Chapter 4
Saturday night on Grifter's End. The Ten O'clock curfew lifts with the caveat of increased patrols still the patrols do not really give a baboon's backside about much. So far except for that punk at the bar I hadn't really seen anybody stupid enough to try anything.
Still the gas masked faces did their best impression of watching us like hawks.
I was sitting inside the cineplex, my body sank down into one of the most uncomfortable chairs I'd ever sat in. My eyes were fixed on the silver screen as a travesty of a screenplay unfolded before me; now I'm no arm chair, keyboard punching, wannabe film critic. If anything I have a soft spot for crappy low budget movies, the kind with CGI dinosaurs picking off bikini wearing dingbats. We're talking the bottom of the straight to video barrel.
I disliked this movie as a matter of principle. It was called Lord of the Jungle Planet. It was basically a Science Fiction spin on Tarzan. Why do that when the character's author had a whole body of work set on other planets? Then I remembered one of those tales had been adapted for the screen back in 2012. The book was better….
Anyhow I'll step off that soapbox before it collapses beneath my weight. All that I've related thus far was how I spent my first days in the colony of Grifter's End.
Monday rolled around with its usual amount of force. I go through my checklist: dress, eat breakfast, get out the door in time to meet the cyber-car that would take me to work. Though it had started small, Grifter's End had grown enough in size that not everything was within walking distance and these cyber-cars were a taxi service of sorts. Some like the one I was riding in now were pre-arranged to pick up workers.
The only other form of vehicular transportation was the hovering skiffs-for lack of a better term-that the planetoid's farmers used to haul in their goods. There was no air travel; it was as unnecessary as it was unfeasible. Every inch of landing pad was required for the shuttles from Earth.
I didn't speak to my driver and he didn't speak to me. That was fine. I noticed a black version of my conveyance had been sticking to us like glue since we left. The windows were too tinted to discern the occupants but I didn't need to. I already knew from my first week here it was guardsmen making sure the taxi got from point A to point B without any funny business.
I spent the day inspecting every inch of an army of boxes filled with surplus heading to Earth soon. No computer chip was left unexamined, no light bulb left unturned. I was still amazed that so many different things could be produced in one factory but danged if they weren't. The factory had different wings and each buzzed with worker bees churning out that wing's particular product.
It should go without saying that not everything was produced in this one factory but the sheer amount of stuff this factory did turn out was enough to make your head spin!
My head did spin quite a bit today. It was like a dreidel on Hanukkah right up to my lunch break. Even here I followed the carefully laid out order of things: Wait in line, don't think too hard about what the items on your tray are made of, find an empty seat in the commissary and chow down.
A burly man with a voice pitch that didn't match his build made small talk with me between bites of a sandwich he'd brought from home, wherever home was for him. He wore the orange coveralls of the laborer, the reminder that this was once a prison and still was to some degree.
I acknowledged his words with all the expected politeness but to this day I don't remember anything he said. My social graces were limited to those required for my profession.
The rest of the day passed in a monotonous blur until the signal rang out its announcement that my shift was finally at its end. I walked out the doors joined by all the others whose shifts had also ended. As usual the cyber-car was not there. Its job was to get you to your job. Getting back home was on your shoulders.
I was hungry and decided to use that hunger as an excuse to continue getting the lay of the land. I turned to a man beside me and asked: “Say, do you know of any good places to eat?”
“Yeah at home. But if you really want to brave the local cuisine try Nellie's.”
I flagged down a cyber-taxi & climbed in “Where to, Bub?” The portly driver asked briskly.
“Um, some place called Nellie's?”
He chucked a little. “Heh heh, some place indeed.”
He drove along at almost a snail's pace avoiding the congestion. I memorized the route as best as I could in the fading light of evening's approach. It turned out that the mysterious restaurant was three blocks from my abode. It was a brick building with plate glass windows and corrugated tin roof, a metal chimney on the back corner of that roof exorcized smokey phantoms and the incense of finely cooked meals wafted through the air. Above the door was neon calligraphy that spelled out Nellie's in bright pink. The cabbie asked if I wanted to wait but I dismissed him and paid him his fair of 5 musk coins.
I'm not really certain what I expected Nellie's to be like on the inside but it turned out to be pretty posh given the environs it was nestled in. The walls were a sort of yellowish white & stained by much grease. There was beautiful brown wood trim around the walls. And the floor was alternating white and black tiles forming a checkerboard pattern!
The rows of tables were draped with white table cloths and decorated with candle lit centerpieces. Nearest the entrance was a table different from its companions. It was rectangular and large enough to house an entire thanksgiving feast. It was draped with a burgundy tablecloth and a large sign resting in the center declared, RESERVED.
I took in these details between the time a little chime announced my arrival and the moment that a woman emerged from a door that said, MANAGER ONLY. The woman in question looked like the reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe. Her hair was short and blond and beautifully arranged. She was clad in a dress of shiny, pink silk, its bodice framed an ample chest and taking her in stirred feelings in me I hadn't felt since the first time I fell in love at a younger, stupider age.
“You must be Nellie,” I said.
“That's correct. You must be new here. Why don't you join me at my private table.” The lady indicated the one with the reserved sign.
I chose a chair and she sat down next to me with suave, graceful motions. She signaled a man standing nearby. He was clad in the attire of a waiter: white button-up shirt, black pants, matching shoes.
His features marked him as having Italian ancestry and his voice tipped me off that he'd once lived in New York. “Bernie, dear, bring us two Alfredo’s–regular, not shrimp– and a vintage merlot please.”
I was secretly miffed that she would order for both of us but this was her establishment and she should know what was good. Besides, she had invited me to her private table. She called after the waiter, “Bernie, tell Dex to turn on the music!”
She stared at me with deep blue eyes. I asked her the question that was foremost on my mind, “So, Ma'am why did you invite me to your table?”
“Well, whatever your name is-”
“Tom”
“Well, Tom, it's my restaurant and I can do whatever I darn well please. Plus you're the most handsome thing that has walked through that door all month!”
There was a seductive undertone in her statement. That cauldron that had been lit and stirred up when she entered the room was beginning to bubble inside me. She continued speaking, “Everyone's got a story. You take Bernie for example; he was a stool pigeon back on Earth. He made enemies of too many crime families. The powers that be shipped his butt up here for safe keeping.”
She paused as music wafted through the air; it was cosmo-jazz. She must have noticed my grimace because she asked “You don't like cosmo-jazz?”
“Not for me but like you said it's your place.”
“You learn quickly. I learned something about you just now. What else should I know about you, Tom?”
“What would you like to know?”
“What were you before? On the home planet I mean.”
“A con artist.”
“Oh so you've got many stories.”
“That's right Nellie. You give me long enough and I could have any of these two bit wannabes eating from my hand.”
“Intriguing, Tom. Do you plan on running the colony?”
“Don't tempt me. No, I'll find a game soon.”
“Why a conman?”
“People spent their lives screwing me over. Why shouldn't I return the favor? Why shouldn't I take the world to the cleaners when that's all it's ever done to me?
“I learned long ago that if you really want something you've got to snatch it from someone who's already snatched it from another someone. You can either do it by blowing their brains out and taking it off their corpse or you can speak the right words and leave them alive to think about what they've lost.”
“That's a rather dreary outlook, Mister. You could use some sunshine in your life.”
“Nellie, you try living in the Midwest like I did & you'll find out sunshine doesn't mean squat. It can be beaming down and still be as cold as Stalin's heart.
“You learn that around the same time you learn knights weren't really all that noble and that some folks just can't be saved.”
Further discussion of philosophical mores were put on hiatus due the arrival of our pasta. Each bite was euphoric to my palette. “Not bad.”
The woman smirked and her eyes became wolfish. “Thanks but these are not the only delights I offer.”
“Really?”
“I also cater to pleasures of a more….carnal nature.”
The wolf was circling its prey but this moose was no easy game. “So you're a hooker?” I asked with all the bluntness of a dull knife.
“I'm a madam if you must know!”
Bingo.
“I've got my girls of course. They turn the tricks.”
“And meanwhile you run this eatery?”
“That's not all, Tom. I also have a brothel set up. It runs on a subscription system of sorts.”
“Hmm, like certain websites on Earth.”
“Will you let me finish!”
I clamped my pie hole shut and let Nellie finish her exposition. “My customers pay for different tiers. One level gets them a chat & so on. Eventually if they spend enough they get promoted to VIP which gets them a one night stand sort of.”
“What do you mean, sort of?
“A.I. Tom, that's what. I have dozens of androids that look, act and sound like me. They do the chatting and shaging.”
“Do your customers know it's not really you?”
“I have a feeling most do but couldn't care less. Most of the men–and let's not be coy– some of the women who come my way are just looking for a sexual fix.”
“So they open their pockets and your androids and girls open their legs.”
That ticked her off. She slapped the snot outta me. My cheek felt like I'd rented it out a colony of fire ants. “Have you no class or did it get replaced with your cynical disposition?”
“I've got lots of class; school is just out for the summer.”
She twirled noodles on her fork and ingested them.
I continued speaking, ”Color me curious. Does the High Warden know about your enterprise?”
“If I had to guess, he does to a degree. He knows about the androids but not much about my girls. He probably figures if they're spending money on me they'll be too broke to buy contraband.”
“So a blind eye gets turned.”
“Pretty much yeah.”
I was going to ask another question when two young ladies charged into the restaurant like hell were nipping at their heels. If their facial expressions and body language were anything to go off of it may very well have been.
The duo were a brunette and a more petite lady with chestnut hair in curls. They were definitely shapely and clad in attire that could have made a blind man swoon.
Their eyes were wide in panic and fear, their ample chests heaved up and down in harsh rhythms with the struggle to regain lost breath. The handful of other patrons looked at us curiously. Nellie addressed them in a harsh voice, “This is private business. Go back to your meals.”
In a softer voice she addressed her street walkers. I stepped away from the table as though to leave but something caused me to stay. I had no doubt those girls had seen every shade of ugly Grifter's End had to offer so whatever had caused them to feel the utter terror I saw painted on their sweat drenched faces must be mighty bad news.
Nellie and the girls talked in low voices but my ears were mighty keen. “Heather, Tiffany, what's wrong, where's Carly?”
“We were working the park like you asked and we flirted with some guys and then Carly screamed! We turned and she was gone.
“We used the summon box and when the authorities arrived they didn't find anything.”
“This is disturbing. We've got to find Carly but I don't think the authorities are going to care about a missing floozie enough to be thorough. “Maybe I can help,” I said voluntarily.
Nellie looked at me incredulously. “What could you possibly turn up the guardsmen didn't?”
“I don't know maybe Carly or some clues as to who took her. You see I've got certain powers of observation and unlike these G.I. Joes around here I just might give a crap.”
“Fine go be Philip Marlowe.”
“On it, Nellie. Just two things: what's a summon box & how far is the park from here?”
The park was a ten minute walk & located on the outermost edge of the city. I made the ten minute walk in five. As for a summon box it wasn't some occult artifact but rather like an old timey police call box.
Now why would a self absorbed con artist give a hill of beans about a prostitute he didn't even know and offer to investigate? Well for now let's just say I have a few secrets and keep it there.
The park was mostly abandoned except for some joker in a long flowing white tunic sitting on a bench beneath a street light. He saw me sniffing around and butted in. “What are you doing sir?”
“I'm looking for someone who's lost!” I said grumpily.
“All who come here are lost. But one day Father Abraham will come and emancipate our mortal souls from these fleshly shackles.
“He will descend with-”
“An army of angels I know. Some old coot at your temple did everything but give me a tract.”
“Do not blaspheme He was Christ reincarnated, The Great Emancipator!”
I had more pressing concerns than arguing with a moronic cultist. I scoured the park for clues when all of a sudden…. Jinkies I found one! I found a blood trail. The guards would have found it too if they'd looked hard enough but obviously they didn't.
I followed the grisly trail like a huntsman seeking a slain deer. I came to the end of the trail and almost wretched up my alfredo. I saw behind some tall bushes what had once been a beautiful blonde woman now twisted into some gory human pretzel that torture porn films couldn't replicate. On what may have been her arm I saw a colossal hand print. How could a human outside of possession have enough strength to turn a hooker into something that would give the killer in the Saw movies nightmares?
I found the call box. It had three buttons: one for the guardsmen, one for a taxi, and one to hang up. It should be obvious which button I pressed. After an eternity a black cyber-car rolled up & vomited out a small patrol. I was grilled like shrimp but at last they seemed convinced of my story and told me to get lost. They probably didn't want to keep me out past curfew which would have been a different type of headache for them.
Once I'd returned to Nellie's the restaurant turned into a funeral parlor. “I'm going to meet with all my girls tomorrow. Tiffany and Heather, you room with me tonight. I don't think the authorities give a crap about where you sleep so long as it's off the streets.”
I left them to their grief and once I was back at my digs I collapsed into a tormented sleep where the fettuccine noodles wrapped around me like boas and dragged me down into a black pit with scattered bones and skulls issuing demonic laughter as they held up mirrors that caused me to see different reflections which was no doubt twisted metaphor for my false identities. The laughter morphed into the sound of the morning alarm clock.