracing him.
‘What’s going to happen now mum?’ Powlo remembered saying muffled by her bosom.
‘You just think of all the nice times we’ve had and always remember that I loved you’ she said as there was a thumping at the door. Powlo got his head free and stared towards it.
‘This is detective Mortgage, open your door ma’am, you know why we’re here. Let’s not make this any more difficult than it has to be.’ came a voice from the hall.
Powlo thought it sounded like a young voice but also a voice with authority. It was firm but fair all the way from its husky bark to its smoky edges.
His mother carried on embracing him appearing to ignore the detective,
‘Ma’am I’m not going to ask you again, if you don’t open the door we’ll have to break it down.’ came the voice again.
Not even and exclamation mark on this voice, Powlo thought. He’d seen and heard police before – they were regular visitors around this dump. They would come at all hours banging and shouting, breaking down doors and man handling do-no-gooders down the stairs. They were hated. But the voice coming through the door wasn’t like any of those. He was threatening them, but he sounded genuine, like he wanted to help.
After thirty seconds or so, the door was bashed off its hinges and a squad of 4 uniformed officers charged in shouting and yelling. But Powlo couldn’t hear the detective’s voice calling over the men bulldozing in, telling them to calm and be steady.
His mother broke her hold on him and turned to face the intruders. The first officer went to grab her and got a stout palm to the chin, just under his full face helmet. There was a crack and he crumpled to the floor in an awkward heap. The second whipped out a telescopic bat and struck her arm, she screamed in pain and delivered a side kick to his chest which toppled him into his colleagues. She dashed to the kitchen and grabbed the soup ladle and brandished it in her good arm.
They were up now, apart from the one who’s chin had been struck, he was out for the count. They closed in slowly batons ready. Powlo’s mum dropped the ladle and began to sob.
‘That’s enough, put those sticks away and cuff her, she’s ready to go now.’ said the detective from the hallway.
‘Call an ambulance for Daffy too.’
The police filed out and the noise died down. Powlo’s mother was taken dignantly, not kicking nor screaming. She gave him a peck on his cheak and said her goodbyes, her wrists handcuffed behind her back. Then the officers read her rights and frog marched her away, to the door she would never come home through again.
Detective Mortgage sat down at their small dining table and reached inside his coat and pulled out a silver case, then placed it on the table before opening the lid. He took out a white cigarette and rolled it between his fingers pensively.
Powlo sat watching and interoperating, his little brain cogs linking his biologically abnormal emotions into a purely subversive and catastrophically meaningful adjective ridden frenzy. The shit head bastard had taken his mother away and he had to fucking pay.
The ambulance crew took Daffy away, who was moaning on a stretcher leaving Mortgage alone with Powlo, closing the door behind them. Before they had left one of the crew spoke to Mortgage, but Powlo didn’t pick up what was said. He was already planning his next move.
‘Would you like a drink sir?’ Powlo asked the detective.
‘Don’t you want to know what’s going to happen to your mum?’
Powlo started moving towards the kitchen, his little feet barely making a sound on the carpet.
‘You can tell me while I make you something… what would you like? You look like a coffee man to me.’
The detective looked at him quizzically. ‘How old are you son?’
‘I’m nine and don’t call me that.’
‘Sure, kiddo.’ said the detective.
Powlo’s eyes burned and tears welled on the surface of his eye balls. The fucker was mocking him, how dare he come here and do this and have the bollocks to mock him. Oh he’d pay.
‘You’re a comedian, huh granddad?’
‘Granddad? I’m not that old you know!’
Damn it, he was right, he wasn’t old. He just seemed old. Powlo had his back to him while he made the coffee, he’d forgotten his young face. He sounded much older, much wiser than he looked.
While pouring the coffee Powlo snuck a couple of caps of bleach into the detective’s mug.
‘Sugar?’
‘Two.’
Powlo obliged and at the same time giggled to himself. It was silly he knew, but there was something he liked about the idea of a sweet death.
He opened the draw and took a sharp knife as well as a tea spoon. With some skilful sleight of hand he tucked it up under his sleeve, then reached for the sugar.
Instead of placing the drink on the table for him, Powlo gave it directly to Mortgage, who then disappointingly put it down on the table.
‘Thanks… hot.’ he said.
‘Yes.’ said Powlo nodding.
There was an awkward pause. Mortgage was still rolling the white cigarette between his fingers.
‘You can smoke if you want, I don’t mind.’
‘Oh, thank you. I’ve been trying to cut down actually but one can’t hurt right?’
‘That’s right.’ said Powlo nodding.
Mortgage pulled a silver Zippo lighter from inside his coat and lit.
‘So what happens to me now, can I stay here?’ asked Powlo.
Mortgage blew out smoke and said ‘No, I’m afraid not.’
‘Why not?’
‘Rules, regulations, laws, paperwork etc’
‘You don’t like paper work?’
‘No, who does eh?’
‘Do you like laws?’
Mortgage sighed ‘Are you asking if I like my job?’
‘I’m asking if you like laws. How’s your coffee?’ Powlo said, frustrated he hadn’t taken a sip.
‘Great, thanks. Yes, laws are needed for a balanced and controlled society.’
‘Yes.’ said Powlo nodding.
‘Yes, so by law you won’t be able to stay here. You will have to live somewhere sheltered.’
‘Sheltered?’
‘A place where you can be cared for properly, a roof over your head and three square meals a day.’
‘I thought you were supposed to be a detective?’
‘I am a detective.’ said Mortgage.
‘Then why are you playing the social worker right now?’
‘Because the social worker hasn’t arrived yet. You shouldn’t be alone after what happened.’
‘Why not leave one of those other plods?’
Mortgage laughed ‘After what your mother did to them? I don’t think so, I think it’s safer for everyone this way.’
That’s what you think Powlo thought. He eyed the detective and his drink. He’d not even lifted the mug yet. Mortgage caught him looking.
‘So uuhm, what will happen to her then, now that you’ve taken her away?’ Powlo said, trying to distract Mortgage again.
‘She’ll be charged, trialled and I assume convicted. Then I’m afraid she’ll spend a long time in prison.’
‘What did she do?’
‘She was caught selling some controlled substances today in the market. Two officers went to make the arrest and she assaulted them. One of the men is in a serious condition. She then evaded arrest until she got back here, where as you know she didn’t go quietly.
‘Were you watching her?’ Powlo asked.
‘I was observing the market for my own investigations and by circumstance had to involve myself.’
‘Oh’ said Powlo, the thought of killing him was starting to ware off. It wasn’t even his fault really.
‘What were you investigating in the market?’
Mortgage chuckled ‘I can’t tell you that, it’s against the rules.’
There was a knock at the door.
‘That will be the social worker, you can let him in but first I want you to put the knife on the table.’ said Mortgage.
Powlo looked at him with wide eyes. ‘How’d you know?’
‘It’s my job kid. I understand you’re upset, but I think you and I both know that you wouldn’t want this on your record.’
Powlo slowly nodded and set the knife on the table, then without so much as a second thought went to get the door.
The social worker came in. He was a man of mid forties with dark hair and beard to match. He was wearing an impeccable black suit, almost like one of those government dudes. Powlo thought he was too skinny to be one of those guys though, if they existed anyway, he’d only seen them on TV. The worker introduced himself as Mr. Piper and then went to join detective Mortgage, they shook hands and both sat down at the table. Powlo didn’t much like Mr. Piper, the man was too condescending, he spoke to him like he was a normal 5 year old, let alone an abnormal nine year old. The policeman at least spoke to him and listened to him seemingly without regard for his age. This Powlo liked, and on reflection he didn’t think he’d experienced ever before.
Mr Piper blathered on about the care he would receive, he even said that based on Powlo’s behaviour there could be a chance of finding a foster home. He made a big emphasis on having a family, that everyone currently staying at the ‘Kollen Hall’ he called it, were ‘one big family.’
Sure you are thought Powlo. He’d bet his life that it was actually full of broken children and bullies and thugs, all supervised by paedophiles and sadistic torturers.
‘Sounds like a fucking dump and you sound even worse. I don’t want to go there.’
Mr Piper flinched and looked taken aback. Mortgage stood up, but only to walk over to the sink to stub out his cigarette.
‘It’s a premium facility Powlo. I assure good care will be taken of you, and let’s face it there isn’t a choice in this matter. You’re mother will not be coming back, we at Kollen Hall are now responsible for you.’
‘Fa-fuckin-cility? You make it sound like I’m a going to be a lab rat or something. Go to hell if you think you’ll keep me in a place like that.’ he said angrily.
‘Ahem. I’m going to take a leak, I’ll be right back.’ said Mortgage, and he walked out into the hall.
Powlo raged inside, that bloody Mr nice guy detective had just walked out! He was better than this Piper guy, he could have said something, he could have helped him.
But then something dawned on Powlo.
‘Would you like a coffee Mr. Piper?’
Mortgage came back into the room and immediately handcuffed Powlo’s ankle to his wrist as Powlo tried to run for the door. Powlo didn’t know how it happened but one minute he was dashing and the next he was writhing on the floor shouting.
Mortgage saved Mr. Piper, and then the ambulance took its second casualty away from the flat that day. Afterwards Mortgage took Powlo to the station and locked him in an interview room.
The next man to appear was Mr. Gunrun. He was much larger than Piper and much smarter. He wore a quality grey suit with a red tie. Gunrun spoke to Powlo like Mortgage did, he was very clever. He said he was taking Powlo to a high security boarding school for the gifted, called Absilico. Powlo thought it sounded great, but the downer was that it sounded like a very strict place, a place where he would be taught responsibility, discipline and respect. Powlo asked why it was high security and Gunrun told him it was because the youths who went there were like him, dangerous. Powlo didn’t think of himself as dangerous but then again Mr Piper probably did. There was another reason too, Gunrun looked at the interview room door, where Mortgage was hovering outside.
‘He went there too, he thinks it’s the best place for you now.’
Powlo couldn’t argue with that.
Permalink
06.22.11
Posted in Acid Fiction at 9:59 am by O-DoG
Nobody really knows what separates Cheese form its surrounding districts. That’s not to say its neighbours aren’t abnormal themselves, not at all, just that their cases are not as severe.
Some speculate at a long ago nuclear fallout from previous inhabitants of the planet. The contaminating radiation poisoning the area, which is why the sewers were filled with bug eyed spiders and three headed rats. This idea is heavily contested however, as the environmentalists in Cheese will blame the factories in Rumblecot, for pumping years of waste into the cities underground water ways. Some of the most violent protests in history were staged in Rumblecot, a guerrilla war that lead to many killed and injured. Eventually the environmentalists won their battle and shut down the factories and refineries in Rumblecot for good.
Some cultists say, it’s because of magic and curses left by primitives from a past age. These sects managed to steal ancient artefacts, idols and strange books and tomes, that were found in underground caves after archaeologists made a big discovery at a building site. The artefacts were taken to a near-by warehouse to keep safe while transportation was being prepared. But during the night the items went missing, as did the security persons guarding them.
One man went so far as to say Cheese was the centre of the universe. The scientist came up with equations and blueprints mapping out the known universe, which to his mind explained exactly why Cheese was the centre. The head professor at the Independent Cheese Space Exploration Institution, denounced the methods in which the theory was based on, he stated any calculations not made with the use of his institutions equipment cannot possibly be taken seriously by anyone. But to be fair, his ‘institution’ is located in his mother in law’s garage.
A popular theory is that there’s a door or portal to another dimension crossing over, spewing contradictions to reality everywhere. Most citizens who watch science fiction believe this is the case, many flock from other areas to Cheese as well, hoping to discover something, because a door to another world would surely be worth a few quid. It’s rumoured that the portal actually lays in a butchers microwave but to this day that remains unproven.
There’s also an urban myth of a student studying chemistry and psychoactive drugs, who managed to somehow create a drug that can open up the spirit and other untapped parts of humans, as well as the mind. It’s reported that humans only use 10% of their brain, so the adolescents discovery is said to unlock the rest. This would give the user a physical and mental effect, but also the side effect to affect the physical reality around them. A popular belief among teenagers and hedonists is that everyone who enters Cheese, becomes slightly under the influence of this drug because someone is secretly pumping it into the air in tiny molecules.
Many have tried to re-create the mythical substance and many have failed or died in the process.
Conspiracy theorists think it’s all the governments work and or aliens. But no one gives a shit about conspiracy theorists.
No matter what causes this phenomenon, its implications drastically change the city’s makeup into something almost living, breathing and unpredictable. Changing your average street crime into a crook pulling someone into an alley to snatch their purse, while holding a fresh water fish by the tail like a gun…
The dead fish might flop its jaws down towards the floor, with a hollow grimace that only a dead fish can do properly.
The fish probably wouldn’t know it was being used as an instrument of crime, but the victim would, no matter how confused they might be by it.
‘Hand over your purse, lady.’ the crook might possibly say.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ the lady might possibly reply.
‘If you don’t give me your purse I’m going to slap you around with this fresh water fish.’ the crook could say in return.
‘Oh indeed, here you go then.’ the lady might concede.
After swiping the bag, the crook would perhaps run away, tucking the fish into his waist band.
Now satisfied with his days work, the crook’s heart might leap at his success. He might find himself slinking off into another shady alley, to open the pale pink purse. Thumb and forefinger on the clasp, with a firm squeeze it might pop open. Then perhaps, even before he has time to peer inside, a flesh rending caterpillar might pop out in return, and spray horrendously acidic acid into his face.
‘Arhg my face!’ he might scream in pain, before probably falling down, clutching at the spiny creature attempting to devour him cheek first. It would probably be too late though, the corrosive spray would eat through him and all that would be left is a bloody and bubbling mass on the dirty flagstones.
It’s possible that after this has happened a figure shrouded in shadows would appear from somewhere dramatic. And any potential onlookers (especially those already aware of the crooks previous whereabouts) might gasp in surprise, because the lady who’s purse it might belong to, could reveal herself and step daintily into the alley and over to the sludgy crook’s remains. ‘Aaaw Jerry’ she would most probably say, while picking up the caterpillar from its last meal, and maybe throwing in a classic villain stroke for good measure.
The caterpillar probably wouldn’t know it was being used as an instrument of crime, but the victim would, no matter how painful his death might have turned out to be.
Perhaps the lady would pick up the fish too and take it home to her hubby.
‘Margret?’ her husband might possible say, when she returned home to their 2nd story flat in Cheese. ‘Margret where have you been dear’?
To which the lady, Margret, would say ‘I’ve been fishing, it’s trout for supper’…
And there we find our story, in the middle of Cheese, in the middle of crime, in the middle of a mystery, in the middle of a young life, flat broke with only one man to turn to…
Lingering on Fruity corner, babbling and looking strangely lost was Josh B. About three hours ago he’d been given (by one of his less reputable friends) a whole sheet of silly clown (L.S.D). He was wearing a hat from a famous computer game character, it was bright yellow with a large silver W on the peak. His eyes were glazed over and he walked slightly crooked with an off balance stammer. For props he was carrying a game console controller and sporting a parrot on his shoulder. The parrot squarked occasionally adding the the oddity of his look, but somehow it was reassuring, the bird obviously thought he was trust worthy… unless it was an evil bird.
Approaching from the opposite side of the street was a vivid contrast to Josh B. A young man around the same age as Josh, about 24 we’ll say. He wore a dark navy blue hoodie that said ‘REVOLUTION’ in an almost illegible black font across the chest. No hat like Josh B, just a shaved head. No parrot either. Instead a pair of silent headphones were slung around his neck. As for games controllers we can’t tell, one hand waves forwards and backwards like an clockwork guardsman as he walks, while the other rests concealed in the pouch pocket of his hooded top. Eyes still scanning, all the while we’re describing this.
‘Hey man!’ said Josh, looking up in what seems like excitement.
‘Hey.’ the contrasting young man returns with a nod, eyes narrowed.
‘Braaaark hello’ squawked the parrot.
‘Come and play video games with me, we need a million point marathon now!’ Josh said, waving the controller around.
The controller strayed within a couple of inches from the contrasting young man’s face. The young contrasting man shot out his left hand and grabbed Josh’s wrist.
‘I’m not going to play games with you, you Wario hat wearing parrot sporting games console loving acid muncher’ he said and let go of the wrist.
There was a pause. The contrasting young man scanned up the street and spotted the bus coming.
‘I have to go’ he said firmly, making a small sidestep.
Josh bristled and tried to block him… a bad move. Before he knew it the contrasting young man had jinked sideways, spinning and pivoting to get behind him. He gripped Josh in a bone creaking arm lock and dragged him towards the sweet shop on Fruity corner before throwing open the door and kicking the bastard inside.
‘Braaaark, shiver me timbers!’ squawked the parrot.
Fruity corner was named because of the graffiti on the pavement. It depicted a wonderfully colourful array of fruits and tropical delights, which set your taste buds off on rocket skies with just a glimpse. This is perfect for the sweet shop owner, whose premises reside on the corner, as his sweets are said to be the brightest and most colourful in Cheese. They taste all right too… and so does the pavement.
Why… what did you think it was named after?
Oh no, there won’t be any prejudices or stereotypes in this story, no sir. That’s not how we do things around here, even my accountant, Geraldine, will vouch for me on that.
The contrasting young man stepped onto the bus which had stopped just up the street from Fruity corner. The bus driver (like all bus drivers) was of course a complete and utter raving homosexual.
Trying to avoid eye contact the young man rooted around in his baggy jeans, scraping together enough coins to pay for a fare to Clown Street.
Once paid, the bus driver shot him a wink. ‘Clown Street… what business you got there?’
Unceremoniously tugging the ticket from the machine, Powlo ignored the driver and marched to the back of the empty bus to sit down.
Powlo made himself comfortable in a teenage style slouch that he should have grown out of long ago. He sunk his back into the corner and tucked his head down low, also bringing his foot up onto the bench seat running along the back of the vehicle. Satisfied with his sloppy and defiant posture, he pulled out his Redstar.
The Redstar or star for short, is what you might call a smartphone, but a star is far better because it’s ten times more powerful.
He swiped his thumb across the screen. The device automatically recognised his DNA and unlocked itself. After another press the screen was displaying a black and white video feed of a living room, another press, a porch, another, a bedroom, another, a garden. Each stroke was swiftly accurate and coordinated, this kind of polish you will only see with the generations brought up with modern technology from an early age.
The Redstar gave a chirp and a small box zoomed to the surface of the data pool. Inside the box was the portrait of a pretty girl with fashionably styled hair. Powlo thumbed the portrait, it expanded and took over the screen.
Powlo said ‘text’ out loud and it began to rapidly type out a message at the bottom.
‘Hey Powlo, I heard you were going to the Fire Dragon tonight. I’m working so you can come here first if you want, we’ll go together. Cam x’
Powlo made a few more gestures with his finger tips and sent back the reply ‘OK’.
Afterwards he pocketed the star and closed his eyes.
Permalink
03.02.11
Posted in Acid Fiction at 2:18 pm by O-DoG
Mortgage flew out of the passage and back into the room filled with junk. He then flew around the 2nd floor of the depot, and down the stairs into the small office. He hovered for a moment behind the door, checking for bogies on the radar, then fired his jets full throttle into the workshop. The airspace was empty so he eased upwards, gaining altitude.
‘Red 1 this is Blue 2, hostiles in sector 7, I repeat hostiles in sector 7, one confirmed kill, over’ he said coolly over his helmet’s radio bead, heart rate locked at a stable 65 beats per minute.
Mortgage’s oxygen mask made his words sound even cooler, muffling them with its musky static. Cooler still was his helmet’s black tinted visor.
As the craft began it’s climb, Mortgage thumbed a dial on the side of his seat to en-richen his breathing apparatuses air mixture, each intake was now increasingly delicious to him. Mortgage’s concentration was peaking, he checked over his planes systems, bearings steady, no wind, need to land soon though, fuel levels dropping rapidly.
‘What?’ crackled Red 1′s response over the link.
‘Red 1 what is your malfunction, maintain radio disciplin!’ Mortgage scolded, adjusting his bearings slightly to put him on course for the waypoint marker.
‘Are you high?’ said Red 1.
This riled the veteran pilot; his junior was way out of line, acting as though he was fresh out of the flight academy! Mortgage decided to set the example.
‘Altitude 2k, status combat retreat. Fuel levels low, radio HQ and prepare runway for landing, I’m coming in hot.’ he said pushing buttons in the cockpit.
‘uhm, Blue 2 this is uhm, Red 1, how many targets over?’
Mortgage could see the rookie now, powering towards him through the air stream, flecks of light shimmering off the canopy of his cockpit.
’2 hostiles on my heels boy, weapons free weapons free!’ he shouted.
‘Acknowledged, weapons free’ said Philpots.
‘They’ve obviously spiked or drugged him!’ thought Philpots shocked. Nothing he could do now apart from just play along, and hope he’s not barmy enough to start shooting. Wait, that wasn’t right, he said he’d already confirmed one kill. Had he shot someone?
Philpots hadn’t heard a gun go off; he’d watched the depot from across the street, smoking absently in an alley. He saw Mortgage crash out of a door in the back, he spread his arms wide like a gull, and make air plane sounds while trotting up and down the workshop floor.
Philpots immediately ran across to him, ignoring the protests of the lady in the booth. ‘Police business ma’am.’ he said. The woman carried on squawking at him so he turned and flashed his I.D ‘DOCTOR PHILPOTS, SHUT YOUR TRAP RIGHT NOW OR I’LL DETAIN YOU UNDER ACT 4443!’ he bellowed. The woman shrank back from her desk in stunned silence, whether she thought he was legit or mad she kept her trap firmly shut from then onwards.
The fantasy or spell or hallucination Mortgage was experiencing was that he was a fighter pilot, flying some super hightech machine. He could fly and hover, it seemed, and when he spoke to Philpots he made hissing and clicking sounds, mimicking noises Philpots thought he’d heard before, in a crappy sci-fi film or something.
Before and after Mortgage spoke, he blew air through his teeth puffing out his cheeks, to make a sound like white noise, but only for a split second. Philpots decided this was radio interference… what was he saying, this was nothing. This was his partner being an ass! Then again, he’d never seen the old gun acting like this… he was completely off his nut.
‘What happened?’ Philpots asked.
Mortgage circled the room and shouted something about preparing the runway for landing. Then he said something that put Philpots really on edge ‘Two hostiles incoming, weapons free!’ So Philpots drew his pistol and flicked off the safety. As he did so, Mortgage swan dived flat on his chest, with his arms folded behind his back sliding across the floor towards him. Philpots only just noticed Mortgage wasn’t wearing his coat as some of the buttons on his shirt pinged off.
‘I think I’m losing my mind.’ said Mortgage, his voice sounding defeated.
The junior detective dragged Mortgage up onto his feet and out into the street. They were halfway into the car when a series of dark green vans streamed down the road and skidded to a halt outside the Gremlins station. The young detective struggled to shift his partner and keep an eye on the heavy dudes exiting the vans and charging inside the building. The Gremlins didn’t seem to pay them any attention though, for this Philpots was glad. ‘What happened?’ he asked.
‘Get me in the car, I’ll tell you later.’ said Mortgage.
The rain attacked the cars roof as the two detectives, one held up by the other, came into the alley. Philpots opened the passengers side door and let Mortgage slide from his shoulder into the seat.
‘I’m driving.’ said Mortgage blankly.
‘Sure you are.’ replied Philpots shutting the door.
He moved back to the street and peered out from the alley. The vans were still outside, a Gremlin thug in one of the driving seats was talking on a mobile phone while smoking a pipe. He wanted to take a closer look but he knew he couldn’t risk it, the Gremlins were out in force and in a hurry, not something one man and a pop gun should be messing with. Philpots got into the driving seat, glad to be out of the storm. He pulled out his phone and dialed the station.
‘Philpots.’ He said, purposely not attempting to say “Detective.”
‘We’ve had an incident at the Gremlins cab depot….’
Mortgage was sitting in the seat drifting in and out of his thoughts. The effects of what had drugged him hadn’t completely worn off; he felt his skin shimmer with an after glow, some sort of heat wave. He could see through his hands, Philpots had a beak. He could hear his partners voice echo around the car, ‘Incident…. incident…. incident….depot… depot….depot…..we need some backup… something is going on…on…on….’ Something snapped in Mortgages brain, like the crack of a whip. Alarm bells started ringing, not literally but mentally.
‘We must contain them!’ he yelled.
‘Hey!’ defended Philpots struggling to fight off Mortgages now flailing fists.
‘Send a fucking bin for this loony!’ he wailed at his intoxicated partner and mobile phone.
‘You need to send more, there’s something down there. They are taking it now, we have to stop them!’ said Mortgage pleadingly.
Philpots sighed and said gravely ‘Danny, you’re compromised, you’ve been spiked, you don’t know what’s real any more…’
Mortgage looked like he was about to suffocate. Philpots realised it was anger welling up in Mortgage’s cheeks and felt around for the door handle, but… too late. Mortgage grabbed him by the throat and squeezed, his eyes blazing.
‘The things that drugged me are still down there, hundreds of them, they’re cloning them and who knows what for! Call for backup now!’ he said venomously.
Philpots choked, struggled and kicked his legs, eyes widening. He dropped the phone on the dashboard but as he did, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Two Gremlins strolled into the alley, their long green trench cloaks sopping wet with dirty gutter water. One of them was wearing square sun glasses, his locks bound in a top knot. The other was shade less, his un-sympathetic yellow stained eyes locked onto the men fighting in their car. They pulled Mac-10′s from under their garbs and held them low by their hips and started spraying in sweeping arcs. Mortgage had known they were there a split second after Philpots, he noticed his partners eyes and the look of horror within them. He didn’t need to look for his self to know what was afoot. He let go of his junior and simultaneously slumped low in his seat, using his right hand to pull the gun from under his arm pit. As soon as he was down bullets started howling in to the vehicle. With his other hand Mortgage grabbed the door handle and flung it open. He only had one chance to pull this tricky move off; if he’d fumbled they’d both be dead. He yelled ‘DOWN!’ as well, but this was just autopilot stuff. Mortgage drew himself half out of the car and aimed his revolver underneath the door, the first time he saw the Gremlins they were upside down. Philpots screamed and threw his arms over his head and ducked down in his seat. The noise was horrendous, glass, plastic, upholstery and water whizzed around like a hurricane inside the car. Bullets riddled the bonnet and front bumper. He couldn’t hear himself screaming it was so loud. He was dead, he knew it.
The Gremlins dropped their empty Mac-10′s to the floor and both pulled a second from inside their coats and started shooting again in chorus. They seemed to be in a trance, rhythmically moving from right to left, bracing themselves against the recoil, the one with the yellow eyes showed nothing but control and accomplishment. Then there was a noise that was even louder than the sub machine guns chatter. It was a single boom that cut through the racket like molten lava through a paper dam. The Gremlin with the square shades’ left knee cap disappeared in a pulp of red gore, his screams adding vocals to the chaotic symphony. His sub machine gun fell to the floor and bounced, still spewing bullets. Mortar and brickwork crumbled from the walls on either side, kicking up puffs of dust. The yellow eyed man dropped to a crouch and scuttled towards the passengers door diagonally, much like a bishop on a chess board. As soon as his accomplice had fell he was on a pre-set destination, as though on a railway track, weapon still blazing. Mortgage hung out of the passengers door, closed one eye and aimed, ignoring the noise and burning metal screaming into the bodywork of his squad car, ignoring the rain pissing down onto his hat and clothes, ignoring the purple and blue striped camel laughing at him from the street beyond and put a bullet into one of those yellow eyes. Another thunderclap then silence, save for the pattering of rain, and screaming of both the remaining Gremlin and Philpots. Mortgage fell out of the car gracefully, like a cow. He stood up using the car door to balance himself, it was hot to touch and steam was rising from it’s new 9mm bullet holes. The Gremlin writhed in the dirty rain water, Mortgage could see a small river of blood pouring from a red lake underneath where the man’s knee should have been. Philpots tried the car, it wheezed and laughed at his attempts to revive the engine. Mortgage kept his eyes fixed on the broken body on the floor, it rolled slightly to one side, a swift hand diving to an inside pocket. ‘Stupid’ thought Mortgage, and fired another deafening shot.
For a moment he stood in the alley with his gun in hand, the barrel smoking innocently. His thoughts came to him more clearly now, the visual hallucinations were subsiding, but not as they did inside the depot. Before, his senses had returned to him like he’d awoken from a dream with a hard jolt. This time he had felt the drug slide out of his body and mind, almost as though the heart wrenching adrenaline from the gun fight had pushed the poison to expiration. He clicked his pistol in half and turned back to the car emptying the spent shells, covering the live ones with his thumb to stop them dropping out. Philpots had started the car and was looking anxious. Mortgage got into the vehicle and opened the glove compartment where he kept a box of slugs.
‘Show me how you drive boy, and show me well.’ He said while reloading.
For a moment Mortgage thought Philpots was going to break down, break down in a hissy fit that the first time he got to drive the car was when it was on its last breath.
‘They’re coming!’ shouted Mortgage putting the tumbler back into place and giving it a Hollywood spin. Philpots didn’t break down, he floored the gas pedal and steam rolled the two bodies in the alley before shooting out into the street, sliding the car to his left and hanging it’s rear end into the far lane.
Permalink
Posted in Acid Fiction at 2:16 pm by O-DoG
There was a scuffle from inside the room, Mortgage heard rapid footsteps coming towards the door. He ran back to the room that was like an oven but slipped on some moisture when passing the plastic curtain. Mortgage tumbled backwards awkwardly and hit his elbow hard on the floor. His revolver went tumbling. There was a shout from behind, Greble had spotted him. Mortgage rolled into the heat haze and got to his feet, his elbow was throbbing with pain, but he didn’t think it had broken. Scanning the floor for his gun he crouched low, behind the tables racks and shelves housing the rare breeds of plants. He got dazzled by a bright light and squinted for a second before punching it square in the lens face. The light cracked, flickered for a moment then died. He could see sun spots when he blinked now, but he’d located the gun under a low set rack, stocked with an arrangement of bottled fluids. Greble was at the curtain now just 10 feet away, Mortgage lunged for his weapon grabbing it with both hands and stood up. At that second Greble stepped out and started to raise something in his right hand. Mortgage fired, the sound was deafening in the small confines of the basement. The Gremlin fell back and crumpled under the ferocious power of the shot, leaving a puff of red mist where he had been standing. Mortgage knew the gig was up, the time for creeping around was done. He never wanted it to come down to this but there wasn’t a choice now. He’d followed his instincts and they had lead him to something… what that was he didn’t know exactly. He knew he had to escape though, self preservation was now priority number one. He heard nothing from the back room Greble had speedily evacuated, this unnerved him. To get out he would have to cross over to the passageway he entered. From there would be a clear line of site to the curtain. He crouched low and started to weigh up his options.
Vaul heard Grebles alarming shout, then the gunshot. Somehow he didn’t suspect Greble was still alive, he wasn’t a combatant. Calmly he pulled out his mobile and called Mahu. The tone chimed three times and halfway into the fourth chime the sound cut out and a harsh, deep voice answered. ‘I was sleeping’ it said.
‘Mahu, we have a rat in the lab. Move fast.’ said Vaul calmly.
There was a satisfied growl and a rustling sound from the handset’s earpiece. ‘Keep him busy’ said Mahu.
Vaul put the phone back into his expensive jacket and walked over to a wall panel. On the panel was a layout of the basement with lights and dials assigned to each room. The one he was in had a dial with a red side and a blue side. It was set almost all the way to blue – very cold. There was another dial assigned to the adjacent room which at the moment was set about mid way into the red. He cocked his head sideways for a moment in thought, then turned it all the way into the red, putting the heat up. He found a different panel for the stairways and passages too, and did the same.
Mortgage, kept his profile low behind the apparatus looking for something on wheels. He’d decided a dash for the door would get him killed. Finding a mobile barricade was the safest option, and he could probably slow whoever was behind him down after he got out. Mortgage doubted the other Gremlin would be such a push over, he’d be faster and more cunning. It’d been at least two minutes now and he hadn’t seen or heard anything. This told Mortgage he was dealing with a calm and intelligent foe. Mortgage thought the bastard had probably called for backup, or alerted the building to his presence. Some of the cab drivers would be back now at least. He hoped Philpots wouldn’t come in after him, he hoped he would use his noodle and make some more calls, but then again would all the Gremlins that had been sent to bogas jobs be lacking suspicion? Probably not. They’d be onto him soon, and if they saw Philpots lurking around with a phone they might snatch him, or worse. Mortgage found a trolley with a plant in a water bath on top, the water circulated through clear plastic tubes into the base of the bath, giving off a soothing trickling sound. Mortgage didn’t feel the heat or the throb in his elbow so much now his adrenaline was pumping through his body, but the tranquil sound of the water bath soothed his heart rate a little and cleared his head. The trolley was brand new, he checked for rusty or broken wheels, even a break in case he could accidentally or intentionally trigger it. He found nothing so he grabbed it low with his free hand and began backing away to the edge of the room, his revolver held out in a firm grip waiting for a target.
‘Who are you?’ called a voice that sounded just like the chilled hallway it was coming from – cool, collected, calm.
‘He’s trying to stall me’ Mortgage thought. He sped up his backwards shuffle until his back brushed against the wall. He was aching from the awkward crouch he was in, and the room was beginning to feel unbearably hot again. ‘Tell me mon, how you findin our secret garden huh?’ The voice said this in a thick Fudjin accent, nothing like the well spoken manner he’d heard previously.
Mortgage ignored him, it was just trying slow him down, to give him a lapse in concentration. Now he was moving sideways to his right behind a mess of benches full of plants, the trolley on his right, with the escape door opposite. There wasn’t enough room between the bench and the wall to stay behind the trolley so he now had to push it out when the time came.
‘I’ll find out who you are whether you tell me or not. You won’t evade us, and when we catch you, I promise we’ll show mercy, if you just tell me.’ said the voice resuming it’s well spoken accent.
Now was the time thought Mortgage. He shoved the trolley hard towards the door, there was a loud clatter as it hit the wall beside it. Mortgage was already moving close behind, keeping low diving for the door. Just as he got into safety three gunshots howled out from the laboratory, two struck the trolley and the last pinged off the door. Mortgage turned back to the trolley and dragged it into the doorway and up ended it. Before the plant and it’s water bath fell onto the floor with a splash, another gunshot rang out and clipped the botanical thing. It didn’t explode or lose it’s shape, but a black mist sprayed up from the bullet hole followed by a piercing shrieking whistle. The sound rattled Mortgages bones to the core. The plants he knew didn’t do that. You could clip a rose bush in the heat of a summer sun and it wouldn’t complain or plea to the surgeon meticulously severing it’s beautiful foliage. This thing although previously seeming peaceful and soothing in it’s cool water bath was a monster, it was alive. It wailed and howled like a coyote waking up on a frosty morning to find it’s cubs missing. The sound of an angry despairing mother scorning the earth for her misfortune. On top of this, the droplets of black liquid spewed up from it glazed Mortgages face. He called out and wiped his sleeve across his brow, the liquid was greasy like oil. Lots came off but some still clinged to his cheeks hungrily. ‘No time to fuck around.’ He thought. No time at all, the room was stiflingly hot now, like an oven. Everything was now happening in slow motion. The abomination of nature in the water bath was just hitting the floor, it tumbled sideways out of it’s artificial habitat and rolled away. As soon as it was separated from the safety of the water it ceased it’s death rattle and hopefully died and went to hell. Mortgage couldn’t tell if he’d blocked off the doorway properly, it was difficult to see or think. He just had enough coherent though to think to himself that whatever was on his face would probably kill, disable or send him to the funny farm. Giving up was certainly not an option to him though. Mortgage was in a pear shaped situation but his natural born instinct was to keep on.
Each footfall the detective made down the passageway was muted to his senses, his feet treading on what seemed to be fluffy white clouds, or marshmallows. ‘Yeah probably marsh mallows!’ he thought. They were soft and silent, he wondered what they tasted like and floated down to see them. They were so soft and squishy, he smiled at them and they smiled back. They were like the faces of children he thought, but too much like the faces of children. Their smiles weren’t friendly, they looked like a child’s first smile, a confused smile, one that isn’t innocent one that is just an uncoordinated body reaction, a terrible thing Mortgage thought, to smile, to laugh at something without a reason, or without understanding why or even having a concept of happiness. He felt the paranoia slide into the right side of his brain, filtering everything he saw and felt, soaking his soul in guilt and confusion. The faces of the clouds were angry now, crying. He decided to float back up, away, to the safety of the sky. He sailed like a buzzard, effortlessly bending the air pockets of the heavens to his will. Relieved to be away from the angry marshmallows Mortgage stretched out his wings and yawned. It was awfully hot he thought. Maybe he should take his skin off. A second later his coat was on the marshmallows, the faces biting and chewing the sleeves, teething their hallucinated teeth. Hallucination was something Mortgage had experienced before, he’d been spiked by a couple of criminals in his time. He knew it wasn’t ideal, but he could deal with it. Mortgage hadn’t experienced anything this powerful though and had he been conscious enough to access his previous memories and experiences he would be very worried. But, he wasn’t so he carried on, sliding from left to right, dragging his feet and humming a slurred version of some song he’d heard on an advert selling toilet cleaners. ‘zaaa the fucking duck cleans you the fuck up so buy my duck you fuck!’ he said. Then laughed as he looked at the marshmallows again. He took great pleasure in standing on their faces. So he started to stomp like a toddler, stomp stomp on their faces. ‘Ha ha, you bastards I got you!’ he shouted. Then something started tickling the inside of his head, something nagging that he couldn’t figure out. His vision wasn’t distorted, but it seemed like everything was an inch from his face. He shook his head left and right trying to draw himself back. Something swam in the tidal reactions going on in his brain. Mortgage had a flickering vision of the last couple of minutes events. Following two men then the cool alcove behind the lab. A bright flash and he saw Greble flying backwards robbed of life in a bang of explosive power and after that a terrible body numbing howl of the abominate thing in the water bath. ‘Get out!’ he shouted to himself. He really did call out to himself because he was now looking at his own fumbling stumbling self through a window located somewhere he would never know or understand.
Mortgage pressed his face and hands against the glass looking at himself through the window. His real self was slumped with his shoulder against the wall in the corridor, panting. ‘Move you idiot! Get out!’ he shouted with a raspy voice that echoed a thousand times. He rattled his fists against the glass not even a gorilla could break. The marshmallows now half looking at the real Mortgage and half looking at the apparition behind the glass were laughing again. One of the marshmallows set itself free and jumped up, gliding towards him as he continued to try and break free. The other Mortgage, the real Mortgage, was still settled immobile against the wall. ‘Use the controls you stupid ape’ said the marshmallow with a childish chirp. ‘Use the controls before they get you.’ Mortgage blinked startled then drew back.
‘The controls!’ said Mortgage in realisation. In front of him, was an arcade style console, with two joysticks and four or eight buttons maybe… he couldn’t count. He instantly grabbed one of the joysticks and moved it erratically. The Mortgage in the passageway spun around like a spinning top, legs like spaghetti – it was a wonder how they didn’t tangle and trip him. Mortgage took hold of the other stick and move it again increasing the maddening dance, this time moving himself side to side in the passage and then up and down. Wild and satisfied he said ‘Now I have you, me, no it’s me, I have it!’ Then he began testing the buttons too. One of them made him jump, the other duck, some threw out deadly jabs and kicks. He quickly figured by combining these buttons with each other and also movements he could perform a whole array of killer maneuvers.
‘I’m a deadly weapon ha ha! Look out you little brats I’m going to chop you down!’ The marshmallows flew up from the floor in a big cloud of screaming faces they looked sinister now, they slowly turned a deep shade of blood red. Mortgage pulled himself back to a safe distance and got ready to fight. They didn’t want to fight though, the marshmallow by the window who had spoken to him about the controls spoke up again. ‘We will be your life, you and us are together now, we must escape this land, you are our god.’ And after this he joined the others, turning red like them and then they all proceeded plastering themselves in a long horizontal line across the top of the window. ‘Aha I have a health bar!’ said Mortgage grinning happily.
Mortgage could see his body was sweating, but not just sweating, he was actually melting. Not literally melting but as close to melting one can get before one does. The heat in the passageway was steaming up the hallucinated glass, which was of course impossible and ridiculous. Mortgage tried wiping the glass then breaking it again, which was of course impossible and ridiculous. You can’t break glass that has been conjured up in the mind to be unbreakable and glass that has been conjured up in the mind can’t steam up either. So instead he put his hands back on the controls which were also scolding with heat and moved himself up the passageway towards the spiral staircase. A couple of the marshmallows now serving as the Detective’s health bar slowly fading away as his body started dying. When he reached the passageway Danny saw a gunshot zip passed the window, bright white and brilliant. It didn’t travel as fast you would expect, for moment he wanted to reach out and pluck it from the air. The glass would stop him, he knew that now. He pulled down on one of the controls instead and punched a green button. The puppet in the passageway ducked and then rolled under the stairs, out of sight. As soon as he passed the door the landscape behind the glass changed. He was now viewing the spiral stairs from an aerial position right at the top of the stairs. It was still hot here, Mortgages health marshmallows still ticked away, but slower now. He seized the control again and started running up the stairs, gun in hand. He got about halfway when a sinister shape appeared right in front of the glass. It was the Gremlin from earlier, the one sleeping on the sofa. The glass not so steamed up now seemed to rumble as the giant took steps down towards Mortgage. The Detective was now trapped between a gun and a neanderthal. Neither route suited him really but he couldn’t brave the heat in the passageway again so he decided to take on the giant. The giant stepped down the stairs slowly rumbling the steel frame with every step. The marshmallows on the side of his window looked terrified. Mortgage however was bathed in a cool wave of peaceful euphoria. This probably had something to do with the drugs. He was good at killing when he had to be, but he never relished the coming of the storm like he did now. He felt like a hero on a last stand with an alien menace that was destined to wipe out the human race. The whole of earths population was backing him, cheering him on. He would be the champion of the galaxy in a moments time, he would be king of the people!
A giant paw swept down across Mortgages head like King Kong trying to swat pesky fighter planes while climbing a sky scraper. Mortgage almost lost his hat. ‘You bastard!’ he should and pointed his well oiled revolver at the massive shape. As he did this he realised he was himself again. Not behind the window or controlling himself. The drug had worn off. Or had it? No time to think “just go” he thought. He tipped the barrel of his pistol up slightly, aiming for the Gremlins ankle. The giant was above him on the stairs remember? “One more swing like that and I’ll blow your fucking leg off” said Mortgage.
The giant narrowed his eyes. “You can’t pass ere mon” boomed the giants voice.
“Shut the fuck up, this isn’t lord of the shitting rings, get up those stairs before I send you 6ft under.” replied Mortgage rage in his voice.
“You got it blood” said the giant and started to turn.
“Not so fast scum pot, put your hands behind your back. If you think about grabbing anything you’ll feel a bullet up your arse before you can say chicken noodle” said Mortgage. The gremlin obliged. “Now move it, nice and slow.” he said carefully. Mortgage had considered killing him outright, but he wasn’t sure that was such a good idea. If the giant fell he would crush Mortgage or at least pin him down until the other arrived. No, this was not the time for a showdown. The giant and the detective reached the top of the spiral stairs. Mortgage told him to stand aside, no funny stuff. Then he pulled out his hand cuffs and tossed them to the giant.
“Put one on and the other to the railings” he said.
Mortgage wasn’t sure if the cuffs would hold for long or indeed the rail but he didn’t have another choice. The gremlin slipped one of rings over his wrist and clicked the mechanism home. Then he went to put the cuff on the hand rail.
“Not there you sneaky son of a hamstring! On the vertical, the thick one.” said Mortgage scathingly.
“Right you are boss” said the giant locking himself to the fattest part of the staircase.
“I’ll pull your legs off, and beat you over the head with them detective.” said the giant as Mortgage turned his back to leave.
Mortgage ignored him and fled down the passage with added haste.
Permalink
Posted in Acid Fiction at 2:05 pm by O-DoG
The two Detectives walked straight passed the building and snuck a closer look inside. It appeared to be empty, save for an old foreign lady tucked inside a glass booth on the right.
‘Looks like the cab distributor I spoke to’ said Philpots.
‘How’s her English?’ asked Mortgage.
‘Good enough, but I doubt she would recognise me.’ said Philpots puffing out his chest a little.
‘We need to distract her, give me your notepad.’ said Mortgage.
Philpots looked taken aback ‘Can we not just go in there, flash our I.Ds and do the biz?’
‘No. These are dangerous people; and we don’t know how loyal this woman is. Anyway you saw how they shot up that bridge, we can’t afford to take a chance and let them know we’re checking them out or they’ll get nasty, fast. These guys don’t mess around when it comes to hurting people, including their own. Imagine what they’ll do to a couple of cops like us.’ said Mortgage.
Philpots nodded ‘understood.’
‘Grand, now give me your notepad.’
Philpots passed it over asking. ‘What’s the plan?’
Mortgage took a pen out of his inner pocket and braced the pad on the brickwork of a building, shielding it from the rain with his elbow. ‘I’m going to draw a fake map. Say to the clerk that someone drew it for you, but you’re lost. I’ll put in Cardinal Street here and the Black Leaf pub here.’ he indicated, then carried on sketching the bogus map.
When he was finished Philpots took the pad and observed it. ‘Very nice, it must be hard work learning how to screw something up this badly and make it believable.’ he said.
‘Just keep her busy, I’ll check the place out.’ said Mortgage, putting his pen back into his pocket.
‘Why can’t I check the place out and you do the distracting?’ asked Philpots. Mortgage looked angrily at him.
‘Ok ok, sheesh, get a grip, I’ll go!’ said Philpots moving back to the depot.
Mortgage watched him go then crossed the road so the upcoming depot would be on his right, with the booth on the right of the car sized doorway. He wanted to come at it from the left side so Philpots was blocking the clerks view and slip passed. He casually walked by the building, carrying on 15 or so paces and crossed the road. Once he’d crossed he walked into an old shop doorway and pushed the door. It resisted, it was locked. The sign said ‘Closed’ after all. Mortgage looked up the street, left then right, the street was deserted so he walked back to the depot.
Mortgage’s shoulder was brushing against the wet brick of the Gremlins cab station. The smell of the depot was in his nostrils now, steel, grease, diesel and oil mixed with the acrid stench of the rain. A few more steps and he would have to duck inside. He sniped a quick look over his shoulder to see if anything was coming behind him, nothing was. Three steps more to go. He heard Philpots talking to the clerk
‘Can you correct it for me? Oops, sorry I apologise!’ he said.
Philpots had pushed his notepad with more force than was needed. it sailed through the booths money slot and landed on the floor by the woman’s knees.
‘Oooh it no problem no problem’ she said.
Philpots beckoned with his free hand tucked down beside by his thigh. Mortgage didn’t need a second invitation and sidestepped into the doorway heading straight for the back of the garage. He tucked himself behind an empty cab out of sight from the booth and looked around. There were two doors. One was slightly open so he crouched down and leaned his body to get a better angle. Lavatory – no good. The other door was easier for him to get to anyway so he stood up and went for it.
Rolling the circular door knob with his right hand he gently budged the woodwork with his knee. The hinge didn’t squeak, but he’d only opened it a fraction. He peered inside, the rim of his hat folding up against the frame. He could see a bulletin board on the far wall, with a step and the beginning of a rail. A desk with a small computer monitor caked in dirt and dust. The rest of the desk covered in a scatter of yellowing papers. The door opened inwards so he could not see what was in the middle or the right of the room. He assumed it was fairly small though, as the staircase looked like it was heading up and to the right, leaving little room for anything but filing cabinets. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly, it was as quiet as a trumpet sock. The staircase did curve up over where he’d suspected. But he was wrong about the rest of the room, it was small but there weren’t any filing cabinets. A faded moth eaten dirty, stuffing falling out, crappy, rusty-spring sofa was. Lying on it fast asleep was an enormous gangster. He lay on his back with his head on the far left arm rest, dreadlocks so fat and long they mingled together into a trunk sized bunch and curled up onto the floor. His boots almost touched the floor on the other side too, as his legs dangled over the arm rest. On the floor beside the big Gremlin was a plastic ashtray, well Mortgage told himself it was plastic, because it was a circle of shrunken skulls. A big fat Cuban sized cigar was smoldering in it, giving off an intoxicating whiff of cannabis. Mortgage would have liked to take a look around the office but it wasn’t a sound idea right now so he quietly rushed through the room and up the winding stairs.
He found himself on a cruddy landing. The space over the depot was vast, this level was a rat maze of doors and thin passageways. Not knowing where to start, he thought it would be best to look for an alternative exit in case he needed to get out fast. He found a window with a strong iron drainage pipe running along the outside of the depot’s brickwork. It hadn’t been opened in years and took some force to slide open. The sounds of torrential rain on tin roof tops and fat droplets in deep puddles filled his senses. The drainpipe was mossy, slippery and awkward. There was a shed on ground level with a corrugated roof. He thought he could use the drainpipe to slide down to the roof if he needed to, but it would be risky. Next he started checking the rooms. He worked back to the office staircase listening to every door before opening. Some were empty, some had randomly stacked boxes, contents ranging from spare parts to rags or papers. Mortgage began to lose faith, he didn’t even know what he was looking for. The Gremlins had wanted their pal in the tutu for something though, so he kept looking for any sign of a clue. He’d almost made it all the way back to the stairs when he heard voices in the office downstairs, three of them. Then he heard footsteps thudding up towards him, the voices growing louder. Mortgage ran across the hallway and into a room filled with spare parts and hid behind a stack of boxes. Then he realised he’d left the door slightly open. The voices were even louder now, he could hear two men talking in their thick Fudjin accents.
‘Show me where, Greble. Now!’ said one curtly.
‘I’ll take you right now mon, no fussing.’ said the other, ‘Greble’ Mortgage thought. Then he shot out of his hiding place and went for the door, he was inches away when he heard the men right outside. The door opened inwards so Mortgage side stepped to his left and braced himself against the wall. The door flung open. For a second he thought it was going to hit him but it stopped just shy of his chest.
‘Is this it?’ said the first voice.
‘No mon, I just… I don’t remember leaving dis door open’ said Greble. Then the door closed again.
Mortgage breathed out relieved, waiting for them to move further up the passage. When he was satisfied they were far enough away he opened the door again and tailed them, this time he made sure the door shut behind him.
Mortgage followed them, keeping his footsteps in unison with theirs. He stayed far back so they wouldn’t hear him, and he stuck close to doorways just in case he needed to conceal himself again. Mortgage studied the Gremlins from his position. He decided the taller one with the expensive clothes and the black pimp hat, with a red feather lazily waving from it, was in charge. Greble, a shorter slightly fat and dirty man shuffled alongside him wearing an old beat up sweater with oil stained jeans. Perhaps he was one of the mechanics Mortgage thought. Greble walked with clumsily heavy footsteps, the taller boss figure strode with violent authority. They came to a cross in the hallways, the Gremlins went straight on, Mortgage moved to the right hall and checked his pistol’s load. A well oiled revolver, not standard issue, the cops used Berettas these days. He preferred his old weapon though. It packed a bigger punch. After snapping the tumbler back in he felt the weight of it in his right hand, then pulled back the hammer. He was slightly reassured, but not completely. This could get bad, really bad. He tucked the gun back into his shoulder holster and looked round the corner. He saw the Gremlins standing outside a door talking. ‘Where are you going you bastards, I’ve been there, there’s in nothing there, what are you up to?’ Mortgage whispered under his breath. Greble opened the door and walked inside followed by the other, the door closed behind them. Mortgage paused for a while listening, watching. He could hear the rain outside hammering off tin and steel, feel it’s fuzzy itch from inside the depot. He moved on, up to the door and gently put his ear against it. Nothing, not a sound. He foolishly cupped his hand against his ear for a second then screwed his face up at how silly this was. He checked both sides of the door for cracks, then underneath, nothing. He waited for a few minutes listening, then after some time he decided to go inside. He pulled his revolver out with his right hand, using his left to hold the door knob. He took a deep soothing breath to calm himself and held it, the he gripped the door’s knob hard and twisted, and flung it inwards, exhaling in a long drawn out stream. A millisecond after that he put both hands around the grip of his gun steadying his aim. He saw nothing in the room and strafed to either side of the door checking the angles, then he went inside looking down the barrel. Nothing, empty. ‘Cheeky’. He said out loud.
In the corner behind some beaten crates was a brickwork passageway. It was damp and dimly lit. Mortgage couldn’t see how the opening had been triggered from the outside, but as he moved inside he saw a rusty leaver on the wall. He decided not to touch it because he really didn’t fancy getting stuck. A flight of steel stairs lead downwards in a right angle spiral, he kept his foot steps as quiet as he could. The place was lit by dark red lamps on the grubby walls. At the bottom he found a concrete floor, with only one exit, a darker, more humid tunnel with yet more stairs. The stairs were concrete but covered in a thin plastic lining. The walls were crawling with moisture, Mortgage could feel himself start to sweat, making him want to remove his coat, he couldn’t though. He pushed on through the deep underside of the depot moving a little faster now, the muggy darkness seemed to swallow any noise he made. Mortgage saw a light up ahead, it was hanging above heavy metallic door with a circular port hole in the top. The hole’s thick glass was steamed up from the inside. Mortgage rubbed his cuff against the glass but it didn’t make any difference. Again he was at a point where he had to enter a room not knowing what was on the other side. He went through the motions again, gun against door, left hand on handle, breathe in, exhale slow, open, scan.
The room was devoid of human life. Intense lights hung from the low ceiling on heavy chains, hovering above countless numbers of exotic plants. The room was unbearable hot and sticky. Complex gadgets blipped and clicked, advanced lighting systems emitting phosphorescent glows unlike anything he’d seen before, some pulsed dull throbbing flashes, others rapidly changed through whole spectrums of colour. Smaller, black apparatus chattered and hissed spitting out clouds of ichorous fluid, drenching the alien foliage and bulbous pods with glistening moisture. Thick cables in black rubber casing ran along the walls into huge industrial power sockets generating an unnerving humming sound. Mortgage had stumbled upon something amazing, and terrible. The danger these things could cause to the city was excessive. If they fell into the wrong hands – and no doubt that’s what they were in now, the consequences would be disastrous. Mortgage headed over to the wall on the far side, following a fat cluster of pipes leading to the power socket. He studied the terminal but couldn’t make anything of it, he was considering just ripping them out when he heard voices again. He cursed under his breath and ducked down. He’d forgotten all about the two men he was tailing. The sickly heat was clogging his senses, perspiration dripped down from his hat into his eyes. His palms were sweaty, the gun in his hands felt loose and difficult. Mortgage wiped the handle on his shirt, trying to get a grip on himself. It was hard to draw breath, the vapour in the air was beginning to make him nauseous. He listened for the voices again, they were coming from a chamber to his right. A plastic drape separated both rooms, he passed through it into a cool corridor. Immediately relieved he gasped and took in the cold air. In here the floor was misty like the smoke from dry ice, peaceful clouds swirled around his knees. The environment was soothing compared to the other chamber so he pressed on in the direction of the voices. He found another metal door with a port hole, this time it was slightly ajar. He listened.
‘There’s all fifty here mon and they’re all sufferin now the queen is missin. They can’t survive more than a month on their own or their growth will start declinin. The plants need the Medusa’s energy to connect to each other, if they not feelin like family they’ll start breakin down, you know what I’m sayin?’. said Greble.
‘How was the Medusa taken?’ said the dangerous one.
‘I can’t work it out mon, It was inside the bulletproof cabinet there, surrounded by dis force field.’
A crack and a fizz like someone opening a shaken can of carbonated drink followed, the sweet burning smell of manipulated atoms filled Mortgages nostrils from outside.
‘To disable it you need the code, and only me and the boss knows it. Also the glass wasn’t broken, you need the code to lift it away. It’s held down by weights under dis room, it’s not possible to open without the code or breakin it. said Greble again.
‘So Vines had the code?’ asked the tall man with a twitch in his voice. Greble didn’t answer straight away, and when he did it was with slight apprehension.
‘There is another way’. he said pausing.
‘Tell me!’ barked the other.
‘Well… Vines could have triggered the climate control and set it from frosty to warm like, he could have woken up the Medusa and used it’s power to pull it free’ said Greble.
‘That’s why it’s cold in here?’
‘Yes, The cactus shuts down her telepathic waves when winter come, we can make them sleepy and hibernate like this, that way they’re safe. When Vines took the Medusa he could have changed the climate in ere. But I don’t know how he knew how to, it’s not easy and these tings are no-simple. He must have been a scientific boy for dat mon. We should find Vines and ask him ourself’ said Greble.
‘That’s not going to happen… in this lifetime.’ said the dangerous man.
‘Wh… Why?’ Stammered Greble.
The man laughed coldly ‘I’m not going to kill YOU Greble, no… Vines is dead.
‘He’s dead? Shit, how we gonna find her now she’s gone!’ shouted Greble.
‘A cactus as powerful as the Medusa can’t stay under the radar for too long now can it? It will fall into a fools hands sooner or later’ said the other man silkily.
‘Fook, we need to clear dis out, them babylon will come ere lookin for Vines, all they gotta do is see our power bill, it’s long as me dick mon!’ Greble continued panic rising in his voice.
The tall man laughed and said ‘Greble calm, we have a cleanup crew coming to move everything right now, they’re on their way.
‘Oh mon I gotta prepare, I gotta get dis organised, you should have tell me before now mon!’
Permalink
Posted in Acid Fiction at 1:57 pm by O-DoG
The two Detectives strolled up to the witness now leaning against the railings. The officer accompanying him turned towards them.
“Detective… Doctor…” he said first nodding to acknowledge Mortgage then Philpots.
“Not now plod” said Philpots angrily.
“He’s right Sinkins, not now.” agreed Mortgage.
The bridge was busy with activity, the officer smirked and walked back towards the arriving police and medics. The press had turned up too, Mortgage could hear them shouting and demanding to know what was going on. Mortgage heard the Police Chief’s voice shouting over them, calling for order. The witness looked like he was in shock, his face was pale and he stared into space wringing his hands and shuffling his feat. He was short with little more than a wisp of white hair. Mortgage guessed late fifties, a builder or engineer because he had a pencil tucked up behind his ear. He was wearing a belt with small pouches and tools around his waist with. Mortgage stopped in front of the man and removed his fedora. The rain made his short black hair itch.
“Hello, I am Detective Mortgage and this is Detective Philpots. We’ll need you to answer a few questions, OK?” Mortgage said in a warm voice then looked at Philpots and narrowed his grey eyes. Philpots removed his hat too and tucked it under his arm so that he could use his notepad.
“OK, but I’ve already answered the other ones questions.” he said.
“I’m sure you have…Mr?” said Mortgage raising his chin questioningly, bushy black eyebrows following suit. The man continued to stare at the floor somewhere between Mortgage and Philpots
“Glubar, Kel Glubar. Call me Kel, please.” he said.
“OK Kel, can you tell me where you came from and were heading?”
“I was at my home in Glass Bludgeon District, Fumblestep road. I was going to my workshop over in Salmontooth Boulevard, I have lots of work to do!” “Just round the corner from Powlo” thought Mortgage.
“Why a green cab?” asked Philpots.
“Cheap, you understand. Very cheap. Cheapest cabs in the City.” said Kel. “Tell me what happened after you got into the Taxi” said Mortgage. Kel took a deep breath. “As soon as I got in I knew something was wrong…”
“The driver was wearing that tutu and had a machine gun on his lap! He slammed his foot down on the pedal only just after I’d closed the door. The lunatic almost crashed into my neighbour Mrs. Pentersons car as he pulled away. He was babbling too, he kept asking me if I’d seen his cactus. He looked at me through the rear view mirror and told me he had to find it, he told me it had told him things, but I couldn’t make any sense of it. He was crazy of course. So crazy… His radio was blipping with static, his driving was erratic and his stereo started to play Siberian acid groove! ACID GROOVE!? I didn’t know if he was tuned into Cheese FM or he had one of his demonic CDs in the player, but it was awful, I was scared. I asked him to let me out but he wouldn’t stop. He just drove faster and faster, and the faster he drove the more he looked at me through the rear view mirror, his eyes bulged like red suns, ready to burst into supernovas and consume the cab in a fiery apocalypse. We must have been going 80MPH when he shouted something at me, he said ‘OPEN THE SEAT MON!’ So I did, I looked at the seat to my right and saw it could open, so I opened it. Inside were more weapons, more than I ever thought possible to fit down in there. ‘Where is the cactus mon!’ he shrieked. I told him, I said it wasn’t there… nothing was there, I told him to let me go. ‘We can’t stop now mon, we’re almost at the edge!’ he screamed. The colours I could see, the colours, it’s impossible to describe. I saw the universe printed in the windows of the car, I saw galaxies clouded in the buildings. Then there was a crash and gunfire. Everything went back to normal. There was no universe in the buildings then. We were on this bridge, and bullets were ripping through everything. But still… it wasn’t totally normal, I should have been shot, I should be dead, they hit me… I felt them but I also felt nothing, It was like I was made out of smoke, no, marshmallow, sopping impacts *thuked* into my body and I felt dread and despair with each blow but as I realised each one did not harm me i felt ecstasy and relief. I dived down and crawled away and sat by the railings. By the time I was out of the car there was just shock in the air, just silence.’
Both Detectives stared at Kel. Philpots didn’t know what to make of any of it. He scribbled the man’s story down as best he could. His notepad usually pristine and regimented with names, dates, places and answers, now had a page with a desperate scrawl blanketing it. He didn’t really notice when he was writing, but he seemed to have let Kel’s storey carry him aware somewhere. Now he thought about it he felt a little ill and confused.
“Thank you, If you think of anything else please call me” said Mortgage handing out his bone tinged card for Kel to take. Kel looked up at the card and swiped it from his grip with a guilty twitch, like a mouse who’s stolen some cheese to nibble later. Mortgage turned and put his hat back on, he could see the paramedics coming over so he walked back to the cab to examine it. He felt under the rear seats with both hands, looking for a leaver, a hinge, a pull string, but couldn’t find anything. The back of the cab was regular, and empty. He didn’t go back to tell Kel, the man had been through enough already so he started towards the barrier, where the press were being held back. Before he got there he saw the now, late Gremlin wearing the tutu being moved onto a stretcher by the paramedics. They lifted him a up and promptly returned him to the ground. Something was under the man’s coat and one of the medics began to examine it. Mortgage stepped in closer and said ‘Cut his jacket’ the medic leaned over and grabbed his kit bag and started slicing the dirty coat with some surgical scissors. He then pulled the man’s jacket down each side to elbows and moved away, to let Mortgage kneel down for a closer look. The Gremlin had lived up to his reputation as a weapons man. Previously hidden by his lengthy jacket was a long sword, a saber in fact. It was dull steel, nothing too fancy, but enough to cut a full grown man in half. It was modified too, it had some scarring around the handle. It looked as though it previously had a hand guard attached to it, like a fencers rapier. This had been cut away however and was left with two harshly bright metals scars on each side of the blade, just above the handle. He’d seen a sword just like this before and felt the steel on the back of his neck, just a few hours ago in the house on Crumbleforth avenue.
Droplets of acidic water were dripping down from the rim of Mortgages hat onto his face and shirt, he was eager to conclude this business on the bridge. It was getting too busy for his liking. He’d searched the Gremlins jacket but found nothing apart from a fat pouch of ganja and his Cab drivers I.D. Reggy Vines, that’s who he’d been. He pocketed the I.D. then shunted his way through the mess of busy bodies to the Grumbleweed side of the bridge. Journalists and news reporters howled questions and flashed cameras at the lines of body armoured police that secured the perimeter. The chief just stood shaking his head and looked annoyed.
“How many are dead?”
“Will the gangs ever be stopped?”
“The citizens of this town want to know why you aren’t cracking down on gun crime!”
“Where is my face chief, I cant find my face!”
“Was this a gang incident?”
“Were the Clowns involved?”
“You’re nothing but a fat shit!” It went on.
Mortgage approached and the chief turned. “Ah, Mortgage!” he said.
“Sir” nodded Mortgage.
“Do we know what’s happened, Gremlins again I suppose, am I right?” he said.
“Yes, Gremlins sir. I have taken the cab drivers I.D. to use in my inquiries.” said Mortgage.
“Oh yes fine, very good. Any ideas as to what this is about?” said the chief; ducking slightly as an iced bun flew passed his ear, followed by an angry shout “Fat shit cops!”
“Sergeant, Discipline that man!” the chief yelled.
The Sergeant turned around and looked at the two men behind him. The chief was only a touch taller than the detective, with short grey hair at the back and sides of his head. This was invisible though, because he was wearing his officers’ cap. The chief’s badge of office shone in the gloomy afternoon’s light, it was polished so profusely that if you were photo sensitive you might suffer a fit if you looked at it for too long. The detective was hard, he knew him by reputation, Mortgage, that’s him. Stone cold, they say, strange affinity with the weird happenings of Cheese. Not to be trusted thought the Sergeant narrowing his eyes and studying the detectives’ rigid posture. He noticed something behind his stare, something that was almost bemusement of this whole affair, or maybe not, maybe he just looked tired. It was hard to tell in his full set of riot gear and helmet. “Well sergeant what are you waiting for?” repeated the chief “Find that man and shove your baton down his throat!”
“Yes sir!” shouted the sergeant and waded through the crowed.
“Where were we? Ah, yes, what’s all this about?” said the chief.
“I don’t know sir. It might be linked to the missing people though.”
“Really, how?” said the chief approvingly.
“I’m not sure yet, I’ll have more information in a couple of days.” said Mortgage.
“Good, come and see me in my office one evening and fill me in on your findings.” the chief said.
“Yes sir.”
“How’s the boy?” He asked.
Mortgage fought against the urge to say “Young, annoying, inexperienced and clumsy.” so he said “He’s keen sir” instead.
The chief puffed himself up “Excellent, take care of him, teach him well. We can’t have the mayor thinking his boy isn’t beating the right drum can we?”
“No sir” said Mortgage.
“Well is that all detective?”
Mortgage hesitated a moment and said “Why are you here sir?”
The chief laughed “Always an inquisitive mind on you Danny, always always! I was having a meeting with… with the Blood Eagle.”
“The Blood Eagle?” said Mortgage.
“Yes the BE that’s what I said, he wants to start sharing info and work together. HAH! Here’s to hoping!” said the chief, mock *clinking* a glass and winking.
The Blood Eagle was a vigilante, a very secretive being too. “I’ll have to keep my eye on this.” thought Mortgage.
Mortgage left the chief to his cheering fans and made back for the car. He passed a man putting evidence into bags, he noticed the champagne cork. Mortgage told him to send it to the lab and have him called immediately with anything they found. Philpots was on the phone by the railings, he beckoned to him, Philpots started to walk still distracted by the phone call. Mortgage was done with the bridge and the scene around him. He needed to press onto the Gremlins cab depot to look for clues and a motive for this shooting. If he didn’t move fast the trail would get cold. They walked the length of the bridge back to Cheese where they’d left their car. The crowed on this side was a lot more subdued, the people milled around a little, asked half caring questions then yawned at whatever response they got, scratched their heads and pondered what to do with themselves next.
“Oh, an accident you say?” said one man.
“Yes sir, I’m afraid the bridge will be closed for a while” said the officer.
“Oh, Closed you say… OK then. I guess I’ll go and make some more bread cases for my swimming hat collection.”
“Indeed” replied the constable cocking his head, trying to comprehend. Mortgage stopped beside the constable as the man walked away. “He’s a Cheese maker” he said to the boy, for he was very young. He squinted after him looking puzzled.
“Ah, what?” he said.
Mortgage tried to explain. “That man was Borp. Starklepot Stamperplank. He’s one of the designers of Cheese, he writes or more over lives – the language, designs some of the buildings and signposts as well as many roads. He was the mastermind behind parking chickens you know.”
The boy looked quite intimidated. “But, none of it makes sense.” said the young constable.
Mortgage thought about this for a moment and said ‘If you plant a potato in Cheese you will grow a lamp post, right? This makes perfect sense since Cheese doesn’t need potatoes it needs lamp posts.”
The boy then tried to argue with his science and book lernin “Well, isn’t that scientifically impossible?”
Mortgage held his arms out wide and said “Obviously not, since it happens right here my boy! Heard of Jerik Gurgler? the mad scientist from old Rumblecot?” The boy shook his head then Mortgage continued. “He came to Cheese about 50 years ago, before your time I suppose’” He said offhandedly, carrying on his explanation “to conduct experiments you see, he wanted to out why it is like it is.”
“What happened?” asked the boy.
Mortgage tried to put on a friendly expression but failed miserably, he looked and sounded like a madman in his drenched overcoat and hat – that was now totally flooded. Small water creatures were swimming in the dent on top. Although nobody could actually see them.
“Unfortunately for Jerik, and his poor mother… his faced turned into bacon, ironically in frying pan square.” he said.
The boy looked shocked, then sick, then suspicious.
WAre you pulling my leg sir?”
Mortgage looked down at the young officer’s leg and shook his soggy head.
A magpie made out of custard was flapping… or squelching, around and had it’s messy beak all over the boy’s trouser leg, positively trying to pull him off his feet.
“Get off me you little clutter fucker!” The young constable shouted then kicked out. *Splat*
After wiping the custard from his coat and knees Mortgage went back to his car and slotted himself into the driving seat. Philpots followed closely behind, still rattling on his portable cellular device. He pulled the siren from the top of the roof and put it back in between his feet. Then he finished up on his call and pocketed the mobile.
“Woman?” Mortgage asked.
“No, it was my father. He wanted to know what’s happening down here” said Philpots.
Mortgage shoved the motor into gear and moved out of the line of traffic half onto the curb and pottered along to the bridge. The constable let him onto Stumblebridge and they drove right to the other side, slowly passing the busy crime scene. The riot police parted to let them through into Grumbleweed. The press and mass of people still rabbled on. A few bright flashes from photographers pierced the interior, Mortgage had to shield his eyes with his cuff.
As the hustle died away and they joined the busy turnpike into Grumbleweed Philpots asked “Where to? The Gremlins cab firm?”
Mortgage pulled into the fast lane, he liked to drive fast.
“Bingo… lets keep it quiet though, I don’t want them to know we were there. Use that bloody phone of yours to order a few cabs around town, we need that depot empty.”
Philpots pulled out his mobile and keyed in some numbers. It was amusing for Mortgage, listening to his partner order cab after cab with different voices and dialects. He impersonated busy business men, tricked out junkies, women, young men, old men, everything. He was impressive. Mortgage drove passed the depot taking a considerable edge off his speed and peered in. He could still see two dark green shapes inside so he carried on passed, reversing into an alleyway so they faced the road.
“Make a couple more calls, and make sure they are around the Curtsies Embankment area, we want them to pass us by.” He said.
Philpots pulled out the phone again and put on a harsh Scottish accent, then when he was done another with a thick european accent. They waited in silence. One car passed playing voodoo tripcore, loud as you like. Then another with some stomping jungle beats.
“Lets roll.” said Mortgage before bailing into the rain soaked alley. The road was empty, only a couple of pedestrians cantering here and there with various bags and items, a young mother with a child in a buggy. Mortgage took it all in with his eagle eyes. He remembered something and turned his head address Philpots “You remember the sword from Eddies kid?” he asked. “Yeah, what about that shit?”
Mortgage smiled “The sword, not the kid.” he said.
“Yes I remember it.” Philpots replied.
“Well, the tutu’d up Gremlin from the bridge had one exactly the same, we should pay him another visit I think.” said Mortgage.
“Oh, I’d like that Danny” said Philpots grinning.
Permalink
07.18.10
Posted in Acid Fiction at 9:16 pm by O-DoG
Detective Danny Mortgage tucked his gun back into its holster as he closed the front door of the house on Crumbleforth Avenue. His partner, who was waiting impatiently outside leaning on the front wall, said “Did you get anything?”
Mortgage shrugged. “Lets grab some lunch, I’m starving.”
They got in their unmarked squad car and Mortgage took the drivers seat – the superior always did, and that’s just how it was. He put the car into gear and headed for Cheese. His partner, Detective Philpots sighed deeply and said “Why do we have to go back there?”.
Calmly Mortgage sped past a lumbering jam lorry, saying “Because it’s where our case is, we can’t solve crimes without living and breathing the streets. Do you see any desk jockeys pulling in major criminals around this town?”
Philpots sighed again as they drove into central Cheese. Mortgage ignored him. He liked Cheese himself, but he didn’t really understand why. It was like entering a cartoon, just pure chaos. Buildings were painted in bright colours with no shared design or uniformity between them. Absolutely zero order; the speed limit slowed to walking pace as residents rushed across the roads yelling and screaming at the sky, calling for the god of Sunday to bless something or other, and that was just the start. They’d only been there for a moment and already madness was all around. But somehow for Mortgage, Cheese never felt dangerous. Mentally perhaps but not physically. It was as if the discord had a kind of balance to it, if you just relaxed and went with the flow you’d come out the other side slightly confused but with all of your tentacles intact.
He into a purple painted car park and shooed Philpots off to get a parking chicken. They were police, but there was no sense in bringing attention to themselves. Outside the café was a forest green sign engraved with a grinning lizard on a golden platter. Above this it said “Sneaky Lizard”. Mortgage turned around to see his partner chasing a parking chicken around a small pen in the middle of the car park. He chuckled gruffly, turned back to the Sneaky Lizard and went inside. The place was about half full with quiet people chomping on freshly cooked lizards. The floor was checked purple and white, the tables and chairs a reddish pink. He walked over to a lone table by the window overlooking the car park and sat down. A few seconds later a fat waitress waddled over with a pen and pad. She yarbled on about the specials and Danny listened politely. When she finished he ordered his favourite, a Monitor lizard skewer for himself and one for his young colleague, and a basket of deep fried Geckos to share.
Philpots flung the café door open, as if trying to knock it off its hinges, and stalked over to the hat stand. After putting his coat and hat to rest, he brushed fluffy chicken feathers off them like a fussy mother grooming her child on their first day of school. Some of the customers turned in their seats, sniggering – all well adjusted to the various customs of Cheese, they enjoyed encountering someone who hadn’t quite found their feet in the turmoil of oddness.
“Waitress, can I get some napkins over here!” yelled Philpots distractedly, pointing towards Mortgage. “There’s napkins on the counter Sir” the waitress said neutrally.
Philpots fumed “Yes, but I want you to bring them to me!” as he sat down in his seat looking distinctly hot and bothered.
Mortgage said, bemused, “Why do you have to be like that?”
Philpots straightened his tie indignantly and said “You know I hate this place, I can’t understand how people live like this…it’s stupid.
“You have to understand or…”
Philpots cut him off “I know, I know, or I’ll never be able to solve crimes here.”
“That’s right. And you’ll never enjoy yourself here either!” said Mortgage.
Philpots looked unconvinced, then the waitress rushed past and slammed a dispenser full of napkins on the table. He looked about to say something, but caught his partners eye and reconsidered. Instead he raked in a handful of napkins and bent over to wipe chicken shit from the tips of his spit shined shoes. Returning, he said “Lets go over the case.”
Mortgage smiled encouragingly. “Well, what do we have so far?” he asked.
Philpots pulled out his notepad from his shirt pocket, licked his fingers and thumbed through the pages. “Nothing that makes sense so far – the only connection between the missing people seems to be the area they were last seen in. All went missing after dark between…” He flipped the pages of his pad back and forth. “The Naked Rabbit down the road, and the Fire Dragon club further up town. Eddie owns the Rabbit and the Gorillas run the Fire Dragon. Eddie was in the Fire Dragon last night and so was the kid that works in the Rabbit. Is there a connection between them? What did the kid say to you?”
Mortgage locked his fingers together on the tabletop and replied “He didn’t tell me anything, I stuck with our plan and just told him we knew what he was up to.”
Philpots didn’t look impressed. “You mean your plan?”
Mortgage shrugged his shoulders as the waitress plodded over with their food. She set it down on the table and they began to eat.
“It’s just a tactic, it gives them an option. Whether they’re involved or not, they can call us with information. If they get involved or find out someone is, it’ll make them paranoid that we are already onto them.” Mortgage finished talking and popped a fried Gecko into his mouth.
Philpots said “Or, it will tip them off that we are investigating them!”
Mortgage looked at Philpots, puzzled. “That’s exactly what I just said.”
Philpots shook his head, wolfing down a mouthful of Monitor. “No, you said it would make them paranoid, and I said it would tip them off. They are two completely different things. What if they just stop what they are doing, and we don’t make the case and never find those people?”
Mortgage smiled, and said “That’s just as good as a confession then isn’t it! If we stir up the nest and nobody else goes missing that pretty much stamps ‘guilty’ across their heads, we’ll just need to prove how they were involved then.
Philpots contemplated this, bobbing his head from side to side as if trying to dodge all of the holes in his partners theory.
“Maybe.” he said.
They sat eating in silence for a while. Mortgage was thinking about the case. He didn’t know who was involved or why, for there had been no evidence. All they had to go on was the fact that eight people had gone missing in the last month. Maybe more, because not everyone would be missed and it was quite possible some had not been reported at all. All of the eight reported missing had been last seen or heard of around Cheese, but so far no evidence of their disappearance had been found. No wallets, no bags, no signs of trouble. Danny had known people to go missing from Cheese and turn up weeks later… one man got himself stuck inside the boot of his own car after he’d been shopping. He was in there two weeks before anyone found him. He told the police he’d been pushed in by a common street thug – statements from neighbours disagreed with this, and claimed he was being abused by his wife. They hadn’t gotten to the bottom of the case, they’d just found the guy and closed it. As Danny chomped on his lizards he doubted whether any of these missing people would turn up in the boots of their cars. Not still breathing anyway. This all had the feeling of something sinister about it. Danny Mortgage was an expert on cases with no leads, an expert in using minimal resources to get big results, and an expert in keeping it quiet…up to a point. But most of all he was the best Detective when it came to solving cases in the murky world of Cheese. And he would solve this case.
After paying the bill they stepped out of the café and headed for their car. The parking chicken was tinkering around the rear bumper clucking merrily. Mortgage grabbed it, holding its wings tightly with each of his hands. The chicken didn’t resist, it tensed for a moment then submitted. He walked over to the pen and tossed it inside. With a flourish of soft feathers the chicken flapped and stuttered to the ground and fell back into its natural rhythm of clucking and pecking. Satisfied, Mortgage returned to his vehicle to find Philpots in the driving seat. He’d rolled down the window when he saw Mortgage coming. “Oh come on, just the once?” he said.
Mortgage shook his head and pointed to the passengers side. Philpots pouted as he got out of the car, and his phone began to ring in his pocket. He answered it and looked at Mortgage with his eyebrows raised in concern. Mortgage knew what the look and the call meant so he brushed past his partner and thumbed him a signal to say “get in the car”, then slumped into the driving seat and started the engine. Philpots got in and shut the passenger door, with the phone resting on his shoulder locked in place with the side of his head and ear. He pulled out his notepad and scribbled down the information he was being fed. Mortgage pushed the car into gear and motored for the exit.
“Gang fight, Stumblebridge.” said Philpots glancing away from the phone at his shoulder.
Mortgage looked at him for a brief second then concentrated hard on driving. If it was going on now they needed to get there ASAP, before it spiralled out of control. Stumblebridge was the crossing between Cheese and Grumbleweed. Often vehicles carrying drugs or weapons from the Gremlin’s dockside warehouses were hijacked there, and more often than not there was a body count.
“Put up the damn siren!” Mortgage shouted as they hurtled through beeping traffic in their unmarked vehicle.
Philpots hung up the phone and put it in his coat pocket, then grabbed the siren from the foot well and bashed it against the closed passenger window.
“Bugger!” he said, fighting to wind down the window as Mortgage lunged through the traffic.
Eventually he successfully planted the suction cup at the bottom of the siren onto the roof above his head and pressed the switch. Nothing happened for a moment, but then the screaming whine of the device echoed through Cheese.
The cars around slowed and parted to let them pass. The traffic had jammed up two hundred and fifty yards behind Stumblebridge. Mortgage swooped the car behind the queue and beeped his horn as Philpots blipped the siren on and off. People continued to give way and the detectives began to see blue lights up ahead, realising they weren’t first on the scene. No gunshots could be heard either, so maybe they were too late.
Mortgage decided they weren’t making enough progress and jumped out of the car, breaking into a swift jog. Philpots followed close behind. They reached the front of the traffic and flashed their I.D. at a uniformed officer who was holding back the people who had been removed from their cars on the bridge. His squad car was parked across the road and his partner was inside on the radio to HQ.
Mortgage overheard her saying “Three casualties, and a witness in shock, ambulance required.” She looked up and saw the detectives striding past the roadblock and onto the bridge. “Detectives Mortgage and Philpots on scene.” She finished.
They were too late. The two Detectives walked across the bridge towards the Grumbleweed side. The roadway was filled with abandoned cars, innocent commuters, and all manner of shattered debris. One of the cars looked like it had panicked when the fight had started and attempted a quick U-turn to escape, but crashed into oncoming traffic. The air bags on both cars had deployed, and chunks of glass and plastic surrounded the two vehicles.
Philpots stopped for a moment, observing and taking notes, then carried on and fell into step with Mortgage. “There’s no vans or any large vehicles on the bridge…not a hijacking then?” he said, peering into the distance.
“You could be right, it does seem that way…but perhaps it was small cargo?” said Mortgage, pulling out his pack of cigarettes and flicking his Zippo.
It began to drizzle with rain and the sky went dull with dirty grey clouds. The rain was itchy and smelled of ozone. As they got closer to the end of the bridge they could see another police car across the road in the same fashion as the one they had past. The officer was standing guard keeping people away from the now visible crime scene. His partner was away to the left, talking quietly with a small balding man. Mortgage walked into the thick of it and looked around. Philpots stood on the sidelines ready to record his partners monologue. Mortgage was one of the best, so he’d let him do his thing.
“Three dead males, all Gremlins, all gunshot wounds. This one here with the tutu and the Magnum was driving the cab.” He stepped over the body that was clutching the steely grey hand cannon, and walked to the front of the cab, examining its bonnet and windscreen.
“Driver was not hit until he exited the car…bullet holes don’t add up.” He took a closer look at the bonnet.
“9mm, probably from an SMG judging by the volume of expended rounds.” Mortgage walked to the open driver-side door and looked into the cab. He spotted a pistol on the dashboard, then examined the steering column. There was a couple of bodged together fastenings under the steering wheel – most definitely in this case used to secure a firearm. Gremlins often had a whole range of weapons at their disposal and always carried more than their fair share close to hand. The expression ‘armed to the teeth’ was an understatement.
“Pistol on the dash, bullet holes in drivers seat – no blood. After market weapon racks above foot well.” Philpots took it all down. They then moved over to the other vehicle, the veteran detective working while his young partner watched from the sidelines. The second vehicle was a small three door hatchback. A girly car for such heavy duty guys. Almost definitely stolen.
“Take the plates, cars probably stolen.” he muttered.
“They had no taste.” commented Philpots.
The car was at a slight angle in comparison to the cab, it had evidently swerved into the cab’s path coming from Grumbleweed, heading towards Cheese. Both of the Gremlins in the car were very dead. The passenger had a large hole through his chest, and Mortgage could see the cars bodywork through it. The man was dangling out of the window. His long deadlocks were touching the floor, almost hiding the automatic weapon from Mortgages inquisitive view. He saw it though, and lifted the gangsters locks aside with his foot to identify the piece. It was an Uzi 9mm, a classic Gremlin weapon.
Mortgage pointed and said “Uzi here”, then walked towards the far side of the hatchback.
Philpots wandered back across the scene, spent bullet casings singing an ominous chorus under his feet. He stopped at the cab driver wearing the tutu.
“What’s this?” he said, looking down at the tarmac road.
Mortgage turned around.
“We’ve got a Champagne cork.” said Philpots, puzzled.
Mortgage looked, then said “Sharp eyes son, pencil it in.”
They went back over to the passenger side of the hatchback again. It wasn’t pretty – the passenger must have taken a head shot from the Magnum and the Gremlin’s brain had spattered all over the front cabin. The hole in the windscreen was monstrous, it was miraculous the whole thing hadn’t shattered. The gangster in the tutu must have been one hell of a marksman to have made the kill, the distance and angle needed to hit the passenger with a handgun, especially from a vehicle taking as much heat as his must have been, was a one in a million kind of shot.
Mortgage pointed all this out to Philpots, and they both concurred that the angle was ridiculous and gave up on the rest of the scene. More police and paramedics were turning up now, so they went to find their witness. Mortgage presumed it was the taxi drivers fare, the balding man who was talking to one of the uniforms. The wind carried the rain in as the storm picked up.
Permalink
06.25.10
Posted in Acid Fiction at 12:41 pm by O-DoG
Vera led the way through the storm, slipping from wall to wall, glancing in windows and peeking around corners of small buildings, checking for activity. We kept quiet as we followed, watching for his hand signals. Tom moved very well for a big man. He slipped passed wrecks of twisted metal and dodged pot holes filled with muddy water, controlling his motion with subtle gestures of his massive frame. Minnie was travelling with precision, speed and conviction. She danced around in the cold wind like a hyperactive fly, hugging the shadows with her head low and body tensed like a coiled spring, ready to snap into action. The crunch of gravel under our feet was inaudible over the shouting gales and thunder. Occasionally lightning struck nearby and illuminated the terrain around us, showing off brief glimpses of the urban wasteland where crude graffiti tattooed the broken and boarded up buildings. We came to a stop and took shelter under the sprawl of a metal tower or pylon structure. Running parallel to us was a narrow shingle road with a large metal fence on the far side which was topped with barbed wire and decorated with scrawls and drawings of birds which I assumed were crows, and awful white paintings of pale faces with dark sunken eyes and stitched mouths.
“Time to get busy.” Minnie said.
The road was lit by a distant floodlight inside the complex, the powerful hard light contrasting with the deep shadows turning the surroundings ahead of us into a twisted canvas of wispy white light and smokey spectres. Minnie ran forward with Tom, who knelt down and cupped his hands to lift her to the top of the fence. She pulled some cutters from one of her hip pockets and began to work on the wire. After a few seconds they moved to the left to cut out another section. The fence fell forwards and Minnie followed it, going over the top as Tom pushed her even higher. She spun in mid-air like a circus acrobat and landed softly on the other side, quickly melting away into the night.
“Go!” Vera hissed. “Go before mine!”
Not bothering to correct his English I charged forward across the road, rain stinging my face and leaking into my eyes, making it hard to see. I placed my foot in Tom’s cupped hands just as lightning blitzed the sky again, blinding my vision. Too hard, too hard, Tom had lifted his hands up too hard. Dazzled and disoriented I flew through the air, thrusting my arms up into the heavens above and then pulling them down hard, spinning my body one hundred and eighty degrees and groping blindly for the lip of the fence. I was sure I had overshot it. After what seemed like an age my hands caught painfully on cold steel and I braced myself against the impact. After a brief second I let go and spun again, dropping neatly back to earth.
“Not bad.” I heard Minnie say playfully.
“I couldn’t fucking see!” I said.
“Dumb luck then Powlo, come on.”
She beckoned me away from the fence towards a small outhouse. We stayed low and looked out into a gloomy and apparently deserted yard, a way in front of us was one side of a large building that stretched out into the night – we couldn’t see where it ended but it was huge.
“This is one of the target buildings.” Minnie said.
“Which one? It’s too dark to check my map.” I told her. Vera scurried up beside us, followed by Tom, and they looked towards the building.
“You following mine here.” said Vera, and he pointed to a small shack nearby, which was partially concealed behind an old yellow and black striped barrier.
“Ever thought about taking English lessons mate?” I said.
Vera looked at me with an empty expression before taking point again. He stuck his neck out around the corner then quickly withdrew and waved us back. We reacted fast by sinking low into cover.
A pair of men walked through the yard, smoking and talking. They were both clothed in hideously deteriorated rags, all torn up and frayed. One of them was wearing a long and filthy storm jacket with the hood up. The other was wearing some battered old work mans uniform with nothing but a piece of ripped plastic over his shoulders that came up over his head in a pitiful attempt to shield himself from the elements. They jerked oddly as they walked, kicking and dragging their feet across the stones, talking with high pitched cracking voices and laughing shrilly as one of them sputtered insane jokes. Soon they had walked off into an alley between a couple of workshops and disappeared. We waited for a few moments then Vera stood up and waved us on. We followed him out into the poorly lit yard towards where he thought the main building was. We haunted through small shacks and sub buildings filled with wrecked machinery and rusty tools, dark alleys flooded with rain water and other, fouler things, strewn with the debris of a different age. Several times we had to wait in the shadows, as Vera signaled us to stay back while some junkie Crows hurried pass. After about 25 minutes of ducking and diving we found the other building. It was massive, a titan among factory buildings. The light of the sparse lamps and floodlights was drowned out by it’s shadowy bulk. Dirty rainwater cascaded down from the corrugated roof’s rotting gutters in huge filthy waterfalls drenching the ground below.
“Looks grim.” remarked Tom.
We were crouching behind a damaged skip that was scoured with huge dents like it had been gone over with a sledge hammer.
“I think it suits the scenery perfectly, sort of picturesque.” I said.
Tom laughed then turned it into a hacking cough as Minnie turned to us. Her voice was low and only just understandable over the storm.
“This is where we split up, Vera and I are going to get up on the second floor from here, you two stay on the ground. Find Cameron and use your radio bead. Got it?”
Tom and I nodded.
“We’ll go first, you two keep a look out and make sure no one spots us going in”.
We watched as Minnie and Vera made their entry through a 2nd story window. Minnie shot a hook from a flare gun shaped pistol that anchored onto an exhaust vent overhanging the glass. She climbed up first and after a few seconds of deliberation, kicked the glass in and disappeared within. Vera nodded to me and Tom, then followed her up. My bead crackled in my ear
“We are arrived, no moving.” Vera’s voice was crackly and hoarse. His broken English didn’t help as interference from the storm made his words ripple and echo.
“We are going to try entering through the loading bays on the other side of the building and head north towards the RING” Tom announced peering at his map in the gloom.
Vera crackled over the line again “OK.”
The loading bays were quite a distance away, around one side of the massive building. Tom and I kept away from the walls of the main structure, instead we moved around the countless work sheds, storage bins and machinery debris that polluted the landscape. We narrowly missed gangs of Crows who were scouring the outer factory yards; they seemed to be turning up more frequently now, and also more of them were carrying weapons. Spiked clubs, steel bats with chains and wire wrapped around them, a sledgehammer and even a couple holding single shot rifles or smaller firearms in their belts.
“We have to get in soon, it’s starting to get busy out here. Maybe we are early?” I said to Tom, as we watched another patrol shuffle past pushing and shoving one another.
“Whats that, up ahead?” Tom pointed ahead of us where movement and loud voices were coming from near the loading area.
We ducked between a wrecked fuel tanker and a row of axle-less pickup trucks and planted ourselves in a stack of empty oil drums. The light and noise was coming from a group of men unloading long, upright boxes from a lorry. Some of the boxes were jiggling around on their pallets. A cigar smoking man in dirty overalls was lifting them down from the lorry bed using a fork lift. One of the steel containers started to hop and bang amd the pressure made it spit muddy water from underneath it’s bulk, a shriek of pain or rage erupting from inside.
“What is this?” Tom said looking on in confusion.
“I think these are fighters… and our way inside.”
We waited for the cigar smoking man to finish unloading the lorry and park his fork lift. He followed a giant bull of a man who was pulling the last of the caskets on a pallet truck into a bright yard in front of the loading bay. It didn’t take us long to find an empty container and Tom managed to scavenge a pump truck from behind a stack of crates.
“You sure this is gonna work?” Tom frowned, stepping inside the huge box.
“Just thrash around like you’re in there with an alligator. They aren’t going to think anything of it, just another drug crazed meathead ready to go berserk in the ring.” I said as I closed the door and bolted it shut. He put his hands on the bars and looked through at me, like a convict in some wild west movie. “Meathead?” he said.
“Umm, forget I said that, just get ready to go off the hook if we get stopped, OK?”
The rain was starting to ease a little, but the wind was still roaring like a bastard. It was hard work yanking the truck through the stony yard, one of the worn down rubber tyres was coming off at the side and it caught every time the small wheel rotated, requiring an extra hard pull with all my weight to shift it. I heaved Tom into the yard and bee-lined for the the large ramp that led into the factory. There were a few other men at the top of the ramp being waved in with their fighters. When we got about half way everyone had disappeared inside apart from one filthy squat man with a tangled beard holding a clipboard. He just stared as I hauled the crate to the bottom of the ramp.
“This bay is closed.” he said.
“The wheel on this truck is bust, I couldn’t get here any faster!” The man looked down at the tyre, uninterested.
“That’s not my problem, my problem is there are 20 Berserkers on my list and 20 have just been signed in. Where the hell did you come from?” I dropped the handle of the truck and rushed up the ramp waving and gesturing towards Tom’s box.
“Shhh shhh don’t wake him!” I said.
“He’s not on the list because he’s a reserve – some of those others in there are so pumped up they might not even make it to the ring without having a seizure, you know how the punters will react if there are only 19 Berserkers instead of 20. There will be uproar!”
The man looked as his clipboard then at Tom’s crate. “20 on the list, 20 inside, that’s that.”
Tom growled from inside the box.
“Oh…” I said. “That’s a shame…for you…”
I walked down the ramp and started unbolting the crate.
“What are you doing?! Are you crazy!” the man exclaimed.
“If he doesn’t get inside he’s going to want to know why, and I can’t have him thinking it’s my fault now can I? Wake up! Wake up!” I shouted, bashing my fist on the side of the steel box.
Tom started to rage, he howled out from between the bars and screamed obscenities at the bearded doorman. The cage began to rock on its pallet.
“He’ll tear your arms off you know…” I said, idly toying with the last bolt.
“OK OK go in, go in, just don’t let him out here for God’s sake!”
Quickly I started to bolt the box back up. “Help me!” I snarled at the man.
Reluctantly, he came down and helped me pull Tom inside the dock, then walked back outside and pulled the metal shutter down. I heard it lock into place. Well, at least we were in.
Permalink
04.08.10
Posted in Acid Fiction at 12:31 pm by O-DoG
I was sitting in my kitchen watching the snooker on telly when the call came. It was early evening and the street lights outside were just coming on to red, warming up for the night ahead. The woman on the phone was curt and to the point.
“Go to the station in Rumblecot.” she had said.
“Who is this?” I replied.
“Don’t be an asshole.” was the response, followed by a click and beep.
I sighed deeply. “Nice.” Rumblecot, the very dive of dives. The only thing you would find less of in Rumblecot, other than cleaning products, was the cops. It was a place you went to when you wanted to lay low and stay out of the game. The people who lived there mostly squatted in old flat blocks and burned out shops. Addicts and crazies were the natural population, occasionally you might see a religious type trying to make a difference but more often than not they counted as one of the crazies too. Switching the TV to mute and leaving my cigarette smouldering in the ashtray, I paced over to the cupboard and pulled it open. I took out the pistol and a spare clip, tucking the gun into my waistband and the clip into my back pocket. I left the silencer where it was. The Medusa was still in the sink with the sack over it. I had a sudden urge to uncover it, to gaze upon it. I found my fingers twitching, eager to pull back the hood and behold its terrifying beauty. It was calling out to me…I couldn’t resist. I stretched out my hand towards the stitched bag. A car blew its horn somewhere outside, followed by shouts of anger and road rage. My head was fuzzy, and I shook it in an attempt to clear my mind. What was I just doing? I couldn’t remember. The car outside beeped again and it brought me right around. I stomped over to my blade and expertly strapped it to the rigging on my undershirt. Angled slightly it wouldn’t hamper me when I walked, ran or even climbed. Thus unencumbered by my gear I walked to the front door and threw on my long coat and stepped out into the gathering darkness.
Rumblecot station was empty save for an old lady. She was holding a small card box and appeared to be sowing the contents on the filthy floor. The stuff from the box tinkled as it bounced and hit the corners of a busted vending machine. Taking a closer look – the debris being scattered turned out to be nails, and the lady was crowing “here kitty kitty, here kitty kitty…” as she worked. I decided to move to the other end of the station, where I could hang back in the gloom and keep an eye on the main road. The street was supposed to be lit by street lights, but only one was still operational and just barely at that. After five or so minutes of waiting it began to rain. Five more and a vehicle materialised from the darkness and turned into the station. It was a van, medium size, with a quiet petrol engine. I couldn’t get anything else from it because the full beams were on and it was heading straight for me. To save being dazzled I closed my eyes and waited. I heard the wagon pull up, the soft purr of the engine louder now. I hoped those lights would go off soon, much more of this and I’d start to panic. I heard a door open and the sounds of a body, stepping down onto the concrete on my right side, the passengers side, then a *clunk* as the engine chuckled itself to sleep. Instantly I opened my eyes and sure enough my night vision was as good as before. The van was matt black and looked awfully like an old ice cream truck. I hoped it was, because that would surely be a sign these were friendlies. The figure who had got out was walking towards me now and I noted this was a she, the woman from the phone call perhaps. She wore black boots that buckled up with large metal clamps that had been dulled with black polish, she made no sound as she approached because the soles of her footwear were made of silk, soft and silent. As she sauntered towards me I saw she was wearing thin black fatigues with a lightweight black armoured jacket, she also had a gun belt around her waist with two pistols holstered on either side. A black stocking sat on top of her head, hiding her hair colour. The only part of her body that wasn’t adorned in black was her pale and beautiful face.
“Powlo?” she asked, holding out her palm.
For a second I was going to shake it, but she was holding out the Clowns insignia. I reached into my own pocket and pulled out my silver token.
She looked me up and down briefly and said “I’m Minnie. Get in the back.”
It was an old ice cream truck, the back was littered with old lolly sticks and boxes of assorted ice creams. There was a modified metal partition with a speaking grill separating the cab from the back. On top of the freezer sat a lamp illuminating a large piece of chart paper. Sitting down opposite it I buckled myself in.
“So who’s your friend?” I asked peering through the small grill to the front of the cab.
“Vera.” replied Minnie.
The van coughed into life and began to move.
“I see…and where are we going?”
Minnie turned herself and looked through the grate at me.
“Have you heard of the Crows?” Her voice was soft and a little unnerving.
“I’ve heard of them…never had the pleasure of meeting one though. I thought there were a bit of a ghost story to be honest.” I said, scratching the stubble on my chin.
“Well there’s a large operation that Cameron is overseeing here in Rumblecot, some kind of lunatic fighting circuit.” said Minnie.
“Cameron is real? I thought he was a joke to scare kids at night.”
Minnie shrugged “Nope he’s real alright – and lately he’s been taking crazies off the streets, breaking them out or buying them out of asylums and even paying bail for some from the courts, for use in his twisted blood sports.”
“So he’s been taking some of Eddie’s Clowns from Cheese?” I said.
Minnie sniggered a little. “While I think that’s probably true, I also believe that Eddie has been selling some off himself.”
“But if Eddie is selling his own people, what business is this of ours?” I was starting to wonder what we could possibly be venturing into. I sincerely hoped Eddie hadn’t signed us up for our deaths. Minnie saw the look on my face and laughed. “Don’t worry, Cameron just owns something that Eddie wants. We are going to make him an offer for it.” said Minnie matter of factly.
“And what if Cameron desides he doesn’t want to sell?”
Minnie’s eyes narrowed; she looked malevolent and dangerous.
“Plan B.”
I raised my eyebrows questioningly.
”Waste the fucker.” she said as if it should be obvious.
The van was moving on gravel now and after a few minutes it coasted to a stop. Minnie began rolling down her window and cursed the crude mechanism.
“Get in the back Tom.”
I heard heavy footsteps plodding in the grit, moving around behind the van. The back door swung open and a man stepped up. He was a giant, a brute, a head taller than the biggest man I’d ever seen, and wider to boot. His massive bulk filled the back of the ice cream van. He closed the doors and knelt down at the back, folding his tree trunk arms. He looked at me and nodded his huge chiseled face.
“I’m Tom.” said his deep booming voice.
“Powlo, nice to have you on board. It’s going to be fun.” I smiled. Indeed it was.
After picking up the the giant man, the van began to move again. Tom didn’t say much, but I managed to find out he’d only just started working with the Clowns, and this was his first job. The van trundled along for about 25 minutes, only stopping once to wait for an old man to get his drunken arse out from the middle of the road. He was singing some old song about war and glory which was interrupted by long swigs from a forty bottle of whiskey. Vera climbed down from the drivers seat and moved the old guy. Through the grill I could only make out that Vera was tall and was wearing all black. He gently guided the old man to the pavement and got back up into the van and started to drive again.
“How much longer?” I asked. The waiting was killing me. From the way these guys were dressed, this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park, I had the feeling they weren’t telling me everything.
“Soon.” said Vera through a strong Spanish accent. I frowned and slumped back into my seat, unsatisfied. I looked at the freezer with the chart paper and lamp on it.
“Hey Tom, pass me that paper would ya?” Tom reached out towards the freezer and swiped at the paper so it started to fall over onto the floor. I caught it and pulled it over my knees. The map was hand made, drawn in pencil and then gone over in black ink. There were fences, gates, two large buildings with two or three floors, and many smaller sheds or garages around them. Some of the rooms were still sketched only in pencil. It looked like an old warehouse or factory. In a couple of the rooms there were squiggles of writing, and red crosses in some others. I couldn’t see what they said in the dark.
“Light please.” I said nodding towards the freezer again. Tom reached out again and angled the lamp so that it shone on my lap. The writing said things like ‘poe, storage, target, dead end, tunnel, guarded’. I went over the ones that said target and they were all on the second floor, apart from one, which appeared to be even higher…in a small tower or booth. This one was in the largest area of either of the buildings, where it said ‘RING’, right in the centre.
“It looks a lot worse than it is…”. Minnie was looking at me through the grate again. “It looks like a fortress but they’re sloppy and tonight there won’t be many guards around. You’d think there would be more if anything! These creeps just can’t stop themselves getting in on the action.”
“What’s so special about tonight?” I asked her.
“It’s fight night of course.” She turned back around and said “We’re almost there.”
It sounded like the old woman from the station was throwing her nails down from the heavens. The rain was hammering down, making the inside of the van clang like a child banging a stick in a tin can. Vera had turned the van’s lights off a few minutes previously, God only knew (and I actually doubt even He did to be honest) how he was driving through the night and the storm. The wind was up and through the grill I could see old bits of paper and carrier bag sticking to the windscreen only to be shunted away by the wipers a few seconds later. I wanted to see outside and learn about where we were. This was deep in the industrial side of Rumblecot, I was sure of that much. I’d never been anywhere near this place, it was just considered a waste land. Nothing of value, the only things around here were rotting and derelict, deserted and broken down.
“We are here.” said Vera blankly, and the van cut out immediately and we rolled a fair number of meters before coming to a stop, with the windscreen as close to a brick wall as physically possible without actually hitting it. How in the hell he’d managed to coast us in and not crash into it was just another mystery. I was still looking through at the wall when the back doors opened. I spun around and jumped out into the storm. Mine and Toms coat’s whipped up around us as they caught the winds, seemingly from all around us. Vera was wearing what looked like a diving suit. Or a ninja suit. Then he pulled on a balaclava and wrapped a cape around his head and torso, then pinned it to his throat. Minnie beckoned us over to a a small shed opposite the van, she was carrying a small satchel with her. She got to the shed and looked at the door then indicated to Tom. The big man jogged casually up to the door and delivered a devastating boot that bashed it clean off it’s hinges. The door landed and wisps of dust rose out from around its edges like ghostly spirits. We entered the shed, glad to be out of the rain and stood around an old work bench. Minnie pulled a lamp out of the satchel and set it down on the bench and flicked the switch. Hard blue light lit up the room and I peered around. Empty – the room was completely bare save for the bench and a few plastic bins mounted on the wall, contents long gone. “Gentlemen?” I turned to face Minnie with the others.
“Tonight we are with nobody but ourselves, Eddie doesn’t want anyone to know he has sanctioned us to be here tonight. Hand me your skulls.”
We handed them in one by one, and she put them in a side pocket of the bag. She then pulled out 2 small torches, giving one to me and putting the other in a thigh pouch. After that a smaller version of the map that I had examined in the van was passed to each of us. “Cameron could be in any one of the locations marked in red, although we can pretty much rule out the second building since it’s fight night. So, first task is to find him, then we need to figure out a way to get him alone so we can persuade him to give up what we need. Catch!”
She tossed me a small radio bead. It wasn’t the most high tech piece of equipment I’d ever seen, but it looked like it would work.
“Stay in contact, when we find him send out a message so we can rendezvous and work out the next phase. We’ll be splitting up into pairs; Powlo, you go with Tom and I’ll stick with Vera.
“Fine by me.” I said.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” she said, giving me a scathing look.
“I was just…nevermind.” I said.
“Right, well, maybe I can continue the brief.”
She paused for a second, looking at me, then unfolded her map and put it under the light on the bench. We gathered around to study it.
“We don’t want to be seen by anyone unless it’s absolutely neccesary, so stay in hiding and only move when it’s safe. Getting inside shouldn’t be a problem because most of the guards will be near the ring area, here.” She pointed to the area marked “RING”.
“What if Cameron is lurking up there?” I asked, pointing to the booth above the ring. Minnie just sighed and carried on.
“Obviously we will find it much harder work if Cameron is in any of the places near the ring, especially his booth that oversees the fighting – the place will be swarming with his crew so we need to locate him elsewhere, and fast, to increase our chances. There won’t be an easy way to deal with him otherwise. Also, I’d just like to make it clear that we have been permitted to use any means we see fit to achieve this goal and keep our presence unnoticed”
“What about getting out?” Tom growled.
“Run.” said Vera with not an ounce of sarcasm.
I chuckled and said “Right this plan seems foolproof, shall we get going? I’ll feel a whole lot better if we can just get started, this waiting is killing me.”
Minnie folded up her piece of map paper and stepped onto the felled door, then turned to face the three of us. As she spoke lightning illuminated the room briefly. “The only thing that…” the rest of what she said was completely blocked out by the sound of roaring thunder, the boom of a lion marking his territory over the African plains.
“What was that again?” I asked.
Minnie smiled a little. “I said the only thing that will be killing tonight will be us.”
Then we all burst out laughing at as more thunder screamed after she had finished speaking.
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Posted in Acid Fiction at 12:29 pm by O-DoG
“Morning sunshine, how are we this fine morning, did you sleep well?” That voice, the damn tone of it. Eddy sounded like he was presenting a well-to-do morning TV show. Full of everything you don’t want to hear when you wake up in the real world. Everything fine and dandy until a guest enters to talk serious business. The presenter’s face turns sinister and they spit bad noise. Only to resume with the fucking weather.
All is well, but beware – the rest of your day will be challenged with genuine problems that our show can’t, and will fail, to prepare you for, but so, to not to get you too downhearted here is a question any jobsworth could answer, the prize? Why, seven hundred thousand Euros of course. It’s true, the answer was easy… the choice obvious. But what’s the catch? The catch is everyone else has the same idea. And by the way psychedelic rain storms will plague the rest of your day. Eddy wanted me to work for him in a new club of his. Managers position, it’d be a real job, well paid but filled with trouble. Not like I had much of a choice though.
“When do I start.” I said. Eddy favoured me with a toothy grin.
“I’ll let you know” he said, dropping something on the table and slinking out.
I left Camilla’s flat without a word to her, she was probably still comatose from the previous nights’ events. Outside I counted the money Eddy had left for me on the table in a silver skull and crossbones money clip. The skull had red jeweled eyes and a top hat. It wasn’t just a money clip, it was a sign, a token that you were in Eddy’s retinue. It was your gangster ID card. You could be embraced like a brother or shanked and pissed on with just a flash of this insignia. It was a weapon and a knife in your own back at the same time. Manager of a new club eh, I wonder where it will be located. Cheese, maybe even the City? My life had taken a new direction, for better or worse it was going to get a lot heavier, all for the mighty green. Fuck it, I’d ride this cruel fairground attraction and see what came of it, it wasn’t as if I was busy doing anything else. A steady job these days was like quicksand. Try to move on and you’ll sink faster into the shit, stay still and you’ll still drown eventually. This was no steady job, this was a roller coaster ride with no safety checks.
I put my fingers in my mouth and whistled at a green cab that was driving by. It stopped. I got in the back and shut the door. It was a nice cab, as far as cabs go. There wasn’t the stink of dead squirrels and turpentine at least.
“Where too mon?”
My heart stopped. I managed to gather myself and stammer a reply “Crumbleforth Avenue, Glass Bludgeon District.” The cab driver slammed his indicator on, looked in his rear view mirror and caught my eye and said. “Yeah mon.”
Without thinking or realizing it, I’d gotten into a cab with a Gremlin. Dangling from the mirror on a dull metal chain was a mouldy gold-green gargoyle. Glaring black eyes, bat like ears and devilishly hooked teeth made it snarl with the grin of a malign hyena. Maybe I was being paranoid, this Gremlin had no idea I was with Eddy’s Clowns, but thoughts of being shanked and defiled in some filthy den or back alley were at the front of my mind through the whole journey.
“When I get out of here I’ve got to get some weapons.” I mumbled.
“What’cha say’n dere boy? You want somethin’?”
The Gremlin had heard me, and he wanted to know if I wanted something. My my, what a day of opportunity this was turning out to be. I looked around the cab, using more of my expertise than I had when I first entered. I clocked a pistol on the dashboard, an UZI taped under the steering column, a .357 Magnum on the Gremlin’s lap and by the looks of him a saber or machete was strapped to his back under the trench coat he wore. I could see where the handle was crippling his dreadlocks and his rigid posture was a dead giveaway. I had no idea why he wasn’t wearing trousers though. Just a .357 Magnum on bare legs and a frilly pink tutu. I told him I wanted a blade, a pistol and some poison. “Pull up the seat to yer right mon.” Under the seat cushion there was a thick strip of leather protruding down into the footwell like a dead tongue. Leaning over I pulled it out so the seat popped and fell forward onto the floor. When I looked inside the cavity I remember saying something like “Jesus Christ mon!”
I’d asked the Gremlin to drop me off a few houses up from my own; I didn’t want him coming back with a van full of thugs in pink ballet uniforms to kick my door in. I walked straight into an alley that led to the back gardens of a couple of the houses on the street, including mine. I was carrying a large brown sack with the weapons I’d purchased in the cab and its awkward bulges made it difficult to pass through the small wooden gate I encountered.. When I finally reached my back garden I pushed the small waist high gate so it’s rusty hinges squeaked open, and stepped over the threshold. Man, I’d walked into a crapping jungle! Man-eating plants lashed out at me with bloodthirsty fangs and crippling vines crept up around my extremities. I dropped the sack and pulled the blade from its scabbard. A long sabre, with a ceremonial handle grip. It wasn’t as sharp as I’d like it, but it’d do for hacking these bastard weeds down. I like to think my prowess with a sword is second to none around this area and perhaps even in Cheese, so with confidence I set myself to work spinning, slashing, hacking, cutting, chopping, stabbing, decapitating and any other word ending with -ing that you can think of that might involve tearing man-eating plants apart with a sword. Plant ichor and sticky green juices soaked my clothes and the cracked stone path beneath me. Within a few minutes I’d cleared a way to the French doors at the back of my house. I snatched up the sack, which was also now drenched in plant piss, and made my way to them, occasionally lashing out at the remaining plants who dared to file complaints against my well being. Looking through the doors I saw my smoke filled living room, with the silhouette of a man in a rimmed hat and a long overcoat facing my front door. I could see a pistol was tucked into his leather shoulder holster as he sat with one arm slung over my chair, ready to draw.
I put the point of the sabre to the man’s neck with enough pressure to show him I was serious. “Easy” the man rasped.
“What are you doing in my house, detective?” The man moved his head to the right so he could look at me but I kept the pressure on the blade all the same.
“Put that thing away boy, we both know you ain’t gunna use it.” Some of the sap from the plants was drizzling down the blade and onto the striped shirt and braces he was wearing under his coat.
“But I already have detective – I’ve just killed your partner and his blood is all over this sword, can’t you feel it?” His eyes widened in shock and terror for a split second, but he regained his composure almost as soon as he’d lost it. I saw it though, I knew I had him worried.
“I’m not here with a partner son.”
Before I could answer another man charged in from the hallway with his gun raised.
“Doctor Philpots! Put down your weapon now!”
“What the fuck?” I exclaimed.
“Drop it now or I’ll shoot!”
I didn’t know who these guys had mistaken me for, but I guessed they weren’t after me so I dropped the sword on the carpet and put my hands up.
“Put that away Phil”
the man in the chair said. “
But sir!” he pleaded.
“Do it!”
The younger detective reluctantly put his cannon away and stood glaring.
“You’ll have to excuse my partner.” the man in the chair went on ‘His speech impediment is extremely embarrassing but it does have its uses.”
I had no idea what he meant.
“Put your hands down and sit.” he told me. I sat with my back to the kitchen, with the “chair man” and garden on my left.
The detective I was calling “chair man” had asked the younger bloke to wait out the front. At first he started to argue but I got up out of my chair and said “Get the fuck out of my house!”
The boy looked like venom and cursed as he went out, slamming my front door.
“Ha ha ha!” laughed the chair main. “You’ve got real spirit kid.”
I sat back down and reached for one of his cigarettes.
“Please, take one.” he said sarcastically.
I ignored the remark and lit it. He looked at me quizzically.
“What the hell happened to you? You’re covered in shit.”
I was dripping with vine bile and I still had creepers in my hair.
“I was gardening.” I said nasally while exhaling smoke.
“Gardening, right…” he said, shooting a glance through the French doors.
“Who’s Doctor Philpots?” I asked.
The chair man laughed again, coughing a little. “That’s my partner, new blood and everything to prove. He is unable to say he’s Detective Philpots, every time he tries to say Detective, he comes out with Doctor. The only reason he got the job is because of… well, never mind that.”
He paused to draw from his cigarette. I sat silent, waiting. “I know you’re working for Eddy again. I just wanted you to know that we’re watching you and if you think of anything that would help us out I can guarantee we’ll help you out.” He dropped a card on the table. “Just give me a call.” He grinned and stood up. “I’ll be watching you, all of you.” As he was halfway towards the door I spoke.
“Aren’t you forgetting something detective?”
He paused, then spun around groping at his gun holster. I held up his revolver by the trigger guard and met his eyes. “You’d better watch yourself.” I said, spinning it deftly in my hand so I was holding it out to him butt first.
When the detective had gone I ignored the card left on the table and drew the curtains to cover the mess in the garden then picked up the sack full of goodies and put it in the sink. I pulled out the pistol, a well used and oiled tactical piece that also came with a fat silencer attached. I unscrewed the silencer and put it on the draining board. I placed 2 extra mags and a couple of boxes of bullets in the cupboard above the sink. I doubted I’d need to use the gun, it was more for show than to use. I wasn’t a common thug after all. I turned my attention back to the brown sack. The largest and arguably most deadly item was still inside. I gingerly pulled the edges of the sack down into the sink, getting some fibers of the bag stuck on a few of the corked spines and bulky arms in doing so. When the sack was pulled all the way down to the sink basin, I stepped back to look at the thing inside. It was a cactus, bulbous and bright red in colour, with maddening yellow swirls of unfathomable mystery that disturbed the mind the longer you looked into them. Two arms, fat like piglets, jutted out from the main body, supporting one oddly reflective black spine on each, the spine curving out in a sickle shaped arc. The spines were thick set at their base but slowly reduced in width until they were a razor sharp pinpoint; these were covered by old Champagne corks. Three more larger spines scythed out from the main body. It looked terrifying. It was called the Medusa or in some circles ‘Maddy’. I don’t know how I knew all this, I just did. The liquid it produced wasn’t strictly a poison, more of an extremely dangerous drug. Something no one in even a fifth of their right mind would use for recreational purposes. I pulled the sack back over the beast and went upstairs to shower and change my clothes.
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