Death of a Rationalist

 This post is another in the long overdue stack, but I am trying people just be patient. 

The job I came to do was simple they said. Find the Rationalist, explain his crimes, and kill him. Simple and easy instructions to follow, and I try to follow the simple, easy instructions. Makes the hard bits easier to 'fudge' if I need to. Either way it was supposed to be an easy job. Like most things that seem too easy to be true, it was a shit show. But, when your job is to whack people, easy is a relative term. People seem, for the most part, to be opposed to just getting whacked without creating a fuss. Oddly the Rationalist didn't create a fuss, and that is what made it so hard to whack him. 

The "people" that wanted him whacked were, as far as I could tell, a dodgy lot. I only ever talked to one of them, and he was a flighty as a chicken at a fox convention. He keep mentioning that "we" need the Rationalist killed, but I got the sense that "we" was just him, and he wanted to try to spread out his guilt like peanut butter (except onto imaginary people). Maybe that helped him, maybe it didn't I was beyond giving too much of a fuck at the time.  He referred to the group that wanted the job done as the "CC". I didn't have then nor do I have now any idea what that meant, again I was paid to do a job. And once I am paid I always see the job through. They gave me a goodly amount of the coin of the realm to whack a guy, so I would whack a guy. Sometimes the job is just that, no muss, no fuss, and no fancy stuff. I wasn't required to send a message to anyone, cut off part of his body to send to grieving relatives,  I was told there would be no grieving relatives (not that I cared), and no public display of the body as a warning to others would be necessary.

He wasn't hard to find, he blunders about the city he lives in like a drunk elephant and his habits are as regular as an old man eating prunes. He can generally be found in one of about seven places, and one of those is his house, which he occupies all by his lonesome. Easy enough, and the lock really posed no problem, mainly because the key he "lost" one night while he was too drunk to see, I possessed. Again he is as easy to track as a herd of buffalo, and it wasn't too hard to nick the key off his drunk ass. So far this job was as simple as falling off a log. Which if you've ever fallen off a log you will know how easy that can be, its the landing that is the hard bit.  

On a not so fine night in ________, I let myself into his shit hole of an apartment and waited for him to stagger home from his local. I figured I had a couple of hours to wait as he is the "drink till you're asked to leave type." I didn't bother to look around overmuch, no need to put too human of a face on the fellow you are here to make non-human, it confuses the mind, and leads to mistakes being made. I don't like mistakes, mine or other people's. My patience was rewarded a little while later when I heard the key turn in the lock, and the Rationalist make his (drunken) way into his apartment. With an ironic "honey I'm home!" he announced his presence to what he thought was an empty house. My sardonic reply of "Oh thank God! I've been worried sick!" was met with a great deal of swearing, and confusion. He made his way into the living room very slowly, saw me sitting on his favourite seat, and asked "who the fuck are you, and how the fuck did you get in here!" There was some bravado in his tone, but I could tell there was just a tinge of fear behind his eyes. After all, the large gun I had pointed in his direction did look pretty terrifying. I like to put most of my cards on the table from the beginning, it avoids confusion as to my purpose. 

He noticed the gun, and if you ever have seen some go from drunk to sober in a flash it can be quite an educational experience. He managed it quicker than most, perhaps he had a lot of practice. He looked down at the gun, and sighed out a question "what took you so long?" I arched an eyebrow at this, he seemed remarkably resigned to his fate, most people in his position at least try to bargain or beg. He seemed almost more ready than I was to get it over with.  "I assume the CC sent you?" he asked. I nodded my assent "yes they seem to think you've over stepped your bounds, and have backslid as well. They apparently take backsliding very, very seriously." He nodded agreement "yes, yes they do. How much did they give you for killing me?" I named a figure twice the actual price, it helps people who are about to get whacked feel more important. If someone would pay THAT much to have you killed, well you must be important indeed. He titled his head to the right as if thinking about it, and replied "seems a bit high, I would have done it for half that price if I were you." I nodded "well maybe you're more important than you think, dead that is, few of us are that important alive. Or maybe they just had money to spend to balance the budget, the end of the year is almost here after all. I don't really care much, they paid it, and told me to whack you, so here I am."

He sat down rather heavily, and sighed, "I guess that's a simple enough answer. You seem to prefer those." I nodded "I don't get paid by the word, I get paid by the job." He smiled a bit as if accepting that his time was being measured in minutes not years. "May I show you something? It requires me going into the other room but I don't own one of those" he pointed at my gun still trained on him, "and I want you to have what I am about to show you, I feel it will help. If not you at least someone." I nodded my assent, "sure, but hurry up, I don't have all night, there are other jobs to do, it's my busy season you know." He laughed, and replied "I won't be long, and no I had no idea that there was a 'busy' season for murdering people." He came back with a stack of papers in his hand that would do any bureaucrat proud. "Here, I know it's lot but at least it explains of all this," he waved his arm around vaguely as if "this" was in the room with us. I pointed the gun down to the ottoman "set it down there and back away." He did as he was told laughing "I'm not a hero, I am not going to try anything funny. In fact, in an odd way you're probably doing me a favour by murdering me. It might make the people who should feel bad, at least for maybe a day or so." 

"What is all of this?" I asked as I picked up the hefty stack of papers, "you're last will and testament?" He chuckled "no, I don't have anything to leave anyone except books that none of them would ever read. That are his and my records." I arched an eyebrow "his?" He nodded "they didn't tell you did they? Just like the CC never tell anyone the whole truth when a half lie will do." Letting out a long sigh, he continued "His, in this case, is a fellow we called the Romantic (notice the large R), and he was my successor in interest, just like I am yours." I frowned, "what the fuck are you on about? I am here to whack you, maybe have a snack after, and go home to sleep the sleep of the just. I am no crown prince, I am succeeding no one in anything." He sighed again "I know that is what you think, because I thought the same thing, then I started reading his records, for a Romantic, he kept pretty damn good records. I thought I would continue the 'tradition' and keep my own. I guess it becomes a thing after a while. It's why the CC sent you here, even though they don't really understand it. Of course, you'll have to start at the beginning of his and read through mine. Which is good news, it means the CC might let you have longer." I looked up at him "longer than what?" He snorted "longer than me you damn fool. Where do you think you are? What do you think this is all about, and who do you think you are that you can just whack me and walk away? No my friend, you are trapped, as trapped as trapped can be, and the CC knew it when they sent you here. So, do you damn job, read those records, and have a merry fucking xmas."

I sat down the large stack of papers, and stood up. "You're an even bigger fool than they told me you were if you think I am falling into your shoes. You know there is a place in the brain called ...." He interrupted me "... the Circle of Willis, yes I know all about it. Don't you find that odd?" I shook my head determined to finish this job, and get this lunatic to Charon for his 'trip across the river' as the saying goes. I walked behind him, told him to look down, which he did, and put one simple bullet in his brain, just like they trained me to do. He just slumped forward without a sound, and my job was done. I looked down at him with something approaching pity, "you were a damn fool for too long, I should have been sent to do this job months ago. But, better late than never." I looked around his shit hole room, nothing of any real value. My gaze lingered on the stack of paper. "I take this just for a laugh." I said to his rapidly cooling corpse. That was to be a mistake.

The Man from the North

 Warning some posts are, as Felix is about to say "as interesting as milk", I fear this one might be less interesting than most, but you have to describe the gray, winter day before you can describe the blizzard/storm that wrecks it and makes it worth remembering. You have been warned.

No one really remembers when the Man from the North first put in an appearance at Sully's. Sully is good at a lot of things, but names and faces isn't one of them. I didn't remember because generally I don't care for newcomers overmuch. As we (not the royal we) put it together later, when we actually were pretending to care, I figured out that I was, at the time we agreed upon his first appearance taking place, very, very busy trying not to die of some sort of plague like disease, that the wags liked to speculate was given to me by some "tart he picked up without remembering it."  There are people at Sully's who do pay attention to newcomers, mainly because Felix pays them to, Felix pays a lot of people to pay attention to newcomers. Felix is the jovial, rich uncle we all wished we had, but Felix is spending other peoples money, and is not particularly jovial. 

Even amongst the "paid to pay attention" crowd the Man from the North barely registered. He didn't appear to be overburdened with friends, and seemingly lacked much in the way of personality. He was, as Felix later said, "as interesting as milk." To which I replied "if you're lactose intolerant milk can make your life very interesting, unpleasant, but still interesting." Felix was not amused, not awful lot amuses Felix, and when Felix is amused it generally means you're about not to be. I was soon to realize, to my cost, that once again Felix knew something I didn't. It is, in my opinion, a particular failing of Felix's the knowing something you don't and probably needed to. I suppose it is what makes him good at his job, that and the ability to keep his mouth shut, even when asked not to. 

Either way, the Man from the North was just that. Some cove from a large city up north that has ideas above its station. It seemed so did the Man from the North. It is rarely a good plan to get ideas above your station. Life has a way of making sure that "water finds its own level" and if it has to make it rain in order to do that, well that's just life making it even. He wasn't much to look at, but then again few of us are. You don't get Adonis like physical specimens in Sully's very often. And even if you do, a few weeks of drinking Sully's finest will put a little softness on the hardest of men. Approachability isn't exactly the best quality to posses in Sully's bar. A certain amount of aloofness is usually the best tactic to employ. After all, the less you know or see, the less you have to testify to later (if such a need arises). Besides, Sully's isn't a social club, it is generally a place that a man (or the occasional woman if she's very brave) comes to drink alone, and try to forget that he (or she) belongs to a society that they loathe. 

I was not without resources of my own, and Felix isn't the only curious man in the city. I like to know a few things about the people that I am going to be "bending the elbow with" even if I am strictly speaking, drinking alone. I don't like surprises, and I don't care for Easter Egg hunts either. My source never one to waste words, merely replied "a perfect grey man." Not a lot of information in that report unless you know what the source meant by "grey man." I had a pretty good idea, but decided that my source was being too laconic even for me, and decided to have a little sit down with them to get the fuller story. The tavern that this particular source haunted made Sully's look like a palace, and served beer that might make you go blind on a permanent basis if you drank enough of it. Luckily, it tasted so bad that I could only stomach about 3 of them. It impaired my vision a bit, but no permanent damage was done, I could still see my own way out of the place.

"Hello sweetie" I said to my source as I plopped down on the bar stool next to them, "how's tricks, got any more information for me on that thing I asked you about earlier?" My source doesn't like pet names, and certainly didn't like being called sweetie out loud in public. I knew this, which is of course, why I did it. A certain amount of aggravation would make them get to the point more quickly, and I wanted to spend as little time as needed in their company, and even less time in their bar drinking what I considered to be something very close to rat poison.  "Stop calling me sweetie, you daft bastard, are you trying to get us a kicking? This isn't the place for that kind of bullshit, and what's more you know it, I should just let them take you out back and stomp some sense into you, but you paid on time, and fairly well, so I suppose I will refrain for the nonce." I smiled, it was the same reply I had heard many times, and I had no doubt I would hear again. A threat is usually only effective the first couple of times, unless you make good on it, after that it just becomes banter. "Now, now there's no need to get all wound up over a term of endearment, it just angers the blood, and isn't good for your long term health."  I pointed at his nearly empty beer glass, "drinking that swill is already enough of a burden for your health to bear." They frowned (they were a great frowner), pulled out an envelope out of their pocket and slid it across the bar towards me. "There is the full story for you to read later, but I'll fill in any details you want now as long as you're buying. You are buying correct?" I nodded to them, and then the bartender ordering us a round. "Yeah, I'm buying, your handwriting is so crabbed that I might as well hear the story first before I hire someone with a permanent squint to try to read what you've written."

 My glass of tavern swill arrived, as did whatever concoction my source was drinking. It was some sort of mixed drink, I didn't inquire as to the ingredients or the price for that matter. The bill is the bill and it just has to be paid, and I figured whatever they were drinking was probably as close to poisonous as the pint in front of me, so what did I care?  "Give me the highlights, I think this swill, and this place is bad for me, and I prefer to enjoy the things bad for me more than I am enjoying this." They nodded and said "Felix would have my head on a platter for this you know? But what Felix doesn't know won't hurt me." I replied "you let me worry about Felix, I will keep your head on your shoulders, just tell me what I need to know." "Okay, GI no need to get all upset, I'll tell you though it isn't much. Not because I didn't try, it just that this Man from the North is just as bland as unsalted butter. He is from _____, but you probably already knew that. He left there at least X years ago, came here, got some nowhere job, and has been busy being a nobody every since. He has committed no crimes, even Felix can tell you that, and has seemingly been living out a lifeof quiet mediocrity. He's not got any special talent like picking locks or anything. Has no major bad habits that would land him in Hotel Felix, and seems to be overall a rather boring piece of meat." 

I nodded, "I've already talked to Felix about this cove, and Felix gave me most of that. I was hoping you had something more interesting." My source finished their drink, and replied "that's just it GI, there isn't anything more interesting. I am telling you this guy is a unremarkable, bland, piece of milquetoast. That doesn't really leave much of an impression or much of a paper trail. He just exists, and it doesn't seem that he has much of a reason for that." I nodded, "well we can't all be super talented gentlemen of means now can we? I mean the vast majority of us just exist for the system to grind up into dust, so I suppose his being just a random piece of gravel in the machine isn't completely his fault." They took a swig of their glass of poison, and said "true, but some of us can at least try to better themselves, this fellow just seems to be there, like a house plant that doesn't need watering very often so you just forget about it. Also, I had the joy of conversating with him a couple of times." I raised my eyes from my pint, "you did what? Have you lost your entire mind? I said to follow the cunt, and find out about him, not engage him in person!" "Now, now GI, settle down, everything is fine. This fellow doesn't know me from Adam, and besides he also "knows me" as a ginger who likes horses a lot. I didn't just saunter up to him and announce myself, give my real name, address, and tell him my reason for talking to him, give me some credit will you?"

I finished my pint, and stood up. I had drank enough of the local poison, and had most of what I needed to know, and still had to read the 'report' my source had prepared. "I am sure you were on your most charming, and discreet behaviour, but it was still a damn silly thing to do. I don't need any tracers of me attaching to this fellow. It's important. I don't want to turn Hotel Felix into my permanent residence." They nodded their assent or their goodbye, I didn't care which. I just turned around and left feeling a little uneasy, but it was probably just the beer/poison working its magic on my digestive system. If only I knew then what I know now, I might have just stayed and drank enough of it to kill me. Because despite his being "as interesting as milk" the Man from the North's part to play in the passion play of my life was far, far from over.

Serge and his Apples IV

 (the poor tradition continues a year later the continued part, sorry?)

As I sat down on the well placed (for me) bench and waited for Felix's little red pill to render me unconscious, I pondered how much he had been paid for this little hack job that he was pulling on me. Felix, according to him, is merely a dedicated public servant and is above such horrible vices as greed and a lust for material things. The thing about that is, is that it is apparently true. Felix is one of those most dangerous of men, a true believer. A bit of a fanatic, with the belief of whatever he holds dear written clearly on his face, and burning very brightly in his eyes. A dangerous type indeed, and one that I cannot fathom. Being as I don't believe in much of anything at least anymore, but that is a tale for another time. 

As Felix had mentioned before his goons deposited me on this street like a sacrificial lamb, I had been to this neighborhood a few times before. Most of my visits had been welcome and pleasant the last one was unwelcome and unpleasant (at least for me). I had vowed, and been not too politely warned that my presence "wasn't particularly welcome in these parts, and it would be best for my long term health to avoid a return visit." Being a fan of my long term health, I had heeded that warning, and had avoided this place like the plague, for in many ways it is (at least for me). A first glance, and even after a few more glances it passed more as bucolic than bubonic. A gentlemanly neighborhood where you don't have to been situational aware every second of the day. Well that is if you live here, they don't exactly roll out the red carpet for strangers, and certainly not for strangers that happen to be me. I was aware that the non-welcoming committee had probably already spotted me from behind the fancy drapes that covered the big plate glass windows that this lot seemed to favour, but since Felix's pill was about to drop down on me like an anvil from the sky, I had little choice but to wait for all the unpleasantness to happen. Sometimes it doesn't pay to get out of bed sober. 

However, the committee was going to have one small problem. My eyelids were getting very, very heavy, and I felt the black pool of darkness open up at my feet, and I dove right in, they would have to carry my fat ass where they wanted me to go. I woke up in a chair in a mostly familiar room. It was like I had been here before, but only briefly and was more intent on other tasks more than memorizing the looks of the place. Pity that, since I am sure, like most places, it had an exit, but I couldn't begin to tell you where it was located. Not that I was going to be looking for the exit anytime soon mind you, it seemed someone wanted me to stay a while and had decided in order for that to happen they had handcuffed me to the chair. Not the happiest of ways to wake up, but I suppose I had seen worse days, or so I hoped. It is a testament to the optimistic nature of mankind that I was foolish enough to think that my situation would have anything but a bad ending, or perhaps I am just a fucking idiot. Either way I was, as is my custom, wrong. I sighed the sigh of the fool that I had become, and waited for my latest tormentor to put in an appearance. 

I was in the process of testing the handcuffs to see if they were, in fact, real when my tormentor put in their appearance. "You know they are real GI, you've seen them before. Granted under happier circumstances, but waste not, want not I always say." I suppressed something between a groan and a laugh. "Yes, you've always been a most efficient sort haven't you?" I replied, hoping that this encounter would end better than it started. "An efficient destroyer of things, no wasted motion in you is there?" I figured that I might as well be as big an asshole as my press clippings had made me out to be just to see how she would react. After all, I was handcuffed to a chair with no idea of the way out, and the only coves who knew where I was were Felix and his goons, and since they had delivered me here, I doubted they were going to come riding to my recuse. Felix is the "riding to the recuse type" generally you have to be recused from Felix, not recused by Felix. As I expected the backhanded slap arrived on cue jerking my head sideways with some force. The price you pay for wit these days seems to have gotten higher. "Don't smart me GI, when you smart me I start to think of reasons why you shouldn't be allowed to continue to roam the streets a free man." I rattled my hands in their cuffs, "well if this is your idea of free, maybe you should start working for Felix. To what do I owe this particular pleasure? Have I not abided by the terms of our little "agreement"? Though agreement might not be the correct word, let me rephrase. Have I not done as I was none too gently told?"

She nodded "you have, which I must confess is a bit of a surprise. We all figured that your miles wide self-destructive streak would eventually have you violate the terms you agreed to, and that I would be rid of you by now. Pity that." I arched an eyebrow, "where's the pity in that? You've got your peace of mind, and don't have to worry about me sullying your streets with my foul presence, or damage your reputation further by being seen around you. Sounds like we both win to me." She smiled what seemed to be a rather too large of a smile and replied. "You're correct after a fashion. I have peace of mind up to a certain point, and I confess not seeing you has been wonderful, but you see I don't like win/win situations, I just like to win. You know this, you should remember this, and you should realize that is what is going to happen." I rolled my eyes "what in the blue fuck are you talking about? You get Felix to bring me here, drug me, then drag me in here, not by yourself I am sure, and are making threats to a man handcuffed to a chair that hasn't bothered you in forever. Have you finally lost your fucking mind?" Another slap which at least I felt I deserved was my first answer. I would have preferred it to be the only answer. 

"Again with the smart mouth, you never learn do you GI? Always a witty reply like you're some damn hero in a novel waiting to save both the world and the damsel in distress. Well newsflash joy boy, you can't save the world, and I am not a damsel in distress. Though I am about to cause you a great deal of it. Distress that is. You aren't the only one who can be clever." I sighed, "I see, well if you could get on with whatever evilness you have planned for me, that would be great, I pointed my nose down at my watch, I've got plans for a smashing game of tennis at 5, and I am sure my partner would be very disappointed if I failed to show. You see we play for a lot of money per point, and I am dross at tennis, so I am running up quite a debt to them. They would be sad if I were to die owing them all the monies."  She laughed "oh, I am aware of how terrible you are at tennis, and I'm afraid you're going to miss your little game today. The 'evilness' as you put it, is going to last well past 5, and after it's done you've another appointment. One I am sure you will just love to keep........"  (to be continued again)

 

David the Liar Part 2

 These are the "nothing" days. The days of the summer season that require more effort to breath that should be necessary, and not melting in the sun is the only achievement worthy of note for months on end. This fair city, which truth be told, isn't much of a city, and certainly isn't fair, becomes more like an oven and its fair citizens (also not many of them are fair) just try to avoid getting overheated beyond the point of exhaustion. Nothing really moves more than is necessary in this heat, and not a lot of things worth writing down happen. Hence, the silence of the last two months. It doesn't exactly excuse my laziness, but it's all I got. 

Sully's was hot, but you couldn't hold that against Sully it was hot everywhere, and was going to stay that way for far too long for any of our tastes, but welcome to summer the season that the Devil created just to give you a taste of what was ahead of you for all time if you didn't change your ways. I was not in the mood to change my ways, and was considering sending someone to hell to give the Devil something to do, when in walked David the Liar. This was only noteworthy because we hadn't seen David the Liar around since his "friend" Mac the Knife committed "suicide" a few months back, and most of us had assumed that David the Liar went back to wherever the fuck he was from to grieve, and maybe find a new set of people to lie to. This was a good thing because I had a particular bone to pick with David the Liar, and had figured that it was going to remained unpicked since he had seemingly disappeared, and yet here he was in the flesh, and even better (since it didn't require me getting up and moving in the heat) he was walking towards me. I suppose that sometimes patience (or laziness call it what you will) is a virtue.

"Hello David, How's the lying business treating you?" I said as he slid into the side opposite me in my usual booth. "Haven't seen you in a dog's age, you been out practicing your lies on some new group of shills? And forgetting your friends." He snorted what seemed to be a laugh "you and your lot are several things, most of them bad, but you are not, and never have been my friends. I had one of those and we both know what happened to him don't we?" This last part was said with a meaning that I wasn't quite sure of. I had told David a lie, I mean after all lie to liars right? It was about the demise of Mac the Knife, and for his sake, I had hoped David believed it. The look on his face told me otherwise. "Yes" I replied "I suppose we do, pity that, Mac wasn't a bad fellow as long as you didn't set the "good fellow" bar too high." David the Liar gave me another look that didn't convince me that I had convinced him, and I figured it was time to buy him a beer, because I had no doubt that wherever he had been it was not at a job that earned him actual money, and he was, as he always is fucking broke. "Let me buy you a beer David old boy, because we do in actual fact have something to discuss." I waved the latest barmaid over, she is a ginger Sully hires all types it seems, but she looked suspiciously like the blonde from a couple of months ago, maybe it was her sister? I didn't feel the need to ask. Sometimes the less you know the better. "Two pints of Sully's finest swill for me and my mate here if you please, my good lass." I said with some relish. I had been looking for David the Liar, but as some people will tell you, I am a follower, not a finder, and had had no luck in my search. The barmaid nodded in a way that made me think she knew something I didn't and promptly came back with two pints of piss for me and David the Liar to catch up over.

"David, I've a bone to pick with you, and depending on your answer to my query, someone a lot less gentlemanly than I might have one to do more to that pick, so try to pay attention, and save your lies to the end if you can." He nodded his assent and took a drink of his (free) beer. "I recently found out, almost to my detriment, that you David the godsdamn Liar, told me the fucking truth about something. Now why would you do such a crazy thing?" I raised a hand before he could answer. "No, no let me continue setting the stage for you, then you can stride out and make your declamation of truth for me to disbelieve. You see David the problem with your lying all the time is simple. Once we figured out that you lie all the damn time, and we can't believe a word that comes out of your mouth. We stop fully processing your lies. By that I mean that we still listen to them, I mean some of them are quite entertaining, and sometimes even worth repeating to the right group of people, but we don't fully process them. We don't store them away in our memory because we know they aren't true, and that tomorrow you will have a new set of lies for us to hear, and why not just start afresh?" He barked a short laugh at this and said "thanks GI, glad to know that I am so predictable to you." 

"All of us are predictable David, if you pay enough attention, and in this heat paying attention is about the only activity that won't result in heatstroke, so I pay attention. It gives me something to do while I watch my ponies finish last more than first. But you decided to ruin my racing form profile that I've compiled on you, by telling me the truth about something. It was quite disconcerting to find out, and the way I found out almost gave me a fatal case of lead poisoning if you catch my meaning. I am sure by now you've figured out what I am talking about, after all you tell the truth so rarely that remembering the two times you've done it in your life shouldn't be too difficult. You see when you lie David, which for you is when you talk, we know you're lying and we can trust that. It's a bit of a negative trust, but it is trust nonetheless. We don't try to shift your lies, we don't try to figure out if we can or should believe all of what you are saying, or part of what you are saying, we don't go back and rethink what you've said to try to give it a different or deeper meaning. We don't lie awake at night and try to wonder if we believe you or not. Because we don't. You're David the Liar, not David the sometime Liar, sometime honest lad, and we have come to rely on that. Maybe we are just being lazy, and giving you too much credit (or blame) we don't wonder about your tales, and therefore we don't commit them to our long term memory. I guess this is very helpful to and for you. After all, you can tell us the same lie over again, and just start it with "remember the other day when we talked about this" We will nod our assent because why wouldn't we? We don't want to look stupid or forgetful, and we want to appear like we're paying attention even if we aren't. After you say that you could launch into whatever story you like and we will listen, and convince ourselves that sure we have talked about this before, and you are just reminding us to be helpful. But you're not being helpful (at least to us, it's helpful to you I suppose) you're just lying, it is what you do, and you do a fairly good job of it. So you could imagine my shock when I found out that you had told me the truth. Couldn't knocked me over with a feather. Problem was the fellow knocking me over wasn't using a feather."

David looked up from his beer and winced. "Took a beating did you?" I nodded "Not the worst one I've ever had, but a beating is rarely a pleasant experience, and the goon giving it to me neglected to tell me the safe word to make it stop, so it didn't until he got tired of using me as an alternative bit of exercise equipment." David winced again, and muttered "I'm sorry GI, I mean I told you the truth about that issue because you helped me with Mac the Knife, and because you lied to me about it." I arched an eyebrow at that but he kept on talking. "I know Mac didn't off himself GI and you know it too. In fact you knew it when you told me that little tale about him, and you lied to me anyway. It was an odd feeling hearing you lie and knowing you were lying. Don't get me wrong I don't think you and the truth are exactly fast friends, but you try to be honest until it doesn't suit your purposes, then you lie. You're decent at it, but you aren't "GI the Liar."" He laughed at his own little joke and continued. "I figured that since you were going to take on the role of lying, that I would try to see what this 'telling the truth for a change' idea felt like, and so I told you truth about X. To my credit I did tell you that I wasn't giving you the "facts as I know them" just that I was telling you the truth. I understand why you didn't believe me, but at the end of the day what else could I do? Call in a priest and swear to his god that I don't believe in that I am giving you the straight dope? No I just told you the truth, told you I was telling you the truth, and hoped you, for once, believed me. It is a pity you didn't but the beating you took might have been meant for me, so I'm not overly sorry that you took it."

"Fair enough David, but that makes going forward a bit difficult. If I can't trust David the Liar to lie to me then what the actual fuck can I trust? You see my point? I can trust Felix to on occasion have me beaten up because it pleases him, but he won't let Mutt and Jeff go too far and actually kill me, he needs me around for whatever dark purpose he's playing at. I can trust Sully to serve me horse piss in a pint glass and call it "world class lager, fit for the gods." And I can trust Bob the Viking to say as few words as possible. We all have roles in this passion play David, and when you start going "off script" it confuses people, and leads to all sorts of unintended things happening. Now as long as they don't happen to me, I could care less, but this did happen to me, and I am a might bit upset at the situation. But I understand I can't change you David, and short of beating the piss out of you, which does have it's appeal, don't get me wrong, what I feel I need to do is change a bit of myself. It's not a fun thing to admit that one was wrong, and to try to change themselves, but that seems to be what is called for in this particular situation. I suppose I will have to start paying attention to, and remembering your lies so I can eventually sort them out for myself. It seems a lot of work, for what also seems to promise little reward, but I can see no other way forward." I finished my beer and gave David what I hoped was a stern look, but I figured it was pointless, more and more of my conversations seem to be pointless now days, and I was tired. Tired of David the Liar and his lies or his truths. I didn't know which, and I was just about too drunk enough to care. 

"However David, I am just about too drunk enough to care about any of this, and am going home to bed, alone which is a pity." I cast a quick glance at the ginger barmaid leaning against the bar chatting it up with Sully. What was his appeal? "Either way David, have another drink on me." I slid enough coin for David to have several drinks on me across the table, and got to my feet. "Just remember this David, now you've got my undivided attention, and that isn't always as pleasant as it sounds."

 

The Cold

 The wind was cold, the rain was cold, and I was cold. Not that I was out in the cold wind and rain. The days had long since passed where I was the mug standing on the corner or in the lee of some doorway checking on people and their dirty little secrets. No, I was home in front of a nice fire, and a glass of overpriced whiskey close to hand. The cold I felt was internal, and no amount of liquid heat from the aforementioned glass (or even the whole bottle) was going to drive this cold away. This was a metaphysical cold, a cold that started somewhere in your stomach and spread like a cancer, like Genghis Khan's murdering hordes, like a stain from a stab wound perfectly placed to cause the most dazzling of blood splatter. It laid siege to my insides moving from stomach down to the guts, freezing things solid on its travels. It moved upwards as well to the lungs, making it difficult to fully breath, it moved east to the liver already under attack from the current bottle of whiskey, and all the other countless bottles of alcohol that had came before it. It moved west to the pancreas, laying waste to the ability to regulate blood sugar, a dangerous thing to have go tits up when you've a bottle of whiskey close to hand. This was beyond the sheep stealing cold that lead a man to commit all manners of odd crimes to get warm. This was a fatal kind of cold, the kind of cold that people dread when they throw another log on the fire, the kind of cold that leads you to cold, dark places where people don't talk above a whisper for fear of waking things better left asleep. 

 This cold had its external source, it lay on the desk opened, and read many times over to make sure there wasn't some cruel mistake. There wasn't. It was there in black and white, the things I had suspected but was too damn much of a fool to believe. Well now, thanks to someone spending some time in the actual cold, I believed them. The "report" left me very little choice. I had hired it done, as I said my days out in the cold (or the heat) had passed, and were not missed. No, these days I hired these things done by people like GI or his erstwhile "companion" Felix. Though I figured that Felix's days of unitrusively leaning against a convenient lamp post were now counted as being beneath his dignity. He had goons for that type of work. Unimaginative  goons that wrote reports that, while getting their main point across, made for some tough sledding in the reading department. I made a note to remind Felix to hire some thugs that had been to college or at least could spell words longer than 5 letters. This was one of those reports, I was in a hurry, and I chose to use Felix's resources because he had so many of them, and owed me a favor or two. You knew what you were getting when you used Felix, a straight, to the point detail of events. Presented without comment, or opinion and generally told in short sentences using small words. Sometimes these reports are exactly what you needed, sadly for me, this was not exactly one of those times. I would have to supplement this staid, listless, and lacking nuance report with something just a tad bit different. That meant finding, and sobering up GI. I sighed only one of those things was easy to do.

Of course, reading one of GI's reports had it own set of issues. When he was in a particularly expansive mood (or drunk) he would try to be as vague as possible. I had read several of his reports that mentioned elephants, peanuts, and Ferris Wheels that made me wonder if he was doing the job I had hired him to do, or was just drunk at the Circus eating fucking funnel cake and spending my coin before earning it. Others had referenced some Ape, and their cage(s), and hippos making me wonder if he had gotten lost at the Zoo, and was just taking the piss out of me for his own twisted amusement. They were at least better written than the ones Felix's goons produced, but I still despaired of his grammar. Apparently he was "all about content, and telling a good story, subject/verb agreement be damned." Sometimes, after a unusually vague report, a follow up report would arrive with the "key" which would put real names to the nicknames he so enjoyed labeling people with. I suppose that they had some sort of meaning in his head that made it worth doing, but since I never actually talked to him, it remained a mystery to me. Some things are best left in the dark. His naming system is one of those things. 

The days of finding lonely drunks with literary aspirations had also passed. I was not going to sully myself with finding GI in whichever dive bar would grant him enough credit for a night's drunk. No, I had people for that; finders are a different breed than followers. I had not yet found a follower that could compare to GI, or even to Felix's goons for that matter. Plus, GI worked cheap. You don't get to over pay for whiskey by overpaying the help.  Even when my finders were able to locate him, they never told him who he was working for, just an initial and a Post Office Box to drop his reports into when he was finished. If he ever found out he was working for me, then he would stop working for me, and I still had a use or two for him, before Felix inevitably had him shot. But until then I needed him to write something that made more sense than the report sitting before me. I made a few phone calls, and set the process in motion. It usually took a day to find him, a day to sober him up fully, and a day to convince him that he did in fact need the money. 

It was a simple enough job for someone just like him, there were details that he didn't need to know about it, they would just cloud his already suspect judgment, and I didn't need him going off half cocked and mucking up a simple job. In fact, once I had read the goon's report, I knew that I had to send GI to do the job proper like. He would not thank me for it, he can't really since he doesn't exactly know who I am, but it would be a lesson in life that he would come to appreciate. If I could have him found, and keep him sober long enough to do it. Afterwards, well afterwards, keeping him sober would be more difficult, and I don't think he would want to be found for quite sometime. I sighed heavily this would also mean talking to Felix. A task that I normally would delegate since talking to Felix is like talking to a razor. You feel shorn afterwards, and might be slowly bleeding to death from all manner of cuts you didn't know you had until you left the room. But it must needs doing, and the sooner the better as the saying goes. 

I duly made my appointment with Felix, showed up at the proper place and time, and was rewarded with Felix's presence. Reward might not be the correct word, but the cold bastard did show up on time, a quality that fewer and fewer people seem to possess these days. If 75% of success is just showing up, another 10% can be added by showing up on time. I pushed the report across Felix's desk towards him, and asked "You've read this correct? Is it true?" Felix glanced briefly down at the paper and replied "of course I've read it. Don't be fool enough to think that I let anything out of this office without fully reading it, and yes it is true enough for government work." I arched an eyebrow at that last bit, but held my tongue, because I had suspected that Felix might sometimes engage in "creative editing" with the reports I commissioned from him, and that was a close to confirmation as I was likely to get. Sometimes, direct questions can just cause confusion, especially to Felix's type of "truth tellers."  

"Well I figured as much, just nice to hear you actual come with pissing distance of telling me the "truth" Felix. Now, that we have established this is true enough" I tapped the report that Felix had slid back to me, "what the fuck should I do about it?" Felix leaned back in his chair steepled his hands together and replied in true Felix fashion "shoot him?" I sighed "Felix, that is an unattached pronoun, who is the "him" I should shoot?" Again in true Felix fashion he said "all of them, that way you know you've shot the right person." ........

Bob the Viking

 Sully's brings all kinds out to his bar, and "Bob the Viking" is one of the characters that can be found there on a regular basis. Truth be told, none of are sure if "Bob" is his real name or not. Bob is a bit of a mystery, and seems to like it that way. He's a mountain of a man, well above 6 feet, and at least three bills. Pale blue eyes that give nothing of what he is thinking, if he is thinking anything, away, and blond hair that a super model would be proud of. When asked he says he is from "up north" which for him is quite the speech, and that would be the extent of our knowledge as to Bob's ancestry. Sully has said that Bob told him his 'real' name once, but that it contained a lot of vowels and a lot of syllables and so he just called him "Bob." Bob didn't seem to mind, and didn't bother trying to correct Sully naming of him as Bob the Viking. He answers to Bob, and so it is as Bob that he enters our tale.

Bob always sits on the same stool (which must be reinforced to hold his big ass up), it seems that Sully's is close to having assigned seats. If some newcomer sits in Bob's seat by mistake, and refuses Sully's request to move, then Bob shows up, looms over said newcomer, and suddenly his seat is free. You only have to mistakenly sit in Bob's seat once to get the message. Bob doesn't talk much, or generally at all. Relying on grunts, and facial expressions to get his meaning across. Trust me, when Bob looks at you at certain way, you suddenly remember all sorts of other places you need to be. Your mother's house, a dentist appointment, a facial, a spa day, anywhere but in his way. Not that Bob is a violent fellow, he just sits at the bar, and quietly drinks his pints, content to be let alone, and not to meddle in the affairs of others. Which considering how many "affairs" are conducted at Sully's is no mean achievement. Bob is a walking example of the strong, silent type. Fair play to him, we have too many talkers at Sully's anyway (see David the Liar).  

Once, many years ago, a few of us old heads did see Bob lose his temper, it was not a pretty sight. Sully is not a small man, and since it is his bar, he was the first to try to get Bob to settle down. He woke up a day and a half later very confused, and with his jaw wired shut for six weeks. It took about six of us to "settle" Bob down, that is after he cold cocked Sully. Bob has a slight scar on his left eye from (what I like to think) was a mean right hook of mine, but truth be told he walked right through my punch like it was a mosquito bite. We never figured out what sent Bob into a beserker rage that his Viking ancestors would have been proud of, we were just glad that he wasn't wielding a battle axe at the time. He was at the point of telling me "to make peace with my gods" when the bar stool crashed over the back of his skull, and knocked him out, was swung by a particularly brave bar maid of Sully's. She knocked him out, and said "that's it, I have enough of this shithole. I quit!" She then walked over to the till, and took her wages out of it, and left. Sully was unconscious at the time, and was in no condition to argue with her even if he had wanted to. Bob seemed to have a bit of grudging respect for me after that, I am not sure if it was because the punch hurt him (I doubt that), or that he appreciated the fact that I was stupid/brave enough to throw it at him.  After Bob's "spell" it took several hours for the "survivors" to clean the place up enough to make it worth drinking in again. That is if Sully's has ever been worth drinking in to begin with. It didn't matter that the sole proprietor was carried to his bed to recover, the bar must stay open! 

After that, Bob was as quiet as a church mouse. He just sat on his stool, and drank pint after pint of some foul, bitter beer that the rest of us refused to touch. Unsuspecting first timers would sometimes order it to their cost. It became know as a Bob Special. And the only thing special about it was it was a miracle it didn't kill you at the first sip. Sully told me one day that Bob told him where to get the stuff, and would sometimes go and pick up Sully's order of it, just to make sure that Sully didn't run out of it at an awkward time. I don't think Bob would take to kindly to Sully running out of his favorite libation. One shudders to think of that scenario. Bob even brought his own mug to Sully, and told him to use it, and it only. We all figure it is probably lined with lead to keep the swill from melting it. Sully has never showed us it up close. It holds more than your average pint, but Sully is not inclined to charge Bob more for it.  A broken jaw is a great motivator to keep the peace it seems. In spite of the broken jaw, Bob was the type of customer that Sully enjoyed the most, the paying kind. 

We don't know where Bob got the money to pay for the massive amounts of pints he consumed, and few of us cared to ask. Sully's is a good place to practice the idea of "don't ask, don't tell." Even that bastard Felix was perplexed. Everyone who is a regular at Sully's gets on Felix's radar at some point, and the mysterious Bob was no exception. One day when he was feeling expansive, Felix told me that he had his best men tail Bob when he left the bar. And that Bob always lost them in less than 3 blocks. You'd think something that big would be easy to follow, but Bob seemed to be a master at losing people following him. Felix said that Bob would never take the same route two days in a row, so that Felix's goons didn't even have an idea in which part of the city Bob lived. "He could live 4 blocks from here or 4 miles from here" was Felix's sad statement. He went on to say "he could be a longshoreman, or a ballet dancer for all we know." Though the idea of Bob dancing ballet was akin to thinking about an elephant playing tennis, but Bob wasn't ungraceful in his movements, so I guess anything is possible. 

I even made some gentle inquires myself (being the curious type that I am). I was rewarded with one of the longest conversations I ever had with Bob. One day he motioned me over to the stool beside him, and being as I was in no position to refuse such a request, I plopped down next to him, and gave him a questioning look. Not many people got this close to Bob without a reason, and I had a good idea what my reason was. Bob grunted at me as a way of greeting, and I arched an eyebrow. "I don't speak enough "grunt" to get your point Bob, you're going to have to use your words for a change of pace." He turned those very pale blue eyes on me, and said "I know you've asked that pretty, little blond girl that works for Felix to find out what they know about me, and since she's a little sweet on you (only the gods know why) she tried to find what you were looking for." I nodded, and kept my smart mouth shut for once. I had no desire to go on the Sully liquid diet. He continued "ask your boy Felix what she found, oh and get a less pretty spy next time, the pretty ones stand out too much" and then he waved me off to go upon my merry way.

As mentioned, Bob didn't talk much, seems his philosophy is that if you don't express an opinion, no one can argue with you about your opinion. Probably a sound philosophy in today's troubled times. We are pretty sure that Bob worships the old gods, but ask him about religion, and he would grunt. Ask him about women, and he would grunt "women are trouble." Ask him about the football and he would grunt. Bob did a lot of grunting, and you learned to interpret them. Discussions of politics would garner you another, more dismissive, grunt. Maybe Bob had to talk all day at his job, and by the time he got to Sully's he was just out of words to say. There is a saying that tells us that "we all need something to live for" and maybe that is true for us all. I am not the man to ask that particular question, and certainly neither is Bob. After "knowing" Bob for a considerable amount of time, the conclusion I have reached is that Bob might just live for his pints. Sometimes life is just that simple. We haven't heard the last of Bob the Viking.

 

Mac's Play

 "Hello, Sully, how are tricks?" I asked my sullen barkeep and sometime "friend" as he slid one of his "finest" across the bar towards me. It was a boring Tuesday, and since I was tired of being bored at home, I decided to come to Sully and at least be bored and drunk at the same time. My mistake. Sully cocked an eye at me and replied "tricks are the same GI, you slobs come in here, and moan a lot, drink a lot, and then tip even less. However, David the Liar" he nodded over in the general direction of "my" booth, "is looking for you for some reason. God only knows why anyone would look for you, and I pity him now that he has found you." I followed Sully's eye and noticed David the Liar nervously occupying my booth. When you tell as many lies as David, nervous is your default setting. It pays to sprinkle the occasional truth amongst your lies, that way you can be less nervous. It seems David never learned that lesson, or he just chose to ignore it, and let the dice fly high. "He doesn't look any more nervous than normal" I said inclining my head in David's direction. "But, I am bored, it's Tuesday, and I am not even drunk yet, so I guess I might as well wander over there and see what the bastard wants of me." Sully nodded, grunted, and went back to polishing his glasses, when Sully polishes his glasses it is a sign that his part of the "conversation" has reached its conclusion, and you can fuck right on off. Knowing this, I decided to fuck right on off over to my booth.

I slid into my booth and slid the untouched beer I had got at the bar across to David, knowing that, as per custom, he was fucking broke. David the Liar is always fucking broke. "Hello, David. How's the lying business treating you. Still telling elderly widows they are the light of your life, and convincing them to put you in their wills? Or charming bored housewives out of a large part of their husband who doesn't love them anymore salaries?" David glanced up from his (free) beer, and that's when I noticed that the bastard appeared to have been crying. "Christ, David are you fucking crying? Here, in Sully's? Do you want a beating? They beat people in here for showing that kind of weakness on general principle. I'll be lucky not to take a beating just for sitting across from you. For the love of fuck, pull it together. It's a boring Tuesday, but I don't want to liven it up by getting taken out back and having my ribs used as a xylophone by some masher that saw you crying" He sniffled a little more, wiped his eyes, and muttered "sorry GI, but it's been a rough couple of days." I nodded "it's been a rough year or so David, for all of us, but have the decency to cry in private, or if you have to do it publicly find a bathroom stall where you can close the door at least. Anyway what is the rumpus that has you crying like a schoolgirl on a boring Tuesday?"

"It's Mac, no one has seen him in four days, and I am very worried something untoward has happened to him. I'm even more worried that what has happened to him might happen to me, depending on what it was that happened." I nodded Mac and David were "special" friends, and he was probably right to be concerned on both counts. I said "Mac the Knife?" He hated that nickname but, it fit him perfectly he was very fond of knives, saying that knifing a man was the "more polite way to do things, you have to get up close to him, it shows you care, that you want to get all up close and personal with them. Guns are for people afraid to get their hands dirty (or bloody)." David nodded yes Mac the Knife, you know him, and you know what me and him are all about. I did, and do. David was the Liar, and Mac was the thief. It was a lovely combination, spreading two of the world's greatest sins out over two people instead of concentrating it into one complete bastard. This way you had two half bastards that weren't completely beyond redemption, or at least that was their theory. Mac and David had some very odd theories, and it was generally best not to explore them too deeply, lest you end up in a line up with them being asked none too politely to "turn to the left, now turn to the right."

"I know this is a silly question, but have you asked Felix or his goons if they have seen Mac?" He snorted "that is a very silly question GI, you know we don't all have the cat/cat relationship that you and Felix have, to the rest of us, Felix is the cat, and we are the mice. I don't know what you "have on" Felix that has him suffering to keep you alive, and not locked in a cage where you belong, but the rest of us try to give Felix, and his goons, as wide a berth as possible." I laughed "fair enough David, but not much in this town happens without Felix knowing about it, doing it, or have it done on his behalf. It was just an idea to solve your little mystery and to get your crying ass out of my hair. I said I was bored, but this isn't the entertainment I had planned, if you catch my drift." He nodded, and follow my glance at the newest of Sully's blond barmaids. "I get it GI, you have your amusements, and they are generally all that matters to you, but to us humans, which I am not sure you are one, there are more important things than a roll in the hay with the new help." I had the decency to look hurt "now David that was unkind, she's a lovely lass, and a lot smarter than she looks." He laughed "by the looks of her, I would hope so, but I doubt it's her mind that has you here drinking beer on a Tuesday. But, can we focus for a bit on Mac? He wasn't your buddy I know, but you two seemed to get along well enough, or at least as well as anyone can get along with you."

"Mac didn't hold a special place in my heart, no." He winced at my use of the past tense, but I figured that David had already spun out a scenario  in which the worst news was the only news he was likely to get. "What was Mac the Knife up to the last time you had dealings with him?" "He was doing a tail job on some woman for a doubting Thomas of a husband." I winced "a good way to find yourself in more trouble than you need. I am sure the husband already knew the wife had declared their relationship to be "open" before he hired Mac?" David nodded "seems right, I think hubby just wanted to know who the fellow was, not if he existed, he had sorted the existence part out already. Mac said that the husband just wanted to know "if he knew the bastard that was two timing him with his wife, or if it was a stranger. I guess it made some sort of difference to him. I don't pretend to know why." 

Mac was good at tailing people, even though I had told him it was going to end in tears one day, he persisted saying "a girl's got to pay the rent GI, and I like to play the ponies on occasion, and I like to eat even more often." Fair enough I guess. Mac's skill was that he was as grey as a mouse. If you spent five whole minutes looking at him, and were to be asked an hour later to describe him, you probably would be the despair of the officer asking you the question. Tall? Maybe medium height, maybe a bit on the short side. Fat? No, I don't think so, too thin perhaps? Eyes, yes he had two of them, but I've no idea what colour they were. Hair? a shade of blond? brown? not red at least. Mac was just there like the coat rack in the corner that no one pays any attention to, even when they are putting their coats on it daily.  For all my dislike of the way "he paid the rent" it was difficult not to like Mac. He was a personable fellow that didn't talk to much, and unlike his partner, he told the truth at least half the time. The trick was figuring out which half, but for those of us who pay attention (and I do pay attention) he had a tic that allowed us to know when he was lying. I doubt he had any idea, and I was never going to clue him into it. Turns out I wouldn't have the chance anyway. I knew this, and now it seemed that I was to have the "pleasure" of telling his best mate David the Liar.

I sighed, "four days usually isn't that bad of a sign on a domestic tail is it? Maybe the paramour took the wife out of town for a long weekend "to visit her sick auntie" and Mac decided to stay an extra day to enjoy the location attractions?" David shook his head. "No he told me when he left that he would be back that night, or the next morning at the latest." I guess there was no way around it, David was just a bit too upset to notice the "let it lie" signs I was giving him. "Okay, David here's the scene, they found Mac yesterday in an alley off of Water Street with a one bullet in his brain, or at least that is what they are saying. They are also saying it was suicide, claiming some note existed that no one has yet to produce, and that is the end of Mac the Knife." He looked stunned and stammered "b.b.but Mac didn't have any truck with GUNS, he's Mac the fucking Knife for the love of fuck! There is no way he would off himself at all, and certainly not with a gun. He could barely stand looking at them, and certainly wouldn't use one to kill himself." I put up a hand "settle down David there is a real need for you not to shout, look around the room." He stopped, and took a look noticing the fellow that I had already pegged as an "outpost" a large, hairy fellow that was straight out of central casting from the "goon who likes to break things" section.

 I said, "his knives were missing, didn't have a single blade on him, or so they say. I find that odd because we all know that Mac the Knife didn't even go take a piss without a blade somewhere on his person." David nodded "this is wrong GI, wrong, wrong, wrong. Who did he piss off? Was the boy toy someone he didn't need to be following? Do you have any idea about this? Now would be a good time to tell me." I shook my head "no, David I don't have any idea, and even if I did, now would be the worst time to tell you ever. I just have the barest of details, and I doubt that I will get any more." He nodded, finished his pint, and left muttering that drinking alone was probably his best choice for the nonce. I paid his bill, and started my walk home. I didn't have it in me to tell him that besides the bullet in his brain, Mac had another one in his heart. I am no expert on suicide,but two bullets are rarely used especially in those two places, but as the saying goes lie to a liar for they are his coin.

 

 

David the Liar

 It's a quarter to 2 a.m. in Sully's and last call is being bellowed out by Tomas the barkeep. No sign of Sully or his new, pretty barmaid, but the denizens of his place are past caring where they are. The few male patrons are looking blearily around the bar hoping to find that "last call queen" that they can take home and find solace with before the sun ruins it all. Hoping to find someone who will believe late night truths before they turn into early morning lies. I am sitting in my usual spot, alone for a blessed change, no idiot has disturbed my thoughts, and it looks like I am going to be able to stagger home and find my solace in more drink. I should have known better than to hope such a silly thing, but hope springs eternal. 

"Hello GI, what's the rumpus?" he said as he slid into the booth opposite me. I looked up and sighed. "Hello, David, what brings you over here at this hour?" He glanced at his watch, "sorry about the hour, but we both know that "last call" doesn't apply to you, and generally to whomever you're drinking with, and I could use a couple of more drinks." I nodded my assent, and walked to the bar to order us both a drink, because I knew that as always David was fucking broke. David is always, always fucking broke. 

We call him "David the Liar." He's a short fellow with thinning hair that he likes to keep on the long side, hoping (I guess) that length will make up for lack of substance, and sometimes I wonder if maybe he's right, and I am not talking about hair. Either way, David is not his real name, he used several before he decided on David. Muttering something about it meaning "friend" and how he is everyone's friend. Make no mistake David is not your friend, David has one friend in the world, David, and even then the bond is not that strong. If he could find a way to sell himself out, and profit and live, I am pretty sure he would do it. Luckily for the world, David isn't nearly as clever as he thinks. He claims, depending on to whom he is talking to, to be from the north, the west, or back east. It varies from day to day, and from person to person. He explained the system of what direction to use to me once, but I wasn't really paying attention, and plus he lies all the time, so why bother remembering it? Besides, if you every called him out on his lies, he would just spin a larger lie to explain it, and if you kept calling him out by the time the story was over David was the Czar of all of Russia, and was doing you a favor by telling you the "truth."

David does have one thing going for him. He has some startling green eyes, like emeralds they shine out of his mostly forgettable face, and they have drawn many a person into trusting his tales. I knew that behind those lovely green orbs, he had the loyalty of a cat. He seemed to have more than his share of luck with the ladies, so maybe he was a lion in the bedroom, I mean pretty eyes can only take you so far right? Other than those eyes, David was pretty nondescript, you wouldn't pick him out of a lineup (a fair amount of people have tried), and you wouldn't be dazzled by his wit. He's clever, not as clever as he thinks mind, but he mostly hides that. After all he would say "no one wants to talk to someone that is more clever than they are." Therefore, you wouldn't mind sharing things with David the Liar because you'd never think it would come back to bite you on the ass later, you would be wrong. He doesn't introduce himself as "David the Liar" and by the time you figure it out, it might be Felix time. 

Once you had the misfortune to get to know him, David would come bother you with all sorts of nonsense if he thought it could make him some coin, or get him a few drinks. I had conducted a lot of "business" with David. He didn't know it but I had it all written down, and stored in a very safe location, just in case I needed it. Lie to a liar for they are his coin, but keep copious notes just to be on the safe side.  Memory (or so they say) sometimes fails us, but a well written copy of the proceedings can make the difference between your bed, and a bed at the "Felix Arms."  The benefit of David the Liar was that you knew he was lying, if he was talking, he was lying. If he told the sky was blue, you should walk outside and verify it. Lying came as natural to him as breathing underwater comes to a fish. His true talent lay in lying by omission. You had to pay careful attention to his lies, not for what he was saying, but for what he was leaving out. He was a craftsman at omitting details, and facts that would change the entire complexion of a story. You had to be on your toes when he decided to regale you with the "facts as he knows them" (a favorite saying of his).  Don't get me wrong, David the Liar could lie in every way known to man, and maybe a couple that have yet to be discovered. He was not a one trick pony. He is a very, very tricky bastard. 

I was far from the only person that David the Liar conducted his "business" with and I knew it. He knew that I knew it as well, but he would always try to convince me that whatever lie he was spinning at the moment it was just for me, and no one else. Of course, I knew that he was telling whatever other person/people the same lie about the lie, and I put no stock in that little disclaimer. Again, if David was talking, David was lying. I had on many occasions sworn to myself to just stop listening/talking to him, but he would always come back with some lie that had just enough truth mingled in with it, that I would buy him a drink, and listen to it in the hopes that something in the stew of shit he was pedaling would be a carrot of truth. I was usually disappointed, David the Liar is very disappointing though he doesn't realize it. David didn't know it (yet) but I knew his real name, I knew where he was actually from, and I knew that half of the jobs he'd claimed to have had, and half of the experiences he related to his marks were actually lifted from the life of someone he once knew. I also knew what had happened to that "special" someone, but I wasn't about to share all this information with David the Liar. It might sour our relationship beyond repair, and I wasn't ready to do that, at least not yet. I had a use for David the Liar.

I slid back into the booth, and pushed his drink towards him. "So, David what is the story tonight?" He gulped his drink, and looked up "No story, just the facts as I know them." I rolled my eyes "Christ David it's nearly 2 in the fucking morning, let's cut to the chase shall we, I've got plans tomorrow." He laughed "I know you've plans, and I know who they are with, and you might want to change them considering the facts." "OK David what are the facts." I asked hoping to shorten the length of his lie. "Well GI" he said smugly "it's 2 a.m. and do you know where she is?" He put up a hand to forestall my speaking, "don't give me the unattached pronoun speech, you and I both know who "she" is, and don't pretend otherwise." I knew who he meant, but was surprised by his knowledge maybe David the Liar had better sources that I had thought. "OK David, where is she, and who are they with?" He proceeded to tell me, and I began to laugh. "David, my lad for a second there I thought you had better sources than I had thought. You once again disappoint me, my 'friend'. I've known that for hours, I know the who, I know the where, and I even know the why." He arched an eyebrow at the last part, and I smiled "the why is for the oldest reason in the world." I motioned him to lean in closer, and decided to get my money's worth. I whispered to him "I know your real name is ______, and I know it means "paid for." Now you can figure out the why can't you?" With that I got up, left enough money for the drinks I had bought him, and a couple more besides, and walked out leaving David the Liar very perplexed. Happy April Fools' Day you mugs.

Ward 15

 They put me in Ward 15. Two of the possibly only 4 people in the world that still seem to care about my whereabouts caught me at the train station, asked me where I was going, and seemed unhappy with my answer of "anywhere but here." They brought me here mostly willingly, and I was given this new set of clothes to wear, and a nice lady asked me a lot of somewhat personal questions. My friends left before this happened, they had done their duty by me, and they left me here. I guess my answers to those questions is what led me to being put in Ward 15. No one ever really told me why I got put here, and I didn't then, and don't now really care. The hospital had several wards, and their own way of designating who went to which ward. I wasn't overly concerned with the number, and I didn't really care to ask any questions of my own. I am tired of asking questions. I am even more tired of hearing the answers.

My fellow citizens/inmates of Ward 15 were excited for my arrival. I guess a newbie is a cause for excitement around here, doesn't bode well for the social scene, but then again I'm not overly social anyway. After listening to their chatter about "welcome to Ward 15 and other nonsense" I inquired what was the reason for me being in Ward 15. A couple of them vaguely mentioned there were 17 Wards, and Ward 17 was where they put the truly hopeless. I guess it was a small mercy that landed me in Ward 15. They also shared the news that Ward 15 was called the "Omega" Ward, which made no sense to me since it wasn't the last Ward, but I was listening to the denizens of a madhouse. One old timer (he looked 80 at least) told me. "well, they say the higher the number, the less unwell you are, they don't like using the term "sick" too politically incorrect, and it might hurt our feelings. Which, if you ask me, is our fault for having feelings in the first place. Then again, I've been here neigh on 18 years, so asking me might not be the best idea." He laughed quite loudly, and a bit too much for my liking, but I didn't have anywhere else to be so I listened to him prattle on as he explained my current situation. "They also say that the opposite is true, that the higher the number, the more hopeless your case is, and they just shift you out here to live and die with as much dignity as your mad ass can manage. I don't know which rumor to believe, I've been in Ward 15 for my entire time here. I guess that means I've not gotten any "better" but on the upside it also could mean that I've not gotten any "worse". No, I am pretty sure I will die here in Ward 15, unmourned and unmarked except by my roommate if he happens to be lucid that day."

I replied "well they told me that I would be here a maximum of three weeks, and maybe only two if I responded well. I'm not sure what I am supposed to respond to, but two weeks doesn't seem that long or that bad, maybe I'll get some rest, and get "better". Though I am not exactly sure that I am sick." The old geezer cackled again and said "Three weeks is what they told me 18 years ago, though they left out the possibility of shortening it to 2, guess they've gotten more hopeful now days. Anyway, if things go as usual they will leave you alone for a couple of days, and then on day 3 they will start trying to "cure" you. Of course, they won't call it "curing" you cure meat, they will call it "getting you well" but the idea is the same." I nodded vaguely, I didn't want to listen to this damn fool, after all he had been here 18 years, he was clearly as mad as a March hare, but he wasn't the type to leave a man in peace. Sure I didn't want to be here, but I was really unsure where I wanted to be, or if I wanted to be anywhere at all. "Nowhere" doesn't exist in the geographical sense, but I sure wanted to go looking for it just to be sure. That's why I was at the train station when my friends intercepted me. 

On day two it somehow got around the Ward as to who I was, and what I did for a living. Which led to all sorts of citizens/inmates coming to me and asking me for advice. I wasn't in the mood to practice my "craft" and politely told them. "I am not here to practice my craft, this is a madhouse right? I am here to be mad." Some of them laughed at that remark, some of them just stared, and a couple swore at me with great fervor, but it was as honest an answer as I was ever going to give anyone here. It was this day that I made the decision that has me still here, and it's been a damn sight longer than 3 weeks. I looked at my roommate John, James, or Jack, I don't really remember his name, said "I'm sorry" and punched him as hard as I could right in the ribs. In my defense, I hit him with my weaker left hand, not in the face, and to be honest it wasn't that much of a punch. I'm a lover not a fighter, it wasn't designed to hurt him over much, it was designed to get my own room. It worked like a charm. He folded over like a tent, and two large, burly gentleman rushed into our room, and frog marched me to my own private Idaho i.e. an isolation cell. I felt like Steve McQueen's character from the Great Escape, except no one threw me a baseball and a glove to use to pass the time in the "cooler".

I was provided with a lovely "jacket" which buttoned at the back, but luckily for me one of those burly fellows buckled it for me, and tossed me onto the bed, which was the only "furniture" in my new private room. Luxurious it was not, but it was my own, and that was what mattered to me. Alone time was necessary, it gave me time to think of a way out of Ward 15. Surely there had to be a way out, without giving away my soul. Eventually, they came and pulled out of my own head, and led me to an office. I had expected this, I was sure I was going to meet some nice lady or fellow that just wanted to talk to me about my feelings, and make sure I was "better." I sat down, and a bearded fellow walked in, sat down and introduced himself as Doctor K____. He asked me if I knew why I was here, and I told him that as much as I cared that I did. He seemed to think that was progress, and went on about how it was a good sign. I don't know what the good Doctor was expecting from me, but I was in no mood to provide it to him.

A few more fruitless trips to Doctor K did not result in any further progress, and I kept my private room because I was able to convince the turnkeys that if they put be back in a shared room, my new roommate would meet the same fate as my previous one. I wasn't just saying that for the luxury of the private room. A toilet, and a bed that was bolted down, was not exactly the Hilton, but at least it was private. Here I remain in Ward 15 wondering if I am going to eventually have to give the same welcoming "I've been here 18 years speech" to some newbie like myself with me playing the role of grizzled old timer. I hope that is not to be the case, but as the saying goes, only time will tell. 

 

Serge and his Apples: An Interlude

 Where Felix and his goons left me that November day, and the following disaster that occurred, will have to wait for another day. This story struck me as needing written first, and since it is my history, I get to tell in the order that I pick.  

As I walked into Sully's one fine night, and by fine I mean it was just a day that I was on the right side of the dirt, Sully gave me the arched eyebrow that meant that the idea of "fine" was about to take a turn for the worse (as most turns in my like are wont to do). I sighed, and considered exiting stage left, and going home to write a long overdue letter to my mother, but decided that would probably not be received any better than what I was about to "receive" either, and since writing isn't my strong suit, I decided to brave it out, and hope for the best. Silly me. 

I walked to my normal booth and was not surprised to see some gangly, bright eyed, fellow already sipping on one of Sully's finest pints of piss. "Careful with that stuff lad, it will put hair on your chest, and by the looks of you it would be the first." He glanced up surprised by my sudden appearance, cleared his throat, and stammered "s.s.she told me you'd be here." I rolled my eyes, sat down, gave Sully the bring me pints till I pass out wave, and replied "well son, you see that there "she" is what us intellectual types call an unattached pronoun. I know a lot of "shes" and many of them know where to find me at given moment of my day. Though most of them only know it so they can avoid those places like the plague. So you're going to have to be a little more precise when you tell me "she told me you'd be here." Are we talking about the tall one, the short one, the left handed one, the mean one, the one who treats me like shit, or any number of other exotically nicknamed bitches who keep sending me fools like you to terrorize me in my dotage." 

He opened his mouth to reply, but I put up a forestalling hand. "Never mind lad, whichever "she" sent you isn't really important to me anymore. I've long since stopped spinning different tales for different "shes" one set of lies is enough to keep track of. So why don't you just tell me which lie "she" wants to hear tonight, and I decide if I'm in the mood to spin it for her or not." He narrowed his eyes at me and said "she said for me to figure out which large R you were tonight, and gave me two envelopes to pick from depending on your answer." I sighed "of course she did. Well lad since I am, sadly, stone cold sober I figure you'll want to open the one marked "Rationalist" and start from there. Did she also tell you to wait around for me to get a few pints in me and then open the other one, and to compare the answers?" He nodded his assent to my statement, took the one marked "Rationalist" and started to read silently to himself, trying my patience even further. 

"Damnit boy don't just read it to your fool self. Aren't there questions or some such bullshit written on there that your "she" wants answered, or is it a love poem that you're steeling yourself up to recite to me afraid that it will sound as gay as Christmas to read out loud. Which in case you're wondering nothing sounds gay in this place. We love all kinds here lad."   His eyes widened at my comment, and he slowly said "it says to give you these" and he pushed a set of several photographs across the table towards me. I picked them up, they weren't the best quality. A bit grainy, and shot from a (safe) distance, and black and white, but the gist of them was immediately clear. I arched an eyebrow at him, more to hide my feelings than any real reason. It seemed to work because he snow plowed his way past the look in my eyes, and read from his script "not exactly sorry to show you these GI, but I figured you needed to know. Even though with your suspicious mind, I figure you had a good guess." Here he stopped and looked up at me with a questioning look. "I don't have an answer for either you or her lad, so stop giving me the dramatic pauses and finish her little love letter then get the fuck out of my sight."

He nodded then swallowed hard, and continued his recitation of the tear down job "she" had planned for me. Seems that my earlier idea of a "fine" day had fallen to shit. "There isn't much else here, it just says that you know what those mean." He pointed at the photos that were still in my hands. "and that you know where to find everyone you need to find in case you want to do something about it." I nodded well lad, you've narrowed some things down for me, but you've also caused me considerable consternation, so I'd suggest you get the hell out of here while you still are able to move all your limbs of their own accord." He blinked, and if it is possible to blink loudly, that is how he blinked. He stood up quickly, and pushed the other letter towards me "She told me to read both to you, but I think I'll take your advice, and find myself a safer drinking companion." He walked out without looking back, and left me to brood in silence, which is best for brooding.

I wasn't about to tell him that even though the photos did tell me which "she" didn't send him, I was still mostly in the dark about which "she" did. Most "shes" don't publish their bile and/or dislike for me, it allows them to have plausible deniability when asked if they know me or not. Generally, they avoid me like I have leprosy, and that is mostly the best plan. A couple of them like to communicate with me when they have something particularly mean that they want to tell me, but those are not everyday occasions. This little photo montage was one of those particularly mean things, and I was beginning to regret not asking the fool lad which "she" it was that sent him to ruin my day, my week, and maybe even my month. Or maybe that was "her" plan all along. She knows me well enough to know that I don't have a high tolerance for fools, and so she sent a fool (or one that seemed to be) to me, knowing I wouldn't listen to more than 4 words he had to say. The photos did tell me something that I already pretty much knew, but they also provided me with new information. Information is a dangerous thing in the wrong hands, and I was decidedly the wrong hands for this information. 

I sighed, and signaled to Sully to bring me the tab, this was a job for the sober me to undertake, and that made me a bit put out, I had planned to get happily drunk. Those plans were now scuppered. I left twice as much money as needed to cover my tab, rose slowly from the booth, and said aloud to myself "well, I guess I need to add a name to my list of enemies, and I guess I need to go see that smug bastard Felix." With that I left Sully's and began to make my way across town....

 

Meet Nicklas

 "I knew that I would eventually find you here." I looked up, slightly bleary eyed from the corner booth at the latest bar I had wandered into to see the source of the voice (slightly annoyed) looking down at me with a great deal of would might pass as concern, unless of course you knew the fellow the look was attached to. I did know him, had known him for years, and know him well enough to know the "concern" was just disdain trying to look clever.  He slid a glass over to me that contained some clear liquid, and said "drink that, and when you finish it, you're going to have another and another until I am satisfied." He didn't elaborate as to what he had to be satisfied about, and I wasn't particularly interested in his "satisfaction anyway. "Well at least you brought me a godsdamn drink to go along with whatever sermon you're about to deliver." I took the glass, swirled around it's contents and threw it back expecting some clear liquor, and damn near choked to death with I discovered it was water. Clear, clean (at least for this dump) tap water. I coughed about half of it back up and said "the fuck are you doing Nicklas? Trying to fucking poison me? This appears to be water. Do you know what fish do in this stuff? It will kill you quicker than our mutual pal Felix." He laughed and said "it is in point of fact water, and you're going to drink enough of it to float a fucking ocean liner if I think it is necessary to get you sober enough to get out of here in one piece." I glanced around a bit myopically, "what's wrong with this place? You've survived a few drunken nights here, and were no the worse for it." He shook his head "take a stronger look around you damn fool, where do you think you are? This is Sully's you idiot, I went there first looking for you, and Sully said he stopped giving you drinks two hours ago, and kicked you the fuck out." 

I did as instructed, and looked around with a little more sobriety, and realized he was right. I wasn't at the home away from home that was Sully's bar. I was at the Purga's Cove, a place of last resort. The kind of place your mother warned you about, and even your dear, old, drunken father would think twice about setting foot in, a dive and a dangerous one at that. I had few to no friends at Purga's Cove. "How the fuck did I get here?" He shrugged "as best as I can put it together you somehow managed to walk from Sully's place to here, and even looked sober enough for them to keep serving you. Although for this place that is a pretty low standard to clear." He signaled to the barkeep, and a whole fucking pitcher of that vile stuff known as water appeared. "Now drink up my lovely, you've got a lot of explaining to do to quite a number of people." Nicklas was always a bit of a smug bastard, which I guess is why we got along so well. Well, not the smugness that bit was annoying. It was more the bastard part that I found easier to get along with. 

"Why are you even out and about at this time of day/night Nicklas? Don't you have family obligations to keep you busy?" He scowled "I do but we decided that one of us needed to come and pry you out of the gutter you seem to have moved into on a permanent basis." I raised an eyebrow "and by "we" you mean? I don't understand you lot and your unattached pronouns, like I'm supposed to know who "they" are who "she" is, and so forth. I am not a mind reader, and am too drunk to get the allusion, so you're going to have to be a bit more forthcoming old chum."  He let out a long sigh "we" are the few people that still manage to give a fuck whether you live or die. Does that help with your clarity any?" It did, and he knew it would, did I mention he was a smug bastard. "Oh you mean those two?" He nodded "yes those two and me it seems. I'm the one tasked to come here and pour water down you because I picked the wrong card out of the deck that we used to decide who would get this fun little task. All things considered, you're lucky I drew the card and not one of them." I shuddered because the water was cold, but more because he was right. I'd take Nicklas' smugness over the other two options any day of the week.  Not that they didn't care or weren't lovely people, it was just their approach might have been a bit rougher than Nicklas'.

I choked down another glass of water, and Nicklas refilled my glass. He seemed to be enjoying the situation far more than was strictly necessary. "You seem to be enjoying this situation more than is strictly necessary Nicklas. Why is that exactly?" He laughed without mirth, and said "it has been years since I've been your 'running around' buddy, and I find that the experience is not one that I miss, plus I will feel a lot better than you when I wake up in the morning." I nodded "this is true, and I don't need reminding of it. Is there something in particular you lot want out of me, or is this just a warning that this is my 'last chance', because I've already heard that speech before. At least twice if memory serves." He tutted "three, but who is counting? You and your semi-charmed life are about to undergo some changes. Well, that is if you want to keep living in the manner in which you've grown accustomed." Here he waved a hand around, and said "though I am not sure that if you'd call this living in a manner in which anyone would want to grow accustomed. Why hasn't someone done you the mercy of putting a knife in your ribs. That way we could mourn the talent we lost rather than despair of the talent you're wasting by doing this." I arched an eyebrow "Nicklas! where did you pull that line from? Have you developed the soul of a poet all of a sudden?"  He chuckled "no dickhead I stole if from you, though I doubt you remember saying it. I just thought it true, sad but true and figured it would hit home. Apparently I was mistaken."

He pried himself up from his side of the booth and with a long sigh said "I don't think you want to get clean, and until you do this is pointless. The worry I have is, I am not sure that even if you wanted to get clean you could, and that is going to be a problem. But, like you are so fond of saying it will be and is a "you" problem, and you will have to be the one to fix it. If you choose to try, you know where "we" will be." He turned to walk away, but stopped after about two steps and came back to say "however, you might want to read this before you go back to ordering whatever piss that passes for beer in this shit hole." Here he handed me an envelope, turned on his heel, and walked out the door like he owned the place. Which is about the only way to avoid getting stabbed in Purga's Cove. I looked down at the letter he had dropped on the table, picked it up and inspected it. It wasn't anything special just a plain, white envelope with my actual name written on the front in a very familiar handwriting. This was not going to be pleasant, but for some reason I didn't order a beer, and merely refilled my glass with water before opening it and starting to read...