The Mob Lawyer (part 5)

Hiroki held open the heavy wooden door to the law offices of Barston & Chase for Camen, following behind him and trying to look as official and adult as he could. The two of them were woefully out of place in these stolid, somber surroundings. But Camen was an old hand at handling these situations, introducing himself with all the gruff competence of a beat cop.

The receptionist gave way to a suit, who approached them and shook Camen’s hand. He seemed rather embarrassed to have them there, looking around them to the door. “Good morning, gentlemen. If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to handle this privately,” the suit said as he motioned them down the hallway to the offices.

“I’d like to see Samuel Wallace’s office, if you don’t mind,” Camen said, not taking the invitation to go immediately.

“Um … yes, but first I’d like to talk to you in mine,” the suit said, glancing towards the door as if he expected someone to walk in at any moment. “Just follow me.” 

He led them into a big, imposing office, all big leather chairs and monolithic mahogany desks. “You’ll have to excuse my insistence on doing this in private,” the suit began. “Our clients are very protective of their privacy, and it wouldn’t do to have them see an investigator here. Bad for business.”

“Just what sort of business is that?” Camen asked.

“We deal with the legal and financial affairs of many of the most prominent citizens and corporations in Colston City. This law firm has been here since the 1800s, Barston and Chase were lawyers turned prospectors who rushed out here. Thankfully, when the rush turned out to be largely hot air, they had skills to fall back on and plenty of people who regularly got in trouble.”

“You sound pretty proud of that,” Camen pointed out, looking around the room now, obviously uninterested. Hiroki wondered how long they’d have to talk to this guy before they’d be allowed to search the room proper.

“It’s an impressive heritage, one we strive to live up to. People depend on us to be there. Unfortunately, when one of our own goes missing, it looks bad. We’ve been shouldering his load, claiming that Sam is laid low with an illness, but we want to know where he is as bad as you do.”

“So you have no idea?”

“I’m afraid not,” the man said. “We’ve made some inquiries on our own, informal and discreet of course, but so far there’s been nothing. But things have changed, and we have to act.”

“So now that there’s a dead body and Sam’s got police attention, you’re going to cooperate, is that what you’re saying?”

“More or less,” the suit admitted with a shrug. “Go ahead, Wallace’s offices are down the hall. I just beg you to be discreet.”

Camen nodded and the two of them exited the office and made their way down to the large door with Samuel Wallace’s name on it. When they entered, they were in an antechamber the size of the office they had just come from, this one brighter due to the wall of windows along one side.

“Hello, gentlemen,” the assistant, a woman in severe business attire said from behind the desk as she stood up. She seemed overly composed, a well-practiced neutral expression on her face. “I was told to expect you.”

“Benjamin Camen, ma’am,” he said, shaking her hand. “This is my assistant, Hiroki Sugoi. Don’t mind him, he’s mostly just here to observe. He’s in training.”

“My name is Brittany Hughes. What can I do for you today?” She seemed to ignore Hiroki entirely, writing him off as irrelevant. Hiroki didn’t go out of his way to change her mind.

“We’re investigating the disappearance of your boss, Samuel Wallace. We were hoping for the opportunity to search his office.”

She sighed and shook her head. “I’ve been told to give you as much access as I’m comfortable with, but I’m afraid I’m not very comfortable with you poking around in his office unsupervised. There are hundreds of files in his office, all of them privileged, and the last thing I want is finding out after you’re gone that while you were here you decided to indulge in some profitable espionage.”

Camen didn’t seem very surprised by this. He stood his ground and shrugged his shoulders. “I need to look for some idea of where Mr. Wallace went. A woman is dead. Either I come in and poke around or the police come in and do it. Your choice.”

Miss Hughes stared at Camen for a long moment and then nodded. “Very well. Come with me. I’ll let you look around, but I want you to do it under my strict supervision.”

The three of them walked passed her desk to the closed door, opening to another, larger room. This was as plush and richly furnished as the first office they were shown, but much bigger. Hiroki scanned the room. There were several large file cabinets in the corner, and along the wall opposite the window was a wall of case files and ledgers and books. Hiroki’s eyes were drawn to the computer, a dark screen sitting off to one side of the desk.

“Your assistant can sit at the desk,” Miss Hughes said by way of explanation. “Mr. Wallace’s computer is protected, and so far the systems guys haven’t been able to reset the password or anything like that, so I’m afraid it won’t be much help.” Hiroki noticed that she didn’t actually sound all that sad about that, but Camen nodded for him to sit in the large leather chair and Hiroki was glad to oblige.

As Camen began to head towards the wall of files and books, Hiroki discreetly pulled two pieces of equipment out of his bag. One was a small, low profile hard drive. The second was a small USB key. He kept them both under the table, where the watchful eye of Miss Hughes couldn’t see. Thankfully, Miss Hughes looked pretty occupied as Camen began to pull the ledgers and notebooks from the wall and flip through them.

“Mr. Camen, you can’t just start going through things like that. What if there’s sensitive information? I said I would help you, but you need to let me know what you want to see and then I’ll determine whether or not that’s an appropriate course of action.”

“I want to see all the things he wrote down. Not the case files, not yet anyway, but the books he kept. His home office was suspiciously devoid of information. If there’s any clue to where he’s gone or why, it has to be here.”

“Well, let’s start one at a time,” she said, taking down the first ledger, glancing at the first page where there was a quickly jotted inventory of what was inside. While she was looking, Hiroki plugged the hard drive and USB key into the computer as discreetly as possible.

Camen flipped through the notebook for a moment, and then handed it back to her. “No good. Give me another one.” As she looked through it, he turned to Hiroki. “I hope you brought something to keep yourself busy.”

Hiroki shrugged his shoulders. “I brought my computer. Thought that maybe I could do some school work. If that’s all right.”

“Miss Hughes, is that all right?” Camen said, pulling out the files on the wall halfway to look at what was written on them. Miss Hughes looked up and situated herself in between Camen and the files as she handed him another notebook.

“I guess that’s all right,” she said absently. “We don’t have wifi here, hopefully you’ll keep yourself busy without the internet.”

“It’s fine, I can use my phone to tether,” Hiroki said, pulling out his laptop and setting it up on the desk. As she was looking away to keep Camen from pulling down more files, he reached over and pressed the power button on both the laptop and the desktop at the same time. The sound of the powering computers was loud, but could easily be accounted for by Hiroki’s laptop looking a little too big to be all that quiet.

Hiroki pulled up the utility on the USB key, connecting to Wallace’s desktop. The program he had installed interrupted the boot sequence, loading a program of his own instead of the original OS. He worked quickly and efficiently, trying to be as unassuming as possible. Thankfully, that’s what he was good at. He quickly set up the program to clone the hard drive off of the desktop onto the one he brought with him.

Once that was set up and running, he tabbed over to the word processor and began to work on one of the papers he had to write for his finals. He didn’t really have to pay much attention to Camen anymore. He would make a lot of noise, maybe find something out despite Miss Hughes’ obvious smokescreen, but the real work was done. He felt proud of himself. Without him, Camen’s job would be a lot harder. It just proved to him how much the detective needed him in his life. 

He titled his paper with his name and with the class he was taking, and began to write. There was a murder to solve and a missing man to find, a mystery all around them, but for now all he could do was wait for the platters of data at his feet to spin and for Camen’s act to hold up.

Hiroki could think of worse jobs.

Block #fridayflash

Ryan was shown into the Coordinator’s office, a small space that bore more in common with a closet than it did a room. The two chairs faced each other over a fold-down desk, the Coordinator already seated in his, tapping away at the computer in his hand.

Ryan slid in next to the Coordinator, waiting for the older man to speak. The Coordinator was a man who operated at his own leisure. Not that Ryan was all that excited to hear what he had to say once he was done. Nothing felt good about this meeting.

“We have a problem,” the Coordinator said as he tapped the screen on his computer one last time, setting the small device down on the table.

“I’m not surprised you’d think that,” Ryan said.

The Coordinator looked at him expectantly. It was hard to meet the Coordinator’s gaze. His one good eye was bright and piercing, intimidating enough, but the replacement for his other eye was the flat black lens of the video implant. It’d be easier if it was just an old fashioned glass eye, not this technological monstrosity.

“You don’t have an excuse to offer me for your poor performance?” The Coordinator spread his hands helplessly. “I’m running out of options here. You were brought on board for a very specific purpose. An obligation you’ve failed to fulfill for nearly five years, now. You understand how that’s unacceptable, given the circumstances.”

“You can’t rush this type of work,” Ryan said. “I’m doing the best I can. It’s not as if I haven’t tried. But sometimes these things just work and sometimes they just don’t. It’s not as if I haven’t provided years of good material previously.”

“That’s half the problem,” the Coordinator said. “There are certain expectations you set by how prolific you were, both before and after Gathering Day. The people here relied upon you to provide for them on a set schedule. And you exceeded their wildest dreams. We were all very impressed. But now … nothing.”

“I don’t have an answer for you,” Ryan said. “I’m doing the best I can.”

The Coordinator shifted uncomfortably, his eye lowering as a sign that he didn’t want to say what he was about to say. “There’s been a proposal from the archivist that she be given permission to produce a series of stories set in a pre-Gathering Day world. I spoke to the morale officer, and he seemed to think it would be a good idea to pursue that.”

“A … but .. the archivist?” Ryan sat up straighter in his chair. “She’s not capable of providing for all of us. She’s a librarian.”

“She’s already submitted a writing sample, some ideas for stories, the outlines of five novels.” The Coordinator pressed a few buttons on his computer and then slid it over to Ryan. He picked it up and quickly scanned the writing. It was amateurish, but it had promise. He perused the outlines. They were solid stories. Shit.

“She already has a role, though. One person, one job. Remember? That’s how the community is being run.”

“Ideally, yes,” the Coordinator said. “Unfortunately, we didn’t forsee that the archivist would have diminishing responsibilities as other communities went silent and our affairs settled into a routine. She notes the personal highlights of the community, helps people organize their private logs, but in reality there isn’t much left for her to do. We think expanding her role to envelop yours is an efficient use of resources.”

Ryan’s face went white. He felt bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t be suggesting… “So what happens to me?”

“The community doesn’t need two storytellers,” the Coordinator said. “Especially not when one of them hasn’t told a story in years.”

“So … what … you can’t just let me go! Let her go! I was one of the first choices for this community. I can learn her job.”

“She’s a mother of four. As hesitant as I am to bring it up, your partner did pass on some years ago. No children to worry about. And much like will happen with you, her job was assumed by the community over time without too much trouble.”

“So you’re just going to get rid of anyone who’s redundant? How is that any way to run a community? You’re supposed to be protecting us, not kicking us out when we don’t meet your standards!”

“I’m not in the position to be swayed by pleas to my emotions,” the Coordinator answered. “And unfortunately for you, there is no ‘we.’ Everyone else is fulfilling their assigned roles. You are the sole exception. And it’s come to the point where keeping you here is one more child I can’t authorize people to have. You do realize we’re about to become a third-generation community? I’m sorry, but my decision stands. You are hereby stripped of the title of this community’s Writer, and asked to leave.”

* * *

Ryan walked down the narrow corridor leading to the entrance to the community. This was a rarely-used part of the structure, sealed and forgotten for years. There were storage containers lined against one wall, so narrow that the small farewell party that accompanied him had to go single file past them.

“Please, I beg you to reconsider,” Ryan said to the Coordinator. “You know what it’s like out there. You know I’m not equipped for this.”

“You have been given plenty of tools with which to survive,” the Coordinator said. “I’m not heartless. But I have to make decisions for the good of the whole, not the individual.”

“We will not forget you,” the new Writer, Deborah, said. She seemed genuinely distressed by this turn of events, bless her. “I will write of you, and your sacrifices. The community will revere you by the time I’m done. I know it’s a small comfort, but it’s all I can do.”

The security director, a thick ex-military man, was the first to the door. “When you get out there, you need to find shelter before nightfall. We don’t know what’s out there, but the last thing you want is to be stuck in the dark, unprepared.”

“What time is it out there?” Ryan shouldered the heavy pack he wore. It was full of tools, each carefully explained to him, though he was sure that he had forgotten all of it already. It didn’t matter. They had provided him two other tools, the old but well-maintained pistol from the armory that was heavy and alien in its holster, and the single pill in the locket around his neck if he decided that he couldn’t take this new reality.

The door of the community opened for the first time in over a decade. This was the first door, leading to a small decontamination chamber that had been built in case there had actually been traffic from the outside. In all the years of the community’s existence, that had never happened.

Ryan stepped through the first door, which closed behind him. He could see the three of them, crowding at the window, watching him. The second door unsealed itself, dust blowing in from the outside, quickly sucked up by the vents in the room. The community was not to be contaminated.

Ryan stepped up to the door to the Outside. The community had been sunk into the side of a mountain, the path hewn into the rock. The tunnel was dark and cool, various debris from animals or travelers or god knows what littering the floor. Ryan stepped out into the cave, and the door shut behind him.

Slowly, carefully, Ryan made his way out to the mouth of the tunnel where it emerged into the open air. It was full daylight, but the sun only lit the sky a dull, tumultuous grey. He knew that there was no clear sky anymore, but he had hoped to see some of the great blue dome stretching up forever. After ten years with low ceilings and cramped spaces, though, even this low cloud that had been the doom of so many people looked impossibly high. It gave him a sense of vertigo to look up.

Instead he looked out. The land was blighted, an endless expanse of rocks and dust and hard-packed dirt that was slowly being eroded into desert. There were buildings, many of them still standing, but he saw nothing moving. That fit with the reports the community had. Whatever was left out here in the Outside, it was scarce.

As he adjusted his pack and began to climb down the slope of the mountain to the flat ground below, a thought crossed his mind. A thought so powerful that he felt his spirit break under the weight of it. He wanted to cry, but instead he grinned fiercely, laughing softly to himself. Of course, it was so obvious!

This, he thought to himself, would make for a great story!

The Mob Lawyer (part 4)

Hiroki shifted uncomfortably in the heavy silence that had fallen over the study. Patricia Wallace was sitting in the massive leather chair behind the desk, her knees pulled up under her chin. She looked ill at easy, though he supposed that if he had lost a spouse and was potentially connected to a murder that he’d be upset, too. In the large chair she looked like a girl, awoken by a bad dream and taking comfort in a parent’s things. 

“So … what do we do now?” She asked the room.

Hiroki had no answer. He was still in the chair he had been shown to when they arrived, feeling completely unable to contribute to this situation. Camen was standing off to one side, smoking a cigarette, smoke rising in a cloud above him as he seemed to be browsing the leather bound books on the shelf. 

“The most likely thing,” Camen said, “is that the police will come and question you. It might be prudent to cut them off at the pass, go to them and tell them your husband is missing. They’ll question you about the murder, I’m sure, but I don’t doubt that you’ll quickly rise above suspicion.”

“You’re so sure of that?”  She looked over at Camen. “What if I, in a fit of passion, went over there and murdered her? Why wouldn’t they believe that?” 

“I can’t tell you the specifics of the case, otherwise they might believe that. I’m just going to say that I find it unlikely you’re that capable. It is more likely, though, that they’ll suspect your husband. Especially after you tell them that he’s missing.”

The horrified look on her face prompted Hiroki to speak up before she got really riled and made things difficult. “If they suspect your husband, they’re going to look for him. They have more resources than we do. It’s not a bad thing.”

“I told you I didn’t want this made public,” she said. 

“Right now, it won’t be,” Camen said. “The last thing they want to do is publicly name your husband if he’s not the killer. No sense going out and begging for a lawsuit. They’ll keep it quiet enough. And if he’s not guilty as I assume, then he has nothing to worry about.”

“I don’t like it.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice,” Camen said. “Your husband’s mistress turns up dead, there’s enough information to point them towards mob involvement. It wouldn’t take much searching to figure out that she was spending her free time with a lawyer with mob involvement. If you don’t go to them, they’re going to come to you. And they’ll be a lot less nicer about it at that point.”

There was a protracted moment of silence after that, as their client digested this new data. Hiroki shifted in his chair. It was late, he was going to be in trouble as it was, and now here they were telling someone to go see their biggest competitor. This wasn’t exactly the glamorous detective life he envisioned.

Camen finished his cigarette, putting it out in the small ashtray that Mrs. Wallace had given him. He turned around and began to speak. “If you like, we can take you down there ourselves, I can talk to the detective in charge. It’ll make things nice and smooth, they can question you and you can be back home in a few hours.”

“Right now?  It’s the middle of the night.”

“If we take her down there now, we’re going to be sitting around for hours,” Hiroki said. “Better to wait until morning.”

Camen shrugged. “If you insist. That’s not quite as pre-emptive as I would like, but I suppose it’ll-“

He was interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. There was a moment’s hesitation, the sound so foreign that nobody moved. Patricia was the first one to speak. “I … how did someone get past the gate?”

“It closed behind us when we came in,” Hiroki said. 

“Maybe it’s the police?” Patricia was already standing up, walking towards the door of the study. As she reached for the knob, Camen reached out and put a hand on her arm.

“You wait here. In case it isn’t the police. Stay here with Hiroki, I’ll go check it out.”  He reached into his coat and pulled out a small gun from the underarm holster that Hiroki knew he had. He turned towards Hiroki, nodding. “Watch her. If you hear anything go bad, get her out of here and get to the police.”

“You think it’s that serious?” Hiroki asked, heart pounding. He stood up, a sudden rush of energy making him jumpy, heading towards the door.

“I’m not planning on taking any chances,” he said, before he retreated down the darkened hallway towards the foyer, the bell still ringing. 

Hiroki closed the door after Camen had left, turning towards Patricia.  She was pale and nearly trembling. Hiroki motioned to the chair. “Come on, sit down. It’s fine. He’s paranoid because that’s part of the job. But he’s good at what he does. We’ll be just fine here.”

“But what if we’re not?” she asked. “What if it’s some sort of burglar?”

“Then they wouldn’t be ringing the bell, would they?” Hiroki said.  '”Like I said, just sit down and relax.”  Once she was sitting down, seemingly a little more under control, Hiroki made his way over to the door. There wasn’t any sound now, just the sound of the two of them breathing in this room.

“Mrs. Wallace, I’m going to turn off the lights. Don’t be alarmed.” Hiroki reached up and flipped the switch, plunging them into darkness. Then he cracked open the door and peered out into the darkness of the hall. The hallway was empty, and Hiroki couldn’t see any motion out in the small part of the foyer he could see from here. The house felt suddenly like a tomb, large and still and indifferent. 

Suddenly there was the sound of two heavy impacts, one accompanied with a low grunt. Hiroki was ready to bolt if need be, but in the gloom of the hallway he saw Camen coming down the hall. Of course, he was coming down the hall at a full run, his gun out.  “Hiroki, come on!”

Hiroki turned towards Patricia. “We need to go, now!” To her credit, she was up in a flash, the two of them both making their way out of the study and into the hall. Camen caught up with them, handing Hiroki the keys to the car. “What’s going on?” Hiroki asked.

“There’s someone here. I tackled them, but they’re still here. I don’t know if they’re armed or not.” The three of them raced out into the foyer, Camen at the lead, gun out and scanning the darkness for sign of the assailant. Hiroki led Patricia to the open door, Camen right behind. Out in the yard, they were nearly completely exposed if someone wanted to take a shot at them, but Hiroki knew the drill on safely getting to the car and ran at a half crouch to the vehicle.

He put Patricia in the back, telling her to get down and stay down. Then he made his way over to the driver’s side of the car, Camen right behind him, gun out and sweeping the yard. Out here it seemed much brighter than inside, but the shadows made it hard to tell what was trees moving in the wind and what was the intruder. 

Hiroki started the engine even as Camen was climbing into the passenger seat, peeling out of the parking lot and towards the gate. The headlights revealed that the gate was open, the sliding mechanism smoking faintly. Hiroki kept his eyes on the road, though, getting them out of the there.

“What happened?” Patricia asked.

Camen settled into his seat. “I opened the door but there wasn’t anybody out there. I felt like someone was watching me, though, and got out of the doorway so I wasn’t such an obvious target. Just in case this was the same person who killed Ms. Falchi.”

“I heard a struggle,” Hiroki said. 

“While I was hiding, someone rushed in through the door. I grabbed them, but they were ready for me and there was a fight. I ended up landing a punch that knocked them to the ground, though. Then I went to get you. I’m not sure where they went, but it seems we’ve lost them.”

“What do we do now?” Patricia asked. 

“Well, you can’t go back,” Camen said. “But apparently whoever killed Falchi is after you.”

“You’re sure they’re related.”

“No…” Camen shook his head, pausing. “We need to learn more about this case. And quickly. But until we get a grasp on what’s happening, we need to get you to safety.”

“What did you have in mind?” 

Camen shook his head. “I don’t know. I need time to think. Hiroki, I need to get you home. I’ll take over, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon.” 

Hiroki’s jaw tensed. The last thing he wanted was to be dropped off and sent back to the safety of his apartment and his mother right when things were getting interesting. This was an adventure! This was exactly the kind of thing he had signed up for when he insisted on being Camen’s assistant. But it was always ‘get Hiroki out of the way’ first and ‘have awesome experiences’ second.

***

Hiroki trudged into the apartment to find his mother sleeping in the recliner in the living room. He set down his bag and gently shook her awake. “Hey mom, I’m home.”

“Oh, Hiroki,” she said, yawning and stretching. “What time is it?”

“A little bit after three,” Hiroki said. “Sorry it took so long. Ben’s server was invaded, had to fight off the intruder and secure the data.”

His mother nodded, glazing over at the first mention of the technology he was ostensibly hired to do. She climbed to her feet and began to head towards bed. “I worry about you staying out so late. You can’t be running around at all hours at your age, it’s unnatural.”

“Mom, everyone my age is running around at all hours,” Hiroki said.  “The difference is that I’m getting paid for it and building up a resume. Don’t worry, I take care of myself. And Ben looks out for me.”

She scoffed. “That man doesn’t look like he can take care of himself, much less anyone else. I don’t trust him. He’s shifty.”

Hiroki rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say.” When his mother went to bed Hiroki sank into the living room couch. He sighed, turning on the TV for some noise and light but not really paying attention to it. At this rate, he wasn’t sure he would ever fall asleep, anxious about what Camen was doing right now, fleeing a would-be intruder—maybe a murderer!---and leaving him here to wait for information.

Thinking about the case, and the adventures that he could be going on if only he wasn’t stuck here, Hiroki fell asleep on the couch, accompanied by the muted light of the TV.

Demands #fridayflash

I demand that she take me to this place she told me about, the scene of the crime as it were. I know I shouldn’t even ask, but I can’t help myself. I need to see it, even if the truth of it will be worse than my imaginings and it drives me deeper into despair.

She seems resigned to my irrational choice, so she shows me without an argument. I drive in the pitch blackness of an oppressive summer night, moonless and moist. She stares out the window, saying nothing. There is no sound but the roar of an angry engine and the pounding of blood in my temples. I try not to let my emotions get the best of me. It’s very difficult.

The hotel we pull up to feels like some dark cave. The lights are dim, the bar adjacent to the hotel long since closed. The cars in the parking lot feel like apocalyptic husks, discarded years ago. I pull up, my headlights a violation of this blackest of spaces, and shut off the engine. My car, like the rest, joins the ranks of the dead machines, cast aside for what lies inside the looming building.

She leads me to a nondescript door on the face of the building. The key is already in her hand, sliding into the lock as she answers my unspoken question. “We … keep the room. There’s a standing rendezvous here …”

I try to keep myself under control. Try to sound reasonable when I speak. “How … how often is this … this …?” I can’t even find the words I want.

“Every week. Sometimes twice, if we feel up to it,” she admits freely, as though it doesn’t bother her. As though it’s the most natural thing in the world. My chest feels like its burning. She turns the knob and reaches in, expertly finding the light switch in the dark room.

I walk in once the light is on, ready to confront the space like it’s some sort of monster. Inside there are no dragons to slay, no boogey men but what I’ve brought with me. The room is small, bare and old and worn, with discolored wallpaper sloughing off the walls in patches and threadbare sheets on the one, large bed in the room.

There is no mistaking the purpose of a room like this.

She enters behind me and closes the door. I stand, looking at the room, trying not to gawk as my mind tries to picture her and some other being, inhabiting this room, regularly dropping from the living world to exist for a time in this tucked away place. It’s warm in here, but far drier than outside, and it feels like a whole other world with the orange glow of the light keeping the darkness at bay.

“I … I can’t picture this,” I admit to her. “You … here … it doesn’t make any sense.”

She shuts the light off in response, walking past me. There is nothing to see now, no light at all. I wait as my eyes begin to adjust to this new darkness. Slowly, very slowly, the world comes into focus. To her credit, it was the right response. In this light, all faint grey-blue tones like a heavy bruise on the world, this room seems mysterious and alien, uncaring walls and slashes of light from out in the parking lot coming in through the blinds. The bed falls across this pattern, slats of brighter color making prison bars on the mattress.

She’s laying on the bed, now. I hadn’t seen her move, but there she is, lying there staring up at the ceiling, hands tucked under her head like she hasn’t a care in the world. “This is what it’s like for me. It’s dark. It’s away. It’s comfortable. I don’t come here to look at the furniture.”

“Obviously,” I answer, my mouth dry. I thought the humidity outside was unbearable, but in here where it’s as dry and still as a tomb, it’s somehow worse. I feel as though all the water is being sucked from me, the room thirsty for what life I had to give it.

“Come lay down with me,” she says.

I stare at her, stare at the bed where she had … I couldn’t even finish the thought without my rational self dissolving in the emotional turmoil that I was keeping a tight lid on. “No, I can’t do that.” I move over to the other side of the bed, where there was a small space before the closet. I lie down on the floor, here where it was dark and somehow cooler for being on the ground. “I’ll lay down here.”

She moves over to the edge of the bed, her head a silhouette as she peered down at me. After a moment, she rolls off the edge carefully, landing at my side where she throws an arm over my chest protectively. I don’t have it in me to shrug her off.

“So what now? You know. I couldn’t stand you not knowing.”

I don’t know what to say at first. I look down at her and run one idle hand through her hair. “I don’t know what now. There’s not much I can do but deal with it. What other choice do I have?”

“You could have gotten mad,” she answers. “You could have yelled. Could have hit me. Threatened me. Left for good.”

I think it over as I watch her face turn up to mine, awaiting my answer. I shrug as best I can with her against me, shaking my head. “I don’t think I could do any of those things. I feel numb. It hurts, but it’s all … tied down.”

“Tied down?”

“Like a tourniquet,” I answer. “I’m keeping it all from bleeding out of me.”

“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “I can take it.”

“No, I could hurt you, if I did that. And I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself. Easier to stay in control.”

“I’m not afraid,” she says. She reaches up onto the bed, her hand fumbling around for something. When it returns, she has her purse in her hand. “I’ve got a little something that would have kept me safe.” In the faint light down here, I watch as she opens up the bag and pulls out her little something. It gleams faintly metallic, large and heavy, snub-nosed and dangerous.

“What the hell are you doing with that?”

“It’s more effective than pepper spray,” she says. “A girl’s gotta protect herself.”

“Is it loaded?”

“Of course it’s loaded,” she answers. “What good would it be otherwise? I might as well go out and buy a toy and paint it the right color and hope for the best, at that point.” She hesitats, and then looks up at me. “You wanna hold it?”

I pause, thinking for a second. Then I hold out my hand. “Sure.” She slides it into my palm and my fingers close around it. It’s heavier than I imagined, a huge chunk of metal cold and unfeeling. I lift my hand, feeling its heft, looking at the outline of it. “I’m surprised you can even lift this thing.”

“It took some practice,” she admits. “But I’m a pretty good shot.”

“Just how many things don’t I know about you, even after all this time?”

She doesn’t answer, just shrugs her shoulders and rests her head back on my chest. “I can’t give away everything at a moment’s notice,” she says. “I’m not like that. Maybe you’re okay with being transparent, but I can’t do it. You can’t straighten a maze, you just have to run it and try to get to the other side.”

I shakemy head. “I’m tired of playing games.”

“Well, then you’ll just have to make a choice. You either keep up this game, though I’d hardly call it that myself, or you get up and walk out this door and don’t come back. How does that suit your carefully controlled intellect, hm? Here you are, in the den of my dishonesty, and yet you still don’t know how you’re going to react. How pathetic can you be?”

I hug her close to me, her body small and soft against mine. The report that comes out of the monster she had handed me is muffled by her torso. She lets out a small gasp, her body stiffening beside me and then going loose. I feel a new heat, urgently warm and wet, spreading across my body.

She clings to me, not raising her head. “You really were upset, weren’t you?”

I hold her, rubbing her back, avoiding the gaping hole that I had blown through her. It wouldn’t be long, if the puddle I was lying in was any indication. I lean down, kissing her cheek and whispering in her ear. “More than you’ll ever know.”

“I’m … glad,” she says. “I didn’t think you cared as much as I did. I’m sorry that this is what it took for me to believe it.”

“It’s okay,” I answer. “Just relax. Everything is going to work out. You’ll see.”

“It already has,” she says. She raises her head, looking at me. “This is how it was supposed to be. You and me, together in the end. Everything else was just … baggage.”

I nod and she rests her head against me again. “Your heartbeat is steady,” she says. “I don’t think mine is, anymore. Will you miss me, when I’m gone?”

“Of course,” I answer without a thought. “I love you.”

“Mm, I know you do,” she says, her voice faint. “Thank you.” And then we are silent, our breathing the only sound in the room, the warm puddle I am lying in cooling. Eventually it turns thick and sticky, and soon there is only my breathing in the room. I am alone. Instantly, I miss her. Not that it matters for long.

Holding onto what was left of her, I lift the revolver. I had kept it free of any of the mess she had made. I lift it, staring into the cylinder. There are plenty of bullets left. I only need one. I rest it against my temple, where the muzzle feels cool and refreshing. I don’t have to keep a tight reign on my self-control anymore. I could just let go.

I let go.

Movie Rundown, Mid-May Version

I apologize that this has taken so long to get this out (by my count this is a week and change late) but things conspire from keeping me from sitting down and pounding this out. Not that I've been watching a whole lot of things, so this list isn't too terribly painful to slog through. Lately I've been doing less projects and watching more things I'm interested in, so this list is rated generally higher than a normal slice of movies would be. But there's nothing wrong with watching good movies!

The West Wing (season 2) – *****
The West Wing continues to be one of the best, if not THE best, TV shows I've ever seen. Season 2 was better than season 1, which was amazing in itself. A powerful show.

The Cat Returns – ****
One of the few Studio Ghibli films released in the West not directed by Miyazaki, The Cat Returns still bears a lot of the hallmarks that make Ghibli films so special: a sense of wonder, flight, an emphasis on personal empowerment and imagination. The Cat Returns is a great fairy tale of a young girl stolen away by a kingdom of cats. It reminded me a lot of Labyrinth. Anybody who loves good animation should see it.

Initial D Second Stage – ****
I could just repost my Initial D First Stage review, but this is 2010, so instead I'll just link it.

Dexter (season 3) – ****
Dexter season 3 went to some interesting places. After Dexter confronted his worst fears in the last season, he entered this season full of confidence and power and the ability to achieve whatever he wanted. A killer in his prime, it was the entanglements on the home front that really made this season, including an amazing guest role by Jimmy Smits.

The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus – ****
I'm an unabashed Terry Gilliam fan. That said, I understand that his movies are difficult at best, and downright antagonistic towards the audience at worst. The first half of this movie, especially, fell into that later category, with a whole slew of unlikable characters acting with uncertain motivations. But it all really starts to shake out once Heath Ledger shows up and takes charge. Even forgetting that this is his last movie, he turns in an amazing performance as a smooth-talking man with an ambiguous past and only a flirting relationship with the truth. The Imaginarium works, even with the death of its star mid-movie, and the inclusion of Johnny Depp, Jude Law, and Colin Farrell to take the place of Ledger in scenes feels organic and appropriate for this movie. It's a miracle this didn't end up like Don Quixote, but I'm glad it didn't. At the end of the day, Parnassus is up with Gilliam's better movies.

Match Point – ****
Continuing my long term Woody Allen project brought me to this darkly comic little thriller. Match Point starts out as a weird classist British drama about a working man who suddenly finds himself in the upper class and uncertain how to handle it. Watching it all unravel is interesting enough, but the movie takes a late second act turn that really surprised me, and kept me on my toes until the final scene. Match Point is a movie that continually undermines itself in the best way, a riff on an established movie archetype (see Cassandra's Dream, below) that is better for its self-awareness.

Oceans
Disneynature is in the habit of releasing a nature movie every year for Earth Day, it seems. And I couldn't be happier. On a big screen, in a theater full of people, these movies are breathtakingly beautiful and incredibly engaging. I teasingly refer to it as the yearly public dose of nature porn, but that's not far from the mark. It's a lovingly created tribute to the natural world, and just from a visual standpoint it's worth experiencing. Is it good? I have no idea what metric to compare it to.

Kick-Ass – ****
Make no bones about it, Kick-Ass is violent. But I wouldn't call it violent in a seedy, exploitative way, despite what some people might want to claim. It's transformative violence, people in situations who react in a certain way that goes beyond our day to day responses, to a place where some part of us dreams we could all be, a place of mythic heroes. There are scenes in this movie that have the impact of movies like Old Boy, The Professional, or Kill Bill Volume 1. They're affecting because of their extremes. And the rest of the movie is pretty good, too, a great send up of the same old tired origin stories every super hero movie tries to tell. For anyone with the disposition to handle a little blood, Kick-Ass has plenty to offer.

North by Northwest – *****
North by Northwest is the best James Bond movie ever. No, I'm not kidding. Yeah, sure, it involves a reluctant case of mistaken identity, but the movie quickly drops the pretense that Cary Grant is just a normal guy in an abnormal situation and becomes one of the best cinematic representations of adventure and intrigue I've ever seen. Grant carries this movie, suave and unassuming and convincingly competent without seeming invincible. I love everything about this movie, from it's goofy, out-of-left-field start to its rapturously brief (and dare I say perfect) ending. This isn't just the best Hitchcock movie I've seen yet (not really a big field to dominate, I'll admit) but it's one of the best movies I've seen--ever.

Bronson – ***
I really wanted to like Bronson. In fact, I was going along with it quite well at first. The barely lucid, crazy story of Britain's most notorious prisoner, Bronson opens with the kind of fever dream violence that reminds me of A Clockwork Orange. It's strange, entrancing, and powerful. Unfortunately, that kind of energy doesn't stick around, and midway through the movie seems to run out of steam, plodding across the finish line by the sense of goodwill the first half gathered. It's not a bad movie, but it's so horribly front-loaded that the ending was a crushing disappointment.

Iron Man 2 – ****
Iron Man 2's best feature is that it doesn't feel like a proper sequel. In its fast paced two hours isn't a heavy continuation of the first movie's arc, but instead it is perhaps the first major installment of this new Marvel Universe initiative. The movie is a breezy 2 hours, but it seems to go by in the blink of an eye. Ideas that will pan out in future movies are introduced, nods to other franchises are made, and Tony Stark continues to be the most fascinating Marvel hero put on film yet. It's a strange movie, but I found it incredibly compelling.

Cassandra's Dream – ***
Remember up in the review of Match Point when I mentioned the obvious entries into the thriller drama movie? Well, this movie is that. The story of two brothers who get roped into a murder and how it affects them, this movie has all the charm of a dead fish. It's baffling how the same director can tackle similar subject matter with two wildly different results. The actors (Ewan McGregor and Colin Farrell) are both fantastic, but the story is very straightforward and I ended up waiting for the movie to end instead of enjoying my experience with it.

The Mob Lawyer (part 3)

“What the hell are you doing bringing the kid here?”

Camen looked up from the body that was laying in the entryway of the house, dropping the sheet back over her. He turned to face the detective who was coming over to them, a tired looking man in a disheveled looking suit.

“Sonny, you know he’s with me,” Camen said. “I can’t very well show up on the job without my assistant.”

“You’re not here on the job, Ben.”

“Detective Nolan,” Hiroki spoke up, “are you saying that Ben is a suspect?”

The detective rocked on his heels, thinking for a moment before he spoke. “Not seriously, no. But we found your card on her body, and so we had to make the call. It’s not like you just hand those out to everyone.”

“Well, I do hand them out to everyone, considering that it’s a good way to drum up business,” Camen said, “but in this case you’re right. We were here earlier this afternoon, when I assure you she was very much alive.”

"What were you doing here?”

“Investigating,” Camen said as he motioned towards the body. “I needed to question her on a case I’ve got, tracking down a guy stepping out on his wife. She was the other woman.”

Sonny’s eyes lit up. “Then we have a suspect!”

“Maybe,” Camen said. “Let me fill you in on what I’ve been up to. You mind if Sugoi here takes some crime scene photos?”

Sonny looked around the apartment. Most of the cops were already gone, just a few left milling around outside to keep the neighbors at bay and wait for the coroner to show up. “Yeah, I suppose he can. Don’t touch the body, kid, or I’ll make sure you never step foot on one of my crime scenes again.”

Hiroki hesitated, waiting until the two of them walked away, Benjamin talking rapidly while Sonny listened. Ben didn’t have any choice but to cooperate with the police, but Hiroki didn’t like it. The police were decidedly unadventurous about these sorts of things.

Hiroki lifted the sheet and pulled a small digital camera out of his bag. He had photographed bodies before for Ben, though never in an official capacity in front of the police. He felt decidedly unprofessional as he went about taking all the pictures he could of what used to be Victoria Falchi. It was decidedly messy for such a neat kill. Two round holes were stamped in the skin above her low-cut neckline, and another set right between her eyes.

He took his pictures and then returned to Ben, still talking to Sonny. When he approached, Camen gestured to Hiroki. “Sugoi has our conversation with Miss Falchi recorded, if you need to further substantiate our proof.”

“No,” Sonny said. “You’ve told me enough to work with for now. If I need it, I’ll give you a call. But you’re free to go.”

The two of them walked out of the townhome and into Ben’s car. Once they were inside, Ben held out his hand for the camera. Hiroki gave it to him, watching as he flipped through the images. “I can’t believe he didn’t take my recording of our interview,” Hiroki said, as a way to make conversation. He was still unnerved whenever he was confronted with a body like that.

Camen pulled out a cigarette and lit it, one-handed, as he rolled down the window and continued to flip through the pictures. “The thing you gotta remember about the cops, at least the good ones, is they know that if they push too hard I’ll stop volunteering information. So I volunteer, and they go easy. We’re in the same business, and if you do your job right when you’re negotiating your fees you’ll get paid whether the police do the work for you or not.”

“So … what now? Detective Nolan seemed to think that our missing man was the killer.”

“It certainly could be construed that way,” Ben said. He handed the camera back to Hiroki. “What do you see?”

“Two gunshots to the chest, one to the head. Looks like whoever it was shot her as she opened the door. Neighbors didn’t report gunshots, so there was some kind of suppressor being used.”

“Yes. There’s one problem with that, though.”

“Which is?”

“If someone shot her from the doorway where she was, there’d be some sort of burn left on the skin, even with a suppressor. She couldn’t have been shot point blank.”

“Are you saying she wasn’t shot there?”

“No, I’m pretty sure she was shot there. Too much blood for that to not be where she was standing,” Camen said as he started up the car. The engine wheezed to life and they took off. “But it means that the shooter was standing somewhere else. I don’t suppose you thought to look for where the bullets hit after they exited the body.”

Hiroki gaped for a moment, feeling incredibly shortsighted, before he shook his head.

“Don’t worry, I already did. The two bullets that hit her in the chest struck the back of the front door. You didn’t notice because it was covered until the forensics guy could get there. The third one is embedded in the floor under the body, probably.”

“A double tap to the chest and one between the eyes sounds a lot like a mob hit,” Hiroki said, trying to recover. “We’re looking for a mob guy, remember.”

“Yeah, but he’s a lawyer, not a hit man. So far as my research pulled up, he didn’t even own a gun, let alone know how to use it enough to do something like that.”

“So … what then?”

“I don’t know,” Camen answered. “We just continue the investigation. Though the odds of it being a coincidence that she was killed shortly after we asked her about our missing man seem pretty high.”

“So someone’s killing the people related to this case?”

“If' that’s true,” Camen said, “then we need to be careful, meddling around and asking questions. And we need to talk to our client. The last thing we need is to wake up tomorrow and find that our employer ate a bullet.”

“We’re going to be out late, then?”

"Camen looked over at Hiroki and shrugged. “If you need me to take you home, let me know now. I can always come get you next time you’re free.”

“There’s a job to do,” Hiroki answered, reaching for his phone. “I’m not going to miss this.”

Camen nodded and floored the accelerator. Hiroki dialed his mother’s number, a ready lie as to what he would be doing forming in his mind.

Ode #fridayflash

It’s somewhere between the time when the drunks all carefully climb into their cars and play games with the police and the time when the responsible and the dedicated are out and about taking care of responsibilities while the rest of the world sleeps. The street lights flash in their monotonous pattern, the heart beat of a city in a sleep so deep it might as well be a coma.

The sky is fully dark. Not black, because it never gets fully black. The clouds that would obscure the moon are lit with the pale glow from the city, a faint bluish color that never actually feels like full dark. Nighttime is kept at bay by millions of tall metal sentries that line every path in the slumbering metropolis. In doesn’t help the feeling of loneliness on a night such as this. It certainly doesn’t encourage sleeping. It is only a counterpoint to the loneliness of the deserted roads, a nightlight left on for those returning home at such a forsaken hour.

The heavy, droning tone of an engine is the only thing that pierces the stillness of a night like tonight. The empty streets seem to welcome the sound, repeating it between concrete walls and darkened buildings. It takes on a magical quality, a constant crescendo, anticipation of a living soul in all this inanimate bleakness.

The car tears down the street, no longer hampered by such pedestrian concerns as stop lights and traffic. The keys of the city have been turned over, the roadways laid own with red carpet, for anyone who is willing to venture out into these small hours where life retreats.

The world seems to get even quieter as the vehicle approaches. The insects stop chirping, the wind is muted by the sound of the engine. The world is boiled down to a single noise, the mechanical pounding of pistons driven by endless explosions, destruction turned into motion, combustion turned into propulsion. It is only one energy being turned into another, over and over again, but the inert world around it is envious of the freedom.

The car tore through the night at speeds that it wouldn’t dare to pull during the day, when there were pedestrians and other cars and a thousand other dangers. Now it seemed indifferent to those risks. There was open road and it was going to defeat it handily. A line of motion, gleaming dark metal and tinted glass, the lights reflecting a staccato pattern, watery dots of light a fleeting impression of place before it was gone again.

Inside the car was a different story. There wasn’t lonliness here. Inside the bubble of glass and metal was another world, a world of life and thought and action. In here was a Driver. In here there was purpose.

As the car tore through the empty streets, the driver was nearly motionless. His eyes were alert on the road ahead, the mirrors showing him where he had gone, but he barely moved. Small adjustments of the wheel, the foot carefully measuring the gas, but otherwise the driver was still. That stillness was in direct contrast to the machine under his control. It thrummed a deep vibration from the engine, intricate machinery pushing the thousands of pounds of vehicle forward. The thrumming of the air inside as the music was cranked up, a beat that was like the pulse of some animal, straining and racing to go faster and faster. 

The driver was one with the machine, his mind was racing to notice a thousand things. At this speed, any mistake could quickly turn serious. Every adjustment to his course strained against the inertia of the car. When the roads turned, the car strained, the body shifting from the forces placed upon it. But that motion seemed to barely register for the driver, who took it all in stride with a flick of his wrists and a turn of the wheel. The car obeyed his command, machine not just subject to but bettering the abilities of man.

The windows shook with the sound inside of the car. It safely kept the night, and its endless sources of desolate solitude, at bay. In here was energy. In here was life and thought. In here was will turned into motion. The driver was charged with it. His thought could become action with nary an effort. Tools transformed into freedom.

The driver never took his eyes off the road, but he cracked a private smile at that thought. Freedom. That’s exactly what it was. Blood-racing, exhilarating, mind-liberating freedom. It was the freedom to exceed his natural self. And he did so gladly, refusing the call of sleep and the darkness as he pressed the pedal down further and raced faster through his own personal paved paradise.

The car left the quiet city behind, outracing the world and the sun and all those who awaited its return.