Author: srh

“Start with the obvious, what is on the desk?” Tony asked.

I stared at the neat stacks standing perimeter around the blotter. “You know, this would be a whole lot easier if I was able to use both hands.”

“True, but then I would miss out on your running commentary.  So… please be descriptive.”

“Fine, fine.” I sighed.  I started reading off what I was seeing. “There are three folders in a pile to the right, there are two more to the left. There are a couple of stacks of miscellaneous papers around the blotter.”

“Go left first, those are cases that are closed.” Tony said.

“Top one, some numbers at the top, Ramsey vs Authority underneath.”

“Skip it.”

“Bottom one, random numbers, Viridian vs OKI.”

“Skip that one too.  Both of those were low stakes, minor cases.  What about the upcoming pile?”

“Read the tabs?  Top to bottom?” I asked.

“Go ahead.”

“PrimEstates vs Authority; V. Hale; and Miles vs Takai.”

“The last one I know about, seemed to be minor, I am surprised it is still open. The top ones must have usurped their order. Put those on the blotter…  What about the stacks of paper above the blotter?”

“Hmmm.  Two stacks.  The first stack looks like bills.  Seriously?”

“Yes, still accounts payable and receivable off prime.”

“Now that is just plain retarded.”  I shook my head. “Everything is different, but it all stays the same.”

“Hey kid, I am a thousand or so subjective years older than you, and I still think the same thing.  So no surprise there.”

“The other pile is two notes.  The first is…” I picked it up and read it aloud. “Contact Charles Markoff, need signature for PrimEstates.  The other is symbol of a angel?  A black angel shape, kind of like six arm cross surrounded by a large circle.  Looks like a simplified Da Vinci; Study of Man sketch-thingy.”

“That odd.  That is the Angelus mark.  Is it printed on the paper?”

“No.  Looks drawn in, with a pen or something.”

“Really?”  Tony said with some surprise.

“Really.  It is definitely drawn by hand, I can see the pen strokes.  The circle looks uneven too.”

“Huh.  Anything else?”

“No, that is it.”

“No it isn’t.”  Tony said smugly. “Lift the blotter.”

I pulled the edge of the blotter up and saw the edge of a scrap of torn paper.  “There is a torn paper here, like the corner of a bigger page.  How did you know?”

Tony’s voice ignored me. “Any writing on it?””

“Yes, scribbles almost.  Like a shaky hand was writing it.” I said.

“Or a drunk hand.  You said I was acting like I was drunk right?”

“Yeah, sloshed. Out of a little flask thing.”

“The flask still there?” Tony asked oddly.

I pulled the chair out, and saw the flask laying on the ground under the shadow of the drawer.  “Yep.  I am not picking it up.  This is all freaking me out a little.”

“Back to the scrap. The writing?  Can you make it out?”

“Chil…Chill?  Child?  Child.  Of?  The.  I can’t make the last word out.  Almost looks like Los Angeles?  LA?”

“Child of the Los Angeles?”

I flipped the paper over. “Hold on, more writing on the other side.  Block writing… not the same. R-E-0-5-0-4. All caps.”

“Wish I could see what you are seeing.” Tony said. “For now, just hold on to the scrap.”

“How did you know about the paper under the blotter, Tony?” I asked a bit more assertively.

“That is where I stick things I am worried about.  Out of sight, but not out of mind.  It is a sorting method I use… I used.”

“What now?”

“We start working the cases.  Time to get your feet wet, son.  Have a seat and start reading the two you laid on the blotter.”

I started reading the cases as best I could, but the gun kept looking at me.  The flickering of the bullets was distracting, and it kept drawing my eye.  I pulled my sleeve up to cover my hand and slid it gently into the center pen drawer.  Out of site, and hopefully out of mind.  Then I picked up the briefs and tried my hand at objective reading.  While some of it made absolutely no sense, that content seemed small in comparison to what I thought I grasped.  The briefs read like technical documentation describing people and events in relatively concise terms… they were not overly laden with confusing legalese.

When I was done, I dropped them both with a heavy sigh.  I ‘understood’ the two cases from a topical point of view, but I didn’t see how they mattered to anything regarding the death of my little companion’s owner sitting in the map, waiting for me to come back.  I was about to pick up the map when there was knock at my door.  I stood warily and walked as quietly as I could over to the door.  I took a deep breath and pulled it open.

Framed by the doorway was one of the most beautiful men I have ever seen in my life.   I thought I could kiss the guy, and I was straight in my past life.  He was that handsome.  Alluring.  Downright exuding sexual tension.

“Who are you?” He asked.  His voice was velvety smooth scotch caressing my consciousness.

“Doug.” I said stiffly. The guy just smirked.

“Nice to meet you Doug.  About time Anthony got himself an assistant.  When will he be back?”

“Oh… not for a while.  Something I can help you with… Mr…” I led.

“No need for Mr or Mrs here, Doug.  My name is Oman.  Pleasure to make your acquaintance.  Can you do me a favor and have him contact me when he gets back?  He owes me a call.”

“Yes, of course, O… Oman.”

“Tell him that I most interested in his thoughts on my problem.”

“What case is this related to?” I asked curiously.

“No case.  Just a separate inquiry. A private matter.” He smiled, like a patient father.  It did something odd to his face though, he lost some of the pure lust inducing power he was radiating before.  He looked more paternal.  I could feel the pressure of his presence change.  It wasn’t lost on me… so I reacted.

“Stop it.”  I said.

“Stop what?” He said penitently.

“Stop that.  First the sex symbol thing, and now the father thing.”

“Ah ha.” He smiled widely. “You are an Adjudicator.  That means… Anthony is no longer with us, is he?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”  I lied.

“And you can lie without fear to me.  Definitely an Adjudicator.  In that case, a reintroduction is in order.” He flourished a deep bow, and I immediately felt all the waves of influence fall away.  “I am Oman, Order of the Angelus, Freed and Unbound.”

He stood back up and while he was still handsome, and some ways, a traditional cut of a mature father figure, he was far more ordinary.  Regal, and striking, yes, but not the impossible thing he was before.

“My name is Doug Gates.”

“I know, Doug.  Your name is on the door.  I just wanted to make sure.”

“Ah. The door.” I slapped my forehead. “It has my name all over it.”

Oman let a sly grin slip, a bit of teeth revealed. “Yes. Yes, it does.  And now you have to assist me.  Since that is your job now, Mr. Gates.”

“Help with what exactly?” I asked.

“Perhaps I can show you?”

“Right now?”

“Right now.”  He grabbed my shoulder with barely a hint of movement, and he stepped away before I could even protest or try to grab my map.

A single word came to mind.

Shit.

The first four hours were lost to meandering.  Thousands upon thousands of individuals spread outwards from wherever I wandered, it seemed as if the constant busy-ness of the place helped control the flow of the people through it.  Everywhere I looked, there were booths manned by sometimes extravagant, sometimes boring, individuals… people that could have been at any career fair or business expo back home.  People with magazine looking things, people with banners, people with handouts, people with smiles, people with demo products, people with people on top of people talking to other people.

People.  Everywhere.

They varied in shapes and sizes, young and old, all colors and configurations I could imagine.  I saw women with blue skin, men with four arms, children that floated in nirvana, others showing their bodies that any greek god would envy.  It was by turns both madness and sanity.  It seemed odd if you looked too closely at a singular thing, but as a whole, it all fit.

Everything fits, I suppose.

The booths were just as varied as the people.  Some booths were pavilons that had comfortable furniture and refreshments, others were like Lucy’s Peanuts psychology store front, just a simple table with sign.  I say everything in-between.  The selection of jobs was impressive.

After wandering around, I decided to just pick one at random.  Although it did not seem too random in retrospect.  The booth was more of a space port than anything, with whooshing Star Trek style doors, and soft edges with futuristic lighting. The well lit sign above the door only said DarkComm, as a soft flutter of shadowy energy whirled and swirled through and around the letters, obscuring the lights like a dusty nebula on a star filled night sky.  It was a vibrant light that I fluttered towards like a moth.

“Welcome to DarkComm!”  A smiling greeter said, grasping my hand gently and shaking it. “We help the universe communicate!”

“That’s it?”  I said.

“Of course!” She replied bubbly. “The most important thing is universal communication.  We pride ourselves on being the number one communications provider in the verse!”

“So you are a telephone company…” I frowned.

“Well.  Kind of.  We utilize a principle of dark matter that allows us to send messages across the folds of the verse instantaneously.  We maintain the systems that allow for people to coordinate, collaborate, and communicate.  It is a cornerstone of the verse!”  She enthused.  Her glistening name tag read Judy.

I had heard this kind of pitch before. “Comcast? Time Warner? AT&T?”

“Excuse me?”  Her smile faltered for a second.

“I was wondering what telco conglomerate you were with previously.” I said.  I kept my voice dead level.

“Um… I was with Comcast.  How did you know?”

“Lets call it a hunch, Judy.  Have a nice day!”  And with that I turned on my heel and got the hell out of there.  Like I would work for that hell.  Are you kidding me?  Who in their right mind would pick something that would be as soul sucking as that?

No thanks.

I wandered aimlessly for a few minutes and finally remembered that I had a map clutched in one hand. I opened it up and what I had thought was a massive fold out map turned out to be some sort of intelligent device.  It opened like a small magazine and booted up, showing the levels, the roughly organized types of careers, most of which didn’t make any sense at first glance.  I pushed the large obnoxiously large button that said Help.

A little motherfucking genie popped out above display.  It scared the ever living hell out of me.

“Thank you for summoning Djinn-on-Demand.  My name is Tyler, how can I help you today?”

“Hi Tyler.” I said, the initial shock started to fade.

“Hello, sir! Who am I speaking with today?” I held the map up to eye level and looked closely at the genie.  It was not looking at me directly, some sort of representation of a genie that made it look like something it wasn’t.  Very clever.  Poor Tyler was probably sitting in a call center.  I shuddered.  What did these people do in their previous lives?  My god!

“Doug.”

“Greetings Doug, what can I assist you with?”  He chimed.

“How do I use the map?”

“I am going to start the tutorial on your map.  When the tutorial finishes, I will reconnect and see if you have further questions.  Is that acceptable?”

“Uh, yes.  Thanks.”

“No problem, Doug. Thank you for using Djinn-on-Demand.”  The genie popped away in a puff of smoke.

The tutorial was dead simple.  It went over the map from a complexity level that a five year old could easily comprehend.  By the time Tyler rang me back, I was an expert.  I told him so, he sighed his sigh, and promptly disconnected.

There were jobs for everything one could imagine.  I browsed the items that seemed like good ideas.  I used the jump feature of the map, the one that Chuck had initially told me about, but they all turned out to be bad ideas once I got there.

After my fifth interview with a vapid blonde at the Ingenuity Tracking Center (where they make notes of cross-verse innovations and attempt to get them replicated in other places… ie patent fuckers), I think officially gave up.  I was on the very edge of the Colosseum, with the bulk of the bustle going on behind me.  It appeared that most core businesses ran from the center, with huge presences of the Authority and the Angelus sitting in the center of things (duh), and the further outwards (any direction) you went, things became less and less important.  The people got duller, or more excited, depending… the booths got smaller and in most ways, cheaper looking.

And that is how I ended up at the end of the road.  Literally and figuratively.  The booth I had stumbled across was hidden behind two others with a small path between, tucked behind something that looked like a garbage pile.  There was graffiti on the wall, something along the lines of ‘fuck the noise’.  Whatever that meant.  But the little building grabbed my attention.

The booth was older than time, older than sin, and uglier than both.  It appeared to be made of stone, but didn’t have a sign at all.  Just an old wooden door with a heavy iron latch handle.  My curiosity was peaked immediately. It was unlike anything I had ever seen since I had arrived.  I grabbed the door handle apprehensively and let myself in.

The door opened into a comfortable foyer, with tasteful, but run down furniture.  In the center of the room, a single enormous oak desk sat with an older gentleman in a fedora (crumpled) and half a suit (no jacket) sleeping with his feet in the air.

“Excuse me?” I said.  I had no idea why I said it.

The old guy startled to wakefulness and promptly fell out of his chair.  I heard a grunt as he hit the floor.  His fedora came up first, not attached to a head, but crumpled (further) in his hand.  The other hand brought up a flask that must have been in his lap, and finally a head emerged, red bleary eyes looking at me from across the muted green blotter.

“What do you want?”  His voice was gravel in a hair dryer.

“I saw your booth.”

“Congrats, asshole.  Now step along.”  He either smoked more than a volcano or his vocal cords were made out of rusted bed springs.

“What do you do here?”

“The worst job in the world.  I am regretting ever taking it.”  The old guy took another swig on his flask.

“What is the worst job in the world?”

He sighed heavily.  “If I tell you, will you leave?”

“Probably.” I shrugged.

“I work on Prime as an adjudicator.  Unfortunately I am the only one.  So that would make me THE adjudicator, I guess.  Now move on, son.”

“What does an… adjudicator… do?”

“Well, ever taken in a private eye movie or book or show or something?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged again.  “I guess.”

“Take all the great stuff, strip it out, throw it in the garbage.  Find a whole of bunch of legal assholes and have them jump in to the middle of everything you do, and viola… that is what I do.  For instance.” Another swig. “A while back a lawyer dies in car accident.  Studies up on codes of interaction on Prime… ends up claiming it was an act of an unfair interference by so and so in blah and blah.  So then I have to waste my time and energy tracking down witnesses, evidence, et cetera, throughout Prime and the nearby shadows.”

“And?”

“Turns out the guy was an asshole.  Pretty much died because he was an asshole.  So I turn in my verdict, and then the fucking guy tries to hunt me down.  I had to put him down like a fucking dog, and then I am the bad guy to the Authority.”  Another heavy sigh and a swig. “It sucks.  You know, I used to be a fucking saint.  I mean it.  A saint!  I was canonized and everything.  Saint Anthony.  Look at me now…  look at me now.  Fuck it.”

“Fuck what?”  I was getting nervous.  How did people have mental breakdowns in the after life?

“Fuck this job.  I quit. Its yours kid.”

“Um, I don’t want it?” I tried.

“You are in the realm, aren’t you?”

“I guess?”  Was I?

“You are, greenhorn.  You and I are occupying the same realm.  This realm is bound to that door.  You and I are the only occupants.  That means if I am unmade, only you remain.  Its your realm then.”

He reached into the desk and pulled out a revolver.  The old kind, snub nosed 6 shooter, all nickel plated and mean looking.  Except the barrels were flickering with bright white light.

“WHOA!” I yelled, putting my hands up. “You don’t want to do that, what was your name, Anthony! Anthony, you don’t want to kill yourself!”

“Yeah… actually, I do.” He sighed.

And he blew his fucking brains out.  One moment he was sitting there with a gun to his temple, then the shot, and then he was gone.  The desk was unmarred, and no brains were against the wall.  But Anthony was gone.  And I felt something, snap, to me.  Like a rubber band stretched out from a door knob.  I felt the door swing towards me, and then I felt the something make contact.  I felt a zing run through me.

I felt like I had just drank a thousand cups of the worst coffee in existence.

I felt a knocking sensation. Like someone knocking on my forehead.  It was annoying as shit.

I focused on the sensation and answered in the most annoyed tone I could muster. “Yes?”

“WHOA!” Chuck said.  “What did you just do?  You were supposed to get a hold of me!”

“WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED CHUCK?”  I yelled back.

“Just a second, ok.  Let me in.” He replied calmly in my head.

“Let you in where?”  I looked around, the door I had come in through was gone.  It was just the tasteful office, a glass door over to my left had appeared at some point.  I could see a man shaped shadow on the other side.

“Over at the door, dummy.”  He said from behind the glass.

In three strides I had my hand on the door handle and swung it open violently to find Chuck looking at me with the biggest confused look he could probably muster.   He didn’t say a word.  He just lifted his hand and pointed at the black stenciling on the door.  I looked at it carefully.

DOUG GATES, PI, RE.AUTH, RE.ANGL
ADJUDICATOR, INVESTIGATOR
AVAILABLE FOR HIRE

Then I threw up all over Chuck’s shoes.