A man with missing limbs. Both his legs are gone, as is one of his arms and one side of his head. In their place are what appear to be white, two-dimentional cut-outs. KK thinks wildly that it looks less like the missing portions were actually severed, and more like they were simply erased off a sheet of white paper. The man's remaining arm waves feebly in KK's direction, holding what appears to be a pink 3"x5" business card.
"Come to the House," he says, "We need you. Come to the House. We need you. Come to the House...."
KK takes the card from the man and glances at it. On it, in neat handwriting, is written
"Ben Crutcher.
Cesar's Hotel, Room 216
$20,000.00 - MV"
A sudden, bizarre noise, familiar and yet alien, startles KK, and he glances back up from the note. Where the man was, there is now just a white cut-out. As KK watches it begins to melt away, like paper in water.
And suddenly, sickeningly, KK gets the horrible feeling that there is... something in the alley with him.
KK starts to look around slowly, wondering what kind of drug-induced nightmare he's currently experiencing. Then he suddenly figures that it's better to be safe than sorry, so he dodges into the first unoccupied space he sees, while at the same time trying to cover as much of the alley as possible with his roving eyes. Maybe that's how people die of an overdose? They let themselves get killed... or erased... by some horrible nightmare...
It's getting closer....
"Oh no, it's not..." KK mumbles as he jumps up in the opposite direction. Then, once again, he's running wildly through the streets of The Edge, hoping that he won't run out of the precious adrenaline that's keeping him on his feet. At this point KK has only two things on his mind; to keep the distance to whatever that thing in the alley was, and to avoid barging into anyone worse than that thing in the alley.
KK gets away clean. After several minutes of frantic running he notices that nobody seems to be following him, though tourists are watching him with somewhat odd expressions as he pelts through the streets.
After having worked up such a good sweat, KK decides that it's time for a cold drink, be it water, beer or a soda. So he enters a small drugstore and grabs a beercan out of the fridge. Then he realizes that there might be laws against drinking alcohol in public, and even if there aren't any, someone in a blue uniform will probably make one up, just for him. So he puts the can back where he found it and picks out a large orange soda instead, then walks over to the counter and pays the stores clerk.
While guzzling his beverage, he starts walking towards Cesar's Hotel, hoping to get some answers out of that Ben Crutcher character. Maybe $20,000.00 is the reward on his head, with "MV" being the one who'll pay it? By contacting Ben Crutcher, maybe KK will just get involved with even more psychotic loonies? Maybe the government really has been spreading drugs through the water system? That would explain everything!
The orange soda, by the way, is delicious - one of the best KK has ever tasted. He makes a note of the name "SHIAVIT: arancia dipendenzaso" he can remember to buy it again in the future.
KK manages to make it to Cesar's Hotel without difficulty.
Being true to himself, KK avoids unnecessary contact with hotel staff,
and attempts to find room 216 all by himself. The fewer people who
knows where he's going and who he's seeing, the better. While walking
through the hotel he also keeps an eye out for youngsters wearing fancy
suits...
Ben takes a step back. Reaching into one of the larger pockets in his jacket, he pulls out a foot and a half long piece of metal pipe. Holding the pipe down behind his leg, he reaches out and opens the door. He stands in the doorway a few seconds staring down at the unkempt stranger, taking particular note of the guys hands still stuffed in his pockets.
"I'm guessing your not the maid."
KK doesn't know whether to laugh or break out in tears at the idea of him being the maid. He is totally taken by surprise by that unexpected statement, and even after taking a moment in an attempt to regain his bearings he isn't sure what to say.
"No... I'm not the maid... I stumbled upon someone who gave me a card... and if your name is..." he starts out, suddenly realizing that he's temporarily forgotten the name on the card. To remedy this he pulls his left hand out of its pocket and studies a pink 3"x5" business card. "...Ben Crutcher... well, then I guess you could fill me in on something...", he continues while letting his eyes fly between Ben and the card.
"Are you Ben Crutcher?" he finally asks, looking straight at Ben.
Ben looks straight back, scowling all the while. "Why don't ya answer a couple of my questions first," he says coldly. "Like, who the hell are you and exactly how is it that you came to be knockin' on my door?"
"I'm KK. And I got this card from some guy who got... erased... and he said something about a house and some people who needed me. I'm pretty sure it's all some kind of bad trip, but I got this card... so either some part of it was real or I'm still trippin'", KK explains quickly. Then he offers the card to the man in the doorway.
"Erased? I guess that's better than turning into lime jello." Ben reaches out with his free hand and takes the offered card. Holding it up, he examines it carefully.
"Lime jello?" KK thinks to himself. Doesn't people pass away in a normal fashion around here? Or is everyone on drugs all the time?
"So now can you tell me what this is all about?" he says aloud.
"What do I look like?" asks Ben, looking up from the card. "A fucking psychic? So, you stumbled on a talkin' corpse. How the hell am I supposed to know what that means? All I can say is get used to it. Weird shit happens. And as far as this goes," he says, waving the card around for emphasis. "It's none of yer damn business." Ben pauses just long enough to slide the card into his jacket. "Is there anything else, or is that all you wanted?"
"No, that's it. I guess..." KK says as he puts his hand back into the
coat pocket. Then he turns around and heads for the lobby, thinking
that he'd better get the hell out of this hotel before someone catches
up with him.
Then from out of the heavens plunges a body, all too corporeal, which lands with a resounding *WHAP* right at KK's feet. The corpse is charred nearly to a crisp, but appears to be wearing flowing white robes. It also has the remains of large, feathery wings attached to its back, and a trail of singed feathers drifts down after it.
Following closely behind the charred corpse is what appears to be an Al Amarjan passport, also singed and burned. It lands on top of the body and falls open, and both Ben and KK can clearly see the word "DENIED" stamped inside in angry red letters.
By the time they look up again, the heavens have closed.
"Holy shit!" says a shocked Ben. Tearing his eyes away, he looks up at KK wearing a smug expression, one that clearly says 'see, I told you so'. He stares back down at the figure, not quite sure what to do now. Curiosity finally winning out over caution, he steps out into the hallway and squats down beside the body. Reaching out with his pipe, he pokes the crispy corpse experimentally. "Now that must've been one fucked up interview."
At first KK doesn't know what to say, but when his eyes meet with Ben's he suddenly remembers the correct mantra. Weird shit happens.
"I'm glad I don't remember what they did to me..." he says in reference to Ben's comment. This whole incident begs the question why an institution with the power of the heavens would ever let someone like KK on their precious island. Do "they" really need him? Is he the Chosen One? Then his instincts kicks in and he reaches down to swiftly pick up the passport. Maybe he can sell it off as a holy, or unholy, relic? In fact, that charred corpse ought to be worth a lot to some religious fanatic.
"Why did they drop that thing off here when it says DENIED in the passport?" he mumbles, flipping through the pages to see if the passport says anything else, such as who the fallen angel was and which countries he/she had been visiting lately. The name on the passport is listed simply as "Michael". No other entry stamps are present.
* * *
A word about the smell.
Take a chicken. Roaster or fryer, regular or capon - it doesn't really matter. Now roast it. Go ahead, you love chicken anyway. If you are uninitiated, I prefer to roast my chickens at 400 degrees F for 30 minutes per pound (200 C for per kg). Use a vertical roaster if you can find one.
When you are done, you will have a goodly amount of grease left over from the chicken. Take said grease and pour it all over the bottom of the oven (you can achieve the same effect by simply roasting the chicken on one of the oven racks, but this tends to spoil the flavor of the chicken, so I don't recommend it). Notice the grease smoking? Notice it catching fire? Good. Now close the oven door, leave the kitchen, and close it up behind you. Wait fifteen minutes. Go back in.
Inhale.
* * *
The passport is pretty much a complete write-off, as it is too singed and burned to really be salvageable. KK does notice that the picture on the photo is missing. Despite the smell and the noise of its arrival, the body itself does not appear to have caused any undue notice (though it's amazing that the smoke alarms haven't started going off yet.)
Still poking around the body, Ben hooks the remains of a wing and stretches it taut. He examines the appendage closely, still half expecting this 'angel' to be a fake. As is common for well cooked chicken, the wing just pops right off.
Yep. It's done.
"So, what's the passport say?" he asks KK without looking up. "Anything interesting?"
"It says that his name was Michael. That's an angel, isn't it?" KK says, being careful to breathe through the mouth in order to avoid the smell of burnt flesh. "Other than that, there's nothing. The photo is missing and there are no stamps in it..."
"You know, it's too bad we don't got a body bag. Unless everyone's already one, a corpse of an angel must be worth a lot to a doctor... or scientist... or a religious fanatic... or a satanist. I heard this would be a place of opportunities, but I never thought they'd be dropping off angels at my feet..." KK then adds while looking at Ben's examination.
Ben tosses the wing back onto the body and stands. "I suppose we could drag it into my room. I'm just wonderin' if it's gonna be worth the trouble. I would have no idea where to even begin tryin' to sell the thing or even how much it'd be worth. I don't suppose you have any experience in selling dead bodies?"
"No, not really. I mostly sell other stuff...when I can get it. And I don't know anyone on this island...was kinda hoping to get connected somehow, but that went down the drain. Damn psychos!" KK replies, waving the singed passport in front of his mouth to create some room for fresh air. Then he remembers that he's got something better for the job, and picks up a fan while pocketing the passport.
"Think we could put him on ice and put an ad in a paper? 'Remains of an angel for sale', or something like that? Nah...would probably attract all the psychos... it's probably better to look up them religious types ourselves... they do plenty of their own advertising, right? And we could always ask around for a famous scientist... sooner or later someone will have a name, and we wouldn't have to tell anyone why we're looking either," he speculates, now trying to drive the foul smelling air away with his fan.
"Hm... someone's gonna notice this smell... and maybe the corpse will leave tracks when we drag it. Got any big sheets of plastic? Know of any meatlockers where we could stash it for a few days?" KK finally finishes. Though his mind keeps racing at an unsafe speed.
The corpse continues to lie there and smolder gently. The last of the singed feathers drifts to the floor.
"Let's just slow down a bit," suggests Ben. "Yer gonna hurt yourself if you keep thinkin' that hard. Now, we're gonna do this one thing at a time. First, we have to get it out of the hallway before someone else comes along. We'll worry about sellin' and transportin' it later." Ben kneels down and grabs the remains of the angels robe, preparing an attempt to haul it into his room. "Don't just stand there," he says looking back up at KK. "Give me a hand."
"Yeah, sure. No problems," KK says as he puts the fan away.
Then, at the risk of looking squeamish, he tries to get a good hold on
some part of the robe that looks like it won't rip, while at the same time
trying to avoid touching the actual corpse. "I just thought it would
be a really bad idea to be sitting on a corpse that we don't know how to
get rid of," he comments as he does his share of lifting and carrying.
"I've seen movies where people do stuff like that, and..."
The solution finally hit upon is to go and get a blanket from off of the bed in Ben's room, pile the pieces on it, and drag it inside. Once this is done the two hurriedly gather up the various singed feathers, bits of loose cloth from the robe, charred morsels, and other miscellaneous blackened bits from the hall, before returning to Ben's room (which is already beginning to smell vaguely like a fried chicken stand on a hot afternoon),
"I hope that smell doesn't get any worse, or we'll have to hurry finding a freezer for Mike," KK says while sniffing the air to try to determine if this is the case. Meanwhile, he also studies the hotel room for anything interesting, such as the personal belongings of the man who seems to be Ben Crutcher. "Is there a place where I can wash my hands?" he asks, hoping that he's touched enough dead flesh for the moment.
Ben jerks his thumb towards the bathroom. "What a frickin' mess," he says, surveying the pile of body parts. "I'm begining to think this was a bad idea. Twenty-four hours, that's all I'm givin' this. If we can't find someone interested by then, we'll dump it. Agreed?"
"Sure thing. This whole thing looked a lot better when the corpse was in one piece..." KK replies while heading for the bathroom. Washing his hands gives him some more time to think things over, and he comes to think that things might not be as bad as they seem. When he walks out of the bathroom he's a little bit cleaner and in a better mood. Wonderful little rooms, those bathrooms.
"You know, maybe we should concentrate on a scientist or something. They got ways of telling what's what, even when it's in pieces, right? We could hand them a feather and see if they can determine where it's from. The religious people are probably a dead end though... We don't even got a proper miracle to connect this angel to. They'll probably doubt it's real, and none of us will be able to prove a thing," he concludes.
"I think you got that backwards. It's the scientists that are, by nature, skeptical. I don't feel like waitin' around for a month while some guy does lab tests on ol' Mike over there just to prove we're not pullin' one over on him. Religious fanatics, on the other hand, are always takin' things on faith. I think, that given half a chance, they'd be eager to believe," reasons Ben. "I think we should try the religious angle first."
"Hm.... maybe you got a point there. Although I didn't know it took a month to get test results. So is there a phonebook around? I sure hope some of those fanatics are listed..." KK says, taking a second look around the hotel room. Finding no phonebook he gets his tourist map from his coat and begins to check that out for any references to organized religion.
There is, in fact a phone book (although it is awfully thin for a city the size of the Edge, and that isn't even counting Scylla, Traboc, and the 'Burbs). The only reference to organized religion in the tourist map is the Temple of the Divine Experience, located in Sunken.
Ben grabs the phone book and begins browsing through the yellow pages. "Not much here," he says after several minutes of searching. "The only church listed is The Temple of Divine Experience. There's also a group called Evangelists listed under religious organizations. That's about it. I was hopin' there'd be a listing for the Satanists. It seems like they'd be a perfect match for a fallen angel." Ben continues to flip through the phone book hoping for inspiration when something catches his eye. "Hey, this place sounds interesting. The Golden Bough, occult supplies and equipment. I don't know if angel parts qualify as occult supplies, but it might be worth a phone call. What'a ya think?"
"Occult supplies? They got shops for that? Aw, heck... I know... weird shit and all that. Yeah, it sounds great. All I got from this map is that temple you mentioned, so I guess that would make it the biggest in town." Then KK's wheels go into motion, and after considering just how great an occult supplies and equipment shop is for unloading angelic remains, he comes up with only two negative aspects. "If that shop is for real, maybe the owner expects slightly less burnt merchandise? And if it's a hoax they're not likely to pay a whole lot for what we got to offer... But in any case, at least they got their mind set on business, right? Where is the shop? And should we bring some kind of sample, like a few feathers or so?"
"Feathers are a good idea," agrees Ben. "It beats the hell out of packing a foot around. Grab a handful while I call this place," he says, picking up the phone and beginning to dial. "It's all the way on the other side of the Edge and I don't want to go out there for nothin'."
While Ben gets on the phone, KK proceeds to gather a handfull of angel feathers and then starts looking around for a suitable container, such as a plastic bag or a paper sheet big enough to be folded into an envelope. Having learned from his previous experience during the day though, he is careful not to disrespect Ben's papers by tearing out any pages from anything without Ben's approval. If necessary he could always vacate a pocket in his coat and keep the feathers there, but it might not look very professional to just grab a bunch of feathers out of a pocket when they're going to present their offer to a potential buyer.
About the best that KK can find at the moment is a plastic laundry bag, currently occupied by some of Ben's underwear and socks. KK decides that a laundry bag seems a bit too big for just a handful of feathers, so he begins to move stuff out of one of his right side pocket to make room for the feathers. Maybe Ben will have a better alternative once he gets off the phone. Meanwhile KK patiently listens to the one side of the conversation that he can hear.
*RING*
*RING*
*RING*
*RI....
"Golden Bough," a sinister and seductive female voice answers.
"Yeah, I'm interested in possibly buying some supplies from you. I've never had the pleasure of visiting your establishment, so I was hoping you could give me a few examples of what you have to offer."
"Well," replies the voice, "we have a wide variety of art prints, posters, occult books on a variety of subjects ranging from Astrology to Witchcraft, calendars, candles for both home and ritual use..."
Ben begins to feel a slight tingly sensation behind his eyes.
"...dream pillows, herbal smoking blends, bumper stickers, buttons, rune sets, magical amulets and talismans, bulk incense, a large selection of jewelry, magazines, a large collection of occult music, magical oils, occult giftware, the best selection of ritual garb on the island, bath items..."
Ben can actually hear the bath running and smell the scented water.
"...various ritual supplies such as athames, crystal balls, scourges, and scrying mirrors; the latest in occult software, spell crafting equipment, occult statuary, tee shirts, tarot cards, and videos on the occult."
The tingling fades.
"Really our selection is quite large." continues the voice. "Is there something specific you were interested in?"
This place sounds like a quality establishment. Really. The sort of place that he would shop if he were in the market for occult supplies. Of course, he isn't in the market for occult supplies... but perhaps a pendant to protect himself from hostile magic, or bring him good luck wouldn't be a bad idea. And he's always felt a little uncomfortable about sleeping - someone could sneak up and nail him good (he's done it enough to others) so perhaps something to protect him while he sleeps. And perhaps a book or video on the occult - he's never really been up to speed on that sort of thing, but maybe its time he learned. And... and....
"...Hmmm... ritual supplies, I think that's along the lines of what I'm looking for," says Ben. "Do you sell anything more exotic? Blood maybe, or even bones for example?"
"Ah, looking to have a barbeque?" the voice replies. "Let me see... we have a 25 piece polished bone rune set for $21.95. We have numerous pieces of jewelry made from bone or bone resin for a variety of prices. We have the album "Bones" by Gabriel Roth and the Mirrors. We have "Blessings of the Blood" by Celu Amberston in hardback for $14.95, Dragon's Blood resin in 1 oz packages for $4.98 or in a one pound brick for $44.99; Dove's Blood oil and Bat Blood oil at two drams for $3.99; and Bat's Blood ink in one dram containers for $1.39."
"It sounds as though your very commercialized," comments Ben. "Do you guys actually make the amulets and other paraphernalia you sell? Or do you buy from some kind of distributor?"
"Is there something you're driving at?" asks the voice at the other end.
"Hey, I just want to make sure I'm gettin' quality merchandise. You wouldn't buy a car or a computer without knowing who manufactured it. Would you?"
"I wouldn't buy a car or a computer over the telephone anyway. I mean, come on! If I tell you we run twenty bats through a juicer every day to make our ink, and have a resident priest of Odin on premises to bless our runes so that no naughty spirits get into them are you going to believe me and read off your credit card number? No, of course not! You're obviously careful about what you put into your spells, hexes, and curses - you want quality in your amulets and ceremonial robes. I could chant the praises of our sacrificial daggers - backwards - in correctly parsed latin - until midnight, and that wouldn't tell you a thing about them except that I wanted you to buy one."
There is a short pause. "What you want is to come down to the store. LOOK at the merchandise. Touch it. Handle it. Smell it. Taste it. Thats going to tell you a whole lot more about the quality of what we sell than anything I can tell you over the phone."
"You're not upsetting them, are you?" KK says when hearing Ben justifying his line of questioning. Well, so much for listening patiently.
"No more than usual," replies Ben, momentarily covering the mouthpiece. He turns back to his phone conversation.
"You're absolutely right," he agrees. "I wouldn't buy a car or a computer over the phone. In fact, I don't plan on buying occult supplies over the phone. I just want to make sure I'm dealing with a legit business and not a tourist trap. I don't want to go all the way across town, walk in your store, and find glass beads, plastic amulets, rabbits feet, and shirts that say 'I sacrificed my first born and all I got was this lousy T-shirt'. I want to be assured that, when I come out there, I'll be able to talk with a professional that can not only answer my questions but also offer advice. Can you give me this assurance?"
"Yes." the person on the other end replies.
"All right, thanks for the info," says Ben. He hangs up the phone and turns back to KK. "Well, sounds like it could be legit. I think it's worth checking out. Feel like taking a trip to Flowers?"
"Sure thing," KK replies, grabbing his backpack. "By the way, do you have a small plastic bag or a newspaper or something? I think we ought to put these feathers in something other than my pocket," he adds quickly.
"No, don't have anything appropriate. As long as you don't have a hole in your pocket, I think they'll be all right. Let's go."
"Lead on. You know the address..." KK says, realizing that he might be better off knowing it as well. So before leaving the room he checks the phone book, and makes a decent effort to memorize that address.
Ben waits for KK to finish up with the phone book and then steps out
into the hallway stopping just long enough to hang the 'Do Not Disturb'
sign on the outside doorknob. He glances once over his shoulder to
make sure KK's following before heading for the lobby. Yup, he's
there allright. And he's also throwing glances over his shoulder.
Ben weighs his choices a moment before opting for the middle ground. "Giovani's would be best," he says to KK. " Don't worry about the fare, I'll take care of it." He steps up to the wrecked cab, opens the door, and slides in back.
KK isn't late to follow, though he keeps looking around for trouble. As he sits down next to Ben he takes a steady hold on the door and pulls it closed with a loud slam, figuring that these old and beat up cars usually won't let you close the doors unless you focus on the task like a martial artist trying to crack a brick with their forehead. A little bit too late KK starts to think about the risk of shaking things loose on a wreck like the one he's sitting in. Maybe he should've gone a little easier on the door...
The interior of the taxi is as beat up looking as the exterior, with cracked and crumbling upholstery leaking bits of stuffing about the interior, damaged (and most likely nonfunctional) gauges facing the driver, and a general air of mustiness that makes one think that the vehicle should be sitting abandoned in a field somewhere, baking in the sun, instead of driving around on Al Amarja's streets.
The driver is also something of a surprise. A boy of around 14 sits behind the wheel. His skin is dark, as though it too had baked in the sun, and he wears a turban of sparkling while in stark contrast to interior of the cab. He turns and grins at Ben (showing a decided need for dental work) and chirps up, "Where too, sir?" in a lilting Pakistani accent.
Ben eyes both the kid and the cab's interior a bit skeptically. He briefly entertains the idea of bailing out in an attempt to catch the jitney before coming to the conclusion that the ride would likely be just as bad, if not worse.
"Golden Bough on the Plaza of Flowers," directs Ben. "That is, if you think you can reach the pedals."
"Oh yes sir, certainly sir!" the kid replies, starting the engine. Dense clouds of smoke begin pouring from the exhaust and the engine gives a distinctive sound usually only made by cats vomiting up a particularly viscious hairball. As he slews the vehicle away from the curb and into traffic, KK and Ben notice that apparently every single piece of the vehicle vibrates, rattles, or makes some other distinctive sound.
Once the vehicle is in traffic (and asphyxiating any drivers who are following it with dense clouds of carbon monoxide) the kid reaches over to the dashboard and flips on the radio, which begins playing some sort of Pakistani punk rock music from the single torn, tinny speaker mounted on the dashboard.
"So," says the kid, "you burgers, yes? New to island, yes?"
"What!?" KK says loudly while leaning forward towards the kid. It's pretty clear that all the 'distinctive sounds' from the car and the music from the speaker is interfering with his hearing. Maybe cupping his left hand behind his ear will improve the signal to noise ratio?
After several futile attempts at conversation, the kid gives up and cranks up the volume on the radio (which, of course, merely makes the sound louder and more garbled). Thankfully, he refrains from singing along, though there are some tense moments when Ben has to actually scowl at him to reign in his youthful enthusiasm.
At last the cab roars, rattles, and creaks into the traffic circle of the Plaza of Flowers. Unfortunately, parking is at a premium at the moment, and it is only after circling the plaza at outrageous speeds for several minutes that the kid is able to make a hard swerve (launching one hubcap into traffic where it is promptly run over by a truck) and slam to a stop against the curb in front of the Trumpet Cinema, which is located damn near on the opposite side of the Plaza from Golden Bough.
Peering out through the cracked and dirty windshield, KK and Ben can see that the Plaza is filling up with dilettantes, artists, and tourists. The central area of the plaza is crawling with comics, singers, dancers, musicians, improvisational theater acts, and side-show freaks.
"OK, sirs," says the kid, "you go here! Golden Bough that way! Fifteen American dollars please."
"Here ya go Junior," says Ben, handing over the cash. He crawls out of the cab and stretches out his near six and a half foot frame. Straightening his jacket, he kicks the door shut behind him. His ever present scowl deepens as he scans the Plaza, regarding it's inhabitants with obvious distaste. It would be best to avoid the center of the plaza, he realizes, lest the volatile combination of tourists, dilettantes, and various performers catapult him into an orgy of violence. Although bludgeoning some poor mime into a coma would certainly be the highlight of his day, it would likely detract from the business at hand. So, assuming KK is following behind, Ben begins to cautiously make his way around the periphery of the crowd, heading for the Golden Bough.
Exiting through the other door, KK isn't too far behind. As usual
he's keeping an eye out for trouble, and while he doesn't mind going around
the crowd, he still thinks that it'd be a great place to lose oneself in.
He's probably missing a great opportunity to experience some of the Al
Amarjan atmosphere as well, but business comes first.
To Be Continued...