During the entire time, Graziella Mabinonghé remains quiet as a mouse, obviously not eager to generate more paperwork for herself by making waves, but watches the scene with obvious interest. Although she has not touched the keyboard since the security officers came in - she has not even glanced at it - her computer screen knows shows the dull C&I form Griffon Kyle saw earlier, rather than any games.
The C&I caseworker obliges by summing up events in a monotonous, impersonal voice.
"My name is Graziella Mabinonghé, Customs and Immigration employee number DCN TZ4-113I-589-C01Q. At 1508 hours today, first-time visitor Griffon Kyle, Australian citizen, passport number 547-75-2112-462, entered my cubicle for his Customs and Immigration interview. I proceeded to interview him and administer the requisite tests."
As she speaks, she pulls out the forms filled earlier by Griffon, as well as his passport, and places them on the desk in front of Judge Fang.
"Upon processing the initial information, I received notification of an international warrant for his arrest. The Australian authorities have charged him with the murder of one Cynthia Margaret Penniman, reportedly Mr. Kyle's girlfriend until their recent breakup. The victim was killed in a manner consistent with Mr. Kyle's abilities as a martial artist."
The police file and photos follow the form and passport.
"I signalled C&I for backup and in the interim I administered a polygraph test to Mr. Kyle. During this test, Mr. Kyle admitted to a previous murder, although not to the one he was being accused of, with extenuating circumstances." The transcript from Griffon's interrogation lands on top of the pile, along with a tape. "At this point, he appeared quite upset but did not initiate any violence. Then Agent Goodness from DBI came in to assist, just a moment before the earthquake struck and power went out.
"In the dark, Agent Goodness lit a lighter and attempted to cover Mr. Kyle, but the Sc... Mr. Kyle took advantage of the confusion to hit the agent. Agent Goodness temporarily regained the upper hand and placed him under arrest, but in the chaos that still reigned I had tried to assist by throwing a heavy object at Mr. Kyle, failed, and hit Agent Goodness instead. Mr. Kyle hit Agent Goodness and the struggled continued briefly until I was able to recover Agent Goodness's gun and give it back to him, at which point he took control of the situation, and I called Terminal Security."
She pulls a second tape out, this one from the phone, and a printout rolls out of the slit on top of her desk. An evil grin flashes briefly across her face before she regains her dour demeanor.
"'Tis all as she said," adds Agent Goodness with a tired nod. "Now, our Mr. Kyle'll prob'ly assairt tha' I never identified meself as a DBI agent, somethin' he's been blabberin' on aboot fer a long while, bu' truth be told, the boy never ga' me the chance. The quake hit, we wair all thrown aboot the room. I dinna know if it was airthquake, explosion, act o'God, oor somethin' devised by our little friend there, so I drew weapon t' cover 'im an' prevent any escape. He attacked immediately, an' the rest is painted across me face."
Judge Fang listens impassively to the testimony of both Miss Mabinonghé and Agent Goodness, but makes no move to examine the transcripts, tapes, or other evidence. When Goodness finishes he turns to Kyle.
"All right, Mr. Kyle - it's your turn. Before you start let me explain a bit to you about how the Al Amarjan criminal justice system works.
"First, and most importantly, you should know that the criminal code here on Al Amarja is based loosely on the Napoleonic Code of France. The primary difference is that unlike the criminal code of Australia, in which the suspect is presumed innocent until proven guilty, here we assume that the suspect is guilty unless proven innocent.
"You probably have also noticed that there aren't a lot of lawyers and such crawling about. Legal counsel does exist on Al Amarja, but works in a manner rather like that of health care in the United States - you need to have someone on retainer before you go to trial. As you may guess, here in the Terminal that is a rather unlikely occurrence. There is also no jury here. Instead, Judges such as myself are assigned to various areas of Al Amarja, and are empowered to pass judgment on criminal activities. This has its merits and its flaws. The primary merit is that it does away with a lot of the red tape and cheesy legal tactics that you are no doubt aware of from television and mass media. Also, as a Judge I can decide which evidence is admissible and inadmissible, so we do away with all that instructing of juries not to pay any attention to stuff that they have heard and suchlike."
"Now if this were a SERIOUS matter, there would be a panel of three Judges here to try you. Since this is just a simple assault case, there's just me. You should note however that the fact that this case is a misdemeanor rather than a felony does not make the consequences any less dire for you - the distinction between misdemeanor and felony on Al Amarja is strictly an administrative one - felonies are tried by a panel of three judges and have an appeal process, albeit one which is rather streamlined by your standards. Misdemeanors, on the other hand, are tried by a single judge and have no appeal process involved."
"From what I have heard so far you are charged with aggravated assault on an officer of the Democratic Bureau of Investigation - for attacking Agent Goodness prior to his identifying himself, and with assault on an officer of the Democratic Bureau of Investigation - for continuing to struggle after Agent Goodness attempted to arrest you, which should have tipped you off that he was a member of the DBI."
"You should also know that as a Judge I have wide-ranging powers when determining sentence if I find you guilty. I can let you go free anyway with a slap on the wrist and a promise not to do it again. I can send you off for non elective surgery and have your hands and feet surgically removed. I can make you pay a fine. I can lock you in prison for the rest of your life. I can have you hung. I can make you undergo an enforced sex change operation. In short, I can do pretty much anything I damn well please and, since this is a misdemeanor, there really isn't a whole lot you can do about it. Luckily for you, I still retain some shreds of human decency. Also, I am under orders to be nice to tourists because they bring in money."
"Now then, do you have any questions? If not, please let me hear your side of the story so that I can get out of here and back to the gym."
"No questions, but I'd like to apologize to the agent here, even if he is a bastard he didn't deserve to get hit, and I should have watched my self better. He was just doing his job." He frowns to himself, then goes on.
"That pretty much how it went, though I didn't know he was an agent when I disarmed him. And that all I did at first was disarm him. Then I remember ending up on the floor with him, and that's when I head butted him. then I secured him, and noticed that Miss Mabinonghé was pointing a gun at me, and that maybe this guy wasn't trying to kill anyone. Anyways, I don't have any excuse, but I have to say after being told in quite plain terms someone I have loved for quite a long time is dead, then being told I was the one who did it did not put me in the best frame of mind." He bows his head, trying to not remember. A tear streams down from his left eye, and he moves to wipe it away before remembering the guards. He stops, and keeps his hands behind his head, letting it fall silently.
Goodness grabs his crotch. "I got'cher "bastard" hangin', boy. Just ask yer mum."
"See what I mean?" complains Griffon.
Judge Fang scowls in the general direction of Agent Goodness. "That will be enough of that," he says mildly.
About this time a couple of paramedics enter and start working on Goodness, bracing up his battered schnoze, sticking some gauze in his mouth to soak up some of the blood leaking out of his gums, and giving him a mild sedative.
"Well, if you are going to show remorse by apologizing to Agent Goodness, I would suggest that you do it directly, rather than through me," Judge Fang says to Griffon. "Be certain to include the part about him being a bastard and all - I feel certain that such candor can only make him feel more pleasantly disposed towards you."
His tone softens - just the slightest bit, hardly noticeable at all. "As for the rest, that's for something for the courts in Australia to handle." He looks from Goodness to Mabinonghe and back to Kyle. "Anything else?" he asks.
"Neh," mumbles Agent Goodness around a mouthfull of cotton. "'At sheems t'be aboot i'. Mish Mabinonzhé? Anyfin' t'add?"
The C&I employee shrugs. "No. No, Judge," she adds to be correct.
Judge Fang glances about, making sure that everyone has had their say. His gaze lingers on Kyle for a moment.
"Get up, son," he says. "No sense in you kneeling there getting a cramp while I think this over." He glances at the two Terminal Security guards. "If he gets frisky, shoot him. Other than that, leave him be. And for heaven's sake put those things on 'single fire' so you don't kill everyone in here with stray rounds. We're not ALL wearing kevlar, you know."
The two guards dutifully slide the selector switches to the proper setting.
Fang moves over to the desk, and spends a few minutes flipping through transcripts and papers. Then he walks around the room. Finally, he turns back to face Kyle. "All right, Mr. Kyle, I have my verdict. But before I render it, I need to ask you a few questions - completely off the record." He gives a stern glance to Agent Goodness, and another one to Miss Mabinonghé.
"Completely off the record," he repeats. He turns back to Kyle. "Mr. Kyle, do you know anything about Al Amarjan labor law?"
"No sir, I don't recall having heard about it."
"Well, without getting into all the 'whys' and 'wherefors' let me tell you a bit about one aspect of Al Amarjan labor law that you may not be familiar with - slavery."
"It may surprise you to know that here on the island we still practice slavery. Don't look at me like that, son, let me finish! Here on Al Amarja, all slaves are voluntary slaves - you can't become a slave by committing a crime or going into debt or anything like that. It might interest you to know that one of the very few judicial punishments that I am prevented by law from levying against convicted criminals in my court is indenturing them as slaves."
"Not all slaves on Al Amarja are slaves for life. It is perfectly acceptable to become a slave for a set time period, after which one becomes free once again. Also, nobody can compel you to become a slave. I cannot, for example, say to you that you will either become a slave for a certain period of time or I will levy certain judicial punishments on you. The decision to become a slave must be free of coercion."
"I can, however, choose to take judicial notice of efforts on your part to make amends for your crimes. Agent Goodness here looks like he's gotten pretty badly banged up. He's probably going to need a bit of assistance while he recuperates. Someone to run errands, make sure he gets to the doctor on time, things like that. From the extent of his injuries, I would guess that he wouldn't require assistance for more than a couple of weeks or so."
"Of course, I can only take judicial notice of such things as long as the trial is in progress. Once I render a verdict, everything is settled." Fang waves his racquet like a magic wand and smiles cordially. "Anyway, all this is purely informational you understand. Just trying to let you know what your choices are."
Judge Fang gives a significant look at Kyle, then turns his gaze to Goodness, and finally back to Kyle again.
Agent Goodness removes the blood-soaked cotton from his mouth for a
moment, and, swallowing, says to Fang, "Yer honor, wi' all due respect,
I'd rather cut a small 'V' in the skin of me lower calf, then take a Spam
can key, insairt it inta the skin flap, an' slowly wind the skin all the
way up me leg than have this wondairful fella taggin' along wi' me, askin'
me how I like me coffee." He wedges the cotton back into his mouth.
"I'm sorry," he says after a moment, "I didn't get that. Did you say something... AGENT Goodness? SPECIAL Agent Buttery Goodness, DBI, CPC? If you did, I am afraid that with all the excitement and noise in the room I just couldn't hear you. Or perhaps I was just not paying attention, dwelling as I was on other important judicial matters such as the various demerits on your record, the all-too-consistent comments of damned stupid "cowboy" behavior on your reviews, the fact that you generally work alone now because CPC can't find anyone who trusts you enough to pair with you, or the fact that your last three fitness reports have been balanced like a circus high wire act on the brink of getting your ass thrown out on the street. So if you said anything of any importance, AGENT Goodness, I'm afraid that you will have to repeat it, because I missed it."
He walks over to where Goodness is standing. The paramedics back away fearfully. Fang stops with his nose bare inches from Goodness's broken and bandaged beak.
"This man," he says, gesturing at Kyle but never taking his eyes from Goodness, "is a tourist. We get lots of them here in the Terminal. And do you know who loves tourists? On the off chance that you have not been reading your interagency memos, I'll tell you. We ALL love tourists! I love 'em, you love 'em, Miss Mabinonghé here loves 'em. And most importantly, President D'Aubainne loves 'em! Because tourists bring in money - lots and lots of money that pays my salary and your salary and keeps the economy of this island from sinking like some economic Atlantis into the European Common Market."
Fang gestures toward Kyle. "This tourist," he says, emphasizing the word much as me might if he were, instead, referring to a pile of doggy pooh, "fucked up. He assaulted a DBI officer. He did that officer serious harm. As much as you and I and Miss Mabinonghé here love tourists, if I have to issue a ruling on this case I don't have a hell of a lot of choice in the matter, because as much as President D'Aubainne loves tourists, she loves cops more."
Fang backs off a bit, allowing Goodness a view of Kyle, in addition to his own still scowling visage. "Nevertheless, I have a mandate from the President's office to go easy on tourists. I also have a mandate from the President's office to kick the ass of anyone who beats up on a member of our law enforcement. In all likelihood I could rule however the hell I wanted on this, and the President wouldn't notice. In all likelihood even if she did notice she wouldn't care. But..." Fang pauses a moment to glower at Goodness, "if, by some chance, she did notice, and she did care, this is just the sort of thing she would break my balls for. So let me just give you a minor prediction, AGENT Goodness. My prediction is that if I do what I have to do here, and the President takes notice, I am going to wind up with my feet in cement sinking to the bottom of the harbor. That will be a damned rotten end to an illustrious judicial career and I will feel justly pissed off about it. But at least, should that happen, I will have one small final satisfaction, and that will be the sensation of feeling the concrete around my feet land ON TOP OF YOUR FUCKING STUPID HEAD AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HARBOR! NOW SHUT THE FUCK UP AGENT GOODNESS BEFORE I PUT SOME JUDICIAL NOTICE ON YOUR SORRY ASS!"
Fang turns and stalks back to the desk, then turns again to look at Goodness. His visage is now as serene and peaceful as a Buddha.
"Completely off the record, of course," he says calmly.
Agent Goodness listens attentively, righteous indignation (and, just perhaps, a bit of sadistic humor) play across his face, light up his bruise-blackened eyes. As Judge Fang finishes his diatribe, Goodness searches for a response; the perfect response, for he knows that the next words that come out of his mouth will have a profound impact on the course of his near-future. The years on the street. The heartbreak. The blood. The partners lost, the friendships broken, the relationships ended. All for a job that, in return, has led him here: attempting to justify himself to a Judge who wants nothing more than to pump something at the gym, and to assist an accused murderer with the arduous task of enjoying his vacation. A mere two seconds later, he has hit upon it, the warring factions of his time-tortured mind coming to an accord, and, drawing himself up, says, with all the dignity his posesses: "Oh."
Griffon raises his eyebrow, then says slowly: "That sounds fine with me, your honor. What exactly are the limits to what he can ask me to do, legally that is?"
"There aren't any." says Fang simply. "He can do whatever he wants with you, short of shooting you in the head and tossing you off a cliff into the ocean. And it's 'Judge', not 'your honor'."
Fang looks back at Goodness. "But I'm certain that won't be a problem. Agent Goodness here loves tourists, even stupid tourists who break his nose and knock out his teeth. He particularly loves tourists who make sure that all those nasty deductibles that aren't covered by his generous DBI health insurance policy are all paid so he doesn't have to waste any of his precious salary on them. He's also strictly heterosexual so far as I know, so your sphincters are safe, though I wouldn't be doing any erotic dancing in the shower if I were you. And believe it or not, once he gets past the fact that you beat the shit out of him, and gets those nasty ideas of revenging himself horribly upon your person out of his head, Agent Goodness is actually a pretty nice guy! You'll LIKE working for him. He's a riot at parties - a regular cut-up!"
Fang stares straight at Goodness, his eyes boring into the CPC agent like industrial mining drills. "Isn't that right, Agent Goodness?" he asks pleasantly, smiling an EVIL smile.
During the three-sided exchange between Judge Fang, Agent Goodness, and Griffon Kyle, the C&I caseworker remains conspicuous by her discretion. She seems to be contemplating the dark metallic substance that serves as a floor for the rather poorly-lit "cubicle", as if she had never noticed it before. However, every once in a while she sneaks up a glance at the three men, then drops her gaze again. She spares no attention for the Terminal Security guards, automatic weapons or not.
"Azh rain, yer 'olinesh," says Goodness around the cotton. "Righch as rain." He looks at Kyle, and his mouth slowly opens into a big, wide, bloody, broken toothed, gauze-packed smile that lights up his widened eyes.
"Cut the crap, Goodness!" snarls Fang. "You know damned well that the appropriate form of address for a judge in an Al Amarjan court is 'Judge'! I have had just about as much of you as I am going to take! Outside in the hall, RIGHT NOW! And the only reason I'm not doing this in court is respect for your badge, if not the person wearing it!" Fang stalks to the door, then motions to the guards.
"If this Scarab so much as twitches, shoot him." he says, pointing to Kyle. "Miss Mabinonghé, print up a couple of copies of Form 18089-26 'Voluntary waiver of human rights' and a couple more of Form 7984-96(b) 'Voluntary indentured servitude - limited time'."
Fang opens the door. "Let's go, smart boy," he says.
Goodness goes through the door and into the hall. The Scarab doesn't
move a hair.
After about a minute, both Fang and Goodness reenter the room. "Please give Mr. Kyle the forms and witness his signature," Fang says to Miss Mabinonghé.
Agent Goodness follows dutifully, then meets Griffon's eyes and fixes him with a wink and a slight smile. Standing behind Judge Fang, he points to Griffon and then himself, and mouths the words "You and me" with a slow nod. He then moves to stand beside the Judge.
Griffon looks at the agent, not saying anything. He waits to see the papers, and then reads them carefully before he signs anything. The form agree to exactly what Kyle thinks they agree to - the first is a waiver of basic human rights as listed by the United Nations, and the second is an agreement to enter into a contract as a slave with Buttery Goodness, for a period of one month1.
As he stands there, a bit groggy from the painkillers, watching Griffin Kyle go over the forms, Goodness' cell phone rings. Goodness pulls the cell phone from his belt and activates it. "Goodness here." Pause. "Well, that's woondairful, Mrs. Brinker. Engar's a good lad, though a trifle naive. Is there anythin' I kin do t'help? An' would ye know a good dentist? A bairger jest kicked me teeth in." A longer pause, as Goodness listens to the voice at the other end.
Meanwhile, as he dutifully works his way through the forms, Kyle finds - between a couple of the layers - a small note card. A few words are written on it in a neat and precise hand. Griffon palms the card, and slips it into his pocket when no one is looking.
All the while, Judge Fang glowers at him. "Son, are you going to sign those things or not? If you aren't then I'll just be issuing my verdict and running along. If you are then hop to it! You're wasting the court's time."
"Sorry Judge, just a little overwhelmed here is all." Griffon signs the papers, frowning slightly.
Fang snatches the papers from Kyle as soon as he is finished, and walks them over to Goodness. "Sign these," he says tersely. "And stop mucking about on the phone."
Goodness seems to have lost a lot of his cheeriness. Numbly, he takes the forms from Judge Fang, and, nodding, signs them and hands them back, muttering, "Aye, Judge." He clears his throat and wonders briefly about the concept of karma, and what past horrors this life is attoning for. Was it really only yesterday that he was happy?
"So is this goodbye, Mrs.?" he asks into the phone while thumbing through the forms. Goodness signs the papers, still talking quietly on his cell phone, and the Judge grabs them, handing them to Miss Mabinonghé. "File those, Miss," he says. "Don't miss-file them." Turning towards Griffin Kyle he says in a very official tone of voice.
"Mr. Kyle, this court finds you guilty of aggravated assault on a law enforcement officer - one Buttery Goodness - , and assault with intent to do great bodily harm on same. You are sentenced to be hung by the neck until dead at the earliest possible date subject to the current docket in Justice Barrio. However, this court takes judicial notice of the efforts of Mr. Kyle to make amends for his crimes, and therefor reduces the sentence to a fine equal to twice the cost of said law enforcement officer's medical bill, to be paid to Goodness, plus court fees in the amount of $200.00 to be paid to the office of the Al Amarjan Superior Court, Terminal Division. This reduction of sentence to take effect only should Mr. Kyle satisfactorily serve his time as a personal retainer to Mr. Goodness as per their agreement, file number... Miss Mabinonghé - once you are done filing that, contact the Terminal Court and have the clerk enter the file number of their agreement in the record."
He turns to Goodness. "The court further finds Buttery Goodness, DBI, CPC, in contempt of court and fines him $100.00. This concludes this case. I'm outta here!" Fang heads for the door.
"Farci cum iuglandibus, turpis2," says Agent Goodness with a bow to Judge Fang.
"Catullus 16, Goodness," replies Fang, just before the door closes.
Goodness turns to the guards. "All right, boys, fix Mr. Kyle wi' some chains, an' we'll be on our way."
"Standard leg irons and shackles?"
"Actually, no," answers the agent. "We have places t'be, Mr. Kyle an' I. Jest a collar wi' a neck ring. Give t'me a length o'chain an' a pair o' wrist shackles. If need be, I kin chain his hands t'his neck. We need no' shackle 'is feet; I doan think Mr. Kyle'll be runnin' nowheres, not wi' me still carryin' me gun an' Mr. Kyle wantin' to comply wi' all of our Al Amarjan laws." He turns to Griffon. "Isn't that right, slave?"
"Something like that," Griffon says, not seemingly very happy with the situation.
Goodness walks over to Griffon, angry, all humor gone from his eyes. He backhands the Burger across his face, hard. His voice is low and dangerous. "Ye'll answer me 'Yes, Master', slave. An' doon't even THINK about meetin' my gaze. Yer a SLAVE. Slaves doan' have the right t' look their masters in the eye. Now answer me."
With a huge sigh Griffon answers, "Yes master." He's looking down at the ground as he says it, though for some reason Goodness has the feeling he's counting the days.
"Look, ye blitherin' idiot," says Goodness, leaning into Kyle's face, "I'm doin' ye a bloody FAVOR! Standard procedure is t' put a slave in leg an' wrist shackles! Wi' a fuckin' LEASH t' be led aroond by! Do ye want that? DO YE???"
He watches as the guards attach the ringed collar and takes the wrist shackles from them, draping them over his shoulder for the moment. "Yer gonna learn some manners, boyo. If I have t' beat them into ye wi' these cuffs, yer gonna learn. This ain't some Dreamtime Vegas ye've stumbled onta. Yer lucky t' be breathin', and wether ye like it oor na, yer breathin' because o' me. ME. Understand, slave? Answer me, an' knock the tone outa yer voice, or I'll knock it oot for ye. An' then let's get the fuck oota here. We've got places t'be."
Griffon says obediently, "Yes master." as he looks down at the ground. He's a really good actor. Goodness can't even tell he's faking it.
Goodness approaches Miss Mabinonghé and takes her hand. "Miss Mabinonghé, it's been a true pleasure workin' wi' ye." He kisses her hand. "P'rhaps I'll have the pleasure of runnin' into ye again sometime."
The C&I caseworker observes the interplay between the new slave and master with a slightly doubtful expression, then shrugs minutely. She nods politely. "Agent Goodness, thank you for your assistance. I hope our next meeting will be less... agitated. Mr. Kyle, I hope your legal troubles are straightened out soon. Remember to use your head for other purposes besides breaking noses, and your stay on Al Amarja will be easier."
Goodness turns to Griffon. "Mr. Kyle, how much money did ye bring wi' ye?"
Griffon sighs and hands his wallet. "Good enough," says Goodness with a nod. With a last wave of his hand to Graziella, he ushers Griffon out the door. Goodness leads Griffon down a series of winding corridors that the Burger is sure he didn't see on his trip in; seemingly going in the wrong direction, going up long-unused stairwells, across corridors, down other stairs, all in an attempt to exit the building without being noticed. Once, he pauses, and looks at Griffon. "We need t'get free o'this place, slave o'mine. I have a... rendezvous of a soort." He looks Griffon over. "I want ye t'know, Judge Fang wanted ye hung dead. Still does. I stood up fer ye, slavey, though I dinna ken why. Ye seem t'be moor trouble than yer worth, tell the truth. Bu' I doan think ye killed no one tha' did na deserve it. Fang wasn't listenin'. So I reminded him o' the slave cause." He shakes his head. "Ye've got t'learn to play by the rules, Mr. Kyle. Ye let yer emotions cover ye like a blanket o' fuckin' peanut butter. It's slowin' down yer brain."
He starts walking again. "Bullshit aside, slave, I doan even think yer gairl is dead. I think someone's settin' ye up. I have an... intuition aboot things like tha', ye ken? So I wanna find out who wants ye off the streets, an' how we both kin benefit by it. Are ye wi' me? Ken ye follow the rules if I promise ye the chance to smack some Scarabs aroond a bit? An' will ye do as I say, EXACTLY as I say, when I tell ye to? No hesitation?" He stops again and turns back to Griffon to gauge his response.
Griffon looks at him for a second, not really sure what to say, finally coming up with, "I AM sorry I broke your nose, master." He looks down for a moment, then says "I'll do what you tell me, and be polite, and respectful, but... can we perhaps tone down the slave/master thing, master?" It looks like he's deciding not to comment on his opinions of the murder, perhaps his way of agreeing with him.
Goodness puts a finger to his lips, making the universal "Shush" sign, and shakes his head, pointing to the ceiling and around the corridor as the two men continue to move. He glares at Kyle with that "Not now" look. "We have propriety here, Mr. Kyle," says the agent darkly. "Yer a slave t'me for the month, an' a slave is how ye'll be treated, an' we'll hear no moor of it."
"Yes, master," Griffon says, cocking his head to the side slightly.
The two men continue walking escaping the endless maze of the C&I building at last.
"Hail me a cab, slave," says Goodness. "We're going t' Four Points, t' Madam Chan's Tea an' Consignment Shop. A jitney'll be fine. Ye'll be payin', o'course, so if ye want t'take somethin' fancier, be my guest."
"Where is all my stuff going?" Griffon asks. "My bags and such."
"Balls," mutters Goodness. "Right. Get the cab. We'll swing by Baggage an' pick up yer stuff, an' then we're off t' Four Points." He lights a cigarette and takes out his cell phone, pressing *69 to get Mrs. Brinker's number, then dials, whistling "Someone to Watch Over Me" as he does so.
"Wait a tic," says the agent suddenly, covering the phone mouthpiece. "It jest occured t'me: Baggage Claim is raight on the fairst floor. Tell ye what, you go an' get yer t'ings. I've got t' make a phone call. Meet me back here. An it goes withoot sayin'," adds Goodness with a wink, "Tha' if ye doon't make it back here in shoort time, I'll hunt ye doon an' kill ye. And AS it goes withoot sayin', I woon't. Now off wi' ye." He turns his attention back to the cell phone and takes a drag on his precious mentholated friend.
Griffin Kyle reenters the Terminal, and heads over to the baggage claim area. Approaching the proper carousel he notes that it has stopped spinning, and there appears to be no baggage on it.
This has been a bloody great fucking day, he thinks to himself as he turns around, and heads back to Goodness, not wanting to incur his wrath. He returns to where he left Goodness, and easily spots him still chatting away on his cellular phone. Goodness shuts off his phone and pockets it, then sighs and finishes his cigarette. "Hail the cab. Where's yer gear?"
Griffon hails a cab as he says "Turnstile was broke, didn't want you to think I had run off." He pauses, then remembers to add "Master."
"Well all right, then," says Goodness as they get into the cab. "We'll have t'pick up yer stuff as we ken. If ye need anythin' in the meantime, we'll get tha' too." Goodness directs the driver to Madam Chan's Tea and Consignment Shop in Four Points, around the corner and down the alley from Mrs. Brinker. Griffon follows along silently.
The cab that takes Goodness and Kyle off to Four Points is driven by
a kid who appears to be no more than 14, and looks like it should be rusting
peacefully in a field somewhere instead of being driven around the streets
of Al Amarja. That having been said, the trip itself is surprisingly
uneventful.
"Air ye hungry?" asks Goodness as they stroll through the door. "Madame Chan makes a fierce fried dumpling wi' oyster sauce." Finding the tea house devoid of patrons, Goodness saunters up to the counter. "Jest a brief pit stop," says Goodness to Griffon, "Afore we visit a friend o'mine." He joins his palms together and bows from the waist to the elderly gentleman behind the counter. "Namaste3" says Goodness reverently. "An order of fried dumplings, a quart of Hot an' Sour soup fer Mrs. Brinker, somethin' fer the slave, and would ye have anythin' in the way of a kendo stick an' some shuriken, Father Dragon?"
Griffon remains silent until he hears shuriken and kendo mentioned, then says softly: "Escrima sticks would be better master...." He sounds sorry after he says it, not sure that he should have spoken up...
Goodness smiles slightly, not looking at Griffon, then nods his head. "Escrima sticks then, if ye ken."
The little oriental gentleman squints at Kyle, then at Goodness, then at Kyle. "Hot and sour soup, ok. Pork dumplings, chicken dumplings, or egg dumplings? No kendo stick - kendo japanese. No shuriken - ninja use shuriken. I look like ninja? No. No escrima sticks. You want that stuff you go Gun Metal. This not weapon shop. What slave want to eat? You want rice with order?"
"Just rice, please," Griffon says quietly, his thoughts seeming to have turned inward.
"OK, rice coming up for the slave," replies the old man. "Anything else?"
Griffon shakes his head no. Goodness turns from Kyle and smiles at the old man. "Jest the food then, m'good man." He throws a twenty on the counter. "Everythin' else'll come along in it's own good time, neh?"
Once he's at the table, Griffon says very quietly to Goodness, "What will you want me to do?"
"Quite simple, slave," replies Goodness, turning to face Griffon. He eyes are without a trace of mirth. "I want you to kill me."
Griffon starts to say something, but bites his tongue, looking at him for a moment he says slowly, "Don't you think I've been accused of enough murders, master?"
Goodness continues to smile. "Yer a funny, funny guy, ye' know that?" He motions to Kyle. "Have a seat, slave." He sits himself, waiting for the food to cook. "Ye've na killed anyone, if ye'ar t' be believed, so wha' air ye worried aboot? AN' in this case, no one'll be accusin' ye of anythin', if ye play yer cairds right."
His brow furrows for a moment, then Goodness takes a deep breath. "I'm takin' ye wi' me t' meet Mrs. Brinker. She's one o' the best wimmen I've ever met, an' no lie. Wi' her, I've become involved in some things tha' I canna explain to ye, nor do I much feel like it. Suffice it t' say, laddie, tha' I've seen God, right? Na the kind o' god ye see when ye drop Communion or any o' tha'. I've seen me future, an' me past, an' I think I know my place in th' universe." He pauses again, as if wondering wether to continue. "Al Amarja's got different sets o' rules, ye ken? Back there, in Room 13, tha's one set. Out here, on th' street, another. Wi' me, another still, an when ye get t' Mrs. Brinker, ah, lad, then ye throw the rules out th' window an' learn to improvise. Now, back in Room 13, ye didn't think quick enough. I was tryin' t'get ye oot o' there, afore things got worse for ye. Ye dinna ken, an' things got worse. The hairder I tried t' get ye oot, the harder ye fought me, 'til I had o choice bu' t' let things take their coorse.
"I'm goin' t' give ye some advice, Slave. Take it, leave it, oor shove it up yer arse, as ye will. Ye move too quick ri' noo. Ye doon't stop t' think. An' yer new here, a Bairger. Ye doan ken the rules yet. I'm askin' ye t' stop an' think afore ye react. Stop an' count t' five. Nothin' here happens quicker than tha' less someone's tryin' t' shoot ye. A' doon't tell me aboot me tryin' t' shoot ye. I barely had time t' cover ye afore ye jumped me, ye bastard." He winks and smiles at Kyle. "So shuttup. Everythin' that happened in Room 13, from the time Judge Fang was called 'til ri' noo, I've orchestrated. An' I'm gonna continue t' orchestrate, 'til I get what I want. "My cover back at C&I's been blown, I think. I need t' check wi' Mrs. Brinker t' be sure. I think Fang knows it, too, 'less he's on my side. I'll find tha' oot, too. If me cover is blown, I canna go back there. An' if they're lookin' fer me, I doan wanna be found, ye ken? Which means I'm goan' t' disappear. So if I have to, I plan t' stage me own death. An' ye should be thankin' me, slave, 'cause me dead means yer contract's void. As in, 'no moor slave t' th' Scottish bastard' void.
"'Course, I could be overreactin'. If tha's th' case, yer comin' wi' me t' Sad Mary's, an' we're gonna get laid, an' yer gonna make me some money fightin' in the pit. Questions?"
As he's speaking a VERY wide grin comes across his face, and he says slowly,"Do you mind if we go to the pits first?"
Goodness shakes his head, a sad smile turning the corners of his mouth. "Ye want t'go t' Sad Mary's fairst, Slave? Well, ain't tha' jest like ye. Thinkin' of yerself afore all, even wi' a collar aroond yer neck. A slave is supposed t' sairve, na' lead." Goodness can feel the anger building in him, and he takes a deep breath, resignedly. He looks at Kyle, disgusted. "I was supposed t' show ye aroond Al Amarja, Mr. Kyle. Get ye set up an' all, make sure yair on yer feet, oor at least got yer luggage. Bu' ye know what? I doon't wanna. I think yer a closed-minded, selfish little fool, who only wants t' show everyone how good he is at fighting. I think ye haven't got a brain in yair head, an' tha' yair a prick. An' I'm sairtinly na gonna take ye t' meet Mrs. Brinker, 'cause that'd be a reflection on me, bringin' someone like you aroond. An' I like me reputation, Mr. Kyle. So, t' keep ye from fuckin' wi' it, hair's what we're gonna do. Yair gonna give me five hundred dollars from yer traveller's cheques, oor th' cash equivalent. Yair gonna gi' me the collar back, an' yair gonna take yer rice an' walk away from here. I doan wanna look at ye any more. Gimme my money, take off the collar, an' get th' fuck oot."
Griffon remains silent, looking at him with a neutral expression, then
he breaks into a wide grin. "No, I think not. You've just proved
to me your trying to help, so I'm going to return the favor, I think."
He pauses, then extends his hand. "Griffon Kyle, at your humble service."
"Hi!" he says, walking up to the two. He picks up a menu and flips through it.
"You know," he says offhand, "the two of you really ought to decide what you are going to do. If you are going to go your separate ways, then go! If you aren't than you should stop standing here in a chinese restaurant that really isn't particularly interesting and head down the street to the Brinker place."
He looks down at the menu again, "I really like General Tso's Chicken," he comments to himself. "Sophie does too. I think I'll have that, an order of potstickers, and order of mongolian beef, and some house special fried rice." He puts down the menu and glances up again as the proprietor exits the kitchen with several bags.
The man waves a hand vaguely to the east. "Down the street is poor Ingar - just killing time and waiting for you guys to show up. Have a heart! He's a good guy, if a little weird. There's a couple of plotlines just waiting for you down there. Here all you're going to get is food."
"Here you go, sir," says the proprietor, setting down the bags. The man picks them up and glances inside.
"Great!" he replies. He starts to pull out a wallet, but the proprietor waves his hands.
"No! On the house! Please!" the proprietor says.
"Oh,", says the man, "OK. Thanks! For that I'll make sure you get listed on the website."
"Thank you sir," says the proprietor.
"I'll just have this stuff delivered then," says the man, and snaps his fingers. The food disappears - *POOF*. He turns back towards the pair.
"Mr. Fat will bring out your food in just a minute," he says, heading for the door. "Finish up your conversation and get on with the storyline. Otherwise..." he makes a motion like a pair of scissors with two fingers on his left hand.
"Bye now!" he calls, walking out the door.
Mr. Fat brings out the food.
Goodness blinks once or twice, shaken from his catalepsy. "Eh, did ye see that, slave?" he asks, rising. He pays for the food, seemingly shaken. "We... eh... we'd better git goin'. Mrs. Brinker'll be waitin' fer her takeoot, and, eh, Mr. Foorn, woll, assumin' he ain't lookin' t'kill me jest yet... an' eh..." He takes the bags and heads for the door.
"I always know when I'm gooin' t'see Mrs. Brinker," says the agent, more or less to himself. "Somethin' always portends the event. Once, 'twas a rain o' frogs. 'Nother time, an' army o' nuns in pink habits carrying Mac-10's. Bu' that takes the cake." He turns to Kyle once more. "Lad, we best be on oor way. An' when ye get home, ye ken tell yer friends.
"Ye just saw God."4
To Be Continued...