AiA: White Shadow – Episode 3

Our story so far: Allison is an American high-school student who has transferred to a private prep school in Japan. Since the moment she was introduced to the class, not much has made a whole lot of sense. Some of the girls in class have befriended her, but the boys remain wary, for reasons she cannot understand. She is unaware that the entire class assumes she has super powers of some sort or another. She’s a transfer student, after all, and in this Japan transfer students always bring trouble. She is staying with distant relatives, who are becoming more distant all the time. Her “aunt” is completely uncommunicative, while her “uncle” is content to sit in front of his computer day in and day out. Allison spent last night with the girls who live at the old monastery, and while they are friendly, Allison suspects that they are all insane. There have been a couple of mysterious strangers, but let’s not worry about them, yet, all right?

If you would like to read from the beginning, the entire story is here.

Her uncle sat exactly as he had the night before, staring into the shifting patterns on the monitors, moving only occasionally to sip a thick liquid from a plastic cup. Allison hesitated. Had there been four monitors the night before? In the morning light some of the cables strewn around had an organic look, slightly shiny and slowly pulsating. A hum rose from the machinery, punctuated by the occasional menacing hiss. Her uncle’s clothes were stained; she suspected he had been wearing them non-stop for several days.

Allison made her own breakfast; her aunt was nowhere to be found. She reflected that even her poor attempts at cooking were better than anything her aunt had produced while she was in the house.

“’Bye!” she called out as she left for school, then wondered who she thought she was talking to.

Outside the fresh breeze carried what seemed to be a snowstorm of plum blossoms. They coated the ground and stuck in her hair. She looked around, searching for the source, but there were no plum trees nearby.

There was a boy waiting for her by her front gate. Allison recognized him from her class; he was one of the boys that seemed to spend most of their time huddled in some sort of serious conference. She knew it must just be paranoia when she got the feeling that they were talking about her, but she couldn’t help it. Now here he was, doing a horrible job of pretending to just be passing by.

She had heard his name before, she was sure, on that first confusing day, but the only boy’s name she had managed to retain was Seiji’s. This boy was taller, angular in an awkward way, and he peered at her through thick-framed glasses. A mild case of acne spotted his cheeks. “Allison!” he said louder than necessary. “You live here?”

“Uh, yeah…”

“What a coincidence! Hahahaha!” His laugh was awkward, his arm behind his head, a light blush coloring his cheeks.

Allison racked her brain for any clue what the boy’s name might be. There was no hope. Maybe she could fake it until she could ask Ruchia. “Um… Hi! Do you live nearby?”

“Yes! Uh, well, that is, no. I was just, er, making a delivery.”

They stood for an awkward moment, then the boy said, “Are you going to school now? I could walk with you.”

Allison tried to conceal her surprise. Other than Seiji’s sarcastic comments, none of the boys in class had even spoken to her. She was beginning to think she must have some sort of horrible deforming disease the way they avoided her. Maybe this guy would be the start of turning things around. He seemed nice enough, anyway, even if he was watching her with a slightly unsettling intensity. “All right,” she said.

“Great!” They stood there for another awkward moment, then Allison started walking. The boy fell in next to her, but he was unable to say anything. He seemed a little less nervous, though.

They had taken only a few steps when the front gate of the house next to Allison’s rattled and there was Seiji. He blinked, looking from one to the other. “Hello, Kaneda,” he finally said. “Hello, Allison.”

“Kaneda, Kaneda, Kaneda,” Allison mumbled to herself, committing the name to memory, then, louder, “Good Morning, Seiji.”

Kaneda had become so nervous Allison thought he might melt down. “Oh! Seiji! Good Morning! I was just in the neighborhood to make a delivery!”

“Is that a fact?” Seiji asked with a flat voice.

“Do you live here?” Allison asked.

Seiji looked at her with mounting suspicion. “Yeah…”

“I live right there. We’re neighbors!”

“Neighb… k-k-k-k-k” Nothing more came from Seiji except a choking noise from his throat.

Allison was annoyed. “Jeez, Seiji, is it that terrible?”

Kaneda said, “Seiji, I thought you lived over in…”

“Not anymore.”

“Did you move after—”

We don’t live there anymore! That’s all!

Seiji’s outburst left them all standing in silence for a moment.

“Well, somebody got up on the wrong side of bed this morning,” Allison said. “Come on, Kaneda, or we’ll be late.” She turned and strode off toward the Academy, Kaneda hurrying to catch up. Seiji stood for a moment longer under a little personal cloud, before he too turned and trudged toward the school.

He did not see the shadowy figure emerge from the bushes after he left, or notice the mysterious figure as it followed him up the road.

It was quieter than usual when Allison and Kaneda arrived in class. As they walked in the door a knot of boys wheeled around and stared at him openly, their faces portraits of hungry curiosity. Allison felt herself turning red.

Kaneda seemed unaware of the scrutiny. “Hey, guys!” he said. “Where’s Yoshiki?”

“Haven’t seen him,” said Kouta. “I’m a bit worried. You know how he likes those games…”

Shinta looked over to where Rei was sitting. “Hey, Rei, you were hanging out with him yesterday after school, weren’t you? Uh… Rei?”

So intent was Rei on the gameboy he held that he did not hear his friends. They exchanged an uneasy look. Kouta looked over the intent boy’s shoulder at the game. Rei was not moving, not even his thumbs, he was simply staring in mute fascination at the screen of the game. “Hey! Rei!” Kouta called out. “Oi!” He passes his hands in front of Rei’s eyes. Nothing.

“White Shadow,” Kaneda whispered, then glanced at Allison guiltily, as if regretting letting her hear the phrase.

Without warning Shinta grabbed the game out of Rei’s insensate fingers. For a moment nothing happened, then Rei began to tense up, tilting his head back, then arching his entire back and clawing at the air with crazed crooked clawlike fingers. His eyes began to bug out, bloodshot, pupils so small they were almost invisible. “Reset! Reset!” he screamed, then toppled to the floor.

“Stupid!” Seiji called out, pushing into the group. He tore the game from Shinta’s surprised grip and held the screen in front of Rei’s eyes. “Come on, Rei,” Seiji urged, “focus!” Seiji slapped Rei, hard, then a second time. Rei’s breath caught and his eyes focussed on the game. With a desperate grab he tore the game away from Seiji. He curled on the floor, staring at the screen once more, openly weeping.

Seiji inspected his hand, injured when Rei took back the game. “Call the Institute,” he said. “They need to come and get Rei before his batteries go dead.”

“Not the hospital?” asked Allison. “What’s wrong with him, anyway?”

Seiji looked at her with deep suspicion. “You really don’t know?”

“Have you ever been to the Institute?” Kaneda asked coyly.

“What institute? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” As usual, she added to herself.

“Stand aside, please.” the deep voice was oddly distorted, like it was coming through a small speaker. Allison turned to find three big men standing behind her. At least, she assumed they were men, it was impossible to tell for sure who was inside the bulky rubber suits. The suits had hoses and backpacks and dials and it was impossible to see through the tinted face shields. On each suit was a number and the logo that read “Biological Computation Institute”. They each carried a weapon and they moved with military precision.

The students stepped back and the Institute men gathered up Rei without any wasted movement or commentary. As swiftly as they had arrived, they were gone, and class began to return to normal.

“Will he be all right?” Allison asked Seiji when they sat down for lessons.

Seiji paused for a moment before answering. “The Institute is trying to find a cure, but so far all they can do is keep the victims alive.”

“Victims? Of what? What’s this White Shadow thing?”

“It’s a kind of computer virus. Do you know much about computers?”

“I’m pretty good with them.”

“Really? Hm. Well, this computer virus is different. It doesn’t just infect the computer, it gets into people’s brains. It resonates with their nerves and causes the brain to release chemicals. Before long the brain becomes dependent on the signals; the natural chemicals in the brain are way more powerful than heroin and once you pass a certain limit you can’t stop looking at the patterns or you’ll die.”

“That’s terrible! Why would someone make something like that?”

“So, just how good are you with computers?”

“You think I did this?”

“Nooo…” Seiji said, but he didn’t sound very certain.

From the roof the Emergency Committee watched Allison and Ruchia eating their lunch beneath a tree in the yard below. It felt strange to Seiji to have a meeting without Yoshiki or Rei, but they all had to face the grim truth that they would probably never see their friends again. People didn’t come back when a place like the Institute took them.

Allison was mixed up in this somehow, he was sure, but her innocent act seemed genuine.

Kouta took charge as usual. “Kaneda, you walked to school with her?”

Kaneda nodded smartly. “Yes.”

“Did you see her teeth?”

“No. I was just starting to charm her when Seiji here showed up and with his usual tact and wit put her in a bad mood that lasted all they way to school. Boy, was she pissed off.”

“Nice move, Seiji,” grumbled Naota.

“You’re blaming me? The girl’s impossible!”

Kaneda interjected, “It turns out they’re next door neighbors.”

Kouta turned on Seiji, a sparkle in his eye. “Reeeally?”

“…” Seiji muttered.

Kouta returned to business. “So we still don’t know if she’s a demon.”

“She’s good with computers.”

“Interesting. Perhaps she’s a killer robot after all.”

“Or some sort of hyperintelligent mutation,” suggested Masashi.

“I bet the Institute made her,” said Bando.

Seiji nodded. “I’ve never heard of a demon that’s good with computers. I don’t think we need to have Kaneda be nice to her anymore.”

Kaneda smiled. “You know, I still think I should. She might be a demon from a technologically advanced realm. I owe it to the school to stick with her until she smiles. Only after I see her teeth will we know for sure.”

Seiji’s voice carried a hint of anger. “Really, Kaneda, that’s not necessary.”

“Oh? Does it bother you?”

“Of course not! I just don’t want you wasting your time!”

“Well, it’s my time to waste if I want to.”

Kouta intervened. “Look, we have to work together on this. Kaneda, you continue to be nice to her.”

“Can I be nice too?” Masashi asked.

“Certainly. Seiji, we need you to begin surveilance of her home. Report any suspicious activity.”

“Surveillance? You want me to peek in her windows?”

“We need facts, Seiji. Does she display superhuman strength when no one is watching? Can she see in the dark? Do her eyes glow? Plus, we need to see if she has wings, and if so, whether they are feathered or leathery. Horns? Are any parts of her made of metal? Is she anatomically correct? Scales? Corporate tattoos or serial numbers? In short, gentlemen, we need to see her naked.”

“I volunteer!” all the boys called out at once.

All the boys, that is, except Seiji. He knew what would happen to a boy who saw the transfer student naked. It would be painful, embarassing, and ongoing. Whoever the poor sap was would be publicly humiliated before the entire school, and his reputation would never recover, unless…

Seiji resolved to never, ever, see Allison naked.

AiA: White Shadow – Episode 2

Our story so far: Allison is an American high-school student who has transferred to a private prep school in Japan. She is only very slowly adapting to a culture that seems to depart from all reality. Her status as a transfer student has the entire class assuming she has mystical superpowers of some sort, and her fellow students are trying to determine what those powers are. She is staying with distant relatives, who seem completely absorbed in computers to the exclusion of all else. Meanwhile, she has been invited to the old monastery, where an odd assortment of girls live with seemingly no supervision.

If you would like to read from the beginning, the entire story is here.

Seiji stood in the shadows outside the Old Monastery. The lights were on inside, but things were otherwise quiet. “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

“That which is not liked is loved,” came a withered voice behind him. Seiji wheeled to find three old men standing uncomfortably close to him. They wore the robes of monks, and all were bald and toothless. They stood arranged tallest to shortest, and seemed to have been standing there for some time.

“Wha—?”

“It is not for the kitten to refuse his stripes,” the one in the middle said.

“Or his claws,” said the short one.

“What are you talking about?”

“It has begun,” the tall one said.

“Still going,” agreed the middle one.

“Never stopped,” said the short one, smiling toothlessly. All three laughed at the joke.

Seiji didn’t need cryptic prophecies to tell him that what was happening was unstoppable. He turned and stormed off.

“Kids,” said the tall one.

“Think they know everything,” said the middle one.

“They’re right.” said the short one. “They just don’t know it.” The monks laughed again before fading into the shadows.

“Wow, guys! This is fantastic!” Allison ate hungrily. “This is nothing like the stuff my aunt makes.”

“What sort of food do they fix you at home?” asked Ruchia.

“It’s got these weird flavors, like my aunt doesn’t care what it tastes like at all. Like it was just made by some formula to have all the necessary nutrients.”

“That’s terrible!” said Mika. “Food’s supposed to be fun!”

“Be careful,” warned Tasuki. “Mika’s definition of fun usually involves explosions. That goes for her spicy cooking as well.”

Allison’s knees were starting to ache from sitting at the low table, but she really was grateful for the meal and the lively company. She was still in a state of shock at the whirlwind of activity that surrounded her.

Her visit had started simply enough. Tasuki and Ruchia had ridden the train with her, and the two girls had sustained the conversation while Allison watched the city go by. It was a short ride, and then they walked up steep streets which got steadily narrower and more confusing as they neared the top of the hill. Perched at the crown was the Old Monastery.

The ancient building sat in harmony with the trees and lawns that surrounded it. The building itself hid its size well; it flowed with the natural contours of the land, and the structure’s proportions and subtle asymmetries made it seem more an act of nature than a work of man. The building was in perfect repair, the wood showing no signs of deterioration in the damp environment.

The first person she met was the building manager. Nemu was sweeping the front walk as the girls approached. She appeared to Allison to be about thirty years old. A bent cigarette dangled from the corner of her mouth. Nemu stopped sweeping, leaned on her broom, and took a long drag from her cigarette. She exhaled a long plume of smoke and said, “Transfer student?”

Ruchia said, “This is Allison, Miss Nemu. She’s from America.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Allison said.

“’Bout time. You moving in?”

“Uh, no. I’m staying with relatives.”

Nemu took another drag on her cigarette and exhaled again. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Are you close to them?”

“Jeeze, I hardly know them. And they never even talk to me.”

“White shadow,” Tasuki said in what passed for her as a whisper.

Nemu nodded. “Oh, well, that’s all right, then. I can wait. He’s not here yet anyway.”

“What is this White Shadow?” asked Allison. “You mentioned it before.”

“Oh, well! It’s nothing!” Tasuki said, grinning foolishly and putting one arm behind her head. A drop of sweat appeared on her forehead. “Just a computer thing. I’m sure I don’t understand it. Ha-ha-ha…”

“Come on,” Ruchia said, “You need to meet everyone else.”

“Everyone else” left Allison’s head reeling. She’d quickly abandoned any hope of remembering any names; they came at her too quickly and were too different for her to put them in comfortable slots. She resolved to ask Ruchia later for the names, when she had more time to connect the names to the conveniently distinctive traits of each of the girls she met.

As they approached the house, they were confronted by a giant creature with glowing eyes. Allison jumped back, but Tasuki just laughed. “Don’t worry,” she said, “this is just something Mika made.”

“Preezed to meetchoo” the robot said in English.

“That’s incredible,” Allison said.

Tasuki was watching Allison carefully. “She’s made better.”

“This is Kuu,” Ruchia said. Allison looked in the direction indicated but at first saw no one. After a moment a strange, unrecognizable creature rose from the bushes, then a pair of frightened eyes poked out from behind the stuffed animal.

“Um… hello,” Kuu said.

“Hello,” Allison replied. She bent down a little, to be more on a level with Kuu. “How are you?”

The eyes disappeared once more behind the stuffed animal.

Another small figure exploded from the house. “Is this her? Is this her?”

“This is Mika,” Ruchia said. “You met her robot.”

The girl was exotic – long fair hair, dark skin, and odd markings on her forehead. She was so filled with energy that Allison imagined her as a stick of dynamite in human form. She darted around Allison with surprising speed, pausing to inspect the newcomer from every angle. “She’s a transfer student? Really?” She dared to poke Allison, then when nothing happened she started prodding her Allison all over. “What’s your power source? Can you really bleed? Are you terrestrial?”

Eventually her investigations slowed down. “Just a person,” she said, despondent, then quickly perked back up. “Were you in a lab?”

“She wouldn’t remember that, silly.” a new girl said. She leaned in the doorway, idly holding a beer. Her skimpy outfit revealed a voluptuous body beneath.

“This is Dojima,” Ruchia said.

Hitomi followed Dojima and was a welcome relief from the madness all around; the girl was an island of stability in the chaotic household. “You seek balance,” Hitomi said. “That will not be easy for you.”

“Nothing’s been easy since I got here.”

“Was it easy before?”

“Well, no, I guess not. But it was different.”

“Was it? When you are dying of thirst in the desert, do you notice the color of the sand?”

“Uh… what?”

“Don’t worry about it. I look forward to being your friend.”

Allison didn’t notice the intake of breath by all others present. “I will be honored to consider you my friend,” she said.

“Thus, we are bound.”

“Come on!” shouted Mika. “I’m starving! I’m starving!” She grabbed Allison’s hand and dragged her into the main building.

Seiji crept back toward the Old Monastery. They were bonding inside, he knew, but there was still an element missing, the catalyst required to turn a building filled with girls into the focus of untold trouble. Even the transfer student wasn’t enough.

“You fear chapter three,” the old man said behind him.

“Gah!” Seiji turned and there they were, the three monks, lined up just as they had been before.

“We’re still on chapter one,” the middle monk said.

“And chapter two’s gonna kick your ass,” said the short one.

It was late when Allison got home. After the meal she had been dragged out for a soak in the hot springs that were part of the monastery. No one had even mentioned studying.

She slipped in the front door, not wanting to wake anyone, but her uncle was still up. She glanced into his office as she slipped past, and stopped with a gasp. Her uncle had added two more monitors, and a few other boxes were scattered around the desk and on the floor, connected by cables strewn about haphazardly. Her uncle sat, staring into abstract patterns playing across the monitors.

Something about the patterns gave Allison the creeps. With a shudder she continued up to her room.

AiA: White Shadow – Episode 1

Our story so far: Allison is an American high-school student who has transferred to a private prep school in Japan. Her first day was disorienting; she was delayed getting to class by a mysterious stranger, and then the entire class flew into a frenzy when the oblivious teacher uttered the phrase “transfer student”. Half the class dove for cover, while the other half fought to be the first to befriend her. She is sitting between Ruchia, a pretty, friendly girl, and Seiji, a brooding boy with a penetrating gaze, who says a lot of dramatically mysterious things. Seiji believes Allison is a demon, not a killer robot as his friends theorize.

If you would like to read from the beginning, the entire story is here.

Allison climbed out of bed, still groggy. She dressed and gathered her resolve for the ordeal of breakfast. Finally she went into the kitchen. “Good morning!” she said, trying to sound cheerful. The effort was wasted. Her “uncle” sat at the table, silently reading the newspaper, his eyes invisible behind the reflections of the fluorescent lights in his glasses. Her “aunt” was moving about the kitchen, timid as a mouse, afraid to break the silence imposed by her husband. Allison had been there three weeks now, and she didn’t think she would ever get used to living in that place.

“Thank you for the food,” she said when her aunt set breakfast in front of her. She ate in silence, reading one of her textbooks. Before she was finished her uncle rose abruptly and left the kitchen. From the next room she could hear the chatter of a keyboard, punctuated by mouse clicks.

“I wonder if he even has a voice,” Allison muttered. Her aunt looked at her sharply, but said nothing. Allison was only too happy to leave early for school. It was an ordeal of a different sort, but at least people spoke there. The other students seemed suspicious of her — wary, even — but she had read that the Japanese were slow to accept outsiders, and a few of her classmates were very friendly.

This morning Allison heard the skateboard wheels approaching in time to dodge Daisuke. He sailed on past. Allison wondered once more if he was trying to run her over. He certainly made no effort to avoid a collision.

She kept an eye out for the mysterious stranger who had helped her that first morning, but she had not seen him since. Oh, well. There were enough other mysteries to keep her mind spinning.

“Well, if it isn’t little Miss Transfer Student.”

The blonde girl stood, blocking her path, flanked by a pair of dark-haired girls Allison assumed to be identical twins. “Hello, Kano,” Allison said. “Hello, uh…” she wondered if the other two girls even had names.

“Hello yourself. I demand to know what you are doing here.”

“Yes, that’s right!” the twins said, their voices sharp and birdlike. “Kano is right!”

Allison wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. She had been getting hostile looks from Kano ever since her first day. “I’m just here to study.”

“Ho! Study! That’s a good one!” The other girls laughed. “Now listen. I’m the most popular girl here. I can bury you.”

“Kano’s right! She can bury you!”

“I don’t understand…”

A bookish girl that Allison saw in class every day appeared at her elbow. “You broke her record.” The girl opened her journal with ceremonial dignity. “Four nosebleeds when you walked into class, one of them a gusher. Kano got three, and one of those was borderline. The record before that was two, more than fifteen years ago.”

Kano glared at the other girl. “You can’t count the one when Rei dove under his desk. He probably just hit his nose on something.”

“Doesn’t matter, you know that; a nosebleed is a nosebleed. Allison caused it.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Kano’s right! That’s ridiculous!” the chorus chimed in.

Kano turned back to Allison. “Just remember your place, Miss Transfer Student, and we will get along just fine.” She spun in a pretty little huff and walked away.

The other girl was closing her journal with reverence. “Yomiko,” she said. “My name’s Yomiko.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Yomiko.”

“It might have been five.”

“Five what?”

“Nosebleeds. Things were confusing; I couldn’t confirm Shinta’s.” Yomiko thought for a moment. “It would be better if Kano accepted the inevitable.”

“What inevitable?”

“That you’re going to be more popular than she is. If she keeps acting like that she’ll turn into a cow or something.”

“Yomiko, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I having some sort of bizarre dream? Am I in a coma somewhere, hallucinating?”

Yomiko looked at her carefully. “I hadn’t considered that possibility.” She opened her journal and made a note in it. Coma? Check hospitals. She hesitated and added, Check morgues also.

They were almost to the academy when Yomiko broke the silence. “It’s going to be an interesting year,” she said.

It was still a few minutes before the start of class. Seiji was huddled with some of the other boys, but Allison could feel him watching her. She shuddered. Then Ruchia was there, smiles and sunshine, and Tasuki with her happy-go-lucky energy, and Allison relaxed. Just another day at school.

“Have you decided what club you’re going to join?” asked Tasuki. “You should join the tennis club, with me.”

“No, you should join the drama club,” Ruchia said. “You’d be great!”

“Well, actually, I thought it might be fun to try the fencing club.”

“Fencing! Do you know how?”

“No, but it seems like it would be fun to learn.”

“Fencing?” asked Seiji as he took his seat. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I am.” Allison said defensively.

Seiji’s reply was sarcastic, but there was something else there as well, probing. “Are you expecting to get into sword battles?”

“An interesting choice,” said a girl Allison had not met yet, “requiring discipline and dedication. Yes, that resonates well with you.” It was the girl who had decided where Allison should sit. She stood now, tall and thin, but there was something feline about her posture, a jungle beast always ready to spring, even when sleeping. Her eyes were steady and cold.

Allison remembered to bow rather than offer her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Allison.”

“Yes. Arrislawr Crlensharwl,” she imitated the teacher’s pronunciation perfectly. “My name is Hitomi.”

“Are you in the fencing club?”

“No, I prefer different weapons, but perhaps we can drill together.” Was that a fleeting smile? Allison wasn’t sure; it was gone almost before it arrived. “I think you will find the leader of the fencing club to be… interesting. Please be sure to do your best.”

“I’ll do anything if it will keep me out of my house for a while.”

“Is it that bad?” asked Ruchia with concern.

“They never say a word. He spends every moment on his computer, and she brings him food.”

Ruchia and Tasuki exchanged glances. “White Shadow” whispered Ruchia, then said, “Oh, well, hey, maybe you should come over to the old monastery tonight. We can have dinner and study together.”

“Really? That would be great!”

Seiji made a slight choking noise.

Hitomi nodded. “You would be most welcome.”

“You live there too?”

Allison looked up and noticed that the lecture had started. She shook her head, wondering if she was going to learn anything at all.

The Emergency Committee convened for their daily briefing. As usual, Kouta took charge.

“So, Seiji, have you gotten a look at her teeth yet?”

“No.”

Shinta nudged him playfully. “Maybe you should try being nice to her, dude. She’s a lot more likely to smile, then.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking. She’s pretty, and she’s nice, but…”

“I think Seiji’s got a crush on her!”

“Are you crazy?! She’s a Transfer Student!”

Bando nodded solemnly. “Methinks he protests too much.”

Kaneda spoke for the first time. “Listen, Seiji, if you’re not going to be nice to her, then it’s up to one of us to step up. For the safety of the school, I hereby volunteer to make friends with Allison and make her smile.”

“Hey! I was going to volunteer!” Yoshiki said.

“This is not a job for those who hesitate at the critical moment, Yoshiki. You hesitated, and I stepped up. This is a job for Kaneda, the master of love.”

“You?”, said Yoshiki, “Master of love? Don’t make me laugh.”

“You sure you don’t mind, Seiji?” Kaneda asked.

“Why should I care?”

Kouta nodded. “All right, then, it’s settled. Kaneda will be nice to the transfer student.”

AiA: Prologue

Before we get started: This story is imagined as a sort of Galaxy Quest conceit — someone travels to a distant land and quite unexpectedly finds herself in a world where conventions of anime are real. You should still be able to enjoy the story even if you don’t know anime; you will be no more confused than Allison is herself.

Don’t worry about learning all the names in the first episode; you will have a chance to meet the characters later. At first I didn’t even bother to give many of the characters names as they are just voices in a crowd. We will all learn to remember the names together.

Allison Crenshaw walked up the nearly deserted street toward her new school. She felt awkward in her uniform; the skirt seemed shorter on her than it did on the other girls. She walked alone, clutching her books to her chest, practicing her Japanese under her breath.

“Hey, watch out!” Allison turned just in time to see the kid on the skateboard before he crashed into her. She fell, books flying, conscious of her short skirt.

“Watch where you’re going, stupid!” the kid said. The boy was perhaps twelve years old, and he wore the uniform for her school. He had added a backwards baseball cap to the standard issue.

“I’m sorry!” Allison said from where she sat on the concrete.

The kid brushed himself off and recovered his skateboard. “Jeeze, the dummy doesn’t even know which side of the sidewalk to walk on,” he said to himself. He smiled at her, his grin large and toothy. “Well, see you.” He hopped back on his skateboard and continued down the street towards the school.

Allison pulled herself together. Her knee was scuffed, oozing blood slowly. “Oh, man,” she moaned, “my first day.”

“Are you all right?” The male voice was smooth and resonant. “Let me help you.” Allison looked up into the large, almost violet eyes of the young man as he knelt down next to her. With great care he began gathering her books and stacking them neatly. “Don’t mind Daisuke. It’s always someone else’s fault when he crashes.”

He stood with her books and offered his hand. She took it and rose to stand next to him. His skin was smooth and cool, and even when she stood he was quite a bit taller than she was. He looked at her with his odd-colored eyes, eyes that seemed as deep as the ocean.

“Thank you,” she said. She could feel herself blushing under his gaze.

“You are going to the academy?” he asked.

“Uh, yes, I am. It’s my first day.”

“Ah, of course. That explains it.” He handed her books back.

“Explains what?”

“Why you’re late.”

“Oh, my gosh! I’m sorry, I have to go!”

“I understand.”

Allison took three quick steps and turned back to him. “It was nice to meet you.”

“I’m sure we’ll run into each other again. Goodbye.”

“Bye!” Allison ran up the street. “Oh!” she said and turned back once more, “My name is… Allison?”

There was no one there.

As Allison ran down the empty hallway she practiced her Japanese. “Please excuse me. I am sorry I am late.”

She reached the door of the class and composed herself as well as she could before cracking open the door, still out of breath.

“Ah, here she is now,” the teacher said.

Timidly Allison stepped into the room, feeling awkward in her school uniform. “I’m sorry I’m late,” she said.

The teacher glared at her fiercely. “I will overlook your tardiness this once,” he said, “but you are not in America anymore. We expect our students to be on time.”

Allison glanced around nervously. The rest of the class stared back at her with a strange intensity.

The teacher turned to address the students. “Class, please allow me to introduce our new transfer student…” He scowled at the paper he was holding as he tried to pronounce her name. “Arrisawrn…”

It didn’t matter what he said. Upon his utterance of the phrase ‘transfer student’, the class broke into pandemonium.

“Transfer student!” called one student as he dove under his desk.

“We’re doomed!” shouted a panicky girl, cowering in the corner. “So young… I’ve barely lived at all.”

“She’s so cute…,” said a boy holding a handkerchief to his nose.

“Everybody stay calm!” bellowed another girl over the noise.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” huffed a pretty blonde.

“Don’t turn me into a monkey! Please don’t turn me into a monkey,” sobbed another boy.

The teacher seemed unaware of the bedlam. “Allison has come all the way from America. She may not be familiar with all our customs, so be sure to do your best to help her feel welcome.”

The girl who had shouted for calm addressed the teacher. “Sir? She can sit next to me. There’s no one at this desk.” Allison watched as the girl dumped the previous occupant of the indicated desk onto the floor.

“There’s no one here, either!” said the blonde girl as she kicked the boy who was cowering underneath the desk next to hers. “She can sit next to me!”

“I’m class president! She will sit next to me!”

“She should sit by me. I’m the most popular, and I can explain to her who everyone is. Someone has to tell her.”

The boy under the desk just sobbed. “She’s going to turn me into a monkey. I just know it.”

“So young…”

Another girl, near the back, spoke quietly. “It would be most harmonious if she sat there.” She gestured toward a desk, its previous occupant impossible to determine in the mayhem.

“Good suggestion, Hitomi,” the teacher said. “That desk has been empty ever since…” The class fell silent. “Is that all right with you, Ruchia?”

The girl at the adjacent desk nodded. She was pretty, her long black hair glinting almost bluish in the light. “Yes, I would like to have someone there. Miss Allison, would you honor me by sitting in the seat next to mine?”

Allison stood at the front of the room, paralyzed with confusion and fear.

“Monkey, monkey,” the boy sobbed.

“Oh, cruel fate! So young, so much life ahead of me,” wailed the girl in the corner.

“Transfer student,” mumbled a girl who wore thick glasses, recording the event in her journal. “Commence observation.”

“Miss Clrensharwl?” asked the teacher.

Allison snapped out of her state. The class seemed to be settling down. Numbly she went to her desk and sat down.

The teacher said, “Now, if you will turn to page 143 in the text…”

“Hello,” said the girl next to her. “I’m Ruchia. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m Allison.”

“You’re from America?”

“Uh, yes, that’s right.”

“I have a brother in America. He went there to play baseball.” The girl’s bright face clouded for a moment. “I haven’t heard from him in a long time. Not since the time of the giant explosion in Kyoto.” She brightened again. “But I’m sure he’s just busy. I bet you have lots of questions.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but shouldn’t we be listening to the teacher?”

Ruchia laughed. “You’re pretty funny.”

“But…”

“This is Seiji,” Ruchia said, gesturing to the boy on Allison’s right.

“Hello,” said Allison. She held out her hand for Seiji to shake, then remembered where she was. She bowed awkwardly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Seiji narrowed his eyes and studied at her, his eyes partially concealed behind his long hair. “Skilled at Japanese, but unfamiliar with our customs,” Seiji said as if she wasn’t there. His voice carried a rough strength, and an unnatural intensity. “Are you here with your parents?”

“Seiji!” Ruchia said. “That’s no way to talk to someone you’ve only just met!”

“Please excuse me,” Seiji said, suddenly stiffly formal.

“Don’t mind him,” Ruchia said. “He doesn’t know how to act around anyone.”

Seiji returned his gaze to the desk in front of him. Allison half-expected it to catch on fire. He looked back up and caught her watching him. Allison blushed for the second time that day.

“Your knee,” he said.

“What?”

“Your knee is injured.”

“Oh! Yes, I fell on my way to school. That’s why I was late.”

He nodded slowly. “So, it has started already.”

“Wha…?”

She was interrupted by a poke on her left arm. “Hey, Ruchia, aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Allison turned back the other way, but she still felt Seiji’s gaze burning into the back of her neck. Standing next to Ruchia was a pretty girl, slender in an athletic way. She had spiky black hair and an open smile filled with teeth. She poked Allison in the arm once more. “Wow. So lifelike.” She turned to Ruchia. “You always said Mika would make a good transfer student one day.”

“My name is Allison.”

“Riiiight. From America? No parents around?”

“I, well…”

Ruchia came to her rescue. “Tasuki, I don’t think she knows who Mika is.”

“Ah, that’s how it is, then?”

“Allison, this is Tasuki. She doesn’t mean to be rude. She thought you might be… friends with Mika. We all live in an old monastery together. I kind of thought you might know Mika, too, but then I saw your knee.”

Tasuki winked. “You don’t think Mika could do that?”

“Oh, no,” Allison said, finally understanding something. “This was an accident. There was a boy on a skateboard—”

“Daisuke!” the other two girls said together. Behind her she heard Seiji mutter “Daisuke. Of course. He shall answer for this.”

“I don’t know what his name was.”

Ruchia said, “It was him. Anyone who mentions ‘injury’ and ‘skateboard’ in the same sentence is talking about Daisuke.”

“The guy’s a rolling disaster,” Tasuki agreed. “So you really don’t know Mika? Let’s hope she doesn’t try to dismantle you, then. Oh, look, it’s lunch time. My favorite time of the day. Come on!”

“How do you guys learn anything?” asked Allison.

“We study all night, of course,” said Ruchia.

Kouta leaned against the railing, looking down into the courtyard below, where Allison was enjoying her lunch. Tasuki had a huge bag of food, and was throwing it back with abandon, while Ruchia nibbled demurely. Allison’s eating habits seemed perfectly normal.

Too normal,” Kouta said to himself. Out loud he said, “All right, let’s call this meeting to order.”

Kaneda snapped to attention. “Yes, sir! Meeting number one of the Emergency Committee is now called to order!”

Kouta surveyed the knot of his classmates who had gathered for the Emergency Committee. Most seemed excited, but Seiji, leaning against the railing off to the side, hands shoved in his pockets, was trying to hide his worry. He understood what was at stake, at least. “We have a transfer student.” Kouta began. “She seems normal, but we know that’s impossible. We need to learn her true nature and figure out what to do about her.”

“I think she’s a robot,” said Shinta.

Kaneda looked skeptical. “Maybe. Her knee was injured, though.”

Shinta was not to be dissuaded. “That’s convenient. What better way to allay suspicion?”

“You could be right, but she didn’t seem, well, roboty.”

Bando spoke for the first time. “Yeah, you saw how confused she was. Totally clueless. She’s an escaped lab experiment for sure.”

“Maybe…”

Kouta looked over at his friend. “You’ve been awfully quiet, Seiji. What do you think?”

“I think we need to get a good look at her teeth.”

“You think she’s a demon?” The eyes of some of the younger students went round.

“It fits the facts.”

Naota paled. “Oh, God, you’re right. She’s going to turn me into a monkey for sure. Why’d she have to transfer to our school?”

“Relax. Not all pretty transfer students who appear out of nowhere and don’t understand the local customs and have no parents bring untold destruction.”

Naota was not reassured. “Name one who didn’t. You read about that one in Osaka, didn’t you? They’re still rebuilding.”

Seiji spoke up. “She’s not living at the old monastery, is she?”

“No, she’s staying with distant relatives of some sort,” Kouta said.

“Let’s at least be thankful for that. If she was at the monastery with all those other girls…”

“What?”

“It would change everything.”

Shinta’s eyes glazed over. “Hot springs… towels slipping…”

“The only thing worse would be if she was secretly sleeping in someone’s closet,” Seiji said.

“She could sleep in my closet any time,” Shinta said.

“Don’t even think that!” Seiji said. “You may as well kill your mother yourself!”

“I’m just saying she’s cute, that’s all.”

“Careful,” said Kouta, “or you’ll give yourself another nosebleed.”

1

A few words of introduction

Late one night I was watching anime (it could have been any of them), and the Mysterious Girl was introduced to the class as a transfer student. I found myself thinking, man, you’d think by now students in Japan would know that transfer students always mean trouble. The following story is based on that thought. In this Japan, just about everyone has a mysterious past, parents are rare or nonexistent, little girls can build killer robots, and transfer students mean trouble. A lot of trouble. She might be a killer angel, a robot with a cat brain, or a demon hunter who has lost her powers, but one way or another the transfer student’s arrival heralds untold destruction.

Of course, this would be disorienting to anyone visiting Anime Japan from a more rational part of the universe. Enter Allison, who has no idea that in this place demons are real (although difficult to tell from angels), someone on the faculty of every school has a secret lab stashed away in the basement, that the government regularly experiments on the most innocent of schoolgirls, and a house filled with girls wearing only towels isn’t complete without a clumsy geeky guy somehow living among them.

Allison expected to have some difficulty adapting to Japanese culture, but nothing could have prepared her for this. Perhaps through some cosmic mix-up she got on the wrong plane in Los Angeles; it would have meant nothing to her that everyone else in line had spiky, colored hair. Perhaps some greater force decided it was time to blur the line between that world and our own. Allison has never seen an anime in her life, and now she is living in one.

That would be difficult enough, but of course she’s a transfer student as well.

Before you start

There are a couple of things that might make reading a little more pleasant: First, Don’t worry about the names. I sure can’t remember them, so I don’t expect you to. (I’ve never put the database in Jer’s Novel Writer to heavier use.) The names are Japanese so you don’t have preworn grooves in your brain for them; I don’t even expect you to recognize gender by the name. I tried to pick names that weren’t too similar. Still, there are a lot of names that come at you right off the bat. Just relax and go with it, they are just voices in the crowd; when those people come back in any significant way I will be sure to remind you which archetype is being referred to. Don’t worry if you don’t understand the anime references, you’re no worse off than Allison.

Second, writing things like this is what I do when you would watch TV. It’s a brain-switched-off activity, when I need to relax and not take myself so seriously. While I’ve been making a little bit of effort (very little) to raise the quality bar for the fiction here at Muddled Ramblings, you’re not going to find any Pulitzer-quality prose below. This is just recreational writing that I have decided to share with you. (You don’t have to thank me; it’s what I do.)

As a final note, the icon that appears next to the titles of the episodes is Club-To-Death Angel Dokuro-Chan, a sweet little angel with cute wings, a halo (which turns out to be wicked sharp), and a deadly spiked bat that complements her short temper. She, is, of course, a transfer student.

Episode 22: Never on Sunday – Reprise

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here. Continuity issues are probably starting to pile up, but so it goes.

It was a little too warm for comfort in the limo, but at least it was dry. Jorge offered a clean handkerchief to Alice, the one I had given her was now covered with spots of blood. He gave instructions to the driver and pulled out into the teeth of the storm. We had the streets to ourselves, if you could still call them that; the cars might have benefitted from pontoons. The wind howled up the boulevards, driving the rain before like bullets, hammering against the windows loudly enough to make conversation difficult. We moved slowly, which was fine with me. I was pretty sure things were not going to get better when we reached our destination.

“Where are we going?” Alice asked over the storm.

“To visit a friend of mine,” our host answered. “A doctor. We need to get all your teeth back in before you need to bite someone again.” He chuckled inaudibly. “He is quite experienced at treating wounds like yours, and he should also be able to do something about Mr. Lowell’s damaged hand. He is also skilled at not asking questions.”

“What’s your name?” Alice was not skilled at not asking questions, and probably never would be.

“Please pardon my manners.” He offered her his hand. “My name is Santiago.”

“What’s this about a Saint? I thought that was a painting.”

“There is a painting with that name, but we are the true blood of the saint.”

“I don’t get it.”

“It is not important. For now the painting is the matter of concern. It was taken from us, and we would like it back. Your partner will be helping us.”

“I don’t recall seeing you in the client book.”

“Of course we will pay for his services.”

“Our rates have gone up recently. We just gave the staff raises.” I held my breath as a scowl stole across Santiago’s face. Alice had a lot of good qualities, but diplomacy was not one of them. There was still no guarantee that our payment would not take the form of a one-way trip to the bottom of the river.

Santiago calmed himself, leaning back in the seat facing ours, watching us with brown eyes just a little too close together, framing a nose that had been broken at least once. He had a scar on one cheek. Santiago had been around the block once or twice himself. When he smiled he revealed a gold tooth. “I like her,” he said to me. “Tell me, what have the various parties offered for the painting?”

“I’m not even sure who all the parties are.”

“Where is the painting now, Mr. Lowell?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you know someone who does.”

“I know someone who says she does.”

“Where is she now?”

“You already know I don’t know.”

“I just know you say you don’t know. I wanted to hear you say it with my own ears.”

“I don’t know. I know where I left her. I chose the place to keep her away from her own people, but it’s been too long. She won’t sit still that long.”

“But it’s possible she’s still there, or that she might go back. You are still useful to her. She might even want to be with you for… other reasons.”

I didn’t dare look at Alice, but I felt that side of my head get warm. “If she wants to, she will find a way to contact me.” If she didn’t decide to kill me instead.

“Where did you leave her?”

“I’d rather not say.”

“Why not? You already agreed to give her to Paolo Fanutti.”

“Because she’ll kill Fanutti. He doesn’t stand a chance. This way any reprisals won’t come my way.”

Santiago laughed. “A creative way to solve your problem. What if I warn him?”

“You know Paolo, apparently. Do you know his sister-in-law?”

“Only by reputation.”

“That reputation is well-deserved.”

Alice was watching me, her face inscrutable behind the handkerchief. “I think we should drop her as a client. She’s nothing but trouble.”

I didn’t think Alice was being entirely objective. “If we refuse clients just because they’re trouble, we’ll go hungry,” I pointed out. Now wasn’t the time to go into that, however. “Tell you what,” I said to Santiago. “Lola Fanutti doesn’t have the painting right now. She’s the only one I know of who can get it. Just wait, let her get the painting back, then you can kill each other over it all you want. Just leave me out of it.”

“Mr. Lowell, even if I were to agree to such a thing, what makes you think the others would? Lola Fanutti still requires your services. Mr. Cello expects you to help him. There are others you have angered. None of them have the power that we do. Only we can offer you a way out of the predicament you find yourself in. Give us Lola Fanutti.”

“You think you’ll be able to get the painting out of her?”

“We can be quite persuasive.”

“In my professional judgement, you’re much better off waiting until after Sunday.” Alice elbowed me.

“That advice was free,” she said, “but any further consultation requires a retainer. Five thousand dollars.”

Santiago paused, then reached into his coat. He produced a gun and laid it in his lap, pointing directly at Alice. She froze, whatever she was going to say next trapped in her throat. It was, perhaps, the first time Alice had ever been without words. “I recommend,” Santiago said to me, “that you advise your partner to be a little more careful.”

More threats. I’d had enough of them. “I’m afraid I can’t comment,” I said, “until you are a client in good standing. My partner sets the rates. Put that gun away before the price goes up.”

Slowly Santiago put the gun away. “Ten thousand,” Alice said. Santiago shot me a look and I shrugged. Too late.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a nondescript brownstone. I watched as the occupants of the lead car got out and took up positions before we opened our doors. I got out and opened the umbrella while helping Alice up and out. I stood close to her as we crossed to the front steps.

I heard the shot even as the bullet punched me in the shoulder and spun me to the ground. Subsonic, I thought, but a good punch. Probably a .45. I lay on the ground and felt the rain on my face as my vision narrowed. People were moving around me; they seemed to be excited about something.

Lots of people use .45s.

Tune in next time for: Reunion by the River!

Episode 21: Cold Water

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here. Continuity issues are probably starting to pile up, but so it goes.

Alice was tied to a chair. Her face was puffy from being hit. Her nose had been bleeding but wasn’t any more. “Mr. Lowell!” She was glad to see me.

“We’re leaving,” I said. Punching Paolo Fanutti in the face right there and then was the most difficult thing I’ve ever not done. I had made a promise, that was enough.

“There’s something you must give me first,” Fanutti said.

I glared at him. “I don’t trust a man who hits girls.”

Paolo squinted at me with his little weasel eyes. He probably needed glasses but wouldn’t wear them because it would undermine his image. Like being blind was good for one’s standing. “You are not in a position to make demands,” he said.

I pulled out my penknife and cut the ropes binding Alice’s hands. Her fingers were purple and cold. She groaned as I helped her to her feet. “I’m not demanding anything. We’re leaving.” I caught Fanutti’s gesture and felt the presence of the meat moving in behind me. I turned, leading with my fist, and put everything I had behind it. As God is my choreographer lightning flashed in the window and there was a crash of thunder just as my fist hit the other man’s face. I caught him square in the mug and broke my hand but I broke his face worse.

The goon dropped like a bag of nickels in Atlantic City on new year’s eve. The room froze as he fell, blinded by the flash and ears ringing. Everyone except me, and by the time I completed my turn my gun was on Fanutti again, reasonably steady in my broken hand. “Paolo, you are a stupid man. I told you I keep my promises.”

He watched the gun carefully. “You will pay for this.” It was his turn for the dramatic thunder crash; the storm was in full fury, trying to wash the city into the river so Manhattan could start over again.

“But now, you see, I am in the position to make demands. And now I must demand that you stop being stupid and let me give you what you want.”

“You mean…”

“I think I should introduce you to your sister-in-law.”

He smiled cautiously. “Perhaps we can do business after all.”

Apparently I’d reached the limit of his vocabulary. “No, Paolo, we can not do business. Somewhere there’s another Fanutti behind you who’s smarter than you are, who doesn’t hit helpless dames, and knows that when two people shoot square then business gets done.” I wondered how this other Fanutti would react when I beat Paolo to a pulp. “We are not doing business, we have a mutual problem that is best solved if I tell you where Lola Fanutti is.”

Alice turned to look at me with an expression behind her blackening eyes that simultaneously said, “how could you possibly sell out your client?” and “it’s about time you got rid of that bitch.” Alice was going to be disappointed when she saw how things went down, but at that moment, she provided the necessary authenticity to shift the negotiation my way.

“Where is she?”

I lowered the gun but didn’t put it away. “Well, see, I knew this morning, but I’ve spent the day tracking down my secretary, and now I haven’t the slightest idea where she is. It’s going to take me a while to find her, or more specifically, for her to find me. If she sees any of your people near me, you can kiss her goodbye.”

“So…”

“So stay the hell out of my way and I’ll contact you.”

He didn’t want to trust me, but in the end he had no choice. And technically, I hadn’t lied at all. “All right.”

“We’re walking out of here now. Give me your card and wait.”

Fanutti frowned, nodded, and provided a card. We followed him to the front door. He opened it to find two miserable guards standing in the deluge. “Umbrella” Alice said. Fanutti produced one and we were on the street, but moving slowly.

It took a while to get a safe distance and at least try to see who was following us. Alice was having a tough time of it; I took her arm to help steady her. We turned a couple of corners and I stopped our little parade. I tugger her elbow to stop her and said, “Let me take a look.” The umbrella was barely adequate, and we were getting soaked as we stood there, but now that we were away from the apartment house I wanted to see just how much I owed Paolo Fanutti. Alice didn’t want to open her mouth. Sure enough, she’d lost a tooth.

“I spit it into my blouse,” she said. “Maybe a dentist can put it back.” She smiled up at me with her swollen face. “I bit him, Mr. Lowell. Hard.”

“Don’t call me Mr. Lowell anymore.”

“But….”

“You’re not my secretary anymore.”

“Y-your’e fining me?” her voice was tiny.

The wind shifted, lashing us with rain. She staggered and in her condition I worried that the storm would be too much for her. But God wasn’t done with his little production yet, and with His next flash and bang, two long black cars pulled up, carefully not splashing us. A door opened on each. “Mr. Lowell,” a man said from the lead limousine, “would you come with us, please?” He was shortish, with dark hair, but there was no Fanuutti family resemblance.

“Sorry, pal, I’m taking the lady home.”

“That’s very noble of you. Please allow Jorge the honor of providing her warm, dry transport, and… perhaps we could provide medical attention as well.”

“I just got her back. I’m not letting her go again.”

He looked me straight in the eye. “Mr. Lowell, when two people shoot square, then business gets done. Allow me to gain your trust by affording your employee care that you cannot possibly provide.”

Alice’s grip tightened on my arm. She’d had enough of strangers. “We’re partners,” I said. “Anything you can tell me, you can tell her.”

Alice gasped. Since she did the books she must have known that she’d just taken a pay cut. She pulled herself together in a moment. “You’re Spanish,” she said.

“That is mostly correct. Maps can be deceiving; within one nation, many peoples can exist.”

Standing in the rain, trying to keep the umbrella where it could best protect Alice, I had a feeling I already knew the answer to my question. “And you are….”

“We are the blood of the saint.”

Tune in next time for: Never on Sunday – Reprise!

Episode 20: Nest of Vipers – Part 2

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here. Continuity issues are nearly certain with this episode.

One way or another. That’s what I’d told Cello and I meant it. There was a war going on, and I was in the middle of it. That’s all right, it’s what I’m paid to do, but now they had Alice, and good secretaries are hard to come by in this town. Lola Fanutti was stewing out in the boondocks and I knew she wouldn’t stay put forever, but I’d deal with that later if either of us were still alive.

My meeting with Bernie the Trigger was brief and businesslike. He was a nice enough guy, and he had once shot someone for my benefit, and soon I had an address. “It’s the Italians,” Bernie said, pronouncing it EYE-talians. “They’ve been coming over from the old country for about thee months now. They’re becoming a problem, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, well, I’m about to be a problem for them.”

“Yeah, well, good luck with that.” Bernie didn’t try to disguise his skepticism.

“Thanks.” I had an extra shot of scotch to steady my shooting hand and stepped back out into the night. It’s supposed to get cooler at night, I thought, but the air was 96% water and held the heat of the day the way a woman retains water after too many pretzels. There was something different about the air that night, however, something pent-up, waiting to explode. A storm was coming. I patted my pocket and was reassured by the weight of my gun.

It was only a few blocks to where the Italians were holed up, but I took my time, sticking to the shadows and trying not to think about rifles taking aim between my shoulder blades.

The two toughs on the doorstep to the apartment building didn’t even bother trying not to look like guards. They’d pumped a lot of cash into the local police retirement fund, and expected to be left alone. Bernie had been disgusted with the cops. “No loyalty, you know?” he said. “They’re your best friends until someone offers them more money. How can you do business with anyone like that? Take away their uniforms and they wouldn’t last a minute.”

There was a curious silence on the street, as if the residents knew that something was brewing and hid away in their apartments, or, more likely, got the hell out of town. I had no idea how to get past these goons, and the others sure to be inside. I had no idea what I would do, even if I did make it inside.

I held my gun in my pocket and walked past the doorway, trying to act casual, hoping the thugs wouldn’t recognize me. They eyed me warily as I approached. I pulled out a cigarette and asked the first one, “Got a light?”

“Beat it,” he said.

At the same moment a voice came from a window upstairs, and echoed up the deserted street. Alice, belligerent frightened. “He’s coming for me, you know.”

“I said, beat it,” said the goon. I started walking.

“For the love of God, shut up,” replied a voice above with a heavy Italian accent.

“Come near me and I’ll bite you again. You think he’s going to come in the front door and say ‘how do you do?’ You think he’s that stupid? Not Mr. Lowell. He’ll find a trap door on the roof or—” It’s lucky my back was to the guards so they couldn’t see my face when I heard the slap echo down the street. “Close the window,” the Italian said. “I don’t care how hot it is.” The window slammed shut with a bang, but not before I didn’t hear Alice crying. A dame who’d cry over a run in her stocking swallowing her teeth without a peep. Sometimes, I guess, you have to light someone on fire to find out what they’re really made of. I decided to go find the trap door before the Italian chose to listen to what she said.

* * *

The top floor was dark and deserted. The next floor had a few people but with patience I managed to look around a bit, springing myself into the rooms along the quiet hallway. One place stood out, furnished lavishly and smelling of the perfume of a dozen dames. This was the lair of the man I was here to meet. I moved an overstuffed chair into the darkest corner of the bedroom and put my gun in my lap.

While I waited I juggled names and faces, trying to make sense of it all. Nobody knew everything, that was obvious, or they’d have the Blood of the Saint by now and the rest of us would just be corpses. But some people knew more than most. My life — Alice’s life — rested in the hope that I knew more than the Italian. Or, at the very least, the Italian thought I knew more than he did.

At the center was one name. Fanutti. One name, two people. One feeding the eels at the bottom of the East River, the other holding the key to fantastic wealth, a treasure beyond imagining. Fanutti. An Italian name.

The outer door opened. There was a patch of low conversation I didn’t catch that ended with, “I am tired. When I wake up in the morning, I expect to hear that you have found him.” He said something else in what I assume was Italian and the outer door closed. The Italian spent some time in the kitchen while I exercised all the will at my disposal to stay put. The greatest advantage goes to the hunter who waits for his prey to come to him.

Finally the Italian’s silhouette was in the doorway to the bedroom. “Don’t even twitch,” I said as he reached for the light switch.

He froze, then slowly moved his hands away from his body, where I could see them clearly. “Mr. Lowell, perhaps?”

“Perhaps.”

“I have been looking forward to speaking with you. My name is Fanutti.”

“Like hell it is. I killed Fanutti myself.”

He chuckled. “Luckily for both of us I know that you are bluffing. I know who killed my brother, Mr. Lowell. If I thought it was you this conversation would be over. My name is Paolo Fanutti, and I am here to recover what rightfully belonged to my brother. I would like to secure your cooperation.”

“Ah-ah-ah!” I said and Fanutti number three lifted his hands back up to an acceptable level. “Abusing my secretary is hardly a way to win my heart.”

“I find that people like you respond much better to threats than to promises.”

“Oh? Well if people like you respond to promises, here’s one for you. For every bruise on her, you get two. For every tooth missing, I knock out three of yours. If you run out of teeth, I’ll start on fingers. That’s a promise. I keep my promises.”

Paolo Fanutti was silent for a moment. “What do you propose? If it is her safety you are concerned about, then you need me.”

I stood. I’m not a small man and I loomed over Fanutti. “I propose a trade.”

“What sort of trade?” His question was just a formality; he already knew the answer.

“I walk out of here tonight with Alice, get her safely away, and I’ll give you Lola Fanutti.”

He made a face. “Don’t call her that. She stains the family name.”

“Stain removal is your department.”

He smiled. “It seems we can do business after all.”

“In the end, it’s all business.” I shrugged. Lola was going to cut him to shreds. I just hoped she left enough so that I could keep my promise.

Tune in next time for: Cold Water!

Episode 19: Nest of Vipers – Part 1

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

I tried to ignore the feeling that there was a bulls-eye painted on my back as I inspected the doorway where Alice had been standing. The only reason to take her, I told myself, was to force me to do something I didn’t want to do. That meant whoever had done it wanted me alive, and I would be hearing from them eventually. I looked back at the door of The Bucket in time to see the man I had been speaking with hurry down the street. It wouldn’t be long before the cops arrived, and I wasn’t eager to be talking to them at the moment.

It didn’t look like Alice had made it easy for them; the scuffs on the sidewalk told a story of struggle. She had managed to run two strides before they wrapped her up and dragged her to a car. Near the curb I saw dark spots on the pavement. I hunched down and confirmed that it was blood, fresh but quickly blistering and blackening in the heat. I surveyed the windows looking down on the street. Someone must have seen something. I made a note to have Alice ask around and then stopped myself.

Someone had crossed a line. I wanted to find out who they were before they had a chance to contact me, so I could drop in on them before they were ready.

I turned my head one way and then the other as I regarded the scuff marks. One, from a smaller shoe, seemed to be more complex, as if created with intent. A hastily-drawn arrow, perhaps, or maybe the letter ‘F’. Possibly nothing at all; it’s easy for a person to see patterns even when there are none. If it was an arrow it pointed up the street away from the bar and towards downtown. If it was a letter, perhaps F for Fanutti? An E she didn’t have time to finish? I moved my foot along the lines, imagining that I was being dragged to a car, and just trying to stay in one place long enough to finish my message, without anyone realizing what I was doing.

I heard a siren in the distance. Time to go. I turned and walked briskly away from the scene, by coincidence in the direction of the arrow, if that’s what it had been. I zigged and zagged a few blocks then bellied up to a phone. I pulled Cello’s card out of my pocket and regarded it grimly. This call could cost me. I threw a dime in and dialed.

The phone was answered almost before it rang. “Hendricks and Associates,” a competent female voice answered.

“Charles Lowell. Cello is expecting my call.”

“One moment.”

After somewhat more than a moment Cello came on the line. “Mr. Lowell. You have something for me?”

“Depends. Did you take her?”

“You have lost track of someone?”

“Yes. Did you take her?”

“I assume you wouldn’t bother to ask if it was Mrs. Fanutti you lost track of. Has something happened to your charming secretary?”

“Yes.”

“You put her in harm’s way?”

“…yes.”

“Most ungentlemanly, Mr. Lowell.” He hesitated. “I am not aware of anyone in my purview taking action against Miss Carruthers. I feel no need to coerce your actions.”

“Good.”

“It is likely that no matter who is holding her I could obtain Miss Carruthers’ release. I offer only because I admire the young lady. There are certain… ah… costs that I would incur, however. I think you already know what I would like in return. Shall I direct my people?”

“You already know who has her.”

He paused. “I have a theory.”

“They are not friends of yours.”

“No.”

“Give me an address. I’ll pay you back by hurting them as much as I possibly can.”

“An interesting proposition. Unfortunately, there are three problems: first, ‘as much as you can’ likely will prove to be very little, second, once they brush you aside they will have no reason to keep Miss Carruthers alive any longer, and finally if they find out how you got that address, it could cause me a great deal of difficulty.”

“Then give me the name of someone else who knows the address, and I’ll get it from him.”

“One way or another.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s not your usual style, Mr. Lowell.”

“They crossed a line.”

“Hm. Did they cross the line, or did you? Are you responding this way because you blame yourself?”

“Does it matter?”

“I suppose not. Before you go charging off to your death, I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me Mrs. Fanutti’s whereabouts?”

“No.”

“You have not yet recovered the Blood of the Saint?”

I didn’t answer that.

He sighed. “I am going to help you, Mr. Lowell, because you are an important asset to me right now. Please remember that and try to remain one. It is the only thing keeping you alive. I have a name for you. When you speak with him, be aware that he has already saved your life once.”

Tune in next time for the conclusion of: Nest of Vipers!

Episode 18: Message from the Grave

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

Jimmy Slick was at his table, just where I’d seen him last, but this time he was dead. I didn’t notice he was dead right away, and no one else in the joint was any wiser, but when I plunked a glass of gin down in front of him and he didn’t react, I knew something was up. Nothing else was amiss; Alice had been in her position outside The Bucket and gave me the all-clear signal as I approached. Jimmy had been alone when he went in, and whoever had done him hadn’t aroused her suspicions.

I sat next to what used to be Jimmy and looked him over, trying not to draw any attention. Cause of death was pretty easy to establish; there was a knife between his shoulder blades, the puncture neat and clean, hardly bleeding at all. An expert job. I got that crawling feeling that someone was right behind me at that moment, ready to do the same to me. When I turned around, however, there was no one there.

I looked around the place to see if anyone had taken an interest in my activities, but all the other people sat at the bar, staring into their drinks, as if the answers to life were to be found there. I leaned forward and put my head near Jimmy’s, as if speaking conspiratorially, while I went through his pockets. A fat wad of cash, a battered switchblade, some small change, driver’s permit, and a key ring with a house key and the key to a Ford.

I almost missed it. One of his hands was clenched tightly shut. With a shudder I pried open his cold fingers to find another key, a smaller one but finely crafted. I didn’t take the time to inspect it then, I just slipped it into my pocket. Somewhere there was a lock it fit into, and it couldn’t be coincidence he was holding it when he died.

I leaned back and looked at Jimmy. He hadn’t wanted to get involved, but I had talked him into it. He’d been a weasel, but an OK guy for that. Now he was dead, and his murder was going to be pinned on me. Just another problem on top of all the others. I tossed back my whiskey. Now I was angry.

Another figure entered the bar. He was dressed like just another Joe but he wasn’t there to drink. He crossed directly to my table and sat. “Did you find anything?” he asked.

“An unusual amount of cash,” I said. “This your work?”

“No, but I know the man who did it.”

“Guy knows his stuff.”

“Yes. He has many talents. How much cash?”

“I didn’t count.”

“Nothing else out of the ordinary?”

I shrugged. “A piece-of-junk blade, some small change, keys—”

The other’s eyes narrowed. “What sort of keys?” Bingo.

I stood. “Check for yourself.” I walked over to the bar and caught the attention of the barman. “A gin and a bourbon for my friends over there,” I said gesturing back to the table. I put some dough on the bartop and started for the door. I looked back and I saw the unblinking eye of a pistol pointed at me from under the table. “See you boys later,” I said, and neatly slid the murder rap onto my new friend.

“Yes, you will,” he said. “Soon.”

I had Jimmy’s address from his driving permit, but I suspected that if whatever the key had been there it wasn’t any longer, and whoever had it could just use a hammer to spring it open. No, the key itself was what mattered, not the lock it opened. Alice was going to have a lot of legwork to do.

I stepped out onto the street, blinking in the sun, cursing the heat, and turned up the avenue.

Alice wasn’t there.

Tune in next time for: Nest of Vipers!

Episode 17: Ambush

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

“If you use the phone, you will die.”

She paced in the close quarters of the cabin. “I need to reach my people.”

“You don’t have any people. You thinks it’s a coincidence they hit your warehouse when they did?”

“Some of my people must still be loyal.”

“Probably, but you don’t know which.” I was telling the truth, but not the whole truth. I didn’t want her on the squawk box because she was using me and I was using her and the less contact she had with her dangerous friends the safer I was. The nearest phone was a couple of miles down the road, but I had no doubt about her resourcefulness. Lola Fanutti didn’t get where she was on good looks alone. But the dame had the looks, and she was trying to use them on me.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a shy little smile that complimented her newly-blonde hair, “I’m not used to having a man look out for me the way you do.” She took a step closer and I smelled the wildflowers, the first thing I had ever known about her a hundred years—or two days, depending on how you counted it—ago at Jake’s.

“I’m looking out for me,” I said.

She faltered. She turned slightly away from me and looked down at the floor. She spoke in a tiny voice, all Meredith, the simple girl from Kentucky. “I thought you liked me.” She was beautiful when she was hurt.

“I do like you. That’s why I don’t want you doing anything stupid. It would be a shame to see that pretty neck of yours get broken.”

She turned back to me, flashing her pearly whites. “You do like me?”

“Doll, you’re a piece of work. I’d probably fall in love with you if you weren’t so dangerous.”

“Don’t say that where Alice can hear you. She’s more dangerous than I am.”

I was tired of sparring with her. I was just plain tired. “I’ve got to get some sleep.” There was only one bed in the room; the place was supposed to be for newlyweds.
She looked tired as well, but she was just going to have to wait. “You can take your turn after I head back into town.” I laid down, on top of the covers, still in the same clothes I had put on two days ago. I was asleep in moments.

I dreamt, I think. I remember running, something dark and oppressive behind me, something else brittle and jagged in front of me, and pacing me on one side a lioness, on the other a wolf. That may not have been a dream, however. We ran, and even high in the mountains it was hot, and the air was filled with the smell of wildflowers. I came awake abruptly and she was next to me, asleep, one arm draped across my chest, the other curled against her head, her blonde hair spilling across the pillow, her lips slightly parted, a thin trail of saliva running down her cheek, creating an expanding dark area on the bedspread.

I watched her for a few minutes. She was peaceful, somehow smaller, in her sleep perhaps honest for the first time since I met her. Her arm on my chest was delicate and graceful, the delicate fuzz that covered it glowing in the light. Her knee was pulled up and rested on my thigh. The smell of wildflowers teased me. She was still dangerous.

She opened her eyes and caught me looking straight at her. She took a moment to come back from wherever she had been, then smiled. “Caught you,” she said, then blushed when she discovered the drool running down her face. She wiped it away with the hand that was not resting against my chest, and laughed, almost timidly. Almost. There was something else in the laugh as well. An offer. A promise.

I wanted to sit up, but her arm weighed a thousand pounds, and held me to the bed. I had dozed off for a few minutes and just like that I was ambushed. She moved her face closer to mine. I prepared myself to resist. Ambushed, cornered, but not lost yet. She was going to throw her best line at me and I was not going to fall for it.

She pulled closer yet; her eyelashes brushed my cheek, moist with tears, as I looked at the ceiling. “I’m frightened,” she said.

I never stood a chance. I turned to look at her and our noses bumped and out lips touched and I don’t remember much about what happened next, and even if I did I wouldn’t tell you.

Tune in next time for: Message from the Grave!

Episode 16: Never On Sunday – Part 1

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

The ladies had reached some sort of truce, but it was an uneasy one. I stepped into sullen silence as the two watched each other from far sides of the room, two cats trapped in the same cage, both knowing that only one of them could be on top. Lola Fanutti had the position nearest the door; I had to push past her into the crossfire of sharp glances. I think that meant she was winning the battle.

Though with the blonde hair and simpler dress she didn’t really look like the wife of a deceased crime boss. “Not bad,” I said, and I wasn’t just making it up. She looked good. In the stifling heat of that room the thin fabric of her dress was clinging to her, making her curves all the more… curvaceous.

She flashed me a smile and said with her Meredith from Kentucky voice, “Thank you.”

The smile took on a hard-edged quality when Alice said, “How does it feel to be blonde again after all these years?”

“Rather refreshing, actually. You should try it some time, when you’re tired of looking like that.”

“Who’s hungry?” I asked. “Let’s get out of this oven and find a bite to eat.”

“I’m starving,” Meredith said, “What have you been up to all this time?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. I’d tell her as soon as I’d thought of something. She accepted that, assuming I meant that I didn’t want Alice to hear. By the scowl on Alice’s face, that’s how she took it, too.

“Come on,” I said. “Bring your things. We’re going to find a place farther out of town, where we won’t have to worry about running into people we know.” I handed Alice most of my remaining cash. “Put this somewhere safe,” I said. “We have more.” Meredith looked surprised but she didn’t contradict me.

“I have a car,” she said. “We can get as far as we need to.”

“We’re not going anywhere near anything that has the stink of Lola Fanutti on it,” I said. “That’s just asking for trouble. We’ll get our own wheels once we’re off the island.”

“And how are we going to pay for it?”

“Cash. Come on.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?” Alice asked.

“Not yet. I need you here for a stakeout.”

Her eyes got slightly rounder. “Really?”

“Yep. For this job I’m making you a full partner. After expenses you get half the dough.”

Poor girl, she was much more excited at the word ‘partner’ than at the word ‘dough’. “But I don’t have a license.”

I had to laugh at that. “You can make yourself one tonight if it will make you feel better.” I told her the bar to watch, what to watch for, and the signal to give if she saw anything. “Be careful, Alice,” I finished.

“I don’t think you’ve ever used my name before,” she said.

“Just be careful. Try not to go to any of the usual places, they’ll be watching for you. Stay on this side of town.”

“All right,” she said, happy. I’m not sure she heard my warning.

“We’re dealing with killers, here, Toots. Keep your head on straight.”

That calmed her down a bit. “Yes, sir.” I sent her on her way.

“Can you trust her?” Meredith asked. That was funny, coming from her.

“She’s very reliable.”

“She’s having money troubles, you know. Someone could buy her off.”

“It didn’t work when you tried it, did it?”

Her face darkened and she shot me a look that was pure Lola Fanutti. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I picked up the bags with her old clothing in it. I scanned the room for any remaining evidence that a quick-change had happened here. Satisfied I stepped out into the hall. Let’s get out or this steam bath,” I said. We went down the stairs to the lobby where we were watched by the ever-present manager. Nothing to be done about that. maybe the new look would confuse him. We stepped out into the sweltering afternoon heat and turned up the sidewalk. “I’m going to need some more of your cash.”

She didn’t like my new tactics, and tried to regain the upper hand. “I paid you all I had, and that should be plenty.”

“Look, Mrs. Fanutti, you’re playing a dangerous game. You need my help. If I’m going to help you, I need two things: money and answers. We’ll start with the money.”

“Honest, Charles…”

“It hurts my ears to hear you use that word.”

She stopped, knowing that there would be no more bluffing. “All right,” she said, reaching into her handbag. I wondered if she would pull out cash or her .45. I let out a breath when I saw the green. “I always intended to tell you,” she said. “When the time was right. It’s just, I was just —”

I took the dough. It was more than I expected, and I was confident she had more. “Spare me. All right. That was part one. Now for answers. Where’s the painting? The Blood of the Saint?”

“It was stolen, I told you.”

“Look, Mrs. Fanutti. I’m still willing to help you. I even like you, some of the time. But the lies are going to have to stop.”

“Don’t ever call me Mrs. Fanutti again. That man was a butcher and a bastard, and that is the absolute truth. I’m not Lola Fanutti anymore.” Her voice was rising in pitch. “That man — he did things to me. Made me do things. I don’t know who killed him, but if I ever meet the guy I want to shake his hand.” She was shaking now, and clinging to my arm.

Dames. Even the vicious killers are always blubbering. I didn’t let her distract me, though. “The painting?”

“It’s safe,” she said, drying up. “But we can’t get it for a few days. Not until Sunday. How did you know?”

“That whole thing was just a setup, wasn’t it? You staged a shootout just for me.”

“The wasn’t part of the plan. I lost some good friends last night.”

“You wanted there to be some trouble, though.”

I tensed as she opened her handbag again, until she pulled out a cigarette case. She held one to her lips and looked at me expectantly. I shrugged. She reached back into her handbag and produced a lighter, which she handed to me. Dutifully I flipped it open and held it up to allow her to light her cigarette. I flipped it shut and handed it back to her. “Keep it, you’ll need it again. Yes. I wanted there to be some excitement. That was why I was so slow to react when a real attack came. I really did intend to tell you when the time was right.”

“So you thought you could get me on the run, acting without thinking, and get you out of the frying pan. Then leave me behind or maybe kill me and have all the loot for yourself.”

“At first, maybe, before I knew you, I would have left you behind.”

I didn’t see the point of discussing that one. “Let’s find a place we can lay low until Sunday, then.” Sunday seemed like it was a long, long, way away.

Tune in next time for: Ambush!

Episode 15: Year of the Rat – Conclusion

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

Jimmy Slick sat forward, eager. “You’re sure you want to hear this?” I asked.

“As a personal favor to you, I’ll deliver your message,” he said. He knew he was taking a chance, but the urge to know was driving him now. Hidden treasure didn’t matter to him, knowing about hidden treasure did.

“Then tell them, my so-called friends, whoever they are, that I don’t know where the map is, but I know someone who does. I’ll give them the name for a small slice of the pie.” Who’s the rat, now? I asked myself.

“A map, huh? Who has it?” asked Jimmy. I glared at him over the rim of my drink. He shrugged. “I had to try, didn’t I?”

“Just tell them that. By the time you get word to them I may already have the map. The price goes up then.”

“You’re playing with fire, Charley. Better to just come clean and duck out. They’ll still think well of you. Well enough to not kill you, anyway.”

“Now, Jimmy, I wouldn’t want to put you in a tough spot like that. A lot of people want that map, but there are others who don’t want it found at all. You don’t want to get on the wrong side of any of them. Just deliver the message.”

“How should they contact you?”

“Be back here tomorrow – alone – with the answer. If they’re interested in playing nice, my friends, my enemies, I don’t care who as long I get paid and I get my ass out of this mess, if they’re interested you bring your answer back here tomorrow.”

“All right.”

“Alone, Jimmy.”

He hesitated, but in the end he knew I already knew he couldn’t promise that. “That may not be my choice.”

“If you are not alone, I will know it, and I will take the map elsewhere.”

“You’ll bring the map tomorrow?”

“No. Tomorrow we talk about the price of the map. I will also be talking to some people who want it destroyed. I have no problem with lighting it on fire and leaving the treasure forever lost. I’m not getting any of it anyway.”

“So there really is treasure.”

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen it.”

“But there is a map.”

“I haven’t seen it.” It would go very badly for me if there was no map.

“But you smell it.”

“Yes.” Rats have a keen sense of smell, and I was the biggest rat of all. But Lola Fanutti hadn’t been particularly forthright either. She was going to hear about this conversation soon enough, and that wouldn’t go well for me. Shooting me would be as easy as blinking for her. She might not have counted on Alice, however. Mrs. Fanutti figured she could manipulate me, but her charms weren’t going to work on Alice. As long as my secretary could prevent her from contacting her people I would have room to work.

Jimmy Slick was watching me. “You do smell it.” He shook his head, trying to figure whether to admire me or pity me.

We sat in silence, sipping our booze, contemplating what the future held for us, if anything. Conversation in the bar ebbed and flowed, the same tired stories that are told in every bar everywhere. “And then I socked him,” one of the interchangeable patrons said. “That’s what I think of your clock!” I never seemed to have stories like that. All my stories are complicated and uncertain. I’d tried spinning a yarn at Jake’s a time or two, but I never got very far. A man getting blotto on gin doesn’t want to hear about your mistakes.

I was enjoying the quiet when Jimmy said, “I think there’s something you should know.” He took another sip, still not sure he was going to tell me. He decided. “A bunch of Europeans showed up recently. They have lots of guns. Cello’s not happy about it.”

“I imagine he wouldn’t be.”

“There’s something else I’ve heard,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I’m not sure if this is true or not. There’s always rumors like this going around, and usually they’re bullshit.”

I nodded. His business was spreading the fertilizer, mine was picking through it.

“Friend of mine said he saw Vittorio Fanutti. Last week. Fanutti was mixed up in this, so watch out for him. And whatever you do stay the hell away from his wife.”

I think I held my poker face. “The Contessa?”

“That’s the one. I don’t know much about her, but everything I have heard is ugly. She was Fanutti’s favorite assassin. If he’s gone then someone else will be pulling her strings. It doesn’t matter; if you see her, run the other way as fast as you can.”

“How would I know it was her?”

Jimmy nodded grimly. “When she slides a knife between your ribs.”

“That’s not very useful.”

He shrugged. “There’s nobody that scares me more. She has no soul at all.”

“She might be offended to hear you say that.”

“Nah. She likes that kind of story to get around. It’s good for business. You can’t buy a reputation like that. You have to earn it. Let’s have another round. On me.”

I held out my hand, palm forward. “I’m buying. You’ve earned it.”

He rocked back in his chair. “Damn, Charlie, you’re not dead yet.”

Tune in next time for: Never on a Sunday!

Episode 14: Year of the Rat – Part 1

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

I hadn’t had a drink since yesterday. I hoped I still remembered how. I shut the door behind me with some trepidation but more relief. If they found us there, there wasn’t much I could do to help anyway. Perhaps I shouldn’t have left those two alone with a gun, though. It’s just too easy to do something you regret with one of those things. Meredith was handy with a piece, no doubt about it, but I had to give Alice the nod in a fair fight. Of course, in an unfair fight she wouldn’t stand a chance.

I made my way out onto the street. It was hotter than the day before, if such a thing was possible. I needed some place dark and quiet to get my head wrapped around the situation, and some whiskey wrapped around my head. None of my regular places was safe anymore, but there are a hundred holes just like Jake’s, lacking only the barman’s gruff charm. I wanted to be very careful of who I ran into.

As I walked I considered. We couldn’t keep running forever. We wouldn’t last more than a few days if we kept playing the game by their rules. I needed to know more about the players.

In this city knowledge is better than money, and those who have it carefully guard it to maintain its value. People like me aren’t popular in this world; we are regarded as thieves since we spend our days finding information without paying the requested price. There are other sorts, however, who are disliked much more intently. Nobody loves the weasel, and the rat is universally despised. I needed a weasel now.

The weasels would tell you they perform a necessary function; if no information ever changed hands the whole system would break. I met one who compared himself to a stockbroker. I suppose the Wall Street weasels probably are just as bad.

The danger of trying to learn anything from a weasel is they are just as happy to sell information about you as they are to sell information to you. And most weasels were part-time rats. A rat I didn’t need. There’s a certain bravery to being a weasel, dancing the fine line of what your clients are willing to tolerate, but the rat lacks the ethic. The rat is looking for one big score and an early retirement. Most of them end up retired at the bottom of the East River with concrete overshoes. But still there are rats.

I thought about the weasels I knew and how I might contrive to run into one. In general weasels want to be found, so the steady weasels, the real pros, keep a fairly regular schedule. I made a choice and changed course.

I was sweating like a dog, damn near panting as well, by the time I had covered the blocks to The Bucket. I stepped into the darkness and groped my way down a flight of stairs and into the bar. It was a nice enough place, dark, quiet, a haze of smoke hanging in the air. You could have switched the line of mugs propped against the bar with the regulars at Jake’s and no one would notice – least of all the regulars themselves. A radio was softly playing mostly static and no one seemed to care.

At the far end of the bar was the man I was looking for. He saw me come in and his eyes got a little round but he didn’t say anything. He just got up and headed for a quiet table in the corner. I approached the bar. “Whiskey,” I said, “and another of whatever was in that glass there.” The barman nodded and had two glasses in front of me in no time. I paid in case I had to leave quickly, then took the juice over to where Jimmy Slick was waiting.

“Can’t say I’m happy to see you, Charlie,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You’re swimming with some big fish. If it weren’t for your friends I wouldn’t talk to you at all.”

“Tell me about my friends.”

He sat back with his gin and looked me over. “I can’t imagine why I possibly would.”

“You could do it as a favor to me.”

He didn’t even bother to laugh. He sat and tossed back the rest of his drink.

“Want another?” I asked.

“You’ll never get me drunk enough to help you.”

“I’m willing to try.”

“Fair enough.”

I went and got another pair of drinks. I had cash and decided to go top-shelf. Not for the booze so much – at least not the gin – but to show I had means and I was willing to use them. Jimmy Slick took a sip and nodded. “I’ve heard you’re on to something hot.”

I put my nose into my glass and smelled the graveyard smell of the highland malt. I took a sip and felt the vapors dance over my tongue. “Not by choice.”

He shrugged. “It’s like the Preakness,” he said.

“How’s that?”

“It’s a race, it’s probably fixed, and there’s a lot of betting. The biggest bettors are hidden behind elaborate smoke screns. Some are betting for you, most against, but most still want you in the race.”

“It didn’t feel like that last night.”

He nodded as if I had confirmed something he had only suspected before. “So what are you getting out of it, Charley?”

It was my turn to be the clam. Nothing’s free, but at least I might have something he wanted, besides just money. Money to a good weasel is just a byproduct. They loved the information itself. Perhaps we could do business. “I’m just trying to help a friend,” I said.

Jimmy laughed. “That’s a good one,” he said. He set his empty glass down, and dutifully I went for another round. I could get used to the good stuff, no doubt about it, and there was no reason to hold back now; either I’d be dead before the money in my pocket ran out or I’d be set. When I got back to the table Jimmy was ready. “What’s in it for me?”

I didn’t have a good answer for that. “There’s a lot of money for the winner,” I said.

“I’m not a gambler, Charley, I’m a trader.”

“I have nothing to offer except gratitude and money.”

“The gratitude of a dead man isn’t worth much.”

“Lots of money.”

“The promises of a dead man aren’t worth much either.”

“Come on, Jimmy. I’m not asking you to sell out your mother.”

“My mother wouldn’t kill me.”

“All right. Fine. I’ll find someone else to deliver my message.”

Jimmy Slick paused. “What message?”

I watched him, stonefaced. “You don’t want to get involved. I respect that. I didn’t want to get involved either. I did it to help a friend.” The scary part was that was true.

“Who to?”

“You know that better than I do.”

“I can deliver a message.”

I shrugged apologetically. “I’ve gotten you into enough trouble already.”

“A message isn’t trouble. I’m not ratting anyone out to deliver a message.”

“You don’t know the message,” I said.

Oh, but he wanted to. “Look Charley, you’re in up to your eyeballs. You say you’re doing it to help a friend. I respect that. Maybe you’re even telling the truth. I’m willing to take a chance.”

I looked over at Jimmy Slick. He was a weasel, and weasels could turn into rats when the moment was right. Still, I needed to know what he had, and the fastest way to his heart was though his curiosity. “All right,” I said, “Here’s the dope.”

Tune in next time for the conclusion of: Year of the Rat!

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Episode 13: The Cat’s Claws – Conclusion

Note: To read the entire story from the beginning click here.

I had barely seen the motion on the far side of the warehouse when the .45 detonated with a roar right next to me. I turned in time to see a man flopping over backwards, arms flailing, his hat doing cart-wheels through the air. It was hard to tell in the low light, but it looked like part of his face was missing.

Lola Fanutti held the smoking pistol with confidence as she scanned the shadows for more of them.

“I hope that wasn’t a friend,” I said.

“If he knew me, he would have known to say something before stepping out like that.” She touched the chest of her dead friend, over his heart, next to his empty holster. She stood. “We need to get out of here.”

“I know a place we can go,” I said.

I reached the side door as she said, “Not the back room at Jake’s. Nothing personal, Mr. Lowell, but it is very easy to find you.”

I started trying to think of another place. “Up to now I’ve wanted to be found.” I flexed my aching legs and tried the door. It wasn’t locked. “Wait here,” I said, and stepped out into the alley. Over my head the sky was getting lighter. In the distance there was a siren; I couldn’t tell if it was heading this way or not. I stuck my head back in and was looking into the unblinking eye of a gun. I’m glad she hesitated a little longer this time before firing. “Let’s go,” I said.

We walked a few blocks and caught a cab, changed cabs, got out and walked a few more blocks to one of the little dive motels on the East Side. On the way over Lola handed me a respectable wad of cash.

The guy at the front desk didn’t bat an eye when we checked in. I signed the register with someone else’s name and we headed up the stairs. The room was small; the twin beds and the tiny writing desk took up almost all the floor space, making us walk sideways over the tattered rug. It was the kind of room used by unsavory people to do unsavory things. Hookers, junkies, and fugutives. Lola crinkled her nose at the musty smell that told stories of sex, blood, and vomit. It was already uncomfortably warm in there, residual heat left over from the previous day. If today was as hot as yesterday had been, it was going to be unbearable in that room. I tried the window but it was jammed or nailed shut. The bathroom was like the rest of the place but worse in every way.

Lola took the only chair in the room and sat heavily. I sat on the edge of one bed. Looking at the chair I wouldn’t have trusted it with my bulk anyway. She laid her bag on the desk with a heavy thud. That was a big chunk of iron she was handling so casually. As she allowed herself to relax fatigue overtook her and she sagged visibly. She rubbed her eyes and seemed to shed Lola Fanutti like a skin, somehow becoming smaller. She was Meredith from Kentucky once more. This dame changed personalities the way I change shirts. “Now what?” she asked.

“We’ll be safe here for a little while,” I said. “It’ll take them time to check all the hotels. By then we need to change the way you look. Different clothes, different hair. Alice can help.”

“What if they follow her? Can you trust her?”

I didn’t bother with the second question. “This won’t be the first time she’s done field work for me. There’s a phone on the corner. I’ll knock one-two-three, one-two when I get back. Any other knock, start shooting.” I didn’t think I needed to tell her that part.

I slid a dime into the phone and dialed the office. Alice picked up on the first ring. “Charles Lowell, Detective,” she said professionally.

“It’s me. Listen, doll, I don’t have much time—”

“Boss!”

“Right. Listen—”

“I was worried last night. And then I heard about some shootings—”

She’d missed her calling, that was for sure. She scooped all the papers on a daily basis. “I’m fine. Meredith and I have to lay low for a while—”

“Who’s Meredith?”

“Mrs. Fanutti. Our new employer. I need you to get some things—”

“You call her Meredith?”

“You’ll meet her soon enough. We need a new dress for her, something that won’t stand out too much.”

“What size?”

“I don’t know. About the same as you, I guess. Maybe a little more…” I stopped myself.

Alice’s tone got a little icier. “More what?”

“Taller. We need some hair coloring, too. We need to turn a brunette into a blonde.”

“It’ll look fake.”

“As long as it looks different I’ll take it. I’m just hoping she can pass the first-glance test. If anyone really looks they’ll recognize her anyway.”

“Why is that?”

“Never mind. You know our emergency meeting place?”

“Sure.”

“Go in the front, out the back and meet me where I knocked that guy’s tooth out.”

“How am I supposed to buy this stuff with no money?”

“Can you borrow any? I have cash now.”

“I’ll try. I’ll bring one of my dresses. They don’t stand out too much, apparently.”

“That’s a good girl. I’ll meet you in two hours.”

I hung up and looked around. The street was quiet; what traffic there was not acting suspiciously.

* * *

The guy at the desk snorted and shook his head when we came in. Alice glared at him. I had my hands full with the bags she had brought, but I managed to haul her up the stairs.

I knocked three and two and after a few moments the door unlatched and opened a crack. When she saw who it was she opened it further and we squeezed into the room. She set the gun back down on the table and turned to face us. The two women sized each other up. Meredith had been sleeping, it looked like. Her hair was wild and a few strands clung to her moist face and neck. Her dress was partly unbuttoned; she was holding it together with slender fingers. Her eyes still carried the dark circles of exhaustion. Meredith’s perfume was mingling with the other smells now, a strange combination of life and decay.

“You must be Alice,” she said and extended the hand that had held her dress closed. I studiously looked anywhere but there, but I was aware of pale skin and black lace. “Charles speaks highly of you.”

“Thank you. I’ve been with Mr. Lowell for a long time.” Alice was looking daggers at me. “He told me you needed clothes.”

“Yes, I need something plainer. Charles told me you were loaning me one of your dresses. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll reimburse you, of course.”

Dames. I moved to keep things businesslike before the claws came out. I opened up one of the bags and pulled out a navy blue number. “we don’t have all day,” I said.

“Let’s start with the hair,” Alice said. Meredith nodded and began to unbutton her dress further. While Alice tried to turn her toward the bathroom door I suddenly realized it was almost noon and I hadn’t had a drink yet. Now seemed like a good time for one.

“Where are you going?” Meredith asked. I had to climb over the bed to avoid squeezing past the two women.

“I’ve got some other business to take care of.”

“What if they come here while you’re gone?” She asked in a tiny voice. “I’m frightened.” She had more to worry about from Alice at that moment than all the crooks in the city. My secretary forcefully turned her and marched her into the bathroom. “Mr. Lowell will make sure you’re safe,” she said as the bathroom door slammed shut. It would be close quarters in there; I only hoped two people came back out.

Meredith’s fancy dress lay on the floor where it had slid off her shoulders and down over her round hips. The image of stockings over long legs as she disappeared into the bathroom was seared into my retinas. I really needed that drink.

Tune in next time for: Year of the Rat!

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