Nancy ____:
The Mystery of the Abducted Child
By Marzipan Maddox
“Morality is the sacrificing of individual liberty whenever this benefits the best-interest of society as a whole.”
For the baleen horses
Preface: In 2019 there was a contest to write a Nancy ____ book for the television show or something. I missed the deadline after having wrote half this book, then let it sit for a while. My initial effort was to avoid the pages of endless banter of my previous novels and instead have a more plot driven book. There is still plenty of banter, but I tried to keep it to a reasonable level. I decided to finish it because I enjoyed writing it. I love this book. Forgive me for taking liberties with the genre and characters. I’ve not read any of the books, nor have I read a detective novel. This is just my take on the genre.
The phone rings. Mid-morning sun bleeds mercilessly through the half-drawn lace blinds. The room tidy, save for stray bits of clothes tossed carelessly on the floor. The aesthetic of the décor reflecting days gone by, antiquated, but tastefully nostalgic, as none are too fond of abandoning the pleasant memories of their past. The phone rings again.
“Nancy.” Says a girl
“Let it ring.” Says Nancy, a command too soft to be stern, the girl is quiet, the phone rings, Nancy sighs, sits up, hunches over, running her hand through her hair, reaches over to the fifth of scotch on the bedside table and pours herself a modest drink into the lowball. She throws it back, quenching a thirst she’s far too tired to be upset about.
“Sorry, I’m not here right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon!” says the answering machine, cute, bubbly, friendly, warm
“Nancy, get down here ASAP. I’m not fucking around right now, so don’t give me any shit. This is serious.” Says a gruff male voice on the machine, audibly unsettled, audible only in the trembling of his aggression, he hangs up the phone forcefully, audibly, preemptively frustrated, preemptively disconsolate; Nancy sighs, grabs a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand, then begins to smoke, sitting on the side of the bed
“That sounds serious.” Says the girl, genuinely concerned
“I’m sure it is.” Says Nancy, indifferently
“No, like really, serious. Like bad, bad. He… he wouldn’t talk to you like that, he never does. something must be really wrong for him to be that desperate.” Says the girl
“It is what it is. He’s spit in my face so many times; I’m tempted to return the favor now that the opportunity presents itself.” Says Nancy, smoking her cigarette aggressively, despite being entirely indifferent to the message, ashing it in the tray besides the bed
“You’re not one to act like this. Especially right now; I’m sure you understand how upset he was.” Says the girl
“What business is it of mine?” asks Nancy, flippant, a thought has yet to cross her mind this morning, only the brutal sensation of being reminded that oneself is still alive burns in her mind
“It is your business! It’s your job Nancy!” says the girl
“I’ll be sure to pay him a visit sometime today.” Says Nancy
“What happened to ASAP?” asks the girl, nagging cattishly, the message alone sent fear coursing through her veins, only in desperation at this point does she even bring up the question
“This is ASAP.” Says Nancy, sitting, smoking indifferently, blind to reality, eyes motionless, transfixed on nothing, aware only of the relief of the cigarette
“Nancy, please, go!” says the girl, walking around the bed, taking the cigarette out of Nancy’s hand and extinguishing it forcefully in the ashtray; Nancy grabs the girl by the waist and forcefully pulls her on top of herself
“You don’t want to lay in bed with me?” asks Nancy, rhetorically, groping the girl’s ass, kissing her, lacking inhibition, drunk on the implicit consent
“No, Nancy. Go to work. Now.” Says the girl, pushing herself off of Nancy, too prudent to give into temptation for any more than mere seconds, she gets out of bed, hastily picking her sun dress up off the floor and throwing it over herself
“Playing hard to get, are we?” asks Nancy, playfully
“Unless you want to solve the mystery of why you’re out of a job, get out of bed. I’m like 100% sure something really bad has happened. I never feel this scared, Nancy.” Says the girl, palpably nervous
“You always feel this scared.” Teases Nancy
“No… this is different.” Says the girl, softly
“Fine.” Says Nancy, lighthearted, well-lubricated, casually indifferent to saving face, she gets out of bed, grabs some panties out of a drawer, slips into a blue cocktail dress taken out of the closet. She lazily grabs some socks and slips into her tasteful athletic shoes. She grabs her tweed trench coat from the hook on the door, takes the cigarettes and a fresh pint of scotch from atop the dresser, slipping them into the inner pockets of her coat.
“Really?” asks the girl, disheartened enough to sound the part, but hopelessness has led to playful teasing by now
“I’m going to need it.” Says Nancy, chuckling, shaking her head softly as if the silly question were spoken by a child
“I’d rather you didn’t.” says the girl, frowning hopelessly
“Me too… me too. I’ll see you tonight? Ok?” asks Nancy, almost ashamed, grimacing, grabbing the girl, kissing her with routine warmth
“Not too late, ok.” Says the girl, oddly comforted by the familiar taste of scotch and cigarettes, if only due to the pain of its absence
“The sooner the better.” Says Nancy, smirking, with a sly wink, the girl rolls her eyes as Nancy walks out the door
Nancy heads down the hallway, making a respectable pace, entirely due to her work ethic, which functions despite her general indifference to the consequential nature of her work, more so the consequences of its absence. She descends the stairs with the pace of an athlete, enthralled by the pleasure of simple movement. The grand room pristine and ornate, save for the somewhat disheveled rebellious looking girl lying asleep on the couch, her jeans neatly folded, yesterday’s socks folded and tucked inside of her casual yet militant stylishly deviant boots.
“Wake up, bitch.” Says Nancy, warm and amiable, smacking the protruding ass of the girl with a firmness that could not be mistaken for mere horseplay
“Damn it, Nancy. What time is it?” asks the girl
“Fuck if I know, George. It’s time to go to work. If I’m awake, you don’t have an excuse. Chop chop.” Says Nancy, flopping casually into the arm chair, the girl
“Damn. I’m going. How’s that hangover feel?” asks George, putting her pants on, as well as the dirty socks, unbothered by the filth
“Miraculously cured; I’m actually feeling just dandy, you?” asks Nancy
“Getting there. You hungry?” asks George
“I’m fasting, it’s all the rage, you know?” asks Nancy
“I don’t see the appeal.” Says George
“No food to bog you down. You feel crisp. More room for dinner, anyways. I’ve never been as fond of breakfast as I have dinner.” Says Nancy
“Smells like you’ve already had your breakfast.” Jokes George
“I’d rather not start my week with a case of the Mondays, so I felt it was proper to nip it in the bud.” Says Nancy
“So, every day of the week is a Monday now?” teases George
“Never heard of a case of the Tuesdays, have we?” jokes Nancy
“Fair enough. I’m going to grab a bite; we can skedaddle after that.” Says George
“Right-o. I’m off to the loo. I’ve got to make room for second breakfast.” Says Nancy
“What happened to fasting?” asks George
“Who said anything about eating?” says Nancy, delightfully playful, in high spirits, George chuckles and the girls tend to their business, eventually George meets Nancy in the bathroom
“Come to have a go?” asks Nancy, making the smallest of talk
“Figure I’ve got time to kill seeing how you’re putting your face on.” Says George, lazily venturing to the toilet
“One must look presentable.” Says Nancy
“I take it the aroma of scotch and cigarettes is part of keeping up appearances.” Says George
“Of course, a woman must smell delightful, fragrance is a very important part of presentation.” Jokes Nancy
“You can’t smell, can you?” asks George
“Not in the slightest. I just infer the smell from the taste.” Says Nancy
“Delightful.” Says George, entirely unabashed in relieving herself, now more so comforted by Nancy’s admission
“Good heavens, George.” Says Nancy, reluctantly impressed
“So you can smell that one?” asks George
“That smell would disgust the even the dead.” Says Nancy, chuckling
“She’ll be gone in a second.” Says George
“I’m just glad that we’ll be gone in a moment, as I’m sure the smell will still be here when we get home.” Says Nancy
“It’s funny that you still revert to talking like some prim and proper girl, like an aristocrat.” Says George, cleaning herself and flushing the toilet
“I have airs, George, airs. Not that you’ve developed any taste for the art.” Says Nancy
“I can taste food, Nancy. I can’t taste art.” Says George, washing her hands in the double sink of the half-bath, drinking a few handfuls of water, “Done yet?” asks George
“This is good enough. Even if that’s just an excuse to get out of this room.” Says Nancy
“I see I’ve done my job. Let’s go, toots.” Says George, leading Nancy out of the bathroom, grabbing her leather smoking jacket from the hooks in the hall, walking out of the front door, starting down the pathway extending through immaculate the lawn, pleasant yet modest flowerbeds and shrubbery artistically scattered through the estate
“You’d look good if you put some work into your appearance you know.” Says Nancy
“I don’t want to look good. I want to look bad.” Says George
“You’re not fond of the gothic look?” asks Nancy
“Face-paint is for actors, and I’m not acting.” Says George
“It’s where the money is, you know.” Says Nancy
“I prefer hard work.” Says George
“So noble.” Teases Nancy
“We’re off, Hannah.” Says Nancy, with the lightest of hearts, nearly singing, her lyrical accent of privilege exaggerated to the point of pretentiousness
“Somebody’s in a good mood. Off to school?” asks Hannah
“Off to work. I’m too old for school, Hannah.” Says Nancy
“They ask me why you don’t come, you know.” Says Hannah
“You know I’m working now, full time and then some. It would be nice if I could go, but school is not the place for many a girl.” Says Nancy
“There’s truth in that. I always say that I have my diploma, but back when I was a girl you would get it at the end of the 5th grade.” Says Hannah, chuckling
“And you’re no worse for the lack of schooling, are you?” asks Nancy
“Of course not, honey. I’ve done as well as I ever could have imagined, far better in fact.” Says Hannah, matter-of-factly, filled with genuine pride and sincere gratitude
“I hate to drag her away from you Hannah, but if I don’t we’d be here chatting all day. Our work doesn’t make too much room for pleasantries, unfortunately.” Says George
“Such a pity. It boggles my mind why they expect girls to work like men these days. Such a waste of a proper lady.” Says Hannah
“Funny enough, it’s actually my knack for proper pleasantries that keeps me employed. There’s a certain sway a charming girl has over men, you know, even the rough and tumble kind.” Says Nancy
“It all makes sense to me now. I’m happy you’ve found a job that suits you so well, Nancy. It makes me wonder what Georgia does, but I know she’s a really sweetheart deep-down, even if she’s too shy to show it.” Teases Hannah
“You’ve seen through my disguise. You’re wise beyond your years, Hannah.” Chuckles George, rolling her eyes, almost bashful
“I’ve got plenty of them behind me, more than enough to know what’s in the heart of a young girl, even if she’s too shy to share it with the world.” Teases Hannah
“I can’t hide nothing from you, Hannah. You know that. I’ll be a little bit sweeter to people today, just for you, ok?” says George
“Of course you will. You don’t need to hide yourself from the world, you know.” Says Hannah
“I’m sure I won’t be hiding today. You be good, not that I have to tell you to do so. Let’s go Nancy.” Says George
“Bye, Hannah!” says Nancy, sweetly
“Bye, girls. Be good.” Says Hannah
“We will.” Say the girls in unison, walking towards the driveway
The girls approach a pristine copper-beige 1989 Buick Century 4-door. George enters the driver’s-side door and starts the car; Nancy a bit more relaxed in her approach. She sits shotgun and rolls the power-window down as George puts the car into drive, steadily moving down the driveway towards the gates of the estate. She stops for a moment, the gates automatically open to let her out. Nancy lights a cigarette as George turns onto the thoroughfare towards town.
“You can’t just let it smell like new car?” asks George
“It’s a used car, it should smell like a used car.” Says Nancy
“It’s a new car.” Says George
“It became used the second we drove it off the lot.” Says Nancy, slowly drifting into a feigned New-Jersian accent
“So we’re using car-salesman logic as a justification to defile the new car?” asks George
“It’s my car, George. I’m not defiling it either, I’m breaking it in. Go get one of those little trees that hangs from the mirror if you’re so revolted.” says Nancy
“I’m not revolted, I’m just saying new car smell is a nice smell.” Says George
“Cigarettes are a nice smell too.” Says Nancy
“Yeah, when people rank pleasant smells, a chain smoker’s car usually comes second, right after new car smell. What’s with the accent? Why are you trying to act tough?” Says George
“It’s just aesthetic, it seems appropriate if I’m being sleazy.” Says Nancy, dropping the accent
“You’re not from Jersey and it makes you look ridiculous. A detective trying to talk like a two-bit mafia goon from Jersey.” Says George
“I’ll admit the accent needs work. I just find it hard to keep up my airs of prestige when I’m removed from the environment.” Says Nancy, changing to her previous, articulate accent, flicking the cigarette but into the fields beside her
“Just talk normal.” Says George
“Fair enough, I’m a thespian at heart. The worlds a stage, why not put on a good show?” asks Nancy
“You’re bubbly this morning.” Says George, chuckling under her breath
“You’ve got a keen eye. As much as I might enjoy it, I’ll admit it is inappropriate, certainly for work.” Says Nancy, honestly concerned
“I’m glad you had the foresight to see that.” Says George, dryly sarcastic
“To be fair I didn’t, but thankfully you’ve made me aware of the fact.” Says Nancy, reaching into her trench-coat and withdrawing the scotch, cracking it, and taking a healthy swig of it
“Christ, Nancy. You’re 16, take it easy.” Says George
“I believe that is exactly what I’m doing. I’ve got the scotch, the cigarettes, what part of taking it easy am I missing?” asks Nancy, playfully genuine
“You’re a piece of work, but who am I to judge?” asks George
“Breakfast?” asks Nancy, offering the bottle to George
“I already ate.” Says George, dismissively
“Second breakfast?” asks Nancy, offering the bottle again
“Fuck it.” Says George, taking the bottle, having herself a swig, giving it back to Nancy; “That shit is fucking awful, Nancy.” She says
“That’s exactly why I drink it. If I opted for something delicious, I wouldn’t be able to walk right now.” Says Nancy, George laughs
“I’m glad you’ve still got some sense left in that head of yours.” Says George, having grown callous to Nancy’s vices
“More than enough to pay the bills, you know.” Says Nancy
“Your dad pays the bills…” says George
“I have my fair share of expenses, so at the very least I cover those bases.” Says Nancy
“Fair enough… How fucked are we, by the way?” asks George
“Judging by the sound of the Chief’s voice, I’d say it’s a matter of perspective.” Says Nancy
“What do you mean by that?” asks George
“Well, seeing how he was quite serious about the fact that he needs our help, we’ve basically got free reign today, even an asshole like the Chief wouldn’t chew out the lynchpin to his success. That being said, when the Chief actually wants to see us, despite his own incredible passion to avoid ever finding himself in that situation, that means some serious shit has happened. So personally, we’re not fucked in the slightest, but needless to say we’ll have our work cut out for us today.” Says Nancy
“So you know we’ve got some serious shit to do, and you start drinking as soon as you wake up?” asks George
“Well, I’d rather be functional than dysfunctional.” Says Nancy, matter-of-factly
“How does drinking scotch make you functional?” asks George
“I’m a functional alcoholic, George. It’s hard to work when you’re fighting off the tremens.” Says Nancy
“You better not be at that point yet, Nancy.” Says George
“I’d rather not find out.” Says Nancy, giggling cutely
“You’re fucked in the head, you know that.” Says George
“I’m not the one who looks like a man, George.” Teases Nancy
“I’ll admit I’m fucked in the face, but at least I’m not fucked in the head. Give me a cigarette, damn it.” Says George
“Your cousin is the one who’s getting fucked in the face, George, and she’s damn good at giving it.” Says Nancy, lighting up a cigarette, handing one to George, lighting hers, giving the lighter to George
“I’m pretty sure you would need a cock to face fuck anyone, Nancy, so it’s safe to presume that doesn’t happen.” Says George, dismissively, lighting her cigarette
“Well, it’s enough to get the message across. She’s quite fond of giving me face, quite good too.” Says Nancy
“Christ, how about you give face to our job instead of thinking about my cousin? We need to save face right now, and that’s all that should be on your mind.” Says George
“You’re bitter about the fact that I sleep with your cousin?” asks Nancy
“I’m not bitter about shit. You know I’m the one who flipped that girl. If anything, you’re the one who should be jealous.” Says George
“That doesn’t even count, George. She’s your cousin so it doesn’t count, and beyond that, fooling around as kids doesn’t count either. Twice over it doesn’t count.” Says Nancy, dismissively
“I can see you’re jealous.” Teases George, chuckling proudly
“I don’t know. If I were in your shoes, I’d be pretty jealous… thinking of that fine woman in bed with me every night while you sleep on the couch.” Teases Nancy, sensualizing the fantasy
“Well, Nancy, seeing how I’m not some sick fuck who fantasizes about being in a relationship with my cousin, it’s safe to say that I’m not jealous. Secondly, I sleep on the couch out of preference; that’s a really nice couch.” Says George
“I’m pretty sure it’s totally normal for cousins to fuck on the regs.” Says Nancy
“No, it’s not. You’re drunk, and beyond that, wow, what the fuck, Nancy?” Says George
“I’m just saying, if I were in your shoes, I’d be pretty damn tempted.” Says Nancy
“Maybe if I was as horny and drunk as you are all the time, I would be, but you need to understand we think in very different ways. Still, no, Nancy, what the fuck? Desperate times call for desperate measures, but by no means are these desperate times.” Says George
“I take it you’re doing well for yourself, running off on those sleepless nights to nowhere.” Says Nancy
“You never tried to sleuth out where I go on the weekends?” asks George
“I don’t work on the weekends, you know that.” Says Nancy
“I don’t think you would have the capacity to do so, even if need be.” Says George
“That’s what the weekends are for my dear. If you had the capacity to work on the weekend, I’ll be damned if the boss wouldn’t expect you there 7 days a week.” Says Nancy
“For some reason I don’t think the weekends exist because everyone happened to be plastered all weekend.” Says George
“I don’t know. Think about church, what do you do in church? You drink and sing. That’s exactly the point of the weekends, drinking and having a good time.” Says Nancy
“What church do you go to?” asks George
“The good one, clearly. I’m a good girl, you know.” Says Nancy, speaking meaninglessly
“You never think about your actions? Never feel bad about the things you done? Seek forgiveness or repent or anything?” asks George
“What would I have to be sorry about? I’m proud of my work, and I’m doing good things. I’m doing the lord’s work, what do I possibly have to apologize about?” asks Nancy
“You’re fucking nuts, Nancy, but I love it. I kind of question myself sometimes, like I’m not living right, but hell, if you’re doing the lord’s work, I’ll be able to sleep easy for the rest of my days.” Says George
“I certainly am, not a doubt in my mind. I tell you, a detective really has the power to solve those mysteries in your mind. Just let them loose, I’ll solve them, jiffy quick.” Says Nancy, boldly inviting, lackadaisically confident, subtly unsteady in her confidence
“I have no interest in unearthing the darkness of my mind to anyone, let alone yourself, Nancy. Just be sure you don’t go trying to dig it up, you might find some things you didn’t want to see.” Says George
“I’m not much for digging, you know. It’s not proper for a woman to get her hands dirty like that.” Says Nancy
“What the fuck are you talking about? Your entire job is digging, literally in the exact sense I’ve described.” Says George
“Well, I’ll do my job, but it’s not like I do it for entertainment’s sake anymore. Well, I mean, of course it’s entertaining, but I try to leave work at the office, you know? Just don’t make it part of my job, and I for damn sure won’t be digging. I’ve got more than enough to dig as it stands.” Says Nancy
“If anyone’s life somehow becomes a subject of this job, it would be yours, Nancy.” Says George
“Oh, heaven’s no. I’m a good girl, not a bit of filth on any part of my character. You, however, with your dark clothes, and your ruffled hair, and your… pants; what sort of a girl wears pants? A bad girl, that’s who.” Says Nancy, playfully condescending, exaggerating her proper voice, lyrical as a pomp aristocrat made of nothing but airs
“Quite the detective; it really amazes me sometimes. I’m glad you’re in a good mood. Put that scotch away, we’re almost there.” Says George
“Wouldn’t want to forget it, would we?” asks Nancy, warmly, grabbing the bottle and putting it back inside of her trench coat
“Sometimes, I very much so want to forget it, but that’s beyond my control and I know this.” Says George
“What fun is a party with nothing to drink?” asks Nancy
“I wouldn’t consider work to be a party.” Says George
“I don’t see a reason as to why it wouldn’t be. Friends, fun activities, boisterousness, meeting new people, it’s a party in and of itself. Perhaps that perspective of yours is why you’re such a sourpuss sometimes. Change your mindset, change your mind, eh?” asks Nancy
“Yeah, I’ll work on that. I’m not a sourpuss, anyways.” Says George, dismissively, almost grumbling
“Of course, of course. I should have known you wouldn’t take kindly to such a cute term.” Teases Nancy
“Most people just call me a bitch. If the shoe fits, so they say.” Says George
“Such a feisty one.” Says Nancy, delighted
“Do we need to go to the bathroom, maybe splash some water on your face? We’re here. Get serious.” Says George, trying hard to hold back a chuckling grin; Nancy smiles and winks at George, herself holding back the same grin
“Let’s go.” Says George, chuckling with pleasant hopelessness, getting out of the car, Nancy follows
The police station sits in front of them, large and imposing, but comfortingly so, the caliber of the station justified by the amount of hijinks the town has succumbed to over the ageless years. The girls walk up the stoop dutifully and enter the glass double doors of the building nonchalantly.
The Chief stands in front of the front desk, talking fervently with the desk-duty officer.
“Thank god.” Says the Chief, after seeing the girls, visibly frustrated with the officer
“Christ, it took you long enough. I told you this was fucking serious.” Says the Chief
“And a splendid good morning to you too, Chief.” Says Nancy, artfully, dutifully, if insincerely, pleasant
The Chief stares at her sternly, bites down, exhales through his nose,
“God damn it.” He mumbles angrily, looking to the ground dejected, smelling the strong aroma of scotch on her breath
“Fuck you, too; Chief.” Says Nancy, casually, hostile yet indifferent, spiteful without aggression
“Fuck it. The mayor’s daughter was kidnapped walking to school this morning.” Says the Chief, visibly hurt by the news
“The cute one or the ugly one?” asks Nancy
“What? The cute one, damn it. The little girl.” Says the Chief
“I was about to say. If it was the ugly one I’d have been confused. I figure the only mystery there would be what the fuck was that kidnapping bastard thinking. I figure even the mayor himself would say good riddance.” Says Nancy
“Stop fucking around Nancy! Witnesses saw nothing other than a red Oldsmobile Cutlass fleeing the scene. That’s all we fucking have. This kid could easily end up dead or worse if we don’t solve this shit ASAP.” Says the Chief
“Cool it, cowboy. Kidnappers don’t kill kids. That’s murderers. Kidnappers want living kids for whatever reason. The kids not dead, stop being stupid.” Says Nancy
“Fuck off, Nancy! Go! Go away! Go solve the damn case!” shouts the Chief, furious
“Just as a side note, what’s the commission here? It seems like I’m in a bargaining position.” Says Nancy
“The key to the fucking city, Nancy! For Christ’s sake! There’s a small child in danger here, what the fuck is wrong with you!” shouts the Chief
“Shouting isn’t going to find that child any quicker, so let’s cool the jets, ok? Me and my partner here are going to scoot and we’ll let you know what we find. You need a fistful of barbs or something, your hat is jumping of your head with rage right now.” says Nancy
“You’re the one who needs a fist full of barbs, Nancy!” says the Chief
“With my habits I’m sure that would kill me. Otherwise, not a terrible idea.” Says Nancy
“That’s the fucking point, Nancy! Go die! Solve the case or go fucking die!” shouts the Chief
“Cool, ice. Let’s just be cool, my man. Easy does it. Take a nice seat, a nice breath, have a good breathing time, cool off a bit, ok? We’ll be in touch. Ta ta.” Says Nancy, smiling disconcertedly, casually, polite, professionally refined despite the provocation; George nods seriously, looking at the Chief, the Chief looks at her and nods, himself unable to think, but damned sure that the correct action is nodding; Nancy looks at George, begins nodding, and walks out of the station; the act of Nancy nodding infuriates the Chief but he remains silent despite his rage
The girls enter their car. George sighs firmly.
“You sure do have a way with words, don’t you?” asks George
“It’s a gift.” Says Nancy, more than happy to take the compliment
“Any hunches?” asks George
“Well, a red Cutlass doesn’t give us much, but then again, in by practical presumption we can limit this to criminals that drive a red Cutlass, and beyond that, ones that are stupid or greedy enough to decide that it’s a reasonable idea to fuck with the Mayor, for whatever misbegotten reason this asshat is delusional enough to think reasonable. There’s only one person who fits that description, and that’s Gary “Baghands” Barber.” Says Nancy, indifferent, yet entirely certain
“You just know that off the top of your head?” asks George
“George, I investigate criminals for a living, of course I’m going to know who the criminals are, at least the professional criminals. Baghands runs crack distribution in the Pannier project. Let’s go pay him a visit.” Says Nancy
“You think he’d just go home after doing something like this?” asks George
“When you say ‘something like this’, that implies that he knows what he did, which he doesn’t. Clearly he doesn’t want the kid personally; he’s strictly business and his business is crack, but for whatever reason he just saw it as an easy hustle. Clearly it’s not his idea, either. So that’s what we need to figure out.” Says Nancy
“I don’t understand how you can think clearly right now.” Says George, driving away from mid-town towards the project in question
“Solving mysteries is like breathing to me, unless I stop breathing, I won’t stop solving mysteries.” Says Nancy
“Something tells me that might come sooner than the idiom suggests.” Says George
“Fuck off with that. I may be a bit of a drinker, but I’m a responsible adult. The only thing that will kill me is old age, and that’s a long ways off.” Says Nancy
“You don’t seem to understand the danger of the work we do, Nancy.” Says George
“I certainly do; it’s the misbegotten criminals who find themselves surprised of the danger their lifestyle entails.” Says Nancy
“It’s disheartening that I believe you, but only due to the fact that I know you personally.” Says George
“That should sooth your heart like a soft breeze, the comfort of your own skin, the comfort of reality, of your own home.” Says Nancy
“Somehow work doesn’t quite have the feeling of home for me, yet. I’m comfortable in my own skin, but working puts me on edge a bit more than relaxing at home.” Says George
“That’s the thrill of it all; the rush, the pleasure of being alive.” Says Nancy
“I’m ashamed to admit I enjoy that part just as much as you do.” Says George
“No, no, undoubtedly I enjoy it more.” Says Nancy, haughtily, dismissively
“I have no capacity to doubt that statement.” Says George
“And you shouldn’t, my dear… Stop here, at this gas station.” Says Nancy
“I don’t need gas, Nancy.” says George
“No, I need gas.” Says Nancy
“What?” asks George, pulling into the station unquestioningly
“You’ll see.” Says Nancy, winking, she exits the car, goes into the unremarkable gas station, wanders to the small collection of plastic gas cans, picks a two gallon can, then takes it to the counter.
“This it?” asks the cashier
“Pack of reds.” Says Nancy, winking at the cashier
“Sure thing.” says the man, shaking his head in pleasant, playful disbelief, grabbing the cigarettes
“Six-fifty-two.” Says the man, Nancy pulls out a thick roll of bills in a money clip from the breast pocket, shifts through the notes, finds a tenner, and puts it on the counter
“I’m going to fill the can, not the car though. You can keep what’s left.” Says Nancy
“Have at it. Thanks.” Says the cashier
“You’re doing the lord’s work.” Says Nancy, warmly
“I’m just sell gas and cigarettes.” Says the man
“Do you think the lord would welcome you into heaven just to say that he has no gasoline and he has no cigarettes to offer you?” asks Nancy, the man
“You’re a nut, but thanks again.” Says the man, chuckling as the absurdity
“Salvation is not a laughing matter, my friend, even if it may seem farcical, as it is too good to be true.” Says Nancy, warmly condescending, matter-of-factly
“I’ll take your word for it. You take care now.” Says the man
“You too.” Says Nancy, heading outside, placing the container on the ground and filling it before replacing the cap, she gets back into the car; George looks at her, puzzled
“Off we go, chop chop. Time is of the essence.” Says Nancy
“I’m not Hannah, Nancy.” Says George, driving off
“Old habits die hard. It’s just a matter of prudence; you know this.” Says Nancy, taking the cap off of the canister, and inhaling deeply
“Oh yeah, that’s good stuff. The real deal.” Says Nancy
“Are you fucking kidding me?” asks George, visibly upset
“I just had to check, you know. To make sure it’s real gas. You don’t believe me? Check for yourself.” Says Nancy
“No, Nancy. I can smell it from here. Don’t fucking do that. It kills your brain.” Says George
“My whole body would be dead quite readily if this weren’t real gas. I just had to make sure.” Says Nancy, putting the cap back on, inhaling the still delectable residual fumes deeply, astutely, nobly
“You need gas to fight off the tremens, now?” asks George, still upset
“Fuck off with that nonny bullshit. You know my head is crisp. If you can’t put two and two together, so be it. Thankfully I know for certain you won’t have trouble when the time comes.” Says Nancy
“I hope that’s not the gasoline talking.” Says George
“No, but an oddly appropriate, if not peculiar, choice of words coming from yourself; do you fancy yourself an esper?” says Nancy
“What is that?” asks George
“Can you see into the future?” asks Nancy
“No. What? Why not talk about something that isn’t nonsense.” Says George
“Well, quite frankly, it isn’t nonsense, but nevertheless, I suppose you’ve just cemented the fact that you’re not an esper.” Says Nancy
“Good, and I don’t want to be. If I could look into the future, I’m sure I’d quickly lose the will to live.” Says George
“I’d argue you’d find a newfound passion for the art.” Says Nancy
“Really? Knowing how we die? Knowing exactly how one day, if not today, maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day, we fuck up and we both die?” asks George
“Nonny, nonny, nonny; stop being silly, George. Sure, you can say the fear of death may keep you on your toes, but I wouldn’t fret about it when you’re not looking death square in the eyes. Death should be but a mere fantasy to you, as fantastically fictitious as centaurs or wizards, any of that fairy tale nonsense.” Says Nancy
“Why is it that teenagers think they’re immortal?” asks George
“Well, I’m certainly no worse for wear, and if the trend continues, I’ll see myself living comfortably for quite some time beyond the present, still, undoubtedly, no worse for wear.” Says Nancy
“You’re a chain-smoking, alcoholic 16-year-old. How is that not worse for wear?” asks George
“I’d argue that’s for the better. What’s a machine without proper lubrication, now?” asks Nancy
“You’ve got me. I should have had a bit more of the scotch. I don’t know why my nerves are shaking like this. I figure better late than never, eh?” Says George, suggestively
“You savage, it’s only proper to wait until brunch. I’d give you a cigarette, at the very least, but unfortunately it’s not a great idea to smoke with this gasoline in the car.” Says Nancy
“I’d go ahead and call that superstition. It’s got a cap on it, doesn’t it? Anyways, if I knew you were such a spook I’d have kept a can of gas in this car at all times.” Says George
“You’re fond of the smell of gas as well?” asks Nancy
“More so than stale cigarette smoke.” Says George
“I see my esteemed and refined tastes have rubbed off on you nicely.” Says Nancy
“Give me a cigarette, I’m going to roll the windows down. This whole ordeal has me on edge.” Says George
“Fair enough. I’m not to blame if we blow up though.” Says Nancy, giving George a cigarette and the lighter, George lights it up
“See, nothing.” Says George, affirmed in her boldness
“You have a good eye to see through the superstition like that. There’s a reason why you’re a detective, you know.” Says Nancy, grabbing herself a cigarette and lighting it up
“God damn it, Nancy.” Says George
“I thought we came to the decision that it’s perfectly safe to smoke in the car?” asks Nancy
“I’m not the one with the can of gas on my lap.” Says George
“It’s safe and sound. The cigarette is out the window anyways, we’re not even smoking in the car. The gas is inside, the cigarette is outside, perfectly safe.” Says Nancy
“Still, at this point, it is your fault if we blow up.” Says George
“I’ll take credit for it. I doubt your rebuke will be anything but meager if we’re both covered in gasoline and on fire.” Says Nancy
“You’re content with that fate?” asks George
“What fate? Your detective skills have already cleared the mist around that superstition. You wouldn’t doubt your own revelations, would you?” asks Nancy
“I need to learn to stop giving a fuck. This is just too much.” Says George
“It’s certainly not a bad skill to have. Comes in handy far more often than not.” Says Nancy
“You realize that means over 50% of the time that you’re alive, right?” asks George
“Certainly; if there’s nothing to be gained by giving a fuck, and nothing to be lost by not giving a fuck. At that point, simple common sense confirms that there’s no reason to give a fuck. Why exhaust myself in a fruitless act of reverence to irrelevance?” asks Nancy
“Just make sure to give a fuck when we need to do so.” Says George
“I’m a pragmatist, not a nihilist. I don’t give a fuck when this is objectively the superior and optimized action, usually due to the preservation of both willpower and psychological exertion. If I were to not give a fuck at all times merely due to philosophical reverence to indifference, then I would be both an asshat and an idiot. My life is orchestrated around reality and reality alone, if I were to give into belief baselessly, without real and legitimizing evidence to justify my belief, then I would be delusional, my mind no more valid than one crippled by superstition.
I’d use the term renaissance woman, if only with respect to my use of objective logic as opposed to superstition and baseless belief, not that I feel I’m some sort of polymath. My relevant expertise lies in solving mysteries alone, as surely one would not put fucking and drinking as skills which were revolutionized by the Renaissance. Mankind had mastered such art forms through sheer determination, through endless trial and error, long before he had the scientific revolution that would guide his mind to master arts and sciences that he lacks the same natural predisposition for.” Says Nancy
“Don’t talk like that, it’s just nonsense. You sound like a lunatic babbling about god knows what. We’re here. Any building in particular?” Says George, turning down a street lined with battered 3-story apartment buildings. A spattering of people loiter about socializing, the few cars present parked on two meters of what once was grass, separating the sidewalk from the curb. For every ray of dismal hopelessness emanating from the project, the cars radiate with an almost cartoonish degree of resplendence.
“Anywhere is fine. We’re not but a stone’s throw from where we’ll need to go anyways.” Says Nancy, indifferently
“Shit, there’s the car.” Says George, whispering needlessly
“Good eye, George. Don’t park right next to it, leave a few spaces.” Says Nancy, calmly, George does so, Nancy opens the glove compartment and withdraws a black semi-automatic handgun, slipping it calmly into the holster inside of her trench coat
“You all set?” asks Nancy
“Yeah.” Says George
“Let me do the talking, and make sure to lock the car.” Says Nancy, getting out of the car, holding the gas can, George follows, locking the car, stone-faced despite her nervousness, Nancy walks up to a man, sitting against the wall, visibly downtrodden
“My man, we’re here to buy some crack. Here to see Baghands, where’s he at?” asks Nancy, casually, confidently nonchalant as if this were routine
“Crack? What, no. Never heard of it. I don’t know about no crack.” Says the man, stuttering, muttering, fearfully
“You understand that ‘we’ means you and me, right? You sure you don’t want any crack? I’m just trying to help a brother out, you know. Do some good for the world.” Says Nancy, casually reaches into her coat, slipping a twenty out of the money clip, rubbing the money together, smiling and winking at the man
“Oh yeah, yeah, we is about to head up right now to get it.” Says the man, readily inspired
“I hear it’s on sale. I’m a sucker for a bargain.” Says Nancy
“Oh yeah, it’s real good too, you gonna love it. Mmm, mmm.” Says the man, jittery and excited, leading her to the stairwell of the project
“We’ll go Even Stevens, ok?” asks Nancy
“Oh, yeah, that’s real good for me. I love white people, you all so nice and kind, so pleasant, even to somebody like me.” Says the man
“You’re a good man, there’s nothing to be ashamed of.” Says Nancy, warmly
“I know, I try, but I could just be a little bit better. I don’t feel good about myself sometimes.” Says the man, heading up to the third floor
“Hopefully this little treat will make you feel a lot better about yourself. There’s no reason be down on yourself like that.” Says Nancy
“Oh yeah, oh yes it will. You know what a man needs to feel better.” Says the man, walking down the open-air hallway eagerly, knocking on a door aggressively, not waiting a moment
“Who is it?” asks a man from inside
“It’s your friend Rodney.” Says the man, desperately friendly
“Fuck off. You ain’t got no money, nigga.” Says the door man
“Yeah I do!” says Rodney assertively, looking at Nancy with desperation in his eyes, rubbing his empty fingers together, Nancy hands him the twenty
“Look and see!” says Rodney, holding the money to the peephole of the door
“God damn, whose dick you suck for that?” asks the man, surprised
“Yo mamma dick, boy!” says Rodney, the man opens the door, the chain lock still attached
“Kick it!” says Nancy, lightheartedly, as if she was herself a contemporary musician, instantly, George kicks the door firmly, breaking the meager chain lock, the man stumbles backwards as Nancy draws her gun and shoots the man once in the chest, once in the head, in a split second, still holding the gasoline in one hand; of the five people in the living room, two sober men react reality at the gunshots, as if it were a starter pistol; their instantaneous reaction time gives them away as threats, Nancy shoots one of them twice, in the same manner, George unloads three shots into the other, less accurate but efficient enough.
“Fuck!” shouts a voice from the one bedroom; the other visible three cower, two of them women, all of them addicts. Rodney stands motionless, confused to the point of being unable to think, his mind still entirely focused on the acquisition of crack, frozen by fear save for his eyes that frantically scour the room for loose rocks.
“Cover that door.” Says Nancy, quietly, looking at the other bedroom , they stand in the open kitchen behind a counter, with clear eyes on the bathroom, as well as the spare bedroom, Nancy focused on the master
“Baghands, we need to talk!” shouts Nancy
“Oh fuck naw!” he shouts, more upset than he is baffled
“I’m not fucking around!” shouts Nancy, who uncaps the nozzleless gasoline and begins to toss it casually over the apartment, tossing it onto the scared addicts
“You know why I’m here!” Shouts Nancy
“I don’t know shit!” shouts Baghands
“I’m sure you can smell what’s about to fucking happen if you try to fuck with me!” Shouts Nancy
“Please, daddy! Please! Don’t let them kill us!” cries a young woman on the couch, yet to be physically marred by the drug, still visibly attractive
“Shut the fuck up, bitch! Give me a minute!” Shouts Baghands; Nancy motions for George to follow her, approaching the door quietly, George keeping eyes on the other two doors
“Please daddy, we gone die!” cries the woman again; Nancy silently motions for George to kick down the door, she does, readily breaking the particleboard door from the socket, Baghands, alone, hurrying trying to collect idle stacks of cash from drawers into a bag
“Fuck!” He shouts,
“Don’t fuck with me! You want to die, motherfucker?!” shouts Nancy, Nancy simultaneously scattering the remainder of the gasoline over the bedroom with her off-hand, both guns pointed at him
“God damn!” cries Baghands, truly afraid, running towards the open window, climbing through it onto the balcony
“We need him alive.” Says Nancy, calmly, to George, dropping the canister and following him out of the window, Baghands already attempting to scale down to the fence to the balcony below. George watches her back for pursuers before following Nancy outside the window, looking over her shoulder, she sees Rodney sneak into the bedroom behind them, aggressively searching for the readily available crack rocks, hundreds of which are bagged neatly, resting atop the dresser in distinct piles.
Nancy holsters her gun and readily hops over the balcony, scaling down the identical balconies with graceful agility. Baghands, landing on the ground, moments before her tries to run towards his car. Nancy quickly pulls her gun and fires multiple shots into his legs, he falls down a few yards before his car, but continues to crawl.
“I’ll let you go right here. Just tell me what I need to know, Baghands!” shouts Nancy, George follows behind her astutely, watching the surroundings, the loiterers more entertained than indifferent, almost surprised if they had not grown callous to such violence, but showing no interest in protecting the man
“I don’t know shit, bitch!” cries Baghands, hopelessly, himself a man of lean frame, a, athletic but no longer in any shape to compete physically, aged beyond his youth, his success a marker of his prolonged dedication to the game
“The only choice you are making is how much pain you want to feel! You’re going to talk, motherfucker! So just let me know right now! How much pain do you want to feel?” Shout’s Nancy, standing over the man, pointing the gun at his head, fumbling in his waistline for a gun he no longer felt obligated to carry, having forsaken his own right to protection while he slept due to the inevitable slothfulness induced by the stability and ease of life he has known for so long.
Nancy kicks him in the skull, dazing him. She then grabs handcuffs from her coat and cuffs him tightly. Force of habit causes him to comply without resistance, having been subjected to similar, if less so violent, treatment many times before, always coming out the other side of the system little worse for wear.
“Fuck.” Says Baghands, crying softly from the pain of being shot multiple times, but unable to hold back the tears due to the genuine sadness caused by the fact that he now knew how badly he had fucked up. Nancy motions to George with her head to get the car, she does, pulling it into the road, parking it next to Nancy. A soft whooshing noise comes from the open windows of Baghand’s apartment, screaming can be heard from within. Flames begin to flicker from the open window.
“Rodney!” Cries Baghands, the agony and despair in his voice drawn out and genuine, bereaved at the loss of his crack and his money, far more so than the company he kept
“Jesus.” Whispers George, under her breath
“Give me a hand.” Says Nancy, indifferent, George opens the door, together they lift the man into the back of the car, he lies down across the back seat
“Don’t make me shoot you again… Remember, you’re the one who decides how much you want to suffer today.” Says Nancy, grabbing the small tote bag , closing the door on him, and putting the bag on the floor in the passenger side as she gets inside. George enters the driver’s side and starts the car, shaken but unwilling to display anything beyond stoicism. George drives off, dutifully, silently, driving carefully, making no haste despite the situation. Nancy looks in the bag, full of nothing but money, mostly small bills, banded together in stacks, she closes it and places it on the floor, entirely indifferent.
“That’s not on me, you know.” Says Nancy, unusually quiet, casually firm, the subtlest twinge of an admission of guilt in her voice, but her actions already pardoned in her mind; the siren of a fire engine sounds in the distance
“I don’t think it really matters at this point.” Says George, subtly upset, only at the circumstances of their life, as she can find no fault in Nancy’s actions, the constraints of her job prevent her from even considering such things, if such faults truly did exist
“Crack is one hell of a drug.” Says Nancy, softly, her tone providing a genuine pardon for the misbegotten actions of a certain somebody now dying in the apartment fire
“That it is.” Says George, softly, bewildered by the affliction of the poor but unwilling to think any further
“C’est la vie.” Says Nancy, faded, airily, the past already nothing more than a figment of her imagination
“Bitch, you just threw gasoline all over my apartment! C’est la vie? C’est la vie?! Bitch, what the fuck is wrong with you? You killed good hos and burned down peoples’ houses; for what?” shouts Baghands, aggressively baffled
“Oh, you want to talk now? For what? You know what, motherfucker. Just tell me what I need to know and I’ll drop you off on the curb over here.” Says Nancy
“I don’t know shit.” Says Baghands, sternly
“I’ve got a knack for getting people to remember, so I wouldn’t put so much faith in those words.” Says Nancy
“I’m dead either way, why the fuck would I say a damn thing?” asks Baghands, aggressively
“You don’t seem to understand what happening here. You’re dead if you talk, this is true, but so long as you don’t talk, you will remain alive. That’s the point I’m trying to get across right now.” Says Nancy, genuinely educating the man
“Why the fuck would I talk then? Are you fucking stupid?” asks Baghands
“You will soon find that being alive is much more unpleasant than being dead. I’m simply being compassionate right now.” Says Nancy
“Fuck out of here, bitch.” Says Baghands, becoming reluctant to talk
“In that case, it seems that we’ll be having some fun today. Brunch?” asks Nancy, grabbing the scotch from her coat, having a drink, then offering the bottle to George
“Please.” Says George, drinking just a splash enough to feel pain, Nancy lights a cigarette, George gives the bottle back, Nancy hands her the cigarettes courteously, without any unneeded question, George smokes as they drive into the city
“You’re awfully quiet.” Jokes George
“Just catching my breath; spending some time with my thoughts.” Says Nancy, smoking deeply
“I take it we’re just going back to the station?” asks George
“As much as any old room would work just as well, I figure I’d do the boys a solid, let them have a go on him when we’re done.” Says Nancy
“You’re too kind.” Says George
“I can’t help it. I’m just that sort of girl. There’s a certain pleasure in philanthropy, charity, you know. I’m sure the boys won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” Says Nancy
“Just make sure he can still talk when that point comes.” Says George
“I’ll do my best… Just let me know what I need to know right now, Gary. I’ll let you out right here. You can be on your merry way.” Says Nancy, lighthearted, half-serious in the futile offer, Baghands says nothing
“Have it your way, then.” Says Nancy, almost disappointed, more so out of blind compassion for the human race than any reluctance to do her job, the car turns the corner, the police station comes into view
“Last chance.” Says Nancy, with the playful friendliness of a parent, Baghands is silent
“You truly are as stupid as they say. Not that I really had any doubts after what you pulled today.” Says Nancy, somewhat amazed, George parks in front of the station, Nancy gets out
“Murphy, give me a hand!” Shouts Nancy to an officer loitering outside, smoking a cigarette with a female cop
“Who fucked up this time?” asks Murphy
“Take a peek for yourself.” Says Nancy, playfully, Murphy walks over
“God damn. You fucked up, Baghands. I normally feel nothing but hatred for people like you, but I actually feel bad for once. Get the fuck out of the car.” Says Murphy, opening the door, his brief moment compassion replaced by hard, instinctive, dutiful, work ethic
“I can’t walk, nigga.” Says Baghands, defensively, childish, Murphy grabs the man, still lying across the back seat, drags him out of the car, dropping him on the ground, he cries out in pain, upset
“Damn, you got fucked up.” Says Murphy, impressed, the woman in the distance smoking her cigarette slowly more so unnerved than entertained
“You might have to carry him.” says Nancy
“I don’t want this nigga to bleed on me. I just washed this shirt.” Says Murphy
“Seeing how it’s past brunch and you don’t have any blood on your uniform, I was expecting you to be grateful for the opportunity. You don’t want the Chief to think you’re slacking, do you?” asks Murphy
“I’m on desk duty, Nancy.” Says Murphy
“That’s no excuse, Murphy.” Says Nancy
“Something‘s wrong with you.” Says Murphy, almost disgusted with her savagery, but the large, well-built man easily throws the much smaller criminal over his shoulder
“How can it be wrong when it feels so right?” asks Nancy, feigning enlightenment
“Where you taking me?” asks Baghands, suddenly concerned
“Hell on earth.” Says Nancy
“Fuck that supposed to mean?” asks Baghands
“You speak English, don’t you?” ask Murphy
“No shit, nigga.” Says Baghands
“Well it means exactly what that bitch said.” Says Murphy
“I think that’s a conduct violation to call me a bitch, Murphy.” Says Nancy, indifferent
“You’re going to call me on code of conduct? You? Of all people?” asks Murphy, taken aback, almost insulted
“I just don’t want it to become a habit. Your mouth is what got you put on desk duty, remember?” says Nancy
“For fuck’s sake; if you ain’t a bitch I can’t think of no other word for you. You’re a fucking monster, Nancy.” Says Murphy
“Murphy…” says Nancy, with the teasing elongation of a parent who believes that the subtlest tone of loving disapproval adequately conditions a child
“Excuse me. It means exactly what this kind lady said.” Says Murphy
“Much better. Sit him down for me.” Says Nancy, delighted, opening the door to the dimly lit interrogation room, dark walls, a thick hardwood table, the low lighting hiding the filth, the smell of chemicals unable to mask the the odor of what has come to be known as hard work; Murphy sits him on the metal chair, then shackles one of his legs to the table, bolted to the floor
“I can’t walk, nigga.” Says Baghands, indignant at the needless restraint
“Code of conduct.” Says Murphy, indifferent to the code, but smirking at his own humor, “You good?” asks Murphy, looking at Nancy
“I can take it from here. Thank you kindly for your assistance, good sir.” Says Nancy
“You are most certainly welcome, Miss Nancy.” Says Murphy, entertained by putting on airs of needless politeness, walking out of the room, Nancy follows him, George follows her
“What happened to interrogating him?” asks Murphy
“I’m going to let him think for a minute. Figure I could use a cup of coffee about now.” Says Nancy
“I’d love to keep you company, but I just took my break.” Says Murphy
“Don’t sweat it. Go show the Chief how hard you’ve been working.” Says Nancy, winking at Murphy who walks away, Nancy and George walk down the hall towards the break room; the breakroom is standard fare, similar to what one would find in any modestly equipped office, but significantly more homey, the soft, warm tan and brown hues coming from the color scheme would remind somebody of an old country home or an elegant office, even when the reflection of industrial plastic veneer of the furniture and yellow checkerboard linoleum might fetter that nostalgic feeling. The smell of fresh coffee enough to put a smile on the girls’ faces, the joy of simple pleasures is an all too comforting reprieve from an otherwise unforgiving world.
“It’s a damn shame I need coffee at my age. I’m already feeling spent and it’s not even noon yet.” Says Nancy, pouring herself a cup, somewhat embittered but by no means indignant, fixing the cup with creamer
“I think most people would be spent after a morning like this.” Says George, grabbing herself one, fixing it with a bit of cold water from the sink
“Trying to watch your figure, eh?” Teases Nancy, sipping on hers
“I figure I do this for the same reason you drink scotch. I’d be having ten candied coffees every day if I let myself. I’m sure that’d do a number on my figure considering my already questionable diet. I’m trying to dodge any bullets I possibly can at this point.” Says George
“You’d look good with a fuller figure, add some definition to those curves.” Teases Nancy, winking,
“I’m trying to dodge bullets here, not be a bigger target for them.” Says George, dryly, smirking
“I’m just saying. I tend to turn a blind eye, I don’t ask questions I don’t need too, but now I’m curious. Why the water? The coffee too strong for you?” asks Nancy, lighting a cigarette, sliding the pack across the table
“I can’t drink it at the rate I want when it’s so hot. I don’t want to look like a dawdler sitting around sipping hot coffee. Look like I’m fucking retired, or worse… the Chief.” Says George, Nancy laughs
“You just need a newspaper.” Says Nancy
“And the propensity to start shouting needlessly the second anything happens.” Says George
“Thankfully that’s not too often.” Says Nancy
“Knowing the Chief, he’d make something up just to have an excuse to shout at us.” Says George
“You know he wouldn’t even need one. He would just start shouting noises, not even making words.” Says Nancy
“I can see that.” Says George, chuckling, sipping her coffee, relaxing
“Speak of the devil.” Says Nancy, grimacing with an almost eager smirk
“What the fuck are you two doing! Why the fuck are you sitting here drinking coffee?! That girl is still missing and you decide it’s high fucking time to have a spot of joe!? A nice, lazy, little chitchat without a care in the fucking world?! Get to fucking work! Don’t make me slap that fucking cup out of your hand, Nancy!” says the Chief, George looks at Nancy, a bit puzzled, and sips her coffee
“Cool it, Chief. We just snagged a hot lead, and, entirely due to the constraints upon our work placed on us by the union, we’re just taking our mandatory break.” Says Nancy
“You’re not part of the fucking union, Nancy!” Shouts the Chief
“That’s beside the point, Chief. The code of conduct explicitly reminds us to behave like dignified members of a prestigious union. That’s exactly what we’re doing.” Says Nancy
“Fuck the code of conduct, Nancy! I know for damn certain you have absolutely no respect for it unless it suits your own fucking fancy!” Shouts the Chief
“By your own logic you are implying that I have a profound amount of respect for the code of conduct.” Says Nancy, feigning confusion and insult
“Shut the fuck up! Get to fucking work or this kid is going to die!” Shouts the Chief
“People don’t kill hostages, you silly goose. We’ve got forever and a day to find the girl. Beyond that, despite the appearances, I am actually doing my job as we speak. I know it’s against the code, but forgive me, I’m a workaholic. I’m icing the perp, giving him a minute to think in the clarity of isolation. I’m softening his resolve by exposing him to his own thoughts. If he’s stupid enough to get himself into this mess, he’s stupid enough to convince himself that there’s somehow a third option available to him right now where he gets off scot-free and isn’t killed by whoever put him up to this.” Says Nancy
“Don’t give me this shit. We’ll have hell to pay if we don’t find this girl pronto.” Growls the Chief, tired of shouting in the doorway, walking over to the girl’s table, towering over them
“We, meaning you and me? You want to ride with us next time? We’ve got room in the back.” Says Nancy
“We meaning I will have hell to pay if you don’t find this girl. Seeing how I’m pretty damn certain you’re the reason an entire apartment building is on fire right now, I’m going to keep as much distance as possible between us.” Growls the Chief, putting his hands on the table staring Nancy in the eyes, somehow attempting to threaten her with his own vulnerability
“That’s a shame. I’m sure it would be a gay old time…. Anyways, seeing how I’m in the bargaining position with nothing to lose here, I’d suggest you let me and my partner here enjoy our coffee. Take you own advice, keep your distance. If your blood pressure gets too high you may damn well have a stroke. I’m just trying to look out for you right here.” Says Nancy, feigning disappointment before giving the genuine advice, the Chief screams wildly, spins around, and throws an idle coffee mug from the table across from the girls, shattering it against the wall before storming out of the room enraged;
“Well, my cup’s run dry. How about we get down to business?” asks Nancy, hearty, entirely unfazed by the events
“I don’t know how you do it. Talk to him like that. Even at my most vicious it would be hard to go toe to toe with the Chief.” Says George, impressed but unwilling to act the part beyond a simple acknowledgement
“You’ve just got to understand when you’re in the position of power. He can pout and cry all he wants, but he knows he doesn’t have the capacity to change anything about the situation. Unfortunately, this infuriates him to no end.” Says Nancy
“Clearly.” Says George, finishing her cup of coffee, putting it on the counter next to the machine, Nancy follows suit, the girls walk casually down the hall and enter the interrogation room, Baghands sits looking at the table, frowning
“So, Gary, have you decided to be a Good Samaritan today?” asks Nancy, casually, Baghands says nothing
“That’s unfortunate. I’ll try to make this quick; spare you the petty antics. How about some music?” Says Nancy, George turns on the radio, a DJ talks on the air, Nancy goes to the tall metal cabinet as on the side of the room, opening it, perusing the wares like a mindless shopper eyeing products, grabbing a hammer and a couple of 60d nails, placing them on the table. Nancy grabs the man’s arms, manacled behind his back, and starts lifting them up slowly
“Just let me know when I hit the spot, ok?” asks Nancy, playfully, Baghands scoffs, completely unbothered by the act, the DJ stops talking and the bassline of Under Pressure by Queen begins to play
“Delightful taste, George. Grab his neck for me, will you.” Says Nancy, Baghands’ arms perpendicular to his back at this point, George does so, Nancy continues to lift them rapidly, at 80 degrees, Baghands grunts
“Feeling it, eh?” asks Nancy, Baghands scoffs again, Nancy winks at George before forcefully pulling Baghands’ arms over his head, slamming his now upside-down hands to the table, Baghands screams
“Remember, the safe word is when you tell me where that girl is, ok?” says Nancy, warmly, pulling Baghands’ arms taught across the table, George loosens the grip on his neck enough to move him closer to the table, she slides the chair back, allowing Nancy to align the sockets of his arms with the edge of the table. Nancy takes one of the nails, places it into the center of the man’s palm, then drives it into the table with a few skillful strokes of the hammer. He screams, she repeats the process for the second nail.
“Stop!” screams Gary
“But we’ve only just begun?” Says Nancy, with the cute perplexed tone of an innocent child when an adult seeks to put an end to their play, Baghands starts to cry, sobbing in agony. George kicks the wooden chair out from under him, the manacle still attached to the leg of the toppled chair, his bullet riddled legs attempt to keep the pressure off of his arm sockets.
“Still got some fight in you, eh? I love a fighter.” Says Nancy, smiling warmly, grabbing the hammer, begging to take shots mercilessly at his kneecaps until his knee’s collapse, putting all of the weight of his body on the sockets of his arms,
“Stop! Please!” He cries out weakly, in agony
“That’s not the safe word. It’s good to know that you can still speak though.” Teases Nancy, playfully, punching him in the kidney, George follows on the other side, Nancy follows in rhythm
“Kill me!” he cries
“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours… Still, no?” Says Nancy, almost embarrassed by her inefficacy, Nancy motions with her index finger in front of her torso, spinning it in circles a few times, George delivers a swift kick to the man’s unguarded liver her in Muay Thai style. The man convulses in agony, only increasing his pain as he vomits on the table, releasing a deathly groan in the process, followed by an astute silence, simply lacking the capacity to make any noise at this point
“Let’s give him some time to think.” Says Nancy
“God damn, that smells awful.” Says George, the girls sit across from him at the table
“Feeding a criminal is to embezzle from life and dole your boodle unto destruction.” Says Nancy
“I sure as shit didn’t feed him. He fed himself, whatever that shit is.” says George
“Clearly.” Says Nancy
“What the fuck are you talking about?” asks George
“Basically, you are what you eat.” Says Nancy, reaching into her pockets for a cigarette, handing one to George
“How can smoking be appealing right now?” asks George
“It’s always appealing. Beyond that, it’s a sanitary action.” Says Nancy, lighting up
“How?” asks George
“Fire is purifying. Smoke kills things like germs.” Says Nancy
“Smokes kills damn near everything.” Says George
“I’d wager that germs are included in everything. We’ve got time to kill, and at the very least it dulls your sense of smell.” Says Nancy, dryly, handing George the lighter, she begins to smoke, Nancy stares into the glazed, hardly conscious eyes of the man sitting across from here
“Any day now, Gary.” Says Nancy, casually, amiable, firm yet coldly indifferent, Baghands does not respond, his eyes motionless, struggling to breathe, Nancy looks at him, sighs, wait’s a moment, then walks over to the cabinet
“Really?” asks George
“Top shelf.” Says Nancy, winking at George, reaching into the top shelf of the cabinet, withdrawing a room temperature 40oz bottle of malt liquor
“You’ve got to me fucking kidding me.” Groans George, visibly frustrated, Nancy cracks the bottle, walks over to Baghands, and starts to trickle the beer on his head
“Wake up, sleepy head.” Says Nancy, the smell of malt liquor forcing old memories through his mind, vivid depictions of his youth, his idle times as a petty hustler, the smell alone causing him to feel pleasure, euphoria in his half-dead dream-state, the pain coursing through his body slowly drowns out his memories, cripplingly saddened by the ephemeral nature of the sweet thoughts, unable to understand anything that is happening beyond the pain, longing only to go back to the lazy days of his youth, loitering, selling weed, smoking cigarettes, and drinking malt liquor; his mind desperately attempting to compel his body to escape, to somehow find a way back into the past, but the desires of his mind slowly lose the will to fight as he comes to term with his inability to move
“Kill me.” He whispers, slowly, weakly
“Where’s the girl, Gary?” asks Nancy, calmly, Baghands says nothing, dead inside
“I’ve got what you want right here, Gary. Just tell me who hurt you like this, and this will all be over.” Says Nancy, comfortingly, pulling the gun out of her trench coat, showing it to him,
“Marino…” Chokes Baghands, crying
“Clearly we’re not talking about the quarterback here. There’s at least 10 different Marinos running with the mafia.” Says Nancy
“Beppe…” says Baghands
“Little Beppe or the old man?” asks Nancy
“Bistro…” says Baghands
“I take it you’re not fucking with me. Do I need to make sure?” says Nancy
“Please… no…” says Baghands, crying
“The shoe fits, so I’ve got no reason to doubt the man. The bistro is a just a few blocks from where the girl got snatched. You buying it?” asks Nancy
“That’s on you. I’m not the detective here. I’m just here for emotional support at this point.” Says George
“It’s about time we pay a visit to Beppe’s Bistro then.” Says Nancy
“What about Baghands?” asks George
“I hate to do this to you, but I was going to let the boys have a go on you if they felt so inclined. Just to be civil.” Says Nancy, putting the gun back in her coat
“Kill me.” Cries Baghands, pleading, his tone wavering in tone like a yelping dog in the process of being beaten, replayed in slow motion
“Let me just make a call, who knows. Luck of the draw if anyone bites.” Says Nancy, picking up the phone on the side of the wall, dialing an extension, the phone rings twice
“This is Detective McKinney speaking, what can I do for you?” asks the man
“McKinney, I got Baghands down here paying penance, any of you boys in the shed want a go on him?” asks Nancy
“It’s just me, but I figure it couldn’t hurt. I’ll be down in a second.” Says McKinney
“Right-o. Toodle-oo.” says Nancy, hanging up the phone
“This will just be a second, McKinney’s going to ask some questions, then you’ll be on your way.” Says Nancy
“Kill me!” Cries Baghands, pained, desperate, tortured by her betrayal, a knock on the door, Nancy goes to open it, McKinney stands outside, he looks at Baghands, nauseated by the smell with a look of astonished disgust on his face
“No… Nancy, what the fuck, no. Christ…” He says, softly, disgusted, appalled, at a loss for words
“What did you expect?” Says Nancy
“For Christ’s sake, Nancy.” Says McKinney, walking away, pained and embittered
“And for Christ’s sake, Amen.” Says Nancy, smiling, walking back towards the table, grabbing her gun from her coat, nonchalantly, shooting Baghands in the head three times, indifferently, as if it were a trivial purely routine task
“I don’t think that’s how it goes.” Says George, dryly
“It’s close enough.” Says Nancy, walking casually out the door
“McKinney, go call Steve for me.” Shouts Nancy, at McKinney, already most of the way back to his office
“What the fuck do I tell him?” shouts McKinney
“I got him a present.” Shout’s Nancy
“Fuck yourself.” Shout’s McKinney
“What ever happened to teamwork? Call Steve for me, George. Extension 241.” mumbles Nancy, going back into the room, grabbing the hammer, loosing the nails from the table, the body collapses on the floor, George dials the extension, the phone is picked up quickly
“Steve…” Says George
“George…” says Steve, presumptively
“Yeah…” says George
“Well, ok then. I’m on my way.” Says Steve
“Thanks.” Says George
“Of course.” Says Steve, in empty, habitual, politeness, always a bit unsettled by these things, hanging up the phone
“Pitiful.” Says Nancy
“What?” asks George, indifferent
“That’s why I wanted McKinney to do it.” Says Nancy, exiting the room down the hall
“Why?” asks George
“Your conversations are always so terse and grim, you need to put more pizazz into your voice, really shifts the mood with a conversation like that. Work ethic is one thing, but presentation is important, and enthusiasm is a big part of presentation.” Says Nancy
“I can understand his reluctance to have that conversation, and I respect that reluctance. He got the message, that’s all that matters.” Says George
“As polite as that may be, as pragmatic as that may be, try to remember that beauty exists beyond function, that style and aesthetic can go a long way in the human mind. It may seem pointless, but the psychological effect of these things is immense.” Says Nancy
“That was my style and aesthetic, whether or not you think it’s beautiful seems like a matter of personal taste.” Says George
”The key is that my personal tastes align with the standard tastes, the same tastes that collectively agree that the work of Michelangelo is beautiful while the artwork of small children usually is not. To deviate from artistic tastes justified by empirical scientific measurements is an example of psychological degeneracy, of deviation from a healthy mind, regardless of how deeply one may feel supportive of those tastes. The human mind is psychologically wired to be pleased by pleasantness, warmth, and vivacity.” Says Nancy
“That’s how I would describe myself… vivacious.” Says George, dryly
“You can be if it suits your fancy, to revel in your own churlish mirth that is.” Says Nancy
“As churlish as I may be sometimes, I find it hard to revel in that sort of shit sometimes.” Says George
“Such a soft heart under that stony exterior.” Teases Nancy, entering the bathroom
“You got me, just like the story books.” Says George, following, the well-kept commercial bathroom unremarkable, a female officer washing her hands at the triple sink
“Any news from the beat, Shelly?” asks Nancy
“No. Just routine things here. I’d rather not hear what you’ve been up to, any more than I already have.” Says Shelly, grimly
“Not a fan of my storytelling, eh?” asks Nancy, walking into a stall directly behind Shelly, keeping the door open,
“I try to dwell more on the positive side of my job.” Says the Woman, looking at the girl through the mirror
“Despite the years, you’re still so proper, kind, and dainty. It’s touching, you know.” Says Nancy, using the toilet, making eye contact with her
“Thankfully my work is much different than yours, Nancy. There’s no way I could do what you do, I’m still scared any time I even have to pull my gun.” Says Shelly, touching up her make-up
“That just shows you’re lacking confidence, stage fright. Practice makes perfect you know.” Says Nancy, winking at Shelly in the mirror, smirking
“Christ, Nancy. Shooting real people is not something I want to practice.” Says Shelly, appalled
“The thing to remember that even just coming home alive is the Carnegie Hall in our line of work.” Says Nancy, finishing on the toilet, pulling her panties up, standing up and flushing the toilet
“I’m confident in my ability to perform my duty if need be, but shooting somebody is a method of last resort.” Says Shelly, Nancy washing her hands
“I find it to function more as a pragmatic form of workplace efficiency.” Says Nancy
“You’re not a cop, Nancy. That’s the difference, you don’t seem to understand what we do, and I certainly don’t understand how you can do what you do. For the love of God, don’t go causing any more trouble than you have to.” Says Shelly, walking away
“I’m the antithesis of trouble, Shells; it just so happens that when trouble and anti-trouble meet, the result can be explosive.” Says Nancy
“I’m pretty sure by your logic there; you would be obliterated in the process simultaneously.” Says George, walking out of the closed stall, washing her hands
“That’s a layman’s fallacy, it’s a matter of quantity here, and undoubtedly I am a far more massive quantity of anti-trouble than any petty trouble the miscreants on the street can cook up. Fire may evaporate water, but we all know that water is damn good at putting out fires.” Says Nancy
“Just don’t lose too much of yourself in the process.” Says George, walking out of the bathroom
“The beauty of life is that it has the capacity to regenerate itself.” Says Nancy, following
“Don’t get too cocky on me.” Says George
“I’ve yet to encounter a reason not to be. A bit of jovial levity is always pleasant, no?” asks Nancy
“It’s pleasant until it gets you killed.” Says George, grimly smug
“So in my case it’s invariably pleasant; wonderful that we could reach a mutual conclusion there.” Says Nancy, the girls walking down the hall towards the exit, passing the Chief’s office, he is sitting in his chair smoking angrily, Nancy shoots him the double finger guns and a wink, grinning widely, playfully, he scowls at her, she smirks, George rolls her eyes
“We’re rolling out Murphy; make sure this desk stays in line, don’t hesitate to use necessary force if it gives you any trouble, ok?” Teases Nancy
“Fuck you, Nancy.” Grumbles Murphy, light-hearted; Nancy winks, smiling, Murphy chuckles, entertained by her reckless abandon, the girls walk outside
“Lunch, shall we?” asks Nancy, taking the bottle from her coat
“I’m good, Nancy. At least for now.” Says George
“I’ma kill it then, baby girl.” Says Nancy, taking the last two shots from the bottle in tandem, sliding effortlessly down her throat, shaking her face rapidly and making a brururbrabbah noise
“You ok?” asks George
“God damn, that shit is disgusting.” Says Nancy, putting the bottle into the garbage can style recycling bin outside of the station
“You truly are the detective people say you are.” Says George
“They don’t pay me good money for nothing, you know.” Jokes Nancy
“I’m glad you’ve taken it upon yourself to heed the call of recycling.” Says George, leading Nancy to the car
“I like to pretend it will lower the price of a bottle.” Says Nancy
“I didn’t think you even counted the money.” Says George
“I don’t, but I’m trying to think of the people who do, be a Good Samaritan and whatnot.” Says Nancy
“I’m sure your philanthropic charity will not go unnoticed.” Says George, getting in the car, Nancy follows, George starts to drive
“Smoke?” asks Nancy, lighting up, handing them to George, she follows suit
“You’ve got a plan?” asks George
“Business as usual.” Says Nancy, warmly, casually, indifferent, entertained
“Nothing wry up your sleeve?” asks George
“I mean, going to Beppe’s leaves little room for antics. He’s not one to play games with. Antics are mostly bit of charity, giving the meek an opportunity to be compliant. Sadly, Beppe’s not a particularly meek man.” Says Nancy
“I don’t know much about him.” says George
“He’s a young gun with fire in his heart, more loyal to the mafia than he is to reason, and that doesn’t bode well for any sort of peaceable interrogations.” Says Nancy
“Yet we’re still going there to talk to him?” asks George
“No, we’re going there to make him talk. There’s a difference, you know.” Says Nancy
“How could I be so naive.” Says George, Nancy takes out her gun, unloads the magazine, pulls the slide, a bullet falls out, she takes a box of 9mm bullets from under her seat, and begins to fill the magazine. 12 bullets click smoothly into the magazine, she slides it back into the gun, then she pulls the slide, puts the gun back in her trench coat
“Give me your gun.” Says Nancy, George reaches into her jacket does so
“Why do you always pop that bullet out when you reload?” asks George
“It prevents a misfire while reloading, we wouldn’t want that, would we?” asks Nancy, repeating the process
“You’ve never seemed to be safety conscious to me.” Says George
“Tisk tisk, George; only three rounds?” teases Nancy
“I’m a waste not, want not kind of girl. Seems to be fitting considering how trigger happy you are.” Says George
“I’ve got an extra mag, George, no need to be so miserly.” Says Nancy
“Because somehow shooting people is an act of charity.” Says George
“It is when those people are criminals, George.” Says Nancy, warmly condescending, as a mother would be
“Pity I forgot that. I’ll try to be more charitable next time.” Says George, dryly
“I’ll tell you something though. You know, the real reason, I always pop that bullet out, it’s this.” Says Nancy, pulling the slide back, “That shit just gets me in the zone.” Says Nancy
“Oddly enough that action tends to put me in a zone I’m not entirely thrilled about being in. Reminds me of too many, what you might call, sticky situations.” says George, Nancy hands her the gun, she puts it in her jacket
“Thought you were a fan of the sticky fingers, George? Eh?” Teases Nancy, a bit wet from the scotch. “Always a good time in my book, nothing like the pleasure of jockeying for dominance with a fighter.” Says Nancy
“I wouldn’t think Bess would be like that in the sack, but maybe you lit a fire in here pants that I’ve never seen before.” Says George
“She’s not, but there’s a difference between passion and aggression. Your cousin’s a lover, not a fighter, and that’s my cup of tea. I’m just talking the petty, meaningless, trivial sort of lively entertainment that I get from my job, not that it’s the same, but I’d say it’s fair to make the comparison.” Says Nancy
“I have to say I share your taste in women. After working so hard, I need something soft, tender, supple, more than willing to give into my advances and let me have their way with them. At work it’s nothing but people putting up a fight trying to have their way with me, and I’m not too fond of being put in that situation.” Says George
“I figure you’ve no difficulty finding somebody to suit your fancy, considering the way you dress.” Says Nancy
“It’s the luck of the draw; half the time the girls are surprised I don’t have a cock, but they’re usually drunk and horny enough to let me keep fucking them.” Says George
“I’ll be honest, if I never met you, saw you on the streets, I’d be surprised myself.” Says Nancy
“I figure every detective has a bit of a thing for mystery.” Says George
“Fair enough, but that’s the type of mystery even I couldn’t solve. It’s hard to distinguish between mystery and outright confusion at that point.” Says Nancy
“I’m sure it’s confusing to a church girl like you to see a girl who’s not enthralled by the cult of femininity.” Says George
“I beg to differ, considering your thirst for that cousin of yours.” Teases Nancy
“While we can leave the past in the past, understand why a girl may be thirsty in a desert and not convolute things beyond that. I will admit that I’m quite fond of a delectable drink. Clearly there’s a difference between enjoying a drink and wanting to be that drink. I know for damn sure I’m not that drink, but I won’t deny that she’s certainly delicious.” Says George
“That’s the part that baffles me. Clearly you’re sexually attracted to beauty, but you are somehow unsettled by the thought of being sexually attracted to yourself? That’s the highlight of my day. If I’m drunk enough even looking in the mirror can get me wet.” Says Nancy
“I’ve never been that much of a narcissus. It may sound pleasant, but I guess I’m still sane enough to find that thought a bit off-putting.” Says George
“I’ve never questioned it in the slightest. It’s pure pleasure, why would a girl question something that makes her feel good?” asks Nancy
“Just on an objective note, perhaps your philanthropic heart might think about your liver and your lungs when you make statements like that.” Says George
“Would I rather feel good and die? Or feel bad and die? It’s a pretty simple logical puzzle in my book. I’m bold enough to presume I’ll die doing what I love before doing what I love kills my organs.” Says Nancy
“I’d shame you for thinking like that, but in reality, that’s little more than pragmatism.” Says George
“Who knows, maybe I’ll retire one day. Some young gun can fill my shoes, and me and your cousin can steal away. You know I wouldn’t need to drink and smoke so much if the job didn’t demand such things from me.” Says Nancy, matter-of-factly
“For some reason I never saw those demands laid out in the contract.” Says George
“A car can’t run without fuel, can it? It would be hard to do this job lacking proper lubrication, all riddled with inhibition and anxiety.” Says Nancy
“Even in the most irrational of your pursuits, your logic remains unassailable.” Says George
“Don’t flatter me. An idealist could assail even the most unquestionably sound logic, and in today’s world they would win the debate, simply because the facts are not ideal and thus, by modern standards of logic, are both fallacious and immoral.” Says Nancy
“I could respect your cynicism if I cared enough to acknowledge the existence of people so delusional as to have ideals.” Says George
“Pity, but a cynic I am not, purely an optimist. Perhaps one day soon, science will somehow affirm people’s intuition that ideality is more so legitimate than reality. That would make my day, considering this would imply that my drinking and smoking would no longer have ill effects on my health, in fact, ideally, they would actually provide a great boon to my health and longevity.” Says Nancy
“That’s pure nonsense, Nancy.” Says George
“Regardless, it’s the modern standard of legitimate logic, and I’m willing to defend the faith of the people, as by their own standard, it is in my own self-interest and thus it must be an entirely valid point. You know, look at the evidence, the Italians, what do they say? Salute! That means health! The Italians have known for centuries that these things are really good for your health, you know. We just need science to reach the same degree of legitimacy that idealism has had for thousands of years.” Says Nancy
“Speaking of Italians, where should I park?” asks George
“You can park in the alley next to Gio’s. He’s a friend of mine.” says Nancy
“I don’t know why you consider him a friend, but ok.” Says George
“A friend in need is a friend indeed.” Says Nancy, warmly
“How is he in need? He does well for himself.” Says George,
“And I am the one who makes sure of that, aren’t I?” asks Nancy
“How do you do that, exactly?” asks George
“I provide him safety to ensure the health of his business.” Says Nancy
“I kind of doubt you do a damn thing to protect his business.” Says George, unimpressed
“The point is that he has no doubts in his mind about the caliber of service I provide to him. We have a very good business relationship.” Says Nancy
“Ok, you had me going there. I catch your drift. I really hope you’re not fucking with the mafia’s rackets thought.” Says George
“Heavens now, it is an unspoken bond of trust and mutual appreciation. There’s no racketeering that occurs in the slightest.” Says Nancy
“Somehow you feel comfortable doing these things? I wouldn’t be so at ease knowing I’m fucking with any of the mafia’s businesses in the slightest.” Says George, pulling into the alley
“I’m not fucking with anybody, merely being polite and pleasant. When in Rome, dear.” Says Nancy, thick with airs of elegance, getting out of the car, casually, George follows
“You’re kidding me? We’re rolling in like this? Straight-lace? To Beppe’s?” asks George
“We’re not going to Beppe’s.” says Nancy
“Where the fuck are we going?” asks George, confused, alarmed
“We’re going to Gio’s.” says Nancy, playfully
“God damn it. Of course we’re going to Gio’s.” Sighs George, rolling her eyes
“A stitch in time saves nine, you know” says Nancy, turning the corner, entering the small general store, the bell rings
“Gio!” shouts Nancy, warmly, in good health
“Nancy…” says Gio, unexcited, a twitch of irritation in the neck
“How’s my favorite man in Little Italy.” She says
“S’arite, yeah? To what do I owe this pleasure?” asks Gio
“Word on the street is that, you know, that people say you might have…” says Nancy
“What is that they’re saying, whoever’s talking, I’m curious now.” Says Gio
“They’re saying that you’ve got some scotch for me.” Says Nancy, with eager warmth, grinning widely
“Jesus, Nancy. Yeah, yeah. Still drinking that rotgut?” asks Gio
“A girl needs an aperitif every now and again, you know.” Says Nancy
“That’s not an aperitif, this shit is fucking disgusting.” Says Gio, grabbing the bottle
“Seeing how I’d rather not die, I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” asks Nancy, playfully
“What the fuck are you talking about? I’ve got plenty of fine liquor, I know you’re loaded, so don’t act like you’re some fucking wino on the street. Look at this, this is some fine scotch. Right up your alley.” Says Gio, grabbing another bottle from the top shelf
“Cool it, Gio, I said I wasn’t trying to die, remember? Just the usual for me, friend-o.” says Nancy
“How would drinking something decent kill you?” asks Gio
“You know why, you silly goose. Moderation and myself don’t tend to get along. I need something to remind me that drinking is not something I should be doing, not something that tells my mouth I’m making an excellent decision every time that bottle touches my lips.” Says Nancy, chuckling wholesomely, indifferent to her own state
“Jesus Christ, Nancy. You’re sick. You need help.” Says Gio
“I see a little bottle of medicine right in front of me, yeah?” says Nancy, grabbing a tenner from her pocket
“Yeah. Seriously though, see a doctor or something. They’ve got pills to help you with that, so you don’t, you know, die, when you stop.” Says Gio
“That’s the old snake tongue of the doctors for you. I know for certain that taking those pills makes you tenfold more likely to die from drinking.” Says Nancy
“You’re supposed to stop drinking then take the pills, not take the pills and keep on drinking.” Says Gio
“Maybe once I quench my thirst, I’ll put some thought into that proposition. I’ve not been to a doctor for a while, might be good, keep up appearances you know. I’ve just had nothing but good health for as long as I can remember. Salute!” Says Nancy, grabbing the plastic bottle
“Salute.” Says Gio, emptily, embittered and frustrated by his general compassion, not that he is particularly fond of the girl
“Let’s go.” Says Nancy to George
“Don’t worry about her, Gio. She’ll come around eventually.” Says George, following Nancy out the door
“Ok.” Says Gio, sarcastically, scoffing at the absurdity of the thought
“Now that our good tidings are in order, it appears that it would be the hour of business.” Says Nancy
“Good tidings? You’re going to offer a Mafioso a bottle of the cheapest scotch and expect some sort of favor in return?” asks George
“What? No, of course not; the bottle is the good tidings for yours truly, and yourself of course, if you’re thirsty.” Says Nancy
“I’m trying to work Nancy, not die. We’re not fucking around in the shallow end of the pool right now.” Says George
“Don’t think I’ve lost my keen eye for this sort of shit. I know what we’re walking in to. Pop the drunk.” Says Nancy, as the girls approach their car
“Sometimes I the thought crosses my mind, but only when you do something incredibly stupid.” Says George
“So only in your nightmares, I see. That’s heartwarming to know, but unfortunate our profession damaged the soundness of your sleep. The trunk, of course, yes; Freudian slip, so they say.” Says Nancy, as George puts the key into the lock to open the trunk
“I figured as much. Anything in particular you’re looking at?” asks George
“Well, clearly we need to appear professional, no point in looking like we’re up to anything beyond the confines of the law.” Says Nancy, grabbing an MP5, tossing the sling over her shoulder casually
“Clearly; as always, appearance is everything to you.” Says George, doing the same
“I just don’t trust myself to fire an automatic right now. My lack of inhibition may see most of those shots getting wasted in the thrill of it all.” Says Nancy, gazing at the cache, attempting to think
“Prudent.” Says George, dryly,
“One for you.” says Nancy, grabbing an M67 hand grenade from a box, handing it to George
“One for me.” Says Nancy, grabbing one for herself, putting it in the pocket of her trench coat
“You trust yourself to throw one of these right now?” asks George
“You’ve got to be dead drunk to fuck that up. I’m still breathing, aren’t I?” asks Nancy
“Seeing how we’ve likely got the same chance of dying either way, with or without the grenade, I can’t really knock your judgement right here.” Says George
“Clearly, a solid 0%, maybe some negligible fraction or something, but honestly, I take that as a compliment, even if I’m being humble right here. When it’s not a matter of life or death, it becomes a matter of simplicity, of Occam’s razor. Why work harder than you need to, eh?” asks Nancy, grabbing an extra magazine from the trunk, handing it to George, grabbing one for herself
“Christ, how many fuckers do you think are in this damn bistro?” asks George
“Better safe than sorry. If we can’t clean up quick, we’re going to need some bargaining bullets; some negotiating rounds. Sometimes business isn’t as quick as a simple handshake you know. Not that I’m going out seeking that personally, I’m just aware of the business we’re in. Prim and proper now.” says Nancy, closing the trunk, concealing the MP5 under her trench coat
“You sure you want to do this?” asks George, concealing her gun under her leather jacket
“Do I want to work? Sloth is just as deadly as anything else, love. If I’m going to die by not working regardless, I can’t have any qualms about dying in pursuit of godly virtue, can I?” asks Nancy
“Sometimes I feel that you don’t particularly understand death.” Says George
“Death tends to relieve oneself of the responsibility of understanding. Why bother to understand something I have no need to understand?” asks Nancy, walking out of the alley
“I can’t tell if that’s laziness or pragmatism.” Says George
“If torn between an insult and a compliment, chose the compliment. It’s the polite thing to do, you know.” Says Nancy
“The undying ball of sunshine you are.” Says George
“I try my best. After today it would be best to remember the words of Jesus. We can’t be treating our dear friends to such entertainment without expecting them to return the favor. The mafia laws cease to protect those who break them. Sadly, business is business, and there’s not much that can be done about this. As to who has fucked up today, Beppe, or promptly ourselves, will be determined by the peacekeepers who ensure order around here. You’ve got better legs on you. Take the far window, a nice firm pitch, deep, towards the back, make sure you get to the other side of the frame. You’ve got better time than I do, but ideally these little firecrackers are bursting in air, you know. That’s the ideal, just like America teaches you.” Says Nancy
“What’s the plan after that?” asks George, a bit unnerved
“Just clean up and follow my lead.” Says Nancy
“You think this is safe? What about our guy? I don’t know what he looks like.” Says George
“He’s in the back, he’s always in the back. Probably tooting on the horns of heaven unless the devil stopped tempting mankind into vice.” Says Nancy
“That doesn’t appear to be the case.” Says George
“So rest assured, if he doesn’t have a white nose and mydriasic eyes, he’s not the guy we’re looking for.” Says Nancy
“Yes, those fucking mydriasic eyes I’ve heard so much about.” Says George
“If he’s not coked up out of his fucking mind and sitting in the office in the back of the bistro, he’s not our guy. Let it spoon.” Says Nancy, looking at George, pulling the grenade out of her pocket, yanking the pin, George does so as well, “Go.” Says Nancy, resonant and brassy, stern and gruff, yet still lighthearted, still in the soft, causal speaking tone, letting the spring fly out of the grenade in her hand; George does so as well, running across the front of the small bistro, the two windows still sporting the logo painted 50 years prior, the quality woodwork and artistry of a historic bistro, casually filled with numerous people, busy for lunch time. The girls pitch the grenades forcefully through the thin single-paned, 50 year old glass, the fear and thrill in their hearts, the adrenaline, putting remarkable strength in the toss, the grenades making a fair distance towards the narrow, yet deep bistro.
The grenades explode as George makes it across the far end of the further window, the windows shatter cleanly out of the panes and jingle onto the sidewalk below, the people are screaming.
“Inside!” shouts Nancy, the girls roll out of cover and begin methodically shooting anyone inside of the restaurant, forcing those still ambulant to take cover, tapping those already sprawled on the ground who continues to squirm as they walk through the windows into the Bistro. They walk along opposite walls taking slight cover behind the artistic columns attached to the wall.
“Cover. Bar.” Says Nancy, approaching the bar on her side, George keeps watch as Nancy peeks around the column to blind fire over the top of the bar, groans can be heard, there is no screaming, no groaning at this point, Nancy moves up to see the bartender on the ground and shoots him in the head. She vaults over the bar, crouching behind it to look into the booths across from it, shooting anyone who is taking cover within them.
“Take the bar. Watch my six.” Says Nancy, George rapidly moves across the room, vaults the bar, then takes up a post behind it, looking towards the door, Nancy kicks open the door to the kitchen, the two chefs cowering in front of the locked office, banging on the door subtly. Nancy shoots them dead.
“Clear. Need you for the door.” Says Nancy, through the kitchen door, covering George as she moves in
“No foreplay. Just kick it, safe side, not wide, just break it.” Says Nancy, still casually soft, George does so, kicking the aged door in, rotting from the moisture of the kitchen, on the side of the rusted hinges and rolling away, Nancy blind fires two shots through the crack of the door, shots are fired from inside, six of them in quick succession at the door. George quickly takes cover against the wall, reloading her gun. Nancy walks casually through the broken door, the man shaking, fumbling with a box of magnum rounds in his desk drawer, trying to force them into the cylinder of his revolver, a cocaine frosted mirror, razor blade, a $100 bill unfurling itself slowly, and disorganized paperwork sits on his desk; Nancy shoots the man in the shoulder
“What the fuck!” Shouts the man, holding his shoulder
“We need to talk Beppe.” Says Nancy
“Talk?! You fucking killed everybody! Fucking explosions!” Shouts Beppe, too bold, too proud, to cower, sitting in his chair, saddened, coming to terms with his fate, but not allowing this to sully his pride
“George, be a dear and assist our friend onto that table, that wooden prep table in the center, face up, of course. You’re not going to fight me on this, are you?” asks Nancy
“What?” asks Beppe, Nancy shoots him in the other shoulder, “Fuck!” he screams
“Just in case. No funny business, ok?” Says Nancy, George flips the safety on her gun, then walks behind the man and slips him into a full nelson, readily shepherding the man by applying pressure to his wounds, he screams but is unable to form words, George tosses him on the table, he falls without resistance, Nancy winks at George and smiles, George grabs her gun, turns her eyes to cover the door
“Anything to say?” asks Nancy
“Fuck you.” Says Beppe
“Fair enough.” Says Nancy, grabbing a meat tenderizer from the counter, taking the one of the two disused butcher hooks dangling from the ceiling by chains, closing one of her eyes, moving the hook slightly around the man’s hips for a second before driving it through his lesser sciatic foramen with the tenderizer, hammering it a few times to ensure proper penetration
“Fucking Christ!” Groans Beppe
“We’re just getting started. Hope you’re in the mood for some fun.” Says Nancy
“Fucking kill me.” Shouts Beppe
“That would defeat the point, wouldn’t it? It always amazes me why people like yourself are so reluctant to talk.” Says Nancy
“Just like the Japs say, death before dishonor.” Says Beppe, boldly smug
“You never seem to understand that you don’t get to die here. You’re not going to die, at least not before you dishonor yourself. You’re not in that situation, yet you still use that faulty logic as if it applies here.” Says Nancy
“That’s where you’re wrong bitch. If you think I’m going to talk before I bleed out, you’re dead wrong, bitch.” Says Beppe, Nancy drives a second hook through Beppe’s other lesser sciatic foramen
“You know. You’ve really got me doubting myself. You may well bleed out. That’s not a good thing for me is it?” says Nancy
“You fucked up bitch, you’ll never get shit out of me.” Says Beppe
“Fuck it. You’re right.” Says Nancy, grabbing a scimitar knife from the counter, placing it on the still running gas stove, Nancy whistles casually for a moment, counting the seconds with song before grabbing the knife and basting the gunshot wounds in his shoulders with the heat from the glowing knife
“All better.” Says Nancy, warmly, motherly
“What about my hips? That hurts like a bitch, you know.” Says Beppe
“The only thing cut off there is the blood supply to your cock, so don’t think you’re losing too much blood there.” Says Nancy
“My cock’s pretty damn big bitch. You might have just fucked yourself even harder than those gunshots.” Says Beppe
“We’ll see. If you bleed out, I’ll tell the world just how big that cock of yours truly was. It’s very unlikely given the time frame in which you will be talking, but if you want, when I finish, I can leave you here, until you die from bleeding out due to that massive amount of blood going to your massive cock. Normally I’d just let you die once you talk, but at that point, that’s just me being polite. George, be a dear and cuff him for me, I don’t want him picking at the wounds.” Says Nancy, George does so, Nancy reads her eyes, notices there’s no sign of retaliation, she grabs a butcher’s bone saw from the wall, George goes back to keeping watch
“Hope this is sharp, I’d hate to be wasting time here.” Says Nancy, starting to saw away at the leg of the table beside Beppe’s head
“Fuck are you doing?” asks Beppe, confused
“You’ll see.” Says Nancy, sawing easily through the leg of the table, “This is a nice saw.” She says
“Everything is nice. This is a nice restaurant.” Says Beppe, with machismo, Nancy begins to saw through the other leg
“Have you figured out what’s going to happen?” asks Nancy
“Do I look like some sort of sick psychopathic bitch who tortures people? No, I have no fucking clue what you’re thinking because I’m not fucking insane.” Says Beppe
“Insanity is doing the same thing twice and expecting different results. I don’t believe we’ve gotten to that point, but remind me if we do, I’ll be sure to change up my methods.” Says Nancy, kicking the now loose legs out from under the table, the table collapses, now at a shallow incline
“Fuck!” screams Beppe, his body weight now significantly, but not entirely supported by the hooks lodged in his hips
“I love this place. Really fuels my creativity. I feel like an artist.” Says Nancy, putting the saw on the counter, taking the scotch out from her coat and having a drink
“Drink?” asks Nancy
“Work.” Says George, sternly, still keeping watch outside the door
“Right-o.” says Nancy lighting a cigarette, “Just tell me where the girl is, and this is over, Beppe. Is this good sauce?” asks Nancy, looking at a large 24 quart pot of freshly made pasta sauce, still warm on the stove, dipping her finger in it, tasting it; “Damn this is some good sauce.”
“Damn straight it’s some good sauce. Family recipe.” Says Beppe, thrilled by the pain, proud of himself, feeling incredibly worthy as evidenced by his predicament
“Perhaps it’s not my best bet then, if this will remind you of your family.” Says Nancy, lifting the pot off the stove “Fucking hell this is a lot of sauce.” She says, placing the sauce on the ground next to Beppe, grabbing a plastic quart container from the shelf, starting to pour the pasta sauce over Beppe’s face slowly
“Don’t you need to restrain his head?” asks George, Beppe starts to flail violently and cough
“I don’t want him to drown. This lets him clear his lungs. I’m pouring quarts here, it’s not like he can avoid breathing.” Says Nancy, Beppe screaming
“Where’s the girl, Beppe?” says Nancy, almost bored
“Famiglia!” shouts Beppe, coughing violently, the intense pain of drowning in the acidic pasta sauce overpowered by the nostalgia and loyalty that the flavor produces in his mind, already resigned to death, in his death throes, his loyalty to his family is unshaken as the entire quart is poured over his face, he aggressively coughs out the remainder of the sauce
“Famiglia!” he cires out weakly, weeping, believing himself to be dead
“Hurry the fuck up Nancy, somebody just rolled up.” Says George, sternly, Nancy grabs another quart, pours it more aggressively and thickly over Beppe’s face, he withstands the ordeal, unwilling to break, faithful in his own deadness, comforted by his loyalty, set at peace by the flavor of the sauce despite the excruciating pain that fills his nasal cavity and the sensation of drowning, he may be drowning, but he is drowning in his love for his family, he coughs out the last bit of the sauce, breathing heavily, George unloads on the two mafia thugs who casually attempt to sneakily creep through the front door of the bistro in broad daylight
“Fucking hell, Nancy. This shit needs to end pronto.” Says George
“You’re making me waste my scotch, Beppe. I don’t like that. Just tell me where the girl is.” Says Nancy, taking the bottle from her coat, taking a hearty swig
“Last chance.” Says Nancy, squatting down besides the man, breathing her scotch flavored breath into his nose, he gags from the smell
“Famiglia…” he whispers, Nancy sighs, she puts her fingers down her throat, forcefully herself gagging, trying to force herself to vomit, after three solid thrusts, the trigger in her gut releases, she places her mouth over Beppe’s nose, kissing it tightly, forcing the contents of her stomach violently through his nostrils, it comes readily out of his mouth, he vomits as well, he begins to seize, coughing and choking violently, banging his head against the table, he begins to scream as soon as he flails and coughs enough that clears his lungs and nose enough to stop choking
“Tell me where the girl is and I’ll let you die!” Shouts Nancy
“J-Corp! Stevens!” pleads Beppe, softly, weakly, mustering all of the fight left in his frail body to put forth those words, like a small child, crying, screaming in sorrow, mind blackened with unthinkable suffering, dry heaving on his empty stomach, hyperventilating; his mind so focused on this one bit of information, this one secret, that this was the only deliberate thought his mind was capable of retaining through the ordeal
“Thank you, Beppe. You still want to wait to bleed out?” says Nancy, casually; Beppe unleashes a shrill whimpering squeal, crying, choking, hardly able to breathe; Nancy shoots him in the head
“That’s enough information?” asks George
“Of the people at J-Corp with the capacity to call shots, there’s only one named. Craig Stevens.” Says Nancy
“We’ve fucked with the mob, now we’re going to take down an entire fucking corporation? That guy is like a fucking billionaire, isn’t he? How the fuck are we going to get anywhere near that guy?” asks George
“We’ll figure it out soon enough, but right now it’s time to get the fuck out of Dodge. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.” Says Nancy, George follows the cue, Nancy takes the lead out of the door, through the bistro, the streets outside vacated during the carnage
“Watch our 6.” Says Nancy
“You don’t want to run?” Says George, looking behind them
“A brisk walk it is. You can’t run backwards can you?” Says Nancy, putting some pace in her feet
“I don’t see anything.” Says George
“I take it that means we’ll be compensating for damages in the traditional way.” Says Nancy
“You’re ok with that?” asks George
“I’d rather exchange a few favors than a few bouts of gunfire.” Says Nancy, a store clerk staring at her out the window of a store, eyes dead with fright and bewilderment, Nancy winks at him and smiles
“You realize the only sorts of favors you could give the mafia involve said bouts of gunfire, right?” asks George
“Seeing how we did 3 of the 5 families a favor by killing Beppe, we’ve got some bargaining position. Clearly somebody that stupid is causing problems for more than just ourselves and the mayor, and now that he’s dead, he won’t be causing those problems.” Says Nancy
“That still leaves two of the five families that you more than likely owe dearly for what you’ve done today.” Says George
“When I get paid 3 dollars and spend 2 of those dollars, I’m still up a dollar.” Says Nancy
“The value of currency is subjective, and something tells me that the Necci family isn’t going to be too eager to accept whatever it is you may have earned in the eyes of the others.” Says George
“That’s the beauty of subjectivity. You simply must change the way these people see the situation they are in, and this changes the perceived value of what you are offering them.” Says Nancy
“How do you expect to do this exactly?” asks George, unlocking the car door, flipping the electric locks, allowing Nancy to get inside
“Education, it’s simply a matter of education.” Says Nancy, taking the bottle out of her coat, having a drink to rinse her mouth of the taste of vomit, the truly disgusting combination has her ashamed of her habits at this point, drinking meekly, offering the bottle to George silently, George frowns smugly in disapproval, turning the key in the ignition
“I’m driving, remember.” Says George, starting to drive
“I can see that, but I figure nothing’s more pleasant than a Sunday drive.” Says Nancy
“Something tells me this won’t be a Sunday drive.” Says George
“It will be. We’ve got time to kill, so just cruise around.” Says Nancy, lighting a cigarette, handing them to George who follows suit, steering with her knee for a second to light up, she rolls the windows down
“Any big plans on what exactly we’re doing next? Something tells me your negotiating strategies won’t work as well over at J-Corp.” says George
“I’m a damn good negotiator.” Says Nancy, smirking
“You’re a fucking lunatic, Nancy. There’s no way you make it through the fucking lobby of that place alive. They’re strictly business in the exact same sense as you are, they wouldn’t hesitate to shoot you on sight, considering that they know exactly what it is you intend to accomplish. They’re above the law in the same right as you.” Says George
“Don’t be foolish, George. We’re actually above the law, well, more so we are the law. J-Corp has to pay money. We don’t pay. Don’t compare my consensual godly sex to the actions of a lecherous wretch soliciting vulnerable prostitutes engaging in survival sex.” Says Nancy
“The cops are the prostitutes here, and given how flush those bribes are, I would hardly consider it survival sex at this point.” Says George
“The beauty of multiplicity of labor is that they must pay effectively 10 hookers for a single sex act, working their way down the chain, like an assembly line just to finish. Clearly, they intend to finish, and all we must to is prevent that from happening.” Says Nancy
“How do you intend to do that?” asks George
“They’ve pitted our whores against their pimp, and to think that our girls, more so boys in blue, would be more loyal to their clients than their pimp is laughable. J-Corp may pay off the cops, but it is the mayor that allows them to hold the position through which they’re paid. No man would sacrifice his mouth just for a pleasant meal.” Says Nancy
“I see you’ve got your eyes on the prize. This is disconcerting when there could easily be a handful of killers tailing us right now. How about you start to look in front of you, more so behind you, rather than try to soothsay right now. I’m glad you’ve started to think this through, but I can’t feel too comfortable with this car following me right now.” Says George
“What do you expect cars to do? Drive backwards down the street contrary to the flow of traffic? If the Necci boys wanted to fight, there would be blood in the streets right now. Just keep your eyes on the road and we’ll be sitting pretty.” Says Nancy
“I feel like you’re getting a little too comfortable right now.” Says George, Nancy turns around and looks out the back window
“What do you want me to do? Shoot that person? That random man, just out of the blue, for sport?” says Nancy, sitting back in her car
“For a detective you’re rather dismissive of suspicious behavior.” Says George
“You’re the driver here, you are headed absolutely nowhere. If you think he is tailing you, just take a few turns, casually, going nowhere, and if he still follows us, I’ll shoot him, ok? If his actions were suspicious, I would have noticed them.” Says Nancy, George sighs, turning off the main commercial road onto a side road, a largely residential sector, the car follows them
“God damn it.” Says George
“What? Christ, George. If he was following you, he would at least trail at a distance more than a car length. Is a coincidence enough to kill a man now?” asks Nancy
“By your standards, I would say yes, but oddly enough I’m not as cold blooded as you are.” Says George
“There’s a difference between circumstance and coincidence. The people in the Bistro were in the wrong place at the wrong time, shit happens. This is just a coincidence; we’ve no reason to think that anything out of the ordinary is happening. People drive cars, it’s what they do. Just hop on the expressway, race him for all I fucking care.” Says Nancy, indifferently
“I don’t think driving aggressively through traffic while I’m on edge is a great thing to do.” Says George
“You realize that in the off chance that your fears are grounded in reality, that defensive driving entails exactly the result you are seeking to avoid?” asks Nancy
“Seeing how the other entails dying in an otherwise entirely avoidable car crash, I’m going to avoid any unnecessary risk I can. If I’m right or wrong, it doesn’t matter, because driving fast kills us either way and more than likely doesn’t shake the guy regardless. This guy’s job is to drive and tail people, and I figure he’s damn good at his job if he works for the mafia.” Says George
“It’s your job to drive too, you know.” Says Nancy
“I’m confident I don’t have the work experience this guy does.” Says George, turning on the highway, the car follows
“Ok, now you can shoot that guy.” Says George, assertively
“You took the fastest route to the expressway. You think that the only reason somebody might have to go from little Italy to the nearest expressway is to try to tail us? Really? Rather than act in a manner that might erase your fears entirely by taking a meaningless route, you’ve done nothing but reinforce them with baseless coincidence, taking what was easily the most commonly occurring route readily predictable by probability.” Says Nancy
“I’m sorry I’m not thinking clearly here. It’s been a long day. Maybe your genius could have given me some better instructions on how to shake the guy than to hop on the god damn expressway, Nancy.” Says George
“You’re the driver, George. You should be developing that instinct, like an animal, just knowing instinctively what to do, how to avoid danger.” Says Nancy
“Seeing how you’re a magnet for danger, I tend to just take it as a given at this point.” Says George
“There’s a difference between modest harm reduction and the extirpation of harm entirely. That’s why there are labor laws. Clearly people are going to get hurt and die at work, that can’t be prevented, but we just try to have as few people die and get hurt as possible.” Says Nancy
“Exactly the point I was trying to make, just a little harm reduction. I’m just going to drive normal, no racing. You know I don’t like the expressway.” Says George
“Then why the fuck did you get on the expressway?” asks Nancy
“You told me to get on the fucking expressway!” Shouts George, defensively
“It was just a fucking suggestion, idle fucking banter. You have free rein here, yet somehow you convinced yourself to make the decision you were least confident in?” asks Nancy
“You convinced me, Nancy. I’m hardly thinking straight right now, just taking your advice, I’m at a loss right now, so I figured I’d put faith in what you say, just like I always do. Clearly that was a fucking mistake this time.” Says George
“How are you going to put more faith in my banter than your own fear of the expressway? It’s a team effort here, you’ve got to use your intuition just as much as mine. It’s just the expressway, Jesus. Is it really that hard to drive here?” asks Nancy
“It’s where every coked-up bastard comes to angrily weave in and out of traffic while everyone is going as fast as they fucking can. Think of driving a car, just down a road, plenty of shit to hit, dogs, cats, people. Now think of driving where you’re essentially dodging massive metal bullets speeding past you all the fucking time.” Says George
“I’m sure they wouldn’t be speeding past you if you just went the fucking speed limit. They’re sure as shit not trying to hit you. If anyone is dodging anyone it’s these people who know how to drive dodging a god damn turtle in the road.” Says Nancy
“I am driving the fucking speed limit, Nancy!” Shouts George
“Drive the real speed limit! The people around you know what that is, and clearly it’s 10 or 20 miles faster than the speed you somehow deduced as the speed limit.” Says Nancy
“It’s on the fucking sign! I didn’t deduce a god damn thing!” Shouts George,
“What, are you afraid you’re going to get a ticket? These people clearly don’t give a flying fuck.” Says Nancy
“I’m afraid the damn car will turn into a little wad of crumpled metal with ourselves butchered to pieces inside of it.” Says George, sternly
“Then how about you stop dawdling like a god damn land-mine in an obstacle course?” says Nancy
“Yeah, let me go drive this fucking land-mine right into every other god damn land mine in this godforsaken obstacle course! That’s a fucking great idea!” Shouts George, bitching furiously, atypically feminine
“God damn it.” Sighs, Nancy
“What?” asks George, Nancy slides out the window, sitting on the window sill, she grabs her gun
“I should have known that any motherfucker, driving a fucking Fiat, with a motherfucking car phone, was working for the fucking mafia!” Shouts Nancy, sending three shots through the windshield of the Fiat behind them, it veers right, scraping into the guardrail, modestly
“Drive, bitch!” Shouts Nancy, slapping the top of the roof
“Fuck!” whispers George, grabbing the rotating red beacon from the floor and putting it on the dashboard, turning it on
“Fucking Alfisti!” Shouts Nancy, shooting tight single shots at the windshields of the red coupes and sedans encroaching from a distance behind them, traffic around them begins to slow, most attempt to pull to the right, the MP5 clicks and she slides back into the car, pulling the bolt back, grabbing the magazine from her trench coat, removing the empty magazine with the same hand, replacing the magazine, slapping the bolt forward and tossing the empty magazine on the floor
“Left lane!” Shouts Nancy, sliding back out onto the sill of the window, continuing to shoot, George moves across the two emptying lanes of traffic, the cars behind encroaching quickly, Nancy hits one driver, his car veers across two lanes of traffic, the two other drivers in his posse avoid him easily as his car turns hard into the median wall and begins to tumble mercilessly, catching on fire
“Vroom vroom, bitch!” Shouts Nancy, continuing to shoot, the red cars begin to return fire, drivers and passengers both shooting handguns out of the window over the side mirror, one man climbs out of the window to sit on the sill, Nancy hits the clear shot and he falls to the ground, tumbling ragdoll on the empty highway; George cautiously applies more pressure on the gas pedal.
“To the fucking floor!” Shouts Nancy, two more Alfisti join from the on-ramp, Nancy continues to shoot, hitting the tire of the second Alfa as he attempts to merge from the onramp onto the expressway, spinning him out; the cars getting closer, gunshots pinging against the body of the Buick; George reluctantly puts more pressure on the pedal, cars well ahead of them pulling to the right in response to the sound of gunfire encroaching upon them; the once frugal speed of Nancy’s shots becomes more frantic as the three cars come closer; a heavy barrage of semi-automatic gunfire into the windshield of the closet car renders the driver out of commission, causing the car to swerve into the side-laned civilian traffic now hugging the shoulder, slowed to the rubbernecker’s crawl; She sets her sights on the next car, unloading a few rounds into the windshield before her gun clicks and she slides back inside the car
“Give me your mag.” Says Nancy, locking the bolt of her gun to the rear, throwing the empty magazine on the floor,
“It’s half empty.” says George, reaching into her jacket and hands Nancy the spare magazine
“No it isn’t.” Says Nancy, putting the magazine into her gun then slapping the bolt forward,
“Keep me shooting downwind or we’re dead.” Says Nancy, returning to her seat on the window sill, securing her footing against the back of the chair, securing herself by slipping her foot between the side of her seat and the wall of the car; the pursuers had taken the opportunity to gain substantial ground on the car, emboldened by the lack of gunfire, despite the power of the Buick LG7 V6.
Nancy wastes no time in riposting the advance of the pursuers, themselves returning fire as Nancy reappears. Their arms tired and inaccurate from fighting against both the recoil of handguns and the power of the wind at such great speeds, Nancy unfazed, however shooting with proper form and with no wind resistance fighting her aim, peppers the drivers of one car after the other with remorseless accuracy, three-shot bursts placed in quick succession, one volley accurate enough to kill the drivers of the first two cars, each of them losing control and totaling their cars upon the standstill traffic. The third driver cedes space to Nancy, who does not relent, taking the opportunity to lay relentless fire upon the vehicle, slowing the pace only to preserve accuracy at the increasing distance, the battle reduced to little more than sport shooting for Nancy, her favorite sport, and she enjoys the sweet pleasure of victory as the last car slows to a halt, the driver dead, the passenger no longer returning fire, forced to take the wheel in hopes of preventing a crash.
“Slow it down, next exit. Unless I keep shooting, people will stop pulling over.” Says Nancy, flipping the safety on the gun
“Jesus.” Says George
“Fun, fun, fun, yeah? Who told you that you couldn’t drive on the freeway?” Says Nancy, smiling, exhilarated
“What about the car?” asks George
“It still works, eh? Bastards couldn’t even hit the tires.” says Nancy
“What the fuck would I do if they had hit the tires?” asks George
“We’d probably die at that point, but ideally you’d keep control of the vehicle as we come to a stop, then we just shoot it out in the middle of the road.” Says Nancy
“How the fuck am I going to get over? It’s a wall of cars between me and the exit.” Says George, slowing down
“God damn it. First of all, put your fucking blinker on.” Says Nancy, George does so, Nancy returns to her seat on the window sill, looking back at the cars behind them, taking her gun, shooting upwards into the air a couple of times, looking firmly at the the drivers around them, the drivers stop
“Honk the horn, tell the people in front of you to move.” Says Nancy, George does so, once
“Don’t fucking stop honking until they fucking move.” Says Nancy, shooting the gun again, the MP5 clicks
“God damn it.” Says Nancy, releasing the gun, grabbing her handgun, shooting it twice in the air, the traffic in front of the finally parts enough for them to get off at the exit
“There we go.” Says Nancy, sliding back into the car
“That seemed a bit excessive.” says George
“I just had to let them know that we’re not fucking around. They need to respect the damn siren, but clearly they fucking don’t.” Says Nancy, withdrawing the empty magazine from her MP5, flipping the safety, and starting to reload it from the wholesale box of 9mm rounds on the floor
“Where are we going?” asks George
“Madonna’s.” Says Nancy, without pausing her actions
“You want Madonna’s?” asks George, turning right, Madonna’s in sight
“You don’t?” asks Nancy
“I kind of expected some sort of plan that had to do with the situation we’ve found ourselves in.” Says George
“The situation we’re in is known as lunchtime, and we’re addressing that situation.” Says Nancy
“I thought you were fasting?” asks George, pulling int
“Close enough. Drive through.” Says Nancy, once again putting the magazine in her gun, slapping the bolt forward
“Jesus, don’t shoot your fucking gun, please.” Says George
“We’re not in a hurry.” Says Nancy
“We seemed to be a minute ago.” Says George
“We just had to get off at this exit.” Says Nancy
“Why?” asks George
“It’s like two miles to the next Madonna’s.” says Nancy, baffled by the girl’s ignorance, the car in front of them pulls away, they drive to the speaker
“Welcome to Madonna’s, can I take your order?” asks the box
“What do you want?” asks George
“Get me a cone.” Says Nancy
“That’s it?” asks George
“I’m hot.” Says Nancy
“One Cone.” Says George
“Anything else?” asks the box, George is silent
“You don’t want anything?” asks Nancy
“Umm… I’ll have…” says George
“Just get some nuggets.” Sighs Nancy, taking the empty magazine from her coat, starting to reload it
“Some nuggets.” Says George, firmly
“Is that all?” asks the box
“That’s it.” Says George
“$1.87, second window.” Says the box, George drives forward, stops at the window, reaches for her wallet and takes two dollars, sits there quietly, holding the money in her hand, waiting for somebody to come to the window, looking forward, after a minute or so, somebody comes to the window
“$1.87.” says the attendant, apathetically, George gives her the money
“Keep it.” Says George
“You need any sauce? …The fuck is with the siren. You cops?” asks the attendant, breaking from method
“Detectives…” Says George
“Honey… and ketchup.” Says Nancy, indifferently nonchalant
“Were you shooting all them guns?” asks the attendant, grabbing sauces mindlessly out of habit
“Not all of them.” Says Nancy, firmly, equally indifferent
“Hurry the fuck up, Jenny. Give them their damn food.” Says a man, managerial
“Sorry, sorry.” Says Jenny, giving the handing the girls the box of nuggets and the cone, “You look like kids… my age. How old is that girl?” asks Jenny, concerned, George hands Nancy the cone, she puts the magazine in her lap
“Sweet sixteen, high-school dropout. Says Nancy, proudly, licking the soft-serve vanilla ice cream cone lovingly
“Damn.” Says Jenny
“Stop fucking talking to them, Jenny.” Says the man, firmly
“Sorry to bother you. Thank you very much.” Says George, politely but alarmed, driving off, concerned that she may have gotten the girl into trouble, instinctively trying to avert causing trouble for anyone
“Now what?” asks George
“First of all, we’ve got take the damn beacon down, I’d rather not make ourselves a target of any ne’er-do-well. Back to town. We’ve got a minute, so no rush. Just take the main roads, you like those.” Says Nancy, flipping the switch on the beacon, turning it off, taking it from the dash, putting it on the functionally cluttered floor
“A minute until what?” asks George
“A minute until the length of a shadow is as long as itself on top of however long it was at midday.” Says Nancy
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asks George
“It’s not a riddle. Honestly, we need to get there a bit before then anyways, but that’s a while away.” Says Nancy
“What are you talking about?” asks George
“You’ll see. We’ve got an hour to kill, more or less, so try to figure it out.” Says Nancy
“Until what? Where are we going?” asks George
“To see an old friend… Well, before that, let’s go loiter somewhere, stretch out a bit, breathe some air.” Says Nancy
“Why are we loitering?” asks George
“I like to loiter.” Says Nancy, crunching away at the cream-filled cone remaining, unapologetic in her pursuit
“After essentially starting a war with the mafia, I don’t think loitering is really in our best interest. You fancy being shot at like sitting ducks?” asks George
“It’s not a war, just a little scuffle. Wars have all sorts of official declarations by congress and whatnot, the same is true with the mafia. They don’t want a war, we don’t want a war, there’s not a war. You going to eat those nuggets?” asks Nancy
“Yeah…” says George, failing to do so, Nancy takes the sauce out of the bag, lifts the film cover from the small plastic container of honey, drinking a portion, then opening a packet of ketchup and squeezing the contents of the packet into the cup, taking a nugget, dipping it into the sauce and eating it
“I thought you didn’t want anything?” asks George, taking a nugget, eating it plain
“It’s just a platform for the sauce. You don’t want sauce?” asks Nancy
“I don’t want to make a mess.” Says George
“There’s a pretty clear distinction between enjoying some sauce and making a mess.” Says Nancy
“I’m driving.” Says George
“Drive better then. What’s the point in driving if you can’t enjoy some sauce?” asks Nancy
“What? I’m pretty sure there are reasons beyond sauce that people drive.” Says George
“Well, I mean, without sauce it’s hard to justify being alive at that point. It’s like hopscotch; you’ve got to hit the numbers in a row.” Says Nancy
“Maybe my stone landed on the sauce.” Says George
“That’s heartbreaking.” Says Nancy, George takes another nugget, dips it in the sauce and eats it
“That damn sauce is too good, Nancy.” Says George
“It really is, suspiciously good. Being a detective, I can’t really trust it.” Says Nancy
“What?” asks George, taking another
“I don’t know, it just lights that detective suspicion in me. I don’t always understand my gut feelings, it’s just instinct.” Says Nancy
“I can’t say I share your feelings.” Says George, enjoying another nugget with sauce
“I mean, I know it’s good, but it’s sweet-talking me, trying to get the better of me. I can’t trust it. Sleep with one eye open you know. I can’t let the sauce seduce me.” Says Nancy
“What could the sauce possibly do to you? Considering your complete disregard for your health, it certainly can’t relate to that.” Says George
“That’s the thing. I am suspicious, but I don’t know what that sauce is up to. That’s the part that irks me. It’s not hard to taste the difference between being sweet and outright sweet-talk.” Says Nancy
“I don’t think the sauce is talking.” Says George
“Actions speak louder than words.” Says Nancy, reaching for the bottle in her coat, having a swig, lighting a cigarette, suspicion in her eyes
“What actions is the sauce possibly capable of?” asks George, eating another sauced nugget
“I’m pretty sure sauce is an action; to be sauce.” Says Nancy
“Sauce is a noun.” Says George
“If I were to turn into sauce, that’s an action.” Says Nancy
“The sauce was already sauce; the whole time it was sauce.” Says George, eating the final nugget sauced
“At some point it stops being ingredients and starts to become sauce, the whole essence of being, that’s a verb, it’s existing, again an action in itself.” Says Nancy, George grabs a neon plastic squeeze bottle from the floor, releases the cap with her teeth and drinks some day-old water, locking the cap again with her teeth, putting it back on the floor
“That’s beyond me. Try to think of something productive to do. I don’t want to loiter.” Says George
“The thing is, I can’t say for certain whether my man will be where I’m going to meet him before a certain time, but if you want to roll the dice, go ahead. If he’s not there, we’d just be loitering waiting for him, but never the less, a place to loiter is a place to loiter, at least if you don’t care about the quality of the loitering.” Says Nancy
“I really don’t at this point. I’m trying to wrap this up as soon as possible. I would have written this mystery off as unsolvable, but for whatever reason you think you’re capable of single-handedly taking down J-Corp. I’m too baffled to be frightened right now, but I’m sure that’s going to change.” Says George
“Not single-handedly, God no. We’ll get a little help from our friends; things will go smoothly. It’s not a matter of taking down J-Corp either, it’s just a matter of taking down one guy.” Says Nancy
“The one guy who owns J-Corp.” says George
“Everybody is vulnerable in some way or another, all you have to do is make the most of whatever opportunities you’re given.” Says Nancy
“What opportunities have we been given? Enlighten me to the chink in that man’s armor.” Says George
“Oddly enough, I’m the one giving out the opportunities here. Not that I’m keen on spoiling any sort of surprises.” Says Nancy
“So, this is like a birthday party for you? You’re just giving me a pleasant surprise?” asks George
“It seems fitting, a nice little bit a pleasant entertainment. You wouldn’t want to spoil the party, would you?” asks Nancy
“So long as you don’t get us killed, I can’t really question whatever shenanigans you have up your sleeve.” Says George
“Just the fun kind, of course.” Says Nancy
“You tend to have very peculiar taste in fun. I’m sure you realize this, right?” asks George
“I do indeed, it may not suit everyone’s fancy, but still, it will be fun, for the both of us.” Says Nancy
“Again, I think you overestimate the extent to which I enjoy the job. Sure, it’s fulfilling, but I wouldn’t call it fun, it’s like fighting through hell and back.” Says George
“Sounds like fun to me.” Says Nancy
“Most people don’t find fighting through hell to be fun, Nancy.” Says George
“Where’s your spirit of adventure?” asks Nancy
“Where is your fear of death?” asks George
“I’ll let you know when something strikes that fear in my heart, and I’ll tell you where that fear comes from. Until then, it’s nothing but smiles and sunshine.” Says Nancy
“I swear there’s something wrong with you.” Says George
“It pays the bills, and surely you wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, would you?” asks Nancy
“What bills do you have to pay exactly? Your dad is loaded.” asks George
“Theoretical bills, something or another, you know that’s why people work, right? You’ve got to pay the bills, you know.” Says Nancy, nonchalant, indifferently, in all seriousness
“People have real bills that they really need to pay. They don’t just work to pay imaginary bills.” Says George
“They’re not imaginary, they’re theoretical. In theory, I could be given some bills or something, and then thanks to my employment I can then pay those bills. You’ve got to plan for the future and whatnot.” Says Nancy
“That’s an impeccable amount of foresight. I can’t even imagine a world where somebody like yourself is working to pay the bills, but somehow you’re already planning for it.” Says George
“It’s just a little seasoning, a flavor-note to the work. Flavor may be nice, but it’s not the reason you eat. If you need flavor to eat, clearly, you’ve never starved. Work is important; it’s the blood of human society. Were I not to work, I would be no more than a vampire, drinking the blood of society rather than creating it myself. Every single facet of society, every thought, every concept that exists is the product of human work. Too many people live their lives just drinking blood without making any themselves. It’s a matter of input and output, if you’re drinking more blood than you produce, you’re a vampire, and there’s a reason the world has never been fond of vampires.” Says Nancy
“I think people should just do their best, do what they can. Some people really can’t help the state they are in, if they can’t work, more often than not this is no fault of their own.” Says George
“Fault is not a relevant factor here. Is the Chupacabra at fault because he exists as a Chupacabra? No, the Chupacabra is an animal, the beast never once made a decision to be such a creature. Just because a creature is not at fault does not mean its existence within society is justified. This is why the concept of guilt, of crime and punishment, has become so problematic.
People see these ethical judgments as valid, when often times they are completely irrational. Ethics is a flavor, a stylistic movement within the broad field of justice. If quadrilaterals represent those whose punishment benefits society, simple logic dictates that all quadrilaterals be endeared with corrective measures in order to benefit society.
Ethics places endless irrational constraints upon the functional logic, causing it to fail to function properly. Ethics will only endear corrective measures to a rhombus, and every other quadrilateral is free to exist without being subjected to these corrective measures.
If society is a car, ethics will only respond to the check-engine light, believing that this is sufficient, stating that the engine is the most important part. They fail to change the oil, to check the tire pressure, to do all of the other necessary routine maintenance that a car needs to run efficiently, and due to this the car in question, our society, is in shambles.
The emotional sensation of justice is not a valid metric to justify any action, if it were, then every murderer would be free right now, as clearly their emotions cause them to believe that their punishment is unjust and that the murder they committed was justified. By proxy, people today argue that to change the oil is unjust because the oil tank is not the engine, people say to inflate the tires is intrusive and uncalled for, and thus unjust. The human mind can only associate metaphorical engine maintenance with justice, and this leads to a destructive degree of negligence with respect to the maintenance of society.
A murderer that is imprisoned and profitably enslaved is less worthy of death than a Chupacabra who has done nothing immoral and lacks agency in its existence. To execute the murderer is to commit a crime in robbing society of potential gains, just as condoning the existence of the Chupacabra is a crime, it is aiding and abetting what is little more than theft. The punishment for the murderer is enslavement, as to go further would be to wrong society in the process.
The Chupacabra, despite having no agency in the situation, still produces results that are measurably equivalent to theft, and as the only way to prevent this creature from drinking the blood of goats is to kill him, this is the only viable means of addressing the issue, of doing proper maintenance to prevent an extant problem from continuing to do consistent damage or exacerbating itself.” Says Nancy, lighting another cigarette
“By my vague understanding of what you’re getting at makes you seem like a hypocrite. I’m sure these people we kill could have otherwise been spared death, if that’s what you’re arguing in favor of.” Says George
“That’s a complicated situation. Traditional, biblical justice was very keen on just killing people who cause problems, even for slight problems. This is because the value you may lose in the enslavement is created by the increase in social cohesion, that these graphic, public deaths of these people in turn provide psychological conditioning for the rest of society that causes them to develop a significant aversion to doing these crimes in the first place.
Stoning was a great system, just because when your society stones people to death in public, you’re either part of the group that is stoning people or you’re the person being stoned to death. There’s no middle ground there, and when people are faced with this situation, they tend to choose not being stoned to death. This is beneficial because in order to qualify as somebody who is not stoned to death you have to follow the law to the T.
This fear of punishment, the very real and palpable experience of punishment that you yourself have given, creates a much firmer commitment to the law than the Western style based in the specialization of labor, in that just the police arrest the person, the jail detains the person, the court convicts the person, and the executioner kills the person. When it’s somebody else who doles out the punishment, you don’t end up with these clear-cut lines we traditionally had, where you’re either the executor of the law or the person being executed by the law.
By creating barriers between the civilians and law enforcement, this creates the psychological gray area between law enforcement and legal punishment that most people revel in. Rather than being tempted to commit a crime, and thinking “I would literally stone myself to death for doing this”, people think “Those other people will kill me, but only if I get caught, so I better not get caught.”
Still, when we no longer have a society that ensures public executions as a matter of team building, as a means to ensure social cohesion and lawfulness, then we must take alternative measures. What we perform is the tradition of public execution, and the reason that this was acceptable in the West is that it allows people to revel in the feeling of justice without getting their hands dirtied themselves. They can see justice without having to dole it out personally.
This does induce a mild aversion to breaking the law, just because the punishment is vivid in their mind, and because they know they will be publicly executed for all society to see if they commit a crime, as this creates an aversion to being subjected publicly to the ultimate degree of shaming and condemnation. People’s egos are fragile, and to believe that their life would end and be defined by this ultimate degree of public shaming and condemnation tends to create some aversion. It’s the difference between getting chastised in public, in front of your friends and your family, or being chastised alone in a small room. The public nature of the display is something that threatens many people’s ego.
The only reason people break the law is because they believe they won’t get caught, or if they believe they may get caught they do not fear the repercussions of doing so. That’s why what we’re doing isn’t so bad, we’re working with what we’ve got, we’re making the most out of an unfortunate situation, as clearly we can’t revert to the traditional and more effective ways of ensuring social cohesion and lawful behavior, so we rely on means that we can undertake ourselves. The fear of the law, the fear of repercussions is what prevents people from committing crimes, and as we exist to essentially create this fear, in accordance with justice of course, we are helping people develop a psychological aversion to criminal behavior.” Says Nancy
“Christ, you really put some thought into that one. I figured we were basically the law enforcement parallel of the mafia, doing work that cops can’t do just because it needs to get done.” Says George
“As much as that might seem unsavory, it’s really not. Though one may find the means disagreeable, if such are the only means to an end more desirable than the present, even with the undesirable nature of the means taken into account, the means are entirely justified. If there was a mafia that went around ensuring that people were all good natured, moral, law abiding, and wholesome people, it really wouldn’t matter if they were doing this in a starkly illegal or questionable manner, because it’s the ends that justify the means. Whatever harm occurred as a result of the means is entirely negated by the benefits of the ends, and these benefits vastly outweigh any harm done in the process. If I spend a dollar to make ten, that’s a winning bet and I’ll take that bet every time.” Says Nancy
“I figure the issue is how that money is made. It’s not just a matter of money to most people; it’s the actions done to arrive at those ends. I’m sure there are plenty of times when, quote unquote, spending a dollar to make ten is completely unjustifiable.” Says George
“That’s very true, but in reality, those times don’t abide by the general constraint. That these times would end up incurring a loss eventually, you spend a dollar to make ten, but ensure that you lose twenty in the next round. It’s the indefinite yield, the profit when all is said and done that counts. The indefinite result must be a profit.
Think of a small child, you do nothing but lose money on a small child, so one might argue killing that child is spending a dollar to make ten. In reality that child would eventually make 100 dollars from labor, and you’ve spent a dollar to destroy 89 dollars’ worth of eventual profit. It’s never the short-term outcome that should be respected, only the long term, only the indefinite. Shortsightedness has blinded many people, and many people have died on account of this. Only spend that dollar to make ten if you know for certain you’re not going to lose fewer than 9 dollars in the future on account of that action.” Says Nancy
“You really don’t need to eat sugar. Like, ever. Usually you’re too lazy to think too much, and it’s times like this that I’m grateful that for that.” Says George
“It’s hard to say if it’s more so the sugar or being confined in a car and reduced to small talk. If I’ve got nothing better to do, of course I’m going to ramble on about whatever rattles around in my mind. Not particularly a strong suit of mine, otherwise I’d be getting paid just to talk, eh?” asks Nancy
“Clearly… It’s definitely the sugar, though.” Says George
“To be fair, the old saying idle hands are the devil’s workshop doesn’t really explain the situation properly. Idle hands are simply a workshop; it is through one’s own conviction and one’s own susceptibility to temptation that one might entertain ventures proposed by the devil. Despite my vices, I tend to be more industrious than anything else, vice does not tempt me like success.” Says Nancy
“Nothing speaks to that facet of your character like the day drinking.” Says George
“That’s not to say I’m not tempted by vice, but I’m just tempted by success to a much greater degree. If I were solely tempted by vice, we wouldn’t be so healthily employed, would we? I may have my vices, but they take a backseat to my ambition and desire for success. I may pay my taxes to the devil, but he sure as shit doesn’t own me.” Says Nancy
“Let’s just make sure things stay that way. Seeing how you’re paying taxes for fear of death right now, you’re not exactly in a bargaining position.” Says George
“Everyone pays taxes for fear of death, that’s nothing new. Considering the bounty of my harvest, one would expect a sizable tax to be levied against me.” Says Nancy
“It’s times like this that I don’t know if your arguments are actually sound or just pleasant excuses for your behavior.” Says George
“Some more than others, allegories tend to have profound depth behind them. If I were to fully explain every detail, every facet of insight that the allegory provided, I would be rambling for hours. An intricate machine, allegory, a beautiful one; that being said I’m not describing every facet of the allegory just as I’m not describing the intricate details of the car. The car works, that’s enough to get the point across; the allegory works, to delve into details is a matter of one’s own personal interest in the mechanics of allegory. If one was truly curious, they could dissect it akin to the way a mechanic can dissect a car, but for most people, their interest tends to wane beyond the surface level functionality.” Says Nancy
“As much as it’s riveting hearing you speak in allegory, you actually touched upon something more tangible right there. What about the car?” asks George, Nancy looks at the door, hand out the window, slaps the side of the car
“It’s a car, yes. Check. Car indeed.” Says Nancy ~
“What about the bullet holes and shit?” asks George
“I’m sure those will buff out right and nice. The back windshield is shot, but that’s replaceable.” Says Nancy
“Don’t you think this looks pretty bad? Driving a car full of bullet holes? A little suspicious, no?” asks George
“Considering the state of other junkers on the road, it just helps us blend in with the crowd. Having a few bullet holes in the car just gives it some character. Somebody driving a spotless new car, that’s a suspicious person, an unusual sight, but a lived in, homely car, that’s somebody you can trust, just an honest, hardworking person.” Says Nancy
“I highly doubt that’s the impression most people are having when they see this car.” Says George
“Suddenly so concerned with vanity, are we? We’ll let her get some beauty sleep tonight, she’ll be looking crisp tomorrow. Such a child to be concerned with a scuff, as if the whole world is watching. The scuffs just make people avert their eyes and forget you exist. If you were concerned about people staring at your car, a sparkling new Buick Century perhaps was not the right car. Something like this is going to draw attention, people are always tempted to gaze upon beauty.” Says Nancy
“It’s just a car, just a normal car. I’m not driving some sort of sports car or something.” says George
“It’s new, fresh, young, elegant, people like that. You can try to be modest, but the car certainly won’t. Just because she’s a humble car doesn’t make her any less beautiful.” Says Nancy
“I’m just going to write that off as you being drunk. It’s like you’re trying to seduce my car.” Says George
“Maybe it was your car that seduced me…” says Nancy, coquettish, smirking; George chuckles
“Jesus, Nancy. Where are we going anyways?” asks George
“Old mosque up the street.” Says Nancy
“Why?” asks George
“I need some help.” Says Nancy, lighting a cigarette, instinctively, thoughtlessly
“I doubt the Muslim community has any interest in helping you, especially considering your lifestyle.” Says George
“I’m not going to ask the community for a favor. Am I some sort of charity now, going door to door? I just need to talk to somebody who happens to be a Muslim.” Says Nancy
“I can’t say I have any faith in your plan beyond the mechanical unquestioning baseline needed for me to coexist with you. I don’t mind taking you there, but I don’t have a clue what you’re trying to accomplish. I figured any Muslim would hate you on religious grounds, it surprises me that you have any sort of contact with them at all.” Says George
“This is just business. I’m good business, and nobody hates good business.” Says Nancy
“It’s quaint that even devoutly religious people seem to be unbothered by the fact that you’re basically a drunken serial killer that’s above the law. I figured at least those sorts of people would still value things like innocent until proven guilty, a jury of your peers, and all that sort of stuff. You know, ensuring that morality is more important than business.” Says George, Nancy bothered by the sobering allegation
“See, George, those things, those aren’t religious beliefs, those aren’t moral codes. In the Bible there never was any of that bullshit. Those are Luciferian humanistic ideals; these are asserting that the individual somehow has rights within or above society, when according to morality this is never true. Morality says that the individual is always persecuted when this benefits society, that’s it. If torturing, maiming, and killing this person benefits society more than failing to do this, then said morality says the person should be tortured, maimed, and killed.
I’m not a serial killer any more than a traffic ticket, any more than a corn farmer. Yes, I induce financial harm, I may end life, but this is always in the best-interest of society. I am the moral being here, I am the one in accordance with morality, and moral communities respect this. Morality is the sacrificing of individual liberty whenever this benefits the best-interest of society as a whole. That’s it. All of the good and evil, heaven and hell, nonsense like that, it’s hullabaloo. If you wash that seasoning off morality, take off the mask, see it as nothing but the pure secular logic that defines it, this is all morality is. This concept is what traditional morality attempted to convey, but lacked the capacity to express in pure formulaic objective logic, so they instead were forced to resort to rules of thumb that in-general produced this effect. I am the good person here, don’t forget that. We’re the good guys.” Says Nancy
“Surely there’s some degree of compassion in that heart of yours though.” Says George
“Of course.” Says Nancy, lighting a cigarette, “That being said, one must know emotion, an instinct, is a purely self-serving tool to ensure one’s own individual survival in the wild. Knowing that emotion is purely defined with respect to one’s personal self-interest, which is survival, you’ve got to understand that emotions themselves are often starkly contrary to morality.
Of course I feel compassion, but I only feel compassion when it is in accordance with the best-interest of society. It’s morality that allows me to overpower any sort of emotions I might feel whenever these emotions are starkly contrary to the proper sentiment with respect to the logical definition of morality. Most people don’t constrain their emotions in accordance with morality, and it’s for this reason society has fallen to shit, this is why we live in New Sodom. The fear of God used to compel people to do this; they would swallow their emotions if these emotions compelled them to contradict the word of God. Now they don’t do this, and their emotions compel them to immolate society in the hellfire of their own Luciferian self-interest.” Says Nancy
“I didn’t think you were a particularly religious person, Nancy.” Says George
“I’m not, not in the fucking slightest. I just have a deep devotion to morality, to perpetuating the best-interest of society as a whole. I respect the Bible because an enemy of my enemy is my friend. The humanists, in all irony, are actually subhuman, in that humanism is individualism, and individualism is a purely feral antisocial action no different than theft, rape, and murder. They may be crimes of different sizes and severity, but this does not change the nature of these things. If I were to slap a baby, this is still harmful and problematic, even if it’s not as severe as murdering the baby outright.
While some parts of religious morality are inapplicable today, the general secular logic that defines morality is still true, and will forever be true. To condemn the secular logic of morality is to condemn all that it has wrought, including civilization as a whole and the entirety of the contemporary human race. Morality is a science, a hard objective fact, and I respect that. Regardless of whether a spooky ghost in the sky or a singing log of shit is responsible for the communication of these sentiments, that doesn’t change anything about the validity of the statement.
I swear, if God explicitly told people that being stabbed to death is painful, people would spend their entire lives arguing about how pleasant it is to be stabbed death just to assert the argument that ‘God is full of shit’. There’s nothing but ad hominem coming from the humanists, they condemn the concept of God and somehow pretend that this invalidates morality as a whole.” Says Nancy
“Somehow your mind’s still crisp at this point in the day. I figured the alcohol would have taken its toll by now.” Says George
“It’s the tolerance. I’m just warming up the engine, pouring some of that ethanol into the banter tanks. Got to get my mind turning, seeing how this is the first time today I will need to use it. Hate to run into a business proposition cold. I’ve got my points, I’ve got a winning hand, I’ve just got to play it right.” Says Nancy
“Speak of the devil. This is the place up here, right?” asks George, a small mosque appearing on the side of the street
“We’re speaking of God, dear, not the devil. Just pull into the lot, this shouldn’t take long.” Says Nancy
“Just try to knock off the rambling banter, dearest. By my understand these people would stone you to death if they had the opportunity.” says George, mockingly
“They understand that the forces of Hell seek to punish the evil in the world just as much as the children of God. An enemy of my enemy is my friend, so they say.” Says Nancy
“Really?” asks George
“I sure hope so.” Says Nancy, withdrawing her handgun from her trench coat and placing it in the glovebox, taking a swig off the pint, putting it on the floor, then grabbing the bag of money
“You’re leaving the pint?” asks George
“It’s haram, I don’t want to bring it inside. Have some if you want.” Says Nancy
“I don’t.” says George
“More for me.” Says Nancy, joking nervously as she closes the door, walking up to the double doors of the modest urban mosque, she knocks on the door, a man opens it
“How can I help you?” asks the man, polite, yet suspicious and upset by the smell of the scotch
“I’m here to talk to Ned.” Says Nancy
“There is no Ned here.” Says the man
“Yeah, there is. That guy.” Says Nancy, pointing to a man near the back of the open prayer room, sitting with a small group of people, the man notices and frowns
“That’s not Ned.” Says the man
“Yes, that’s Ned. Whoever he is. I need to talk to him.” Says Nancy
“He is very busy.” Says the man
“I’m the police, and it’s important.” Says Nancy
The door man shouts at Ned in Arabic, Ned shouts back, motioning Nancy into the room, there is a large man standing guard with an assault rifle on the other side of the door, he motions with his gun, the door man frisks Nancy, she puts her hands up, and the doorman sends her through. Nancy points with two fingers at her eyes, then points the two fingers at Ned. She walks over to him, he walks away from his group.
“What do you want, Nancy?” asks Ned
“I need a favor.” Says Nancy
“No.”
“Ned, listen, this is serious.” Says Nancy
“My name is Muhammad Al-Fadl bin Hamza” says Muhammad
“Well, Muhammad, that’s mouthful. You’ve got to keep me up to date, you know?” asks Nancy
“I’ve always hated your Nancy. You’re the reason why I converted to Islam. You showed me how wicked godless people can become.” Says Muhammad
“I’m good, ok? I’m a good person, but this is not about me.” Says Nancy
“What is this about? Is some Muslim man suspected of a crime?” asks Muhammad
“The mayor’s daughter has been abducted.” asks Nancy
“What does that have to do with me or my mosque?” asks Muhammad
“The mayor’s a Muslim too, right?” asks Nancy
“Yes, but he doesn’t come to this mosque…” says Muhammad, confused by Nancy’s unusual lack of knowledge
“I know who took the child, I just need some help getting her back is all.” Says Nancy
“This is a mosque, we’re not a band of mercenaries.” Says Muhammad
“I know. Just hear me out, ok? J-Corp abducted the Mayor’s daughter. I need to get in there, and I know you know some people with some, well… explosive tendences?” says Nancy
“You want me to find somebody to bomb J-Corp? You’re in the wrong place.” Says Muhammad
“Nobody you know is willing to defend the faith? No loyal soldiers of God?” asks Nancy
“That would be a suicide mission.” Says Muhammad
“Nobody said it wouldn’t be. The point is, the Mayor upset J-Corp somehow, and they take his daughter. That’s an act of war, right?” asks Nancy
“The probably abducted his daughter because he placed heavy sanctions on the company yesterday.” Says Muhammad
“Well, I don’t know why he would do that. Kind of makes sense now.” Says Nancy, off-guard, having actually missed the news of the white-collar aggression
“Maybe because J-Corp sells weapons and bombs to the United States, who then uses those weapons to murder men, women, and children in the Muslim nations around the world? Did you think of that?” asks Muhammad, insulted
“I had never picked a side in that Iraq-Iran war. Kind of foggy on foreign policy here.” Says Nancy
“It doesn’t matter. Do you really think you can get the girl back? I know the Mayor will buckle quickly if you don’t. I’m not giving you any men if you’re not certain.” says Muhammad
“I just need one guy. Just to blow the doors open. After that it’s 100% a police operation.” Says Nancy
“I’m pretty sure J-Corp would be happy to shoot some Muslim man planting bombs on their front door, Nancy.” Says Muhammad
“I can get your guy in there. Trust me on that. I have a connection on the inside. I just need him to carry the bomb into the lobby.” Says Nancy
“Then just drop the bomb and walk away? Again, my guy just gets killed right there.” asks Muhammad, getting angry with Nancy
“Well, we agreed this was a suicide mission. I need your guy to hide the bomb under his robe.” Says Nancy
“Then what, just blow himself up?” asks Muhammad, quite angry
“When the time comes.” Says Nancy, tersely apologetic
“You’re a sick human being, Nancy.” Says Muhammad, scornfully
“It’s our only hope here, Muhammad, understand that. You know J-Corp kills hundreds of Muslims out in God knows where every day, but you don’t have a single man in your army willing to die fighting in the name of God?” asks Nancy
“I don’t have an army.” Says Muhammad
“You have guys. We’re all fighters here, we know what goes on in the world.” Says Nancy, euphemistically, Muhammad sighs, grimaces, he speaks towards another man, middle aged, sitting on the ground a few yards away, hand in his palms, he motions him over, the man walks to him, they talk in Arabic for a moment, he nods his head, grimly, he walks away and starts praying on the ground
“What was that?” asks Nancy
“He is dying of cancer, he has 3 months to live, he came here for consolation. I asked him if he would do it… he said he would… Count your blessings, Nancy.” Says Muhammad, embittered, but accepting
“I certainly do. Do you have explosives?” asks Nancy
“I can be sure he is well equipped. What does he need to know?” asks Muhammad
“There will be a time tomorrow morning when many armed guards start to rush in to fortify the lobby. This is when he needs to… well, detonate the bomb. Make sure he is in the lobby at 9 o’clock sharp.” Says Nancy
“How will he get into the lobby? Security at J-Corp is very tight.” Says Muhammad
“I will talk to my guy on the inside. I’ll tell him to put your guy on the books as a ‘Saudi prince’ looking to make some big buys in terms of weapons.” Says Nancy
“You think he’ll believe that you know a Saudi Prince?” asks Muhammad, mockingly
“He’ll know what I’m planning to do. If you think my wrath is sickening, understand that this man’s greed allows him to justify the slaughter of hundreds of his own men, all for personal gain.” Says Nancy
“You’re sure he will take the bait?” asks Muhammad
“It’s not bait, it’s a bargain. I’m offering to kill his boss.” Says Nancy
“He hates his boss?” asks Muhammad
“He hates that he’s not the boss.” Says Nancy
“Enough to want his boss dead?” asks Muhammad
“More than enough. When you work at J-Corp, death is the expected means to the end of personal gain. He doesn’t care about the slaughter of hundreds of your people, and he doesn’t care about the slaughter of his own if it means he’s making a killing in the process.” Says Nancy
“I trust you on this. My man knows where to go. You make sure he gets in.” says Muhammad
“I owe you one. Take this monkey to cover any sort of costs for costumes, try to get a nice rental to take him over there. If I owe you more, just let me know.” Says Nancy, handing him the bag,
“How much is in here?” asks Muhammad
“Some money, I don’t know, it’s not important. A Good Samaritan donated it to our cause.” Says Nancy
“A bloody gym-bag full of dirty cash, most philanthropists I know also prefer that method to say, a check, for instance.” Says Muhammad
“All the rage. Just give your man the name of a real Saudi Prince. I’m sure they’ll be expecting him, he’s going to see Burt.” Says Nancy
“I see at least you’ve kept up with the little bastard. Tell him my friends name is Saud bin Fahd Al Saud.” Says Muhammad
“Works for me. Means nothing to me, but as long as it checks out if somebody glances over the paperwork, we’re golden.”, the little girl walks over, and tugs on the man’s empty hand, he says something in Arabic to her
“Who is this? Your daughter?” asks Nancy
“This is my wife, Safiya.” Says Muhammad
“Yikes. What happened to the other one?” asks Nancy
“Dalia? She is at home with my son.” Says Muhammad
“Oh. Your second wife. She’s a little young, isn’t she?” asks Nancy
“Her parents were murdered in a robbery. I took her in.” Says Muhammad
“Noble… You consummate the marriage?” Jokes Nancy
“Fuck you.” Says Muhammad, insulted and disgusted
“Jeez, just a joke.” Says Nancy
“Where is your husband, I don’t think I’ve met him.” Says Muhammad, scornfully
“No husband, you know what they say about hellkites.” Says Nancy
“At least you know what you are.” Says Muhammad
“If God creates hell to torture the damned, and I am one who tortures the damned, am I not a servant of God just as much as you?” asks Nancy
“Allah is a compassionate and merciful.” Says Muhammad
“But those who spit in his face invoke his wrath, no?” asks Nancy
“Yes.” Says Muhammad
“You do compassion and mercy, I do the wrath. We’ve got all the bases covered.” Says Nancy
“I leave the wrath for Allah.” Says Muhammad
“And it seems Allah leaves the wrath to me. Can I live my life saying ‘I leave the compassion and mercy for Allah’?” asks Nancy
“Absolutely not.” Says Muhammad
“Then I take it you see my point.” Says Nancy
“Fair enough, Nancy. Leave. You’re befouling the mosque. It’s almost time for prayer.” Says Muhammad
“An enemy of my enemy is my friend, yeah?” asks Nancy
“We’re allies, but we’re not bedfellows, Nancy.” Says Muhammad
“Let’s keep it that way.” Says Nancy
“I intend to.” Says Muhammad
“Thanks again, big man. You take it easy.” Says Nancy
“Ma'a salama.” Says Muhammad, Nancy walking away, the doorman lets her out, she walks back to her car, George is in the driver’s seat, smoking, Nancy enters nonchalantly
“Didn’t think I left my smokes in the car.” Says Nancy
“There as half a pack in the glove box.” Says George
“Getting desperate, eh?” asks Nancy
“Nervous.” Says George, starting the car
“Don’t be. Things went well. The stars aligned for me in there, thank God.” Says Nancy
“I see that bloody bag full of money is gone.” Says George
“To a good cause.” Says Nancy
“I hope so.” Says George, driving away
“A good friend of mine in there.” Says Nancy
“How do you know this guy?” asks George
“We went to school with him, you remember Ned, yeah?” asks Nancy
“Ned hated you.” Says George
“Well, close enough.” Says Nancy
“For fuck’s sake, Nancy. Of all the people you could ask for a favor?” asks George
“I needed a very particular favor, and Ned was probably the only man willing to deliver.” Says Nancy
“Why would Ned ever help you?” asks George
“As much as this is our job, this is personal for him.” Says Nancy
“He knows the mayor?” asks George
“At least by proxy. Don’t worry about it. I need to make a phone call, find me a payphone somewhere.” Says Nancy
“Anywhere in particular?” asks George
“Just hang a right here, there’s one in this strip mall.” Says Nancy
“Righty ho.” says George, mind still spinning a bit from the prior stress, she parks the car next to the phone, Nancy opens the glove box, pulls out a little black book, and takes some quarters from the cup holder
“You’re making that sort of a call?” asks George, puzzled
“This is for business contacts, I’m not some idle lonely whore. If I wanted to fuck, I’d go see your cousin.” Says Nancy
“Fair enough.” Says George, Nancy walking out of the car to the payphone, the late afternoon sun bleeding yellow-orange against the suburban skyline, Nancy confident her contact has yet to leave the office, she opens to a page in the book, puts the quarters in the phone, then dials a number
“Big Burt, guess who it is?” says Nancy, haughtily, warmly
“For Christ’s sake Nancy, you sick bitch. It seems you’re waging war against my people, then you’ve got the gall to call me, expecting me to sell you some guns to kill more of my guys? You’ve got the office on edge right now. We normally don’t kill cops, but right about now we’re thinking about it.” asks Burt
“Fuck off, Burt. I killed a crack dealer and some goombah bastard. Those weren’t your guys. At best, those were Craig’s guys.” Says Nancy
“Craig’s guys are my guys.” Says Burt, firmly
“Look, you do understand that Craig fucked up, right?” asks Nancy
“It’s fair to say that a lot of people fucked up at this point, and you’re on that list you dumb bitch.” Says Burt, laughing haughtily
“There’s going to be hell to pay for Craig, and I figure your junior vice president ass doesn’t want to foot the fucking bill for this, do you?” asks Nancy
“I don’t see how you think J-Corp is going to be the one begging for mercy here. You’ve got a band of boys in blue, and we’re a fucking army.” Says Burt
“You sell guns, Burt, you’re not a fucking army. Realize that the C-suite at J-Corp is going to be fucked pretty hard by this bit of coked-out fury from Craig, and that’s where I’m asking you if you want to dodge a bullet.” Says Nancy
“I know you’re full of shit, but now I’m at least interested in what sort of nonsense you’re going to pull out of your ass right now.” Says Burt
“See here, Burt. I know you want to climb up that ladder of slippery dicks to get to the top, yeah? I know those dicks are pretty slippery. Correct me if I’m wrong.” Says Nancy
“Yeah…” says Burt, bitterly disgusted with himself
“You’re jerking and pulling, but you can’t get enough of a grip to pull yourself up.” Says Nancy
“Fuck you, Nancy. Get to the point.” Says Burt, serious, angered
“The point is that it would be much easier for you to climb a pile of corpses to the top, so that’s the offer I’m making you right now.” Says Nancy, Burt laughs heartily
“You’re just going to come kill everybody, Nancy? That’s your fucking plan?” says Burt
“With your help, something like that. Any cowards unwilling to die, they’re getting thrown in the clink for a long fucking time.” Says Nancy
“Didn’t think of you as the type to spare the lives of criminals.” Says Burt
“I’m not going to be walking around with cuffs tomorrow, but somebody will. The point is, I’m asking you if you want to be in the group of people in prison, or the group of people still happily employed at J-Corp and found innocent of the massive domestic terror and extortion conspiracy against the mayor.” Says Nancy
“I’d prefer the latter to be honest, not that I think your boys have the balls to walk into J-Corp and start a war they sure as shit won’t win.” Says Burt
“That’s because you’re going to start the war, Burt. I need you to write-in my man’s name, Saud bin Fahd Al Saud, into your appointment books. Schedule him at 9 O’clock tomorrow. Say he’s a Saudi prince coming on business, trying to buy a sizeable amount of guns for his people back home.” Says Nancy
“Just out of the fucking blue?” asks Burt
“Just say he’s in town, you caught wind through a friend of a friend, and the prince became interested when he knew what you had to offer.” Says Nancy
“What fucking friend of a friend knows a Saudi Prince?” says Burt
“You remember Ned, that’s who.” Says Nancy
“Ned? Ned’s not even a real Muslim. He’s a fucking White dude from Boston.” Says Burt
“He’s brown as dirt, got a turban, a big beard, and his name is Muhammad Al-Fadl bin Hamza now. He’s a fucking real Muslim.” Says Nancy
“I have not seen that dude in a while, but I’ll be damned, your serious. I’ll get your boy penned into the books, but how is this going to play out?” asks Burt
“Tomorrow a little after 9 O’clock, about 20 cops, the SWAT team, the whole she-bang are going to line up outside the entrance of J-Corp. They’re going to be shouting on the megaphone, posturing, but looking weak. You need to send as many of the guards as you can to the lobby. Tell them to “Deter the thought of encroachment.”, posturing, you know.” Says Nancy
“Then what? Your boy opens up on them? A little Trojan Horse?” interrupts Burt
“A little more dramatic than that, but make damn sure you’re clear of the lobby.” Says Nancy
“God damn, but then what?” asks Burt
“Well, me and George will go in and clean up, take down Craig, and that will be the day. Just make sure you keep your head down and don’t get shot. When the charges get pressed, I’ll make sure you were officially involved in no way with the whole abduction bullshit.” Says Nancy
“Fuck it, you know I hate Craig with a passion, and this is probably the only opportunity I’m going to get to climb the ladder until I’ve got one foot in the grave. You better come through, you crazy bitch. We’re on for 9’O Clock sharp. I’ll send word to my secretary to let the doorman know, off the books of course.” Says Burt
“Pleasure doing business with you.” Says Nancy
“If this goes off without a hitch, you’ll be a fucking hero at J-Corp. Most everyone want’s Craig dead, but I’m sure he’s still got a few braindead goons loyal to him up in the C-Suit, so be careful.” Says Burt
“Roger that. You take care, keep your head down until all is said and done.” Says Nancy
“I’ll pretend to be a pussy, just for one day, just for you, ok, toots?” says Burt
“I figured it would be method acting for you.” Jokes Nancy
“I’m in it for the money, so in a way, you’re right.” Says Burt
“Classy. Take it easy, champ.” Says Nancy
“You too, you crazy bitch. You better not die before this shit goes down. You’ve got me thirsting like none other right now.” Says Burt,
“I’ll do my damnedest. Ta ta for now.” Says Nancy, hanging up the phone, she walks back to the car and gets in
“What was that about?” asks George
“An exchange of mutual respects to pursue mutual ambitions.” Says Nancy
“Should I even care what that was about?” asks George
“The last of the pieces just came together nicely. If I were you, I’d just wait for tomorrow. It will be a nice surprise.” Says Nancy
“You know I don’t like surprises.” Says George
“You’ll think, ‘Damn, Nancy. You’ve really out done yourself this time. I’m impressed.’” Says Nancy, lighting a cigarette
“It sounds like I’m going to be scarred for the rest of my life if I don’t die tomorrow.” Says George
“Scars are sexy. Anything you need to take care of?” asks Nancy
“I’d like to have that back windshield replaced. I’d rather see the traffic rather than be reminded of my impending death when I check the rear-view.” Says George
“Why check the rear-view? Why live in the past? I’ve got to talk to the Chief, so let’s get back to the station.” Says Nancy
“Nancy, the rear-view is just what happens to be physically behind you in the present. It’s not the past by any stretch of the imagination. Right now, that windshield serves as a jarring reminder that there are numerous people likely trying to hunt us down and kill us right now. It speaks to the fact that our actions in the past have dire consequences for our future.” Says George, driving down the road
“Dire for the people that want to kill us. Let’s just see it as a reminder of our hard work and service to the people.”
“Nancy your complete ignorance to the existence of impending peril and death worries me sometimes.” Says George
“Stop, George. You need some barbs or something, baby. There are two instincts, fear and wrath. It’s fight or flight. We don’t run from shit, George, so you need to use the proper instinct right now.” Says Nancy
“I vaguely remember running for our lives today down the freeway today.” Says George
“I remember fighting for our lives, but never the less. If it keeps you on your toes, fine, but remember, we’re fighters. Running is how you get shot in the back.” Says Nancy
“When the alternative is being shot in the front, I don’t see much difference.” Says George
“Everybody dies, George. You either die with honor or you die like a coward. Too many people pick the latter, and don’t pretend you’re one of them.” Says Nancy
“When the time for bullets comes, I’m shooting, but in down time I’m still sweating bullets.” Says George
“Good. If you’re sweating bullets just put them in your gun. You’re a fucking munitions factory and you’re trying to act like a cowardly pacifist?” asks Nancy
“I’m just wary of potential consequences. We’ve got to be aware of the threats we face or they’ll catch us off-guard.” Says George
“The mistake you’ve made is letting your guard down in the first place. I’m aware of the threats we face, but I’m on my guard. I assert the fact that I am the consequence people face, I create the consequences, not fall victim to them. We’re the authority here, George.” Says Nancy
“Bullets don’t seem to discriminate between the ranks of the social hierarchy.” Says George
“No, but gunplay and tactics certainly do, my dear. Make sure you’re ready to fight and ready to kill. It’s kill or be killed, and I’m sure as shit not about to be killed.” Says Nancy
“Your tactics seem to be spurious at best.” Says George
“The world plays by the books. The criminals, the law enforcement, every peasant, everybody is rattling off the tried-and-true tactics which keep this city alive and running. It’s a thoughtless exchange of pieces with every game leading to the same perpetual stalemate. This is why we don’t play by the books. The value of spurious tactics is that when the opponent does not understand how to defend against them, these tactics suddenly become a brilliancy. That’s the value here. We’re the arbiters of justice, not the guardians of the status quo.” Says Nancy
“Yet if the opponent successfully defends against your spurious tactics this becomes a blunder, no?” asks George
“If I were playing against grandmasters, perhaps things would be different, but these are common thugs, petty hustlers, and there’s no reason to give them more credit than they deserve.” Says Nancy
“I would consider Craig Stevens to be a formidable fucking opponent, Nancy. I’m hoping you’ve got a damn good strategy here. Bullshit is not going to fly tomorrow.” Says George
“Maybe in his prime, but at this point half of the neurons in his brain have been replaced by cocaine, and the other half just help him find the spoon. He’s mind is gone, otherwise he wouldn’t have tried to pull this sort of bullshit. Sane people don’t bite the hand that feeds them, even animals don’t do that, Craig’s gone at this point, he’s sick, and it’s time to put him down.” Says Nancy
“Easier said than done, I’d still love to hear about this plan.” Says George
“It’s simple. I prey upon the basal weakness within man, his eternal thirst for material gains, his eternal thirst for carnal vengeance, and these primal forces in man compel him to do my bidding because I offer him these things, and I give him these things which he, for whatever reason, cannot attain or is unwilling to attain himself.” Says Nancy
“I’m sure you’re not trying to tempt the richest man in town with material gains and vengeance against himself.” Says George
“No, that man is sated, contented, and this puts his mind in a vulnerable state. He has no capacity to become more powerful, so he thirsts for nothing, his instincts fade, and at its worst, his delusions of greater power cause him to lash out in ways that make him vulnerable. He is vulnerable to the community, vulnerable to the people he trusts, because when his security and contentment has been assured for so long, he takes this as a given and fails to recognize that even the greatest defenses start to crumble after years of wear and tear.” Says Nancy
“Talking of exploiting a man’s weakness, what is your strategy when we see the Chief?” asks George
“The Chief is a broken man, he exists in a position of power yet has no power to wield, he is held accountable for the actions of others, his success rides entirely on the back of the force, yet he remains the whipping boy if things should go wrong. He is essentially a man with a gun to his head, pleading for rescue. As tough as he acts, he knows he can’t spit in the face of salvation. His life consists of gambling on cop futures, and it hurts him bad if he takes a loss. Granted, he’s good at his job, but as with all people involved in futures trading, the line between dignity, morality, and survival start to blur. He knows he needs to make enough money to survive, even if this means making investments he isn’t particularly happy with, at least on a personal level.” Says Nancy
“Investments like us, eh?” asks George
“You’ve got to keep business and family completely separated. He’s a family man at heart, but he knows business is business. He has a hard heart because he knows the cannibals of the city will eat him alive if they knew his heart was tender. The idyllic human traits of kindness and compassion are a natural weakness, and they’re so highly desired and enjoyed because they create the belief in the human mind that the surroundings are peaceful and that you are safe. It’s survival instinct, if you see somebody who is kind and compassionate, you know you’re living in a place which is damn near utopian, with no external or internal threats which necessitate the hardening of the heart to stave off the otherwise childlike and disempowering traits.” Says Nancy
“I like to think of myself as having a heart, at least some piece of one.” Says George
“You’ve got a big heart, George. You wouldn’t do these things with me if you didn’t. There’s a difference between having a heart and being vulnerable. It’s possible to love people, love humanity, and love one another without being susceptible to the exploitation and abuse which comes hand-in-hand with having a soft, tender, and compassionate heart. Naturally, you expose your softness only when you don’t feel threatened, and you show kindness and compassion only when you feel the self-sacrifice of your own well-being is justified. To be kind and compassionate is to let another person eat at your heart, you are sustaining another person with your own flesh and blood, and this is reserved for the people you care the most about, people like a wife or your children whose natural weakness you voluntarily counter by allowing them to sustain themselves upon yourself, by letting them consume your own natural strength for their own benefit.
Logically, this takes an immense amount of trust, but many people with, how might I say, slutty-hearts, find themselves readily abused and exploited by the world because every cannibal is looking for tender hearts to feed on, and if you don’t protect yourself, if you trust too easily, if you’re too compassionate, you will quickly find yourself being eaten alive, allowing cannibals to sustain themselves by eating your life-blood, all while gaining nothing in return. In a healthy relationship, the return you get by allowing your loved ones to eat your heart is that they become healthier, stronger, and in turn grateful for the role you play in their life. Cannibals just want to eat you and treat you like a bag of meat, when you’ve got nothing left to offer them, they leave your corpse in the street and look for the next victim.” Says Nancy
“I can’t say I’m surprised by your empirical and emotionless understanding of love. Do you feel anything anymore?” asks George
“Pity, George, you know I’m full of feelings. I’m a blind old bitch and my feelings are the walking stick. Granted I use my logic to analyze my situation, but at the end of the day I’m a dog on the leash of my feelings.” Says Nancy, taking a drink from the bottle, lighting up a cigarette
“Aside from your thirst, I can’t say I understand where you’re coming from.” Says George
“The thirst is real, but like all things it stems from my
feelings. It stems from the fact that I don’t particularly want to remember
what I do. I don’t want to have my actions weigh upon my soul every night. I
don’t want vivid recollections of the people I’m forced to kill, the suffering
I must induce to protect the people. I understand this is but a stitch in time,
but that needle work, even just one stitch, it hurts my fingers. I drink just
to numb this pain. It makes my life easier; it makes my life possible. The
alcohol trivializes my sensory experience, it just means less to me, it’s less
real, and that’s something that helps me sleep at night.
My heart, it’s a big heart. I
do what I do because I love people. I love the species. Allegorically, there is
one person, the populous, and I see myself as a doctor excising tumors and
other thorns in the paw, just to help the person avoid pain and further
infection. I guess you can see me as a collectivist, not in the individualistic
metastasizing vampiric cancer way like a unionist, that’s more of an me and the
gang vs the other gang type of cronyism, that’s not collectivism any more than
organized crime.
I’m a collectivist in a much broader sense. I just reduce the collective of humanity to a single person, and act in the best interest of that single person. I love that person, for the most part. Sure, I would consider them to be mentally handicapped, but at the end of the day the person is decent person if removed from the folly that otherwise cripples him. While I’m in no position to strip man of the socially acceptable folly that torments him daily, at the very least I have the capacity to reduce his suffering so much as he is willing to consent.
I see mankind as my child at this point, considering that I’m one of the few people with the mental capacity, emotional maturity, and objectivity necessary to legally qualify as a person with the mental capacity above that of a 13-year-old, with most adults sadly falling well below this high-water mark. Still, much like how one raises a child, I find myself doing what I can to help the child.
Even if the child slaps my hand away nine times out of ten, that one time he allows me to help, the child is better off for the fact. Most of the time this is just the child pursuing his own self-interest, but on the occasional note he takes my advice and this results in self-improvement.
Naturally, one would expect the species to slowly mature and attain the mental capacity necessary to appreciate my insight and guidance, but with this species, I’m not optimistic at this point, and perhaps my willingness to continue helping them is my own folly, allowing the mentally handicapped child of humanity to cannibalize my heart, all in the off-chance that the beast somehow develops past this point. It’s unlikely, but in this case, it seems my own delusions of grandeur are projected onto the child, hence the optimism, even if at this point, they don’t seem to be rubbing off on him.” Says Nancy
“I don’t think I’ve met a soul who wasn’t addled by delusions of grandeur. People can’t understand how trivial, powerless, and ignorant they are, because if they did, they would likely be in a catatonic state of depression. I would also argue that increasing these delusions in the human race is not a particularly fruitful venture.” Says George… sitting in rush-hour traffic, the city hustling and bustling save for the lollygagging cars, each of which exchanging their leaden fumes with the denizens as a tit-for-tat bit of playful bullying in exchange for tolerating the collective stupidity of the human race, tasteful mutualism, for when contagious stupidity is championed by the people, a loyal metal beast would never shy from emulating and perpetuating the intent of his dearest master
“Delusions of grandeur and petty narcissism are two very different things. Grandiosity is as large as the universe, and if your delusions go no further than anti-social self-service and an unsubstantiated ego, you’re not delusional, you’re just a criminal. The universe is grandeur, to use that word to describe any of aspect of the trivial affairs of meatbags is an insult of the word itself. Delusions of grandeur extend the human to the level of greatness as the universe and easily beyond the confines of the physical world.
A person who fallaciously thinks of themselves as “a meatbag which is trivially more important than other meatbags” isn’t suffering from delusions, they’re suffering from a lack of creativity, a lack of ambition, and a general lack of understanding and perspective upon their own existence. That level of thinking is just a extension of survival-level thinking that puts the survival of the self above all others, hardly grandeur, but more so exaggerated animality.
Delusions of grandeur have been that which push the species beyond fucking in the mud. It is the dreams of pushing the species beyond that which is known that have inspired people to innovate and create the world we live in today. Most people with irrational pride see themselves as “those who fuck way harder in the mud than other people”, and this is both petty and tragic. Grandeur is to pull man from the mud and lift him into the sky for eternity. That is grandeur, not being revered among other meatbags for your unprecedented ability to fuck in the mud. I’m saying, we need more grandeur, most people’s minds are fixated on fucking in the mud for whatever godforsaken reason.” Says Nancy
“Like you said Nancy, we’re nothing but beasts at the end of the day, and seeing how a pig is quite contented by fucking in the mud, it’s hard to expect much more from a human. This is what beasts evolved to do, and expecting man’s intelligence to overpower his bestial heritage is comically futile at this point.” Says George
“That’s exactly why such thoughts are the truest delusions of grandeur. Expecting one pig to fuck harder than the rest is at the very least possible, but expecting pigs to rise from the mud as Gods is something far less feasible, unfortunately.” Says Nancy
“I’m content with the responsibility of a pig, I doubt my little meatbag could handle much more pressure.” Says George
“It’s like strength training, the more weight you carry, the stronger you get. Work hard every day, carry the burden, become stronger, and you’ll find it’s more feasible than you think. Fruitless, sure, but certainly there are some who enjoy exercising simply for entertainment, no?” asks Nancy
“I didn’t consider you one of them.” Says George
“I exercise my mind and my mouth. My body less so, but I get my steps in.” says Nancy
“I see you’re also on the cutting edge of lowering the bar for physical fitness, too. Where once man was strong enough to march for days just to fight to the death, tooth and nail, now we’re optimistic if we expect him to be able to walk for 30 minutes.” Says George
“He’s a rotting beast, tis true. Like a pig caught in the snare of decadence, his instincts cause him to cripple himself, his endless satiation and ease of life becoming the consumption that is killing him.” Says Nancy
“Hard to argue with that, but I wouldn’t expect to loose 5 billion pigs from the snares they’ll fight to the death just to remain snared by.” Says George
“That’s the sad truth.” Says Nancy, having another drink, “At this point, we’re forced to wait for a mass die-off and hope enough of the pigs escape to start replacing the population.” Says Nancy
“I’d wager that’s too optimistic. A snared pig is a dead pig, and we’re all snared pigs. We’re eating ourselves alive, and that will be all she wrote.” Says George
“At the very least, we should be grateful that despite the painful irony of our self-cannibalism through decadence, we are still a very delicious species to cannibalize.” Says Nancy
“I’ll agree the soft, subtle, painful sadness of watching mankind die from decadence is preferable to a death spurred by the insatiable wrath of mankind. The beast dies so quietly and so peacefully that I can sleep easy at night.” Says George
“We’re not dead yet, for better or for worse. You ready to see the Chief?” asks Nancy, George pulling into the station
“I’ll let you do the talking.” Says George
“My favorite vice.” Says Nancy
“You consider it a vice?” asks George
“A bit of shameless masochism. Salt in the wounds, so they say. What’s a pig without some salt, though, right?” Jokes Nancy
“What they don’t know can’t hurt them, and you do seem to know a bit too much sometimes.” Says George, getting out of the car
“It hurts so good though, George.” Says Nancy, following suit, walking to the station
“I figure you’d stop if it didn’t.” says George
The girls walk inside, the Chief sitting at his desk, rattled, eyes glazed by the shame coursing through his mind. He notices them come in, he sighs heavily, multiple times, he doesn’t look at them.
“Chief. We know Craig Stevens took the girl. I can get her back tomorrow morning, but I need some help.” Says Nancy
“Fuck!” shouts the Chief, slamming his fist on the table
“It’s all good Chief, don’t worry. All I need is like the whole gang, cop cars, SWAT team, I need you all to roll up at J-Corp at 9:00 AM tomorrow.” Says Nancy
“What the fuck, Nancy? That’s your fucking plan? Just send the entire force to get gunned down by a private fucking army?” shouts the Chief
“No, no, all you’re doing is posturing. You just hang out outside, shout into the megaphone, don’t do anything, don’t shoot anybody, just make some demands, don’t even make threats. You will draw their security to the front door, and then me and George are going to sneak in through the back.” Says Nancy
“That’s fucking ridiculous. How do you sneak into the back? There isn’t a fucking back. It’s a fucking fortress, Nancy.” Says the Chief
“I’ve got a man on the inside.” Says Nancy
“So you’re just going to waltz into J-Corp, and some crony-bastard is going to open the door for you and lead you right to Stevens? This crony bastard who now knows of the fucking plan, and clearly didn’t offer to open the door for you just so he can fucking kill you, is going to help us kill his boss, all out of the goodness of his heart, Nancy? Really?” asks the Chief
“J-Corp is a company of soldiers of fortune, their loyalty is with money, not with the company.” Says Nancy
“Even your father couldn’t pay off one of those guys, not anyone with a direct connection to Stevens. I’m curious what you offered this motherfucker to make you think he’s doing this for any reason other than to kill you as a trophy to hang above the head of the force.” Says the Chief
“I offered him J-Corp, Chief. I just need a little blind eye for my boy once all is said and done, a little public statement of innocence, then we’ve got somebody at the top of the ladder who owes us a favor or two if the time comes.” Says Nancy
“I don’t have anything else, so we’re going with this. This is our plan. My boys are just posturing outside, you go inside and do whatever the fuck you plan on doing. When you die, we’re leaving. That’s it, ok?” asks the Chief
“You’re going to be sitting outside J-Corp for some 60 odd years? Bold, Chief. I’ll let you enjoy your little fantasy of sweeping my hijinks under the rug, but I appreciate the support.” Says Nancy
“What is it that drives you, Nancy? What in God’s name makes you think this sort of suicide mission is worth your time? You’re a heartless, murdering psychopath, you don’t care about a god damn thing in the world. What is it that makes you want to do this? Is this trophy hunting for you? You just want Craig Steven’s head on your fucking mantle?” asks the Chief
“The Key to the City, Chief. Who doesn’t want one of those?” asks Nancy
“You do understand that the Key to the City isn’t some sort of master key that opens every door in the city?” asks the Chief
“It opens plenty of metaphorical doors, and often times those are the hardest type to open.” Says Nancy
“For somebody who seems to have no ambitions other than torturing and murdering people under the farcical guise of ‘detective work’, what could possibly lie behind those ‘doors of opportunity’ for somebody like you, Nancy?” asks the Chief
“I’m guessing plenty of people to torture and murder under the farcical guise of detective work.” Jokes Nancy
“You’re fucking sick, Nancy.” Says the Chief
“That’s a joke, cowboy. I’m a pragmatist. I do what it takes to get the job done. At least respect that I’m a real detective, it’s not a fucking farce. I ask questions and solve mysteries.” Says Nancy, insulted
“By torturing and killing people.” Says the Chief, grimly, serious, condescendingly, emotionless, exhausted by guilt and shame
“Do you eat soup with your hand? Are you a savage?” Jokes Nancy, lackadaisical and lighthearted
“If you are what civilization looks like, then yes, I consider myself a savage, Nancy.” Says the Chief
“A noble savage, at least. You do have a passion and conviction for justice, even if you might lack the tools to extract it sometimes.” Says Nancy
“I have the tools, Nancy. I refuse to use them because I think it’s unethical. I wouldn’t want somebody doing those things to me, do you want people to torture and murder you?” asks the Chief, a serious inquiry
“I certainly would want somebody to torture and murder me if I were a criminal.” Says Nancy, with blunt, warm honesty
“I’m pretty sure you break far more laws than the criminals you apprehend.” Says the Chief
“I’m pretty sure the laws are the reason the criminals run free and torture the city while the police find themselves unable to do anything to stop the bleeding. If the traditional medicine isn’t working, then this forces me to find alternative medicines.” Says Nancy
“Fuck it. At least it works. I’ll give you that. If you can sleep at night, I have enough tranquilizers to kill a horse. If our hand is forced, we can’t cry about the ethics of the situation.” Says the Chief
“You’ve a good eye for reason sometimes. If a criminal grabs my hand and forces me to stab somebody to death, am I truly to blame for the murder? I’m nothing more than a puppet at that point.” Says Nancy
“I don’t tend to see any criminals forcibly controlling your body, Nancy.” Says the Chief
“When an apple drops from a tree, are you surprised that you don’t see a human hand physically pulling it to the ground? It’s the invisible universal forces like gravity that force my body to do these things. I have no control over the laws of physics.” Says Nancy
“What law of physics is it, again, that makes you do these things? I’m not a scientist.” asks the Chief, dryly, indifferently smug, heartlessly entertaining the girl, the thought of smirking crosses his mind but he lacks the conviction and energy to product it
“It would probably take a 4-year college degree in the physics of social-dynamics and law enforcement to understand all of the invisible forces at play here.” Says Nancy
“So, you’ve taken that course, have you?” asks the Chief
“Lord no, but a toddler learning to walk doesn’t need to understand the Newtonian laws of gravity in order to fall to the ground when it stumbles, does it?” asks Nancy
“You’ve got a fair point there, Nancy. I’ll take your word for it. I don’t understand much of anything at this point, but I know our hand is forced. It can’t be helped. Get out of here.” Says the Chief, defeated, humbled, but grateful
“Good to know we’re on the same page. 9 O’clock sharp
tomorrow, bring out the works.” Says Nancy, smiling, shooting the double finger
guns at the Chief and walking out the door, the Chief feels painful empathy for
the broken girl, unable to comprehend that the criminals, parasites upon
functionality, evolved to exist in such a position, unable to understand that
the resiliency of these natural predators of functionality can only be starved
to death by a diet of relentless dysfunction. He knows something is working,
but the fact that this unsettling perversion of civilization is functional
upsets his soul, yet his years witnessing the depravity of man have calloused
his heart to the point where he simply pets the head of his childlike soul and
reminds himself that he is powerless to change the reality he lives in, so he
simply comforts himself and accepts his powerlessness. George, nodding the
entire time, nods once more, with grim conviction, and follows Nancy out the
door.
Murphy is sitting at the desk,
legs up, thumbing through a magazine. Nancy slaps the table.
“It’s quitting time, Murphy.” Says Nancy
“I’ve got 10 minutes left on the shift.” Says Murphy
“Good to see you’re working hard. Rally the boys and come down to O’Connell’s for drinks.” Says Nancy
“I don’t think anybody wants to drink with you, Nancy.” Says Murphy, apologetically as if this were unfortunate news
“I’m half the fun on the force. Who doesn’t like fun?” asks Nancy
“You’re 100% of the bad luck on the force, Nancy.” Says Murphy, with humble wisdom
“You 100% of zero is zero, Murph. You like fun.” Says Nancy
“How many times did you get shot at today?” asks Murphy
“Only once. See, nothing out of the ordinary. Hell, I’d consider that good luck.” Says Nancy
“What’s that shit called… gambler’s fallacy? You ever heard of that?” asks Murphy
“Yeah, Murphy. You think I’m just riding a hot streak?” says Nancy
“I’m thinking your luck is bound to run out sooner or later.” Says Murphy
“Fine, Murphy. I’ll just go tell everybody Murphy is too much of a pussy to go outside and that’s why he’s on desk duty and wouldn’t join us for drinks.” Says Nancy
“Fuck you, Nancy. I’ll come. This desk is killing me, maybe some action will make me feel better.” Says Murphy
“It’s just drinks, not action, but if you play your cards right with some babes out there, you might actually get some action.” Says Nancy
“Fuck it. I’ll come. Whatever the fuck compels people to buy scratchers, that’s got me going. Gotta roll the dice if I’m going to win.” Says Murphy
“Atta boy. I’ll see you down there in a few.” Says Nancy, walking out with George
“Why O’Connell’s? You’ve got business with the Mob?” asks George
“O’Connell’s is a fine and upstanding business. We’re going there because it’s a nice place.” Says Nancy
“It’s a nice place run by the Mob.” Says George,
“Well, we’re taking the car to Barry’s too, and that’s around the corner.” Says Nancy
“Why Barry’s? This makes me think you’ve really got business with the Mob.” Says George, getting in the car with Nancy
“Well, you wanted a new back windshield, and I figured you wanted the bulletproof kind. I’m not going to the Mafia right now, so, what, did you want to go to Chinatown? Do you have connections with the Chinese or something?” asks Nancy, driving away
“Do you have connections with the Mob?” asks George
“I’m Irish enough.” Says Nancy
“You’re not Irish at all.” Says George
“Welsh enough, look at the hair. At the end of the day, we all hate the British, don’t we?” Says Nancy
“I don’t think that strawberry blond hair automatically makes the Mob trust you.” Says George
“They know me. They know I’m good business. That’s what this is.” Says Nancy
“Considering that you shake-down criminals for a living, I would argue that you’re very bad for the Mob’s business.” Says George
“I shake-down the bad criminals. So long as people don’t cross the line, we’re always on good terms. You heard the Chief, in the eyes of most people, I’m just a criminal and my gang is the police.” Says Nancy
“Doesn’t that make you some sort of rival gang member?” says George
“An enemy of my enemy is my friend, besides, I’m sure old Liam will love to hear our story of tearing into the guineas today.” Says Nancy
“I feel like you don’t have any understanding of who or what you are, Nancy.” Says George
“Who and what I am depends entirely on where I am, who I’m talking to, and what I’m trying to accomplish.” Says Nancy
“I believe the term for that is called treachery. It tends to be frowned upon.” Says George
“The whole world’s a stage, George. I’m not lying to people or exploiting them; I’m just consciously showing certain sides of myself at certain times. It’s a matter of finding the flattering angles, not about wearing a mask and trying to become a fraudulent person.” Says Nancy
“Your mastery of the social arts is clearly beyond my ken, but you’re calling the shots here, and I’m not trying to fuck things up.” Says George
“Classy. Just enjoy yourself.” Says Nancy, the girls driving into the older part of town, brick apartment buildings line the streets, holes in the wall becoming vaguely Irish, the twilight hiding the mildly conspicuous nature of the bullet riddled car, George pulls into Barry’s Automotive, a respectable building with enough of a lot to have some parking, George pulls up in front of the building, the office dimly lit,
“Just idle out here.” Says Nancy, getting out of the car, trying the door, it’s locked, knocking on it, the man inside shouts “We’re closed!”
“Fuck you! I need to see Barry!” Shouts Nancy
“Fuck you, too! We’re closed!” Shouts the man, Nancy walks back to the car, grabs her handgun out of the glovebox and walks back to the door
“Don’t make me shoot this thing. Barry won’t be happy with you. Tell him it’s Nancy and she needs a favor.” Shouts Nancy, tapping on the glass door with her gun, the shadow starkly visible to the man inside, he picks up the phone, makes a call, then comes to the door and lets her in
“Sorry about that. Jesus. There’s not some sort of code word or something?” asks the man, little more than a kid, Nancy’s age
“Don’t worry about it. I’d be the first to disregard some wiry blond bitch shouting at me after hours.” Says Nancy, a man chuckles, a tall, stout, older Irishman walking out from the back
“For fucks sake, Nancy, what is it?” asks the man
“My windshield got shot out, and I could use a new one. A good one, Barry.” Says Nancy
“That fucker is going to be expensive, you know?” asks Barry
“You know I’m flush. Money is not the problem; the problem is the bullets flying into my car.” Says Nancy
“The fuck did you do today?” asks Barry
“You didn’t hear?” asks Nancy, honestly surprised
“For fucks sake, that was you?” asks Barry
“People fucked up. Shit goes down. Life is life.” Says Nancy, unfazed by her life
“I don’t think a bulletproof windshield is going to save you right now, Nancy.” Says Barry
“It’s one piece of the puzzle, so don’t worry too much about me. I know what I’m doing.” Says Nancy
“I guarantee you have no fucking clue what you’ve just done.” Says Barry
“I’ve got my wits about me, Barry. I’m a detective for a reason.” Says Nancy
“You’re a fucking terrorist, Nancy.” Says Barry
“Is that what you call the IRA? Terrorists?” asks Nancy
“Well, I mean, the word gets thrown around, but that’s a matter of perspective.” Says Barry
“In my case, it remains a matter of perspective.” Says Nancy
“No, you’re clearly a fucking terrorist, Nancy.” Says Barry
“But I’m a good terrorist. Isn’t that all the police have ever been?” asks Nancy, Barry laughs
“Fuck that’s good, Nancy. I’ll see what I can do. I know I’ve got something in the back, I can make it fit.” Says Barry
“I’m going to be drinking around the corner. I’ll pick it up in a couple hours, ok?” asks Nancy
“Not too much. Don’t just crash the car after putting this money into it.” Says Barry
“I’m drinking to keep myself alive, not to kill myself.” Says Nancy
“Aren’t we all… Jesus. I’ll open the garage for you.” Says Barry, walking through the door to the garage, opening the door, George pulls the car in and gets out
“Give me some time, you girls have fun.” Says Barry
“Thank you very much, truly sorry about all of this.” Says George
“Don’t be, it’s nothing. I’m the one who feels sorry for you. Living the Via Dolorosa with this….” Says Barry, gesturing weakly towards Nancy
“Fine lady.” Says Nancy, politely
“Yeah… fine lady.” Says Barry, chuckling
“Take it easy Barry, at least your boy knows who I am the next time I come here.” Says Nancy, winking at the boy, walking out the door, George waves goodbye apologetically, following Nancy into the streets
“I’ve got to admit you have a way with people.” Says George
“Good people are good to good people. This is why it’s important to be good people.” Says Nancy
“I guess. I always think people see you as some kind of jester or something. They know who and what you are, but it always induces some sort of comic pity more than anger or contempt.” Says George
“Every king has a jester, but remember that it’s a position of royalty. We command the respect we do, despite our antics, because we act on behalf of the king. People respect the king.” Says Nancy
“We definitely don’t have a king in America, let alone in River Heights.” Says George
“God is king. We have a mayor anyways, that’s pretty close.” Says Nancy
“The mayor is an elected official.” Says George
“The mayor represents the city, and people are loyal to the city. Even if some may not be loyal to God, they remain loyal to the city, and that’s enough to get our foot in the door. Everything people do, they do it to better themselves, their family, and their community. That’s what compels people to act. They act in pursuit of a better life. We’re all in this together.” Says Nancy
“Oddly benevolent coming from you.” Says George
“Even though sometimes people’s interpretations of their own better life may be at odds with one another, that remains the universal pursuit. Clearly people don’t always pursue the most sensible means to that end, and when they folly, when the wellbeing of the collective is jeopardized by the actions of the individual, that individual is punished because this is in the best interest of the collective as this punishment aids in the pursuit of a better life for the collective.” Says Nancy
“Is this really a better life for you? Better than sitting at home, going to school, spending time with Bess? All of this is better?” asks George
“The wasteman is the ultimate blight upon society. There is no action which is inferior to perpetual inaction, and were I to rot away in decadence while the world burns before my eyes, I would be tormented in hell for eternity. Hellfire would consume every bit of decadent pleasure my mind knows, all while the denizens of hell indifferently watch me suffer and do nothing to extinguish the fires despite their capacity to do so.
That is the fate I seek to avoid. I do not seek to go to Hell, I do not seek to make it on Earth as it is in Hell, I am not some child of the devil sent by God to tempt mankind unto folly and vice, to tempt mankind revel in the temptatious wickedness of sloth, and as a decent human being I understand that the collective wellbeing of society is dependent on the actions of each individual within it.
I understand that as an individual, it is the sacrifices I make as an individual which serve to empower society. Civilization is the capital of mutualism. I invest into the collective because it is from this collective that I reap such a fortuitous life, gifted to me since my birth, entirely due to the sacrifices made by previous generations to donate their lifeblood into the collective capital of civilization. I am indebted to these people, and it is my duty to repay that debt by sacrificing my own lifeblood into the collective capital.
Without mutualism, there is only individualism, where you must be the midwife that delivers yourself as an infant, where you must be the wetnurse that nurses yourself as a child, where you must discover every facet of insight that the world has to offer in isolation.
Individualism is superior to the collective only when the collective produces nothing but blight. I scorn these collectives of the intelligentsia and donate nothing to them but spite and malice, for these are feral animals attempting to shepherd the sheep, and seldom do these groups produce results beyond driving the otherwise idyllic sheep towards the cliff of post-civilized degeneracy. These people champion feral instincts and false logic which our civilization worked for thousands of years to eradicate, solely upon the notion that change is synonymous with improvement.
These people see themselves as prophets for unearthing the vice, temptation, and wickedness which man worked so hard to exterminate and bury, then reanimating these corpses with the necromancy of post-philosophical logic, that of idealism and delusion, of humanism, of thoughts which are empirical fallacy, yet championed by these savages due to their ignorance, all while these savages go unpunished because for hundreds of years mankind has grown contented, meek, and docile due to the civilization created by the ancestors, and in this meekness mankind has abandoned the logical principles which are the recipe for civilization.
The ancient recipe for civilization has been abandoned, civilization has been taken for granted, and now savages grow within this civilization like weeds because no men are left uproot and destroy them. The intelligentsia have been left fallow for far too long, and no longer does anything of value grow amongst them. This is no longer civilization, but the corpse of a civilization, decomposing, slowly being reclaimed by the savagery and ignorance which once dominated the lives of feral men.” Says Nancy
“I’m just trying to eat, Nancy.” Says George, the words lost upon her as the girls walk into the pub, Murphy and a fat, thoroughly ruddy man, both still in uniform, sit at the bar
“Nancy! Took you a minute.” Says Murphy
“At least you got Big Brian to come. The rest of the force decided to cower in the face of fun, eh?” asks Nancy, sitting at the bar next to Murphy
“They cower in the face of you, Nancy.” Jokes Brian,
“Does the Chief get himself off hiring cowards or something?” Jokes Nancy
“I’m sure if the rest of the force had big balls, he’d feel like a baby-dicked boy in the locker-room.” Jokes Brian, they laugh
“Thank God I don’t know that feeling.” Says Murphy
“You and me both, my friend.” Says Brian
“I can’t say I know the feeling either.” Says Nancy
“You don’t even have a dick, Nancy. Don’t girls compare tits in the locker room or something? It’s not like you’ve got any tits on you.” asks Brian
“It’s never bothered me. Never crossed my mind.” Says Nancy
“Yeah, but you’re fucked in the head, Nancy. Let’s ask George, at least she’s sane. Let us in on the secrets of the girl’s locker room.” Says Brain
“Girls like to judge every part of each other, body, clothes, anything and everything. If men only compare dicks, I doubt that comes close to the shame girls feel.” Says George, Brian laughs heartily
“A girl is like a walking bag of dicks. A big old bag of dicks, comparing every one of them to each other. That’s awful.” Says Brain, laughing
“Damn, Brian. Two drinks in and you’re this shitty?” asks Murphy, taking a drink from his beer
“You’ve got to pre-game the bar, where have you been, Murphy?” asks Brian, taking a drink from his beer
“I guess I’m just here to have a good time, maybe not party so hard.” Says Murphy, responsibly, Nancy orders a scotch and water from the barkeep
“Partying hard is a good time.” Says Brian
“I’m also trying to drive myself home tonight.” Says Murphy
“You poor soul. Thank God I’m walking.” Says Brian
“Just make sure you can walk, big boy.” Says the barkeep
“I’ll be damn sure I can run and gun just in case the need arises. Don’t think I’ll get too plastered tonight. Even off-duty, I’m still a cop.” Says Brian
“Don’t kid yourself, boy.” Jokes the bartender
“Fuck you, Liam. You know I’ve put down a number of ne’er-do-wells in my time.” Says Brian
“Be that as it may, I still doubt you can do the running part.” Jokes Liam
“Fuck it, trot and gun. I’ll be humble. For now.” Says Brian, humbled, Murphy laughs
“George, you want a drink?” asks Liam
“I’ll have a pint of Murphy’s.” Says George
“Right-o. Anything to eat?” asks Liam
“I’ll have a Reuben. Starving.” Says George
“Choice. Anything for you Nancy?” asks Liam
“I’ll have some fried pickles.” Says Nancy, Liam laughs
“Can’t have the food competing with my drink, now.” Says Nancy, warmly
“Of course.” Says Liam, the cook bringing out an Irish breakfast for Brian, some shepherd’s pie for Murphy, the two eating, Brian more vigorously than Murphy
“So, George, that whole judgement of everything among the women. Is that why you always dress like a man? Trying to get away from that shit.” asks Brian, casually
“I’m sure as shit not going to waste a few hours every day preening myself and dressing up just for people to enjoy looking at me. I don’t have to look at myself, so I don’t give a fuck what I look like.” Says George
“You’ve never seen a mirror? What a fucking savage.” Jokes Brian, scoffing
“I just don’t spend much time in front of them.” Says George
“I mean, you know other peoples got to look at you, right? Might do them a solid, it’s an odd feeling seeing a woman that doesn’t do herself up. Like you just rolled out of bed and it’s fucking 6 o’clock at night.” Says Brian
“I’m glad my look as the desired effect. The more it hurts your eyes, the better.” Jokes George
“Come on, you don’t like people looking at you?” asks Brian
“No, that’s creepy as fuck.” Says George
“Brian wouldn’t know the feeling.” Jokes Murphy
“People give me the evil eye just as much as you, Murphy. Not much difference between a mick and a nigger in the eyes of most people. I’m saying she wouldn’t get the fucking evil eye if she just put some work into it. Women get the nice eyes from people. That’s some shit that neither of us know.” Says Brian
“When a man looks at me, with those quote unquote nice eyes, it feels gross as fuck. Like he’s looking at a piece of meat. It makes me feel ashamed and immodest, so I try to keep those eyes off of me.” Says George
“Immodest? You kill people for a living, George. What the fuck is immodest? Is sex more taboo than murder?” asks Brian
“For fucks sake, Brain. The insight of George on this topic is like me asking you how you feel when women eye you up and salivate over your body like a piece of meat.” Says Nancy
“Well, I wouldn’t fucking know. I’m always the one eyeing them up. They seem to like it.” Says Brian
“Exactly. George doesn’t know the feeling. It’s a good feeling when somebody looks at you like that. It makes you feel confident. You know that shame of the girls locker-room? The judgment? When a man looks at you with desire, that’s how you can stave off that shame and insecurity.” Says Nancy
“There we go. I’m helping women feel good about themselves. I feel like a saint. See, George? I tell you, it will make you feel better.” Says Brian
“If a man looks at me like that, then I know he’s a deviant, and my job is literally killing deviants like that man. It’s hard for me to feel comfortable in that situation.” Says George
“For fucks sake, George. You’re going to kill the whole city, are you? Just looking at a woman makes me a deviant? So, I’m on the fucking hit list now? I know Nancy is crazy, but it seems you’re a fucking dark horse trying to overtake her or something. Must have had some fucked-up men in your past to be so fucking broken. Those are good eyes, nice eyes, it means the man likes you.” Says Brian, affirming his sainthood
“I can’t remember the last time a man tried to pursue George, so I’m sure it’s some deep-seated anxiety or something. People are a product of their past, you’ve got to remember that.” Says Nancy
“I’m not a fucking psychologist, so don’t expect me to know a damn thing about anxiety, let alone how women think.” Says Brian
“My whole life I was taught nothing but the evil of man, this history where all men are evil, heard tell of the evil in the streets committed by men, the threat men pose to a woman. At no point did I ever think it would be wise to engage with men. I respect them, as much as I can, for lack of any better alternative, but I know what lies in the heart of men.” Says George
“Bullshit, George. You never had a dad? Was he a fucking asshole or something? Lots of good men in the world, you just don’t hear about them because the guy who goes to work, pays his bills, and loves his family isn’t fucking newsworthy. If that was the news, the paper would be 400 pages long every day. You spend your life looking at the exceptions to the rule, but somehow fail to understand the rule itself?” asks Brian
“My dad was an asshole.” Says George
“I’ll confirm that.” Says Nancy
“For fucks sake, remind me not to be an asshole to my daughters. That’s fucking tragic, George.” Says Brian, saddened, embittered, taking a long drink
“I mean, she came out all right. She’s hard working, humble, kind, honest. There’s a lot of good in that girl, Brian. When compared to Nancy, I’d say George is the far more lady-like of the two.” Says Murphy
“I mean, Nancy, at least Nancy looks like a woman. She’s like a middle of the road hooker; a little beat up, a little strung out, but still good to go to town on. George, she just looks like a dude. It’s unsettling.” Says Brian
“You know what they say, don’t judge a book by its cover. I’d say despite the looks, Nancy is closer to a stray dog than a woman.” Jokes Murphy
“You know what they say, I can’t fucking read, Murphy. I judge by pictures because I can’t read. Even if Nancy is a dog, she’s a fuckable dog that looks a lot like a woman.” Says Brian
“See, this is gross for a woman to hear. That’s what I’m saying.” Says George
“You get what you pay for, George. You look like a dude; I treat you like a dude. Nancy looks like a hooker; I treat her like a hooker.” Says Brian
“Don’t give me that bullshit, Brian. I know you’d be sweet-talking me if you saw me as a hooker.” Says Nancy
“You know me too well, you wry bitch. I know you too well to do that, I’m just saying somewhere close, in that hooker area. I did try to sweet talk you at some point.” Says Brian
“Until your big balls shot back up inside of you when you knew I killed people.” Says Nancy
“Yeah, the crazy murderer hooker doesn’t do it for me, I like regular hookers.” Says Brian
“Murphy, tell me at least you see my point here. I don’t want men looking at me like I’m a hooker.” Says George
“I guess. I mean everybody’s a hooker, if you’re married you just have the same client for the rest of your life. Men and women both, really.” Says Murphy
“So, I’m just some sort of pariah in a world where everybody else is a hooker?” asks George
“That sounds about right. It’s a complicated economy. Me and my wife, we get along well enough, and it’s the exchanges of value that keep the relationship together. We both know that we’re both hookers at the end of the day, we appreciate each other’s company and we exchange value. We understand that we’re both human, we have our shortcomings, but at the end of the day, it’s a good relationship. It’s mutually beneficial.” Says Brian
“She doesn’t care that you fuck hookers?” asks George
“I mean, I let it slide if she fucks the neighbor or the postman. I don’t even know if the kids are mine.” Says Brian
“At that rate, I’d be happy they look a lot like you and call you dad.” Says Murphy
“I mean hundreds of fat micks in the city look exactly like me, doesn’t mean shit at the end of the day, not in this neighborhood.” Says Brian, indifferent
“You really don’t care if the kids are yours?” asks George
“I mean, some guy fucks my wife, I raise his kids. I fuck some other guy’s wife, he raises my kids. It’s tit-for-tat at the end of the day. Not like we want all the kids running around without fathers.” Says Brian, taking another drink, humble and fatherly
“I’m thinking you’re just projecting your own infidelity onto other people in your life, Brian.” Says Murphy
“I mean, I’m also exaggerating the amount of pussy I get, so it is what it is. I don’t fuck that many hookers either. I try not to get that drunk. Guilt and shame are a hell of a drug.” Says Brian, sullen
“Good on you, champ. That warms my heart.” Says Nancy
“I didn’t know you had one.” Jokes Brian
“That’s the feeling I’m talking about Brian. That’s the feeling women feel when other women judge them.” Says George
“I mean, I understand, I’m just saying it seems you went the wrong way when trying to escape it. Every other woman just goes and gets a man to cheer her up, you just put on men’s clothes and become the man. Does that cheer you up or something?” asks Brian
“I guess. It lets me escape the catty bullshit that consumes women. I just rise above it, give zero fucks, and go on with my day. As much as a man’s eyes might comfort a woman’s soul, the second a woman looks at her, she feels that same shame a guilt again.” Says George
“Well don’t look at the women. Just look at the men.” Says Brian
“It’s not me looking at the women, it’s the women looking at me.” Says George
“Well tell them to fuck off.” Says Brian, matter-of-factly
“That’s exactly what I’m doing when I dress like this.” Says George
“But you’re also telling the men to fuck off at the same time.” Says Brian
“Good.” Says George, firmly, stand-offish
“What? No. That’s bad. George.” Says Brian
“No, I want to tell them to fuck off.” Says George
“What? Why? Lots of good men in the world.” Says Brian
“I don’t like men.” Says George
“I mean we’ve got to face our demons at some point. Sure, your dad was an asshole or whatever, but don’t hold that against every man you see.” Says Brian
“I don’t like men, Brian.” Says George
“You like me and Murphy, yeah? You can tolerate our company.” Says Brian
“Sure, I don’t mind some company, but I’m saying I don’t like men like that.” Says George
“Like what? Like men?” asks Brian, drunk, trying to think, failing
“Yes, not my cup of tea.” Says George
“Are you a fucking lesbian or something?” asks Brian, confused
“Yes.” Says George, dumbfounded
“Jesus. I really should have picked up on that.” Says Brian, taken aback
“You really should have Brian. Sometimes I wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.” Says Murphy, slightly ashamed of the man’s stupidity but expecting no better
“Clearly not very much.” Says Brian, having another drink, a little hurt by the gay person
“I mean it’s pretty obvious.” Says Murphy
“I am not a clever man.” Says Brian, George chuckles
“Clearly.” Jokes Nancy
“Nancy, you knew this?” asks Brian
“I’m a detective, Brian. I’m pretty good at figuring these things out.” Says Nancy
“Christ have mercy on your soul.” Says Brian, sincerely, hurt for the girl
“Is it really that bad to be a lesbian?” asks George
“I don’t know. I’m Irish, so I figure it’s pretty close.” Says Brian
“No, it’s not the fucking same, Brian.” Says Liam, firmly, insulted
“I mean, we’re fucking hated by everybody, seen as bad people, all that and more.” Says Brian
“That’s the judgement of man, not the judgement of God, Brian.” Says Liam, sternly
“It still hurts though, man.” Says Brian
“Yeah, it hurts, but it’s not the same.” Says Liam
“I’m black, so I know exactly how you feel.” Says Murphy
“The difference is that all blacks and Irish don’t go to hell just for being black or Irish.” Says Liam
“I’m sure plenty of people in this town would beg to differ.” Says Brian
“And they can go fuck themselves.” Says Liam, angry with the pessimism
“You just live your life knowing you’re going to hell?” asks Brian
“Yeah, I guess. I never thought about it. It doesn’t bother me.” Says George
“You don’t go to church?” asks Brian
“No.” says George
“I’m pretty sure it’s like being a Jew. You’re just born that way, born unto your own damnation.” Says Liam
“Do all Jews go to hell?” asks Brian
“They’re the fucking children of the devil, Brian, this is the word of Christ himself. Clearly the children of the fucking devil go directly back to the hell where they came from. You need to read the Bible.” Says Liam, scolding the boyish man
“You know I can’t read.” Says Brian
“Clearly, but it’s high time you fucking learn.” Says Liam
“It’s too late for me. Nobody in my family can read, and I’m sticking to my guns of praying and hoping for the best.” Says Brian
“I’m sure your daughters can read. Get them to read the Bible to you. It will be good for them.” Says Liam
“They’re just girls, Liam. They read picture books.” Says Brian
“Well find a picture book of the Bible. Don’t give them the fucking drivel they try to tempt the children with. If they’re going to read, make damn sure they’re reading the truth.” Says Liam
“You make me feel like my illiteracy is actually a blessing in disguise there. There are lots of bad books out there?” asks Brian
“Mountains of them. The bad people of the world were all taught to be bad people by reading the bad books. The bad people write bad books because they think they know better than the Bible. They try to challenge the word of God with whatever fucking bullshit stews in their minds.” Says Liam
“I go to church, that’s about all I know. I let the pastor read the Bible.” Says Murphy
“I’m with you there, Murph. That’s enough for me.” Says Brian
“We’ll find out on Judgement Day, yeah?” asks Liam, coldly
“Fuck you Liam, this is a bar, not a fucking church.” Says a man at the end of the bar, weakly, drunken
“Fuck you too, you godforsaken maggot.” Says Liam, sternly, George made a bit uncomfortable by the exchange, Nancy indifferent
“I’ll just be honest and admit I’m a lesbian too.” Says Nancy
“Oh Jesus.” Mutters Murphy, his heart sinks for the girl
“No, Nancy, why?” Brian, weakly, confused, his soul, tortured by the exchange, wrought with agony at the thought of damnation
“It’s no surprise to me. I can see why you’re so indifferent to torturing and killing people. Clearly you’re a monster, Nancy, everybody knows this. You know you’re going to hell, why bother to pretend otherwise, yeah?” asks Liam, almost impressed
“Born unto damnation.” Says Nancy, softly, with inevitability
“Exactly right.” Says Liam, coldly
“So, Liam, let me ask you, why does hell exist?” asks Nancy, philosophically
“Hell exists to torture the sinners who spurn the salvation offered to them by God.” Says Liam
“And who does this torturing of the sinners? Does God do this?” asks Nancy
“No, God is in heaven. The demons in hell torture the sinners.” Says Liam
“Who do you think made those demons?” asks Nancy
“God is the creator of all things, so I figure God made them to torture the damned.” Says Liam
“Are they good or bad demons?” asks Nancy
“Well, they’re fucking demons, so I’d have to wager that they’re evil demons.” Says Liam
“They’re evil because they torture the damned? Isn’t this the will of God? Is God evil for damning the sinners to eternal torment?” asks Nancy
“No, God is always good, and clearly the sinners need to be tortured.” Says Liam
“So, it’s good to torture the sinner?” asks Nancy
“I’d say so.” Says Liam
“So those are good demons in hell that do the torturing?” asks Nancy
“Well, I mean, you need to be cruel to torture people for eternity, evil in the mind, but I figure since they do nothing but uphold the will of God, this makes them a little bit good too.” Says Liam
“I’d say they’re very good, hard-working, loyal servants of God. God created them for a reason, no? Without eternal damnation, people would see no reason to fear God.” Says Nancy
“Even the promise of eternal damnation doesn’t seem to strike fear in the heart of man anymore. If only that were enough.” Says Liam, embittered
“Well, maybe God knows it’s not enough anymore, that man has become indifferent to his own damnation. What should God do?” asks Liam
“I’m not one to guess the workings of the Lord’s plans.” Says Liam, stern, insulted by the premise
“If man has accepted his damnation before death, why wait to torture him?” asks Nancy
“Fuck if I know. That will be the day. That will be a glorious day.” Says Liam, faithful
“Liam, think. You know who I am. What do I do?” asks Nancy
“From my ken you torture and kill people.” Says Liam
“Is that so bad?” asks Nancy
“Yes, Nancy. That’s fucking terrible. That’s what demons in hell do. It’s really bad.” Says Brian, baffled
“I only torture the bad people. The worst of the worst.” Says Nancy
“Fair enough. What are you getting at? Some sort of exchange? I don’t think God will forgive you just because you kill some bad people, Nancy.” Says Liam
“Like you said before, born unto damnation, yes? If I am a child from hell, and I exist to torture and murder the bad people, that makes me a good demon, right?” asks Nancy
“I mean, I guess, but for fucks sake, Nancy. You’re a person.” Says Liam, concerned for the girl
“I love her, but Nancy’s a fucking monster, Liam. I’ve seen this shit first hand; this is the type of shit that rattles your soul.” Says Murphy
“You’re telling me that you’re some sort of servant of Satan? You worship the devil? Despite the heresy, you’re trying to argue that you torture people in the name of God?” asks Liam
“I figure the demons in hell that work for God are loyal to God.” Says Nancy
“They’re loyal to Satan.” Says Liam
“And God created Satan, no?” asks Nancy
“I suppose.” Says Liam
“So, would God create a demon just to have an enemy? Why would God not create a loyal servant instead? Does God not have absolute control over the actions and will of Satan? God is omnipotent, so clearly he could stop Satan, or kill Satan, or do whatever if he wanted to. Why do you think God doesn’t kill Satan?” asks Nancy
“Because Satan serves a purpose. Satan works for God.” Says Liam
“Exactly. That’s the same purpose I serve. I work for God, Liam.” Says Nancy
“This is fucking jarring, Nancy. I don’t know if you’re profoundly fucked in the head or actually making a good point here.” Says Liam, disconcerted yet entirely impressed
“Is there anything so wrong with torturing the sinners and ushering their souls unto hell?” asks Nancy
“Well, no, I think that’s a good thing.” Says Liam
“So I’m a good person.” Says Nancy
“I can’t judge that. I can’t judge the goodness of a demon or whatever the fuck you claim to be. I know you do the work of demons, but seeing how that work is commanded by God, I guess that makes you a good one.” Says Liam, embittered and confused, but willing to cede the point; George speechless, Brian scared for his soul, Murphy too familiar with the girl’s bullshit to put much faith in it
“So we can still be friends, yeah?” asks Nancy
“I figure we’re strange bedfellows, but I can’t condemn you without condemning God himself.” Says Liam
“Think I could get a Bailey’s on the rocks?” asks Nancy
“Of course. This is a bar, not a church, after all.” Says Liam, chuckling, a bit more lighthearted
“Thank God.” Says the man at the end of the bar, Liam sighs, giving Nancy the drink
“Nancy, are you really a demon?” asks Brian
“Just as much as your girls are angels, I suppose.” Says Nancy
“Are they really angels?” asks Brian
“Don’t people become angels with they die?” asks Nancy
“No. They’re just souls of people that go to heaven. Angels are divine creatures.” Says Liam
“So I guess you’re not a real demon.” Says Brian
“God has sent angels to this earth before, and he has sent demons. I would not be surprised if I see Nancy dragging people into hell on Judgement Day.” Says Liam, coldly faithful, Murphy chuckles
“What about George? Are you a demon?” asks Brian
“No. I’m a person.” Says George
“That’s my partner in crime, two peas in the same pod.” Joke Nancy
“That’s how you know Nancy is fucked in the head. Normal demons don’t admit to this sort of shit.” Says Liam
“What are normal demons?” asks George
“The Jews.” says Liam, matter-of-factly and without emotion
“I think that’s just a myth.” Says Murphy
“It’s in the Bible, nigger. Christ himself calls them the children of the devil. I’m not going to listen to somebody tell me that the devil has children that aren’t equally as much demons as the devil himself.” Says Liam, sternly, Murphy puts his hands up, apologizing for any offense
“So, Nancy. Are the Jews also demons?” asks Brian
“I’m not going to contradict Christ.” Says Nancy
“Odd, because I figure a demon would enjoy doing so.” Says Liam
“I’m a good demon though, loyal to God and Christ, remember?” asks Nancy
“It’s hard for me to imagine such a creature, despite the fact that you’re right before my eyes. The Lord works in ways far beyond my understanding.” Says Liam
“Why would God make the bad demons like the Jews if he knew they were bad?” asks Brian
“God creates the demons to tempt mankind unto damnation. God creates the serpent, the demons, the Jews, because without temptation there’s no way for you to prove your faith in God.” Says Liam
“What about Lucifer? Wasn’t he originally an angel? God creates an angel knowing he will lead a rebellion against him?” asks George
“God knew exactly what would happen, and he still made the bastard. I’m sure he did it just to prove a point, just to have a story to tell us and explain to us what happens to those who attempt to rebel against the word of God. He created Lucifer just to teach us.” Says Liam
“It is important to set a precedent in the court of law, you know.” Says Nancy
“Exactly.” Says Liam
“Poor bastard, created just to be sent to hell.” Says Brian
“Kind of like these two little girls right here.” Says Liam, smirking a bit, haughty in his salvation
“I thought you were originally demons from hell? Didn’t you just say God sent you here to punish the sinners?” asks Brian, trying earnestly to learn, the farce undetectable to him
“I couldn’t tell you. I can’t say I’ve thought that much about it.” Says Nancy
“Can I just say I’m a person? I don’t think any of this is true.” Says George
“If you’re going to be a lying demon trying to tempt me with heresy you’ve come to the wrong place. At least the Jews tempt us with vice, a demon trying to tempt me with my own compassion is something I’ve not heard of. Futile to say the least.” Says Liam
“Jesus, Liam. What compassion?” asks Murphy, exasperated
“Certainly not any compassion for a fucking demon.” Says Liam, boldly
“We’re good demons, Liam.” Says Nancy
“Be that as it may, you’re still fucking demons.” Says Liam
“It seems like the Jews are always trying to tempt me with compassion. I don’t know where you’ve been, Liam. It’s been nothing but sob stories from the Jews my entire life.” Says Brian
“We’ll I’m not the one lending an ear to a fucking Jew. That’s where I’ve not been.” Says Liam
“I don’t know, I kind of feel bad for them.” Says Brian
“Because you’re a fucking idiot, Brian. When a fucking snake-tongued demon is at your door, lying, crying alligator tears, asking you to open the door to your community, just so it can crawl into the shadows to lay eggs, drink your blood, and start poisoning wells, you don’t listen to the fucking demon, Brian.” Says Liam, himself exasperated and baffled by the man’s stupidity
“Jesus, why don’t I know these things?” asks Brian
“Because you’ve spent your entire life with your head up your ass or up the ass of some plump whore.” Says Liam, condescending, Brain tilts his head side to side, pushed half to tears, staring into his plate, silently admitting guilt
“I need another drink, Liam. This is too much. I’m not a sad drunk, but this is making me sad.” Says Brian
“Good. It should make you sad. This is a very sad story.” Says Liam, sternly pouring Brian another pint from the draught, Brian nods his head in guilt
“Nancy, you’ve got a smoke?” asks George, overwhelmed by stress
“Of course.” Says Nancy, reaching into her trench coat, giving George a cigarette, having one herself, lighting them both
“Such riveting conversation, took my mind of the jones for a minute.” Says Nancy, George smoking aggressively, riddled by anxiety, Nancy, casually, entertained
“You like the pickles, yeah?” asks Liam
“Dee-lightful.” Says Nancy, satisfied, sipping her drink
“Let me touch your forehead.” Says Liam, seriously
“Do I look feverish?” asks Nancy, lady-like, demure, curious as to the intent, willing to play with the man, Liam puts his hand on her forehead, patting it forcefully, searching for something
“Where are your horns?” asks Liam
“I don’t have any horns.” Says Nancy, unsure of what to say here but cautiously attempting to glean more information to play with
“If the Jews have horns, I figure you would have them too.” Says Liam
“Ah, no. A different breed of demon, see. I’m a child of Satan, not Lucifer.” Says Nancy
“The Big Daddy of them all, eh?” asks Liam
“In hell, you see, it’s the natives like Satan who were born in hell, and the immigrants who like Lucifer and the damned who were sent there by God. Typical tensions ensue, as one would probably expect.” Says Nancy, with the indifferent air of reiterating irrelevant daily news
“Hell is a nation of immigrants.” Liam chuckles, “Reminds me a bit of this place.” Says Liam
“The natives are a bit more resilient in hell, thankfully.” Says Nancy
“I have actually met a Jew, and I can confirm he didn’t have horns.” Says Murphy, a bit concerned
“They use their magic to hide them. God weeps for your soul, so easily misled by the demons among us.” Says Liam
“Honestly, Liam. How the fuck does God expect people to somehow see through a Jew’s magic? Am I supposed to be a fucking wizard now?” asks Brian
“You’re not supposed to see through it. You’re just supposed to just know.” Says Liam, defensively
“Is that in the Bible somewhere?” asks Brian
“Yes.” Says Liam
“I’ll be damned. I thought the Bible was all about Jews.” Says Murphy
“It is, at least the first part, and they do have horns in that part.” Says Brian
“Ok, Liam. In the Bible, the Jews, the Hebrews, those are the people of God. How do Jews go from being God’s people to being demons?” asks George
“Is this some sort of test of faith? Trying to test me, demon?” asks Liam, aggressively
“It’s just a question.” Says George, surrendering, trying to avoid conflict
“Let me explain to you something you already know. In the Bible, God creates people, the people are generally evil and fucked up. God tries to save some of them, the Hebrews. He teaches the Hebrews all sorts of laws. The Hebrews follow them for a little bit, but then they get corrupted. God then starts killing all of the Hebrews, he punishes them because they abandon the laws, then the Hebrews get conquered by the Canaanites and the Babylonians, and every gang of savages in the area essentially gangbangs the Hebrews, and this creates the Jews. God abandons the Jews because the Jews abandoned God, and then the Jews slowly turn into demons because they start worshiping the devil. Everybody learns to hate the Jews because they’re evil as fuck. Literally every group of people in the area hates the Jews, but they’re like roaches, they just hide in the shadows and nobody can manage to exterminate them despite some half-assed attempts.
Then hundreds of years later, God sends Jesus to save the sacred scriptures from the Jews who are now very evil, but keep the book around to trick the locals into believing that the Jews are the original good Hebrew people of God. Jesus, being the son of God, is naturally very kind, loving, and compassionate. He tries to save as many Jew as he can, lead them back to the faith of the Hebrews, but eventually the wrath of God wells up in him after many years of wading through the cesspool of demons, and Jesus attacks the Jews for infesting the temple, and the Jews then crucify Jesus. Jesus had enough followers that they take the Holy Bible and try to spread it across the Earth and hide it and protect it from the Jew demons who want to mutilate the Bible and change the words so it defends the evil Jews instead of the Good people. Thankfully, the Good people see the light of God and start to worship Jesus and read the Bible, and that’s why all of the Christian nations were very sure to persecute the Jews for thousands of years until people started to abandon God, and this allowed the Jew infestation to get out of control and now they’ve spread their eggs and their evil and their poison across the Earth.” Says Liam
“Are Jews some sort of insect? Why do they lay eggs?” asks George, honestly confused
“Because they’re fucking demons. Sort of like reptiles, snakes and such. They have snake tongues and tails and horns. They lay eggs. You haven’t laid any eggs yet?” Says Liam, taken aback by the girls ignorance to her own body
“No, I don’t think so.” Says George,
“I know your young, but if we’ve got to choose between the children of the devil and the demons that torture the damned, I’m going to side with you. I don’t like it, but I’d rather live-in hell where the fucking sinners and the occult bastards tending to the eggs of the Jews are getting tortured than in a world that exists as a fucking spawning ground for these creatures. You may be fucking hellspawn, but at least you enact the will of God. Lucifer rebelled against God, and his children follow in his footsteps. I defend the Kingdom of Heaven, and I’ll be damned if this planet becomes another loyal nation under the banner of the kingdom of Hell. If it’s going to become Hell, it damn well better become a godly Hell.” Says Liam
“For fucks sake you schizophrenic bastard. What in God’s name are you talking about?” asks the man at the bar, laughing in confused fear
“It’s the Lord’s truth, and it’s people like you who try to put your fucking ignorance on a pedestal that brought this fate upon the world.” Says Liam
“Forgive me.” Says the man, sarcastically
“That’s for Jesus to decide if you can be forgiven.” Says Liam, coldly, the man rolls his eyes
“Send a pint down here, Liam. If I’m going to hell, I’m not going to be sober when it happens.” Says the man, Liam pours him a pint
“You’ll find hell to be a very sobering experience.” Says Liam
“The fuck happened to the friendly barkeep? What happened to Liam?” asks the man
“It’s not every day a fucking demon reveals themselves to you, just to remind you of the fate of the world.” Says Liam
“Christ, man. You need pills.” Says the man, drinking his beer
“You need Jesus.” Says Liam
“Amen to that.” Says Brian, George taps Nancy’s belly, gesturing for another cigarette, she lights it up and smokes thoroughly
“We’re all on the same team here, no reason for the tension.“ says Nancy
“Fair enough. I’ll have another round, Liam.” Says Murphy
“Me too.” Says George
“Me three.” Says Brian, Liam pours them drinks
“What is it that makes a man gay?” asks Liam, curious and spiteful
“I couldn’t tell you. I’m not the type of demon that tempts unto vice, remember?” Says Nancy
“Fair enough, but you’re a lesbian, what is it that makes you lesbian?” asks Liam
“Women are good looking, sexy, beautiful, loving, kind. What’s not to like?” asks Nancy
“Heres to that.” Says Brian, actually enjoying that line of the banter
“Here here.” Says Murphy, smiling warmly, also enjoying the thought, George smirks
“Well, that’s a fair point, but you’re supposed to like men that way, being a woman and all.” Says Liam, combative
“Truth be told Liam, it’s the soul. Women have beautiful souls. There’s this natural innocence in a woman’s soul, her powerlessness, her vulnerability, and despite these things her kindness, love, and compassion. It’s that humility, the tenderness. When you hold a woman like that, you feel things you can’t feel for men. Men are carnal beasts, the souls range from bitter to sour, and often rancid. They’re wretched creatures, and despite whatever merits they have, the innate vices of man still fester inside the soul of every one of them. Even if the man is bound by faith and conviction to repress those vices, they still swirl around inside of him, in the back of his mind, and as ashamed of them as he may be, he cannot abandon them.
Women, being the complimentary sex, have always been subjected to these vices yet never had need to develop them as an instinct. Women don’t have the same natural power as men, thus temptation afforded to man by his natural power is not afforded to women. It’s this natural innocence and purity that I find attractive. I just love beautiful souls, Liam.” Says Nancy
“That was beautiful.” Says Brian, tender and vulnerable
“I see what you mean, and I take it as a demon you really feel people’s souls. Must be hell for you to know a man’s wickedness and vices, despite his best efforts to conceal them. It’s hard to repress your desire to torture every last one of us, isn’t it?” asks Liam, unquestioning in his faith
“Some more than others. I suppose that sort of temptation unto torture is my vice, but I am able to keep it under control for the most part. Thankfully, at this point, having such low expectations of man makes their folly and vice more tolerable. As evil as he may be, I’m not expecting an angel when I see a man, I’m expecting somebody making an earnest effort to do their best, and it’s when I don’t see this that I become upset.” Says Nancy
“Can you feel my soul, Nancy?” asks Liam, aggressively serious
“You have a good soul, Liam. Don’t think twice about it. I’m not the one who judges souls, you know. That’s Jesus. You need to ask Jesus that question if you have any doubts.” Says Nancy, easing the man
“I do that all the time. It’s just sometimes I have doubts.” Says Liam, concerned for himself
“Don’t have doubts, Liam, have faith.” Says Nancy
“I will.” Says Liam, empowered by his faith in the face of a demon
“Amen.” Says Brian, happy, thinking about Jesus, not understanding much, but the strong association between Jesus and optimism triggering a large stream of dopamine into his veins
A loud thud crashes against the window. The window cracks
“Fuck! Get down!” Shouts Nancy, a loud bassy fwoosh sends shrapnel into the bulletproof windows, now painted white but unbroken
“Give me the pump, Liam!” shouts Nancy, people start scurrying for cover, Liam reaches under the counter and throws it to her, in stride to the forever empty hostess counter at the front of the pub
“Kill the lights!” shouts Nancy, Liam does so
“Fucking wops.” Mutters Liam, having a scoff at the botched grenade, grabbing a revolver from under the counter
The streetlight shines through the opaque windows for a moment, the barflies finding as good a cover as they can, Nancy crouched behind the counter, a long spray of automatic gunfire is strewn across the display windows, still unbroken, the stream steadily crosses the storefront, pummeling the thick hardwood door before indifferently moving onto spray the other bulletproof display window to no avail.
The doorknob is rustled by shaky hands on the outside, slowly turning, a swift kick opens the door, ringing the bell at the top forcefully, Nancy instantly unloads two of the rounds of buckshot into the doorway, a man screams in Italian, one man spins off the wall, Nancy, shoots him mid roll, he falls on his back and starts to blind fire his Uzi into the doorway, the 30 magazine clip empties in a single second, the roof littered with bullets, another Italian tries to drag his comrade away Nancy unloads into the man, the Italians are shouting.
Semi-automatic rifle fire is heard outside, pinging off of cars, muzzle flashes being seen from the windows of apartments across the street, beginning to sound like a war zone, a hail of gunfire lasts for a minute from all directions, shouting in Irish is coming from the windows of apartments, the Italians are screaming less, the gunfire stops, victorious Irish shouting is heard from the windows for a moment, Liam is laughing uncontrollably, mockingly shouting in Irish in the otherwise dead silence
“We’re clear.” Says Nancy, firmly, Liam turns the lights back on, tears rolling down his face from the laughter, the otherwise rattled bar gives him a moment to collect himself
“You’re paying for those fucking windows, Nancy. They’re not cheap.” Says Liam, warmly, composing himself
“Put it on my tab. It saved our life. I’d say it’s worth it.” Says Nancy
“It was the stupidity of the fucking wops that saved our lives today.” Jokes Liam
“It was a joint effort.” Says Nancy
“They could have just opened the fucking door. Got us good, but they didn’t.” Says Liam, almost ashamed of the inadequacy of his enemy
“Fucking wops!” shouts Brian, oddly inspired, suddenly ready to go get ‘em
“I didn’t hear you shooting, big boy. Where were those balls when it was time to use them?” Jokes Liam
“I just didn’t want to hit Nancy.” Says Brian
“Of course, the gentleman eunuch.” Jokes Liam, at peace with the life he lives
“I don’t know what that is, but yeah, I’m a gentleman.” Says Brian, willing to take half of a compliment
“You schmucks better get out of here. I know they weren’t here for me.” Says Liam
“You think we’re clear outside?” asks George
“Those boys are very dead, George. You don’t come out of that sort of crucible alive.” Says Liam
“The Mob has gunmen just hiding in apartments? Just in case shit like this goes down?” asks Murphy
“The Mob? Those were just upstanding citizens, regular people not particularly interested in bullshit.” Says Liam, Nancy chuckles
“Damn.” Says Murphy, humbled and impressed
“That’s the power of an upstanding community, of morality. People are willing to help each other without question and without need for compensation. They’re not fighting for the Mob; they’re fighting for the community.” Says Liam
“I’d say it’s about time we skedaddle on out of here, gang. Truly sorry about the mess.” Says Nancy, putting the shotgun on the counter, George nods grimly
“It’s not my job to wash the dead wops off the street. It means nothing to me. What’s the point of bulletproof glass if you don’t get to use it, eh?” Jokes Liam
“Fair enough. Be good, Liam. I’ll see you later.” Says Nancy
“If nothing else, I’m sure I’ll see you on Judgement Day.” Says Liam, warm, yet serious
“Keep your eyes peeled, you might be in for a treat.” Jokes Nancy
“Walk in the way of the lord, child. My love is vengeance.” Says Liam
“that’s never free.” Says Nancy, smiling
“Is that in the Bible?” asks Brian
“That’s Pete Townshend, but God is more so behind blue eyes than anyone else these days.” Says Liam
“You’re speaking in riddles, man.” Says Brain
“It means get the fuck out of here.” Shouts Liam, having given up on resolving the boy’s ignorance, Nancy leads the gang into the streets, dead Italians bathed in yellow streetlight, their cars riddled with bullets, no sirens to be heard, still waiting to make sure everybody that’s going to die is dead, and making sure anyone shooting is long gone
A young Italian boy, younger than Nancy, moans softly a short distance from the storefront window, riddled with shrapnel, staring at the sky, eyes pained by his remaining consciousness, Nancy walks over to him, he makes eye contact with her, desperation in his eyes, regret, sadness. She hikes up her dress, squats over his face, pulls her panties to the side and unleashes a strong stream of bronze, sickly urine over the boy’s bloodied face, his eyes close weakly as his weak moans become more shrill, shame fills his body as the urine splashes into his open wounds, mouth, and eyes. He tries to close his mouth, but his pained and desperate breathing forces him to keep it open as Nancy breaks the seal down his throat, into his nose, aiming for his mouth. He is choking, coughing weakly on the piss but unable to clear his mouth and throat from the relentless stream, too weak from blood loss to move, his body forces him to take one last painful breath, inhaling the mouthful of urine into his lungs, his diaphragm too damaged by the shrapnel to force it from his lungs
“Don’t piss on my fucking sidewalk!” shouts Liam, seeing a large puddle of urine stream down into the alley
“I’m pissing on the wop.” Says Nancy, Liam spits in her face damningly
“You’re fucking disgusting.” Says Liam, ashamed of her
“A lot of sympathy for somebody who tried to kill you.” Says Nancy, indifferent to being spit on, wiping it off with her hand, grabbing a cleaner part of the boy’s bloodied shirt and wiping her pussy with it before standing up
“Even a man’s enemies have dignity.” Says Liam
“Thank God I’m a woman.” Says Nancy, Liam chuckles
“I’ll sleep easy tonight knowing that it’s demons like you that torture the damned. You must really love your job.” Says Liam, smiling
“Would be a shame if God creates servants who don’t love their job? That would be a bit sadistic, now, wouldn’t it?” asks Nancy
“You’re lucky God is a compassionate and loving God, God is still kind enough to make sure even as an eternal hellkite like you is happy in your work.” Says Liam
“I do love him dearly for that. You be good, love.” Says Nancy, delighted by the outcome, walking down the corner
“I’ll go to church twice on Sundays just to avoid ever having that happen to me.” Says Liam
“You’re wise beyond your years. Ta ta.” Says Nancy, the gang in tow, all three unwilling to question her
“Ta ta and farewell.” Says Liam
“That was… sobering, to say the least. I’m parked around the corner, Nancy. I’m going to get out of here. You stay safe out there.” Says Murphy
“Take it easy, Murphy. Not the worst of me you’ve seen, no doubt.” Says Nancy
“A fair point, but probably the most perverted.” Says Murphy, ashamed of the girl and disconcerted
“It was all about degradation, nothing sexual about it.” Says Nancy
“Do you think that was necessary?” asks Murphy
“Well, I’m sure as shit not going to offer a mercy killing to somebody who just tried to murder me and my friends.” Says Nancy
“Jesus. I guess. You do you, girl.” Says Murphy, unwilling to challenge her
“Brian, you alright?” asks George
“A little shaken up, but no worse for wear. I think we talked about important stuff tonight.” Says Brian
“I guess.” Says George
“I don’t remember much, but I know Jesus is important.” Says Brian
“Yes. That’s the important part.” Says George
“I’m glad I got the jist. You be good. I’m fucking battered.” Says Brian
“You good to walk home.” Says George
“I know the way. I’ll be good. Lived here my whole life. Thankfully no bad guys around here to come pick me up and have their way with my body.” Jokes Brian
“That’s good.” Says George
“It’s good to be home. I feel safe here.” Says Brian
“You’re not home yet, Brian.” Says George
“I live there.” Says George, smiling, pointing proudly at an apartment building catty-corner from the garage
“That’s nice, Brian.” Says George
“Yeah… it’s a nice place. You girls have fun.” Says Brian, sincerely, warmly, merry, walking away, the rollercoaster of emotions and the recent rush of adrenaline having left the man exhausted, having left both by the wayside, now left with nothing but his drunkenness and the bliss of his ignorance
“Nancy, you don’t believe the shit you were talking in there with Liam, do you?” asks George
“What did we say before this happened. Who I am depends entirely on where I am, who I’m talking to, and what I intend to accomplish. Do I believe it? Why not. Isn’t that what religion is all about? At least the spooky part. Blind faith in spooky things because you enjoy it?” Says Nancy
“I guess, but what was the point in riling the man up like that?” asks George
“You didn’t want to hear him going on about hell and sin, did you? If life gives you lemons, you know. So I just decided to roll with the punches and have a laugh. No shame in that.” Says Nancy, knocking on the door of the Garage, the boy opens it
“What just happened?” asks the boy
“Some wops walked into the wrong neighborhood.” Says Nancy, the boy chuckles
“That usually doesn’t happen for no reason.” Says the boy
“The reason was that they fucked up.” Says Nancy
“They fucked up or you fucked up?” asks the boy
“I’m not one of the 10 dead wops in the fucking street, am I?” Jokes Nancy
“Fair enough.” Says the boy, Barry listening from the shadows
“See, this bitch is cursed. Where she goes, people die, and somehow she never dies.” Says Barry
“If it’s the bad people dying, I’d say I’m more of a blessing.” Says Nancy
“It’s only a matter of time until we’re the bad people. Ain’t it?” Says Barry, seeing this as inevitable
“Just don’t do stupid shit, Barry. You know I only deal with the worst of the worst. The fucking orgy-porgy between the organized crime and the cops is not something I’m involved with. You all pay tributes and circle jerk each other all day. I’m not a part of that. I only get involved when somebody fucks up.” Says Nancy
“Duly noted. I’ll be on my best behavior.” Jokes Barry
“Just don’t be a fuck up and you’re fucking golden. You’ve never struck me as one of the stupidest people imaginable, so I wouldn’t be too worried.” Says Nancy
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Says Barry
“I mean it, you’re smart, you run a business, you stay on good terms with people. Those good terms are what keep everybody alive.” Says Nancy
“Still, I think it’s best you get out of here. I don’t need bullets flying into my shop next.” Says Barry
“Fair enough. What do I owe you?” asks Nancy
“Three grand. My boy went ahead and filled and buffed those bullet holes for you.” Says Barry, Nancy takes her checkbook out of her coat and cuts him a check
“Spectacular. Pleasure doing business with you. There are 3 solid quality Italian cars around the corner, recently deprived of their owners. I think you might be interested, a few bullet holes, sure, but I’m sure you can chop them up and turn a quick buck.” Says Nancy
“Thanks for the tip, detective. I’ll be sure to follow up on that lead.” Jokes Barry, giving her the keys to the car
“Any time, boss. You take it easy, thanks again.” Says Nancy
“Any time, babe.” Says Barry, Nancy leaving the shop, giving George the keys
“Any more pieces of the puzzle we need to put into place tonight?” asks George, getting in the car with Nancy
“Just one.” Says Nancy
“For fucks sake.” mutters George, exhausted but still loyal
“Right on the money.” Says Nancy, smirking
“What?” says George
“I need to see your cousin. I need to relax after a day like today.” Says Nancy, rolling down the window, lighting up a cigarette as George drives them into the night
“Thank God. I’m fucking beat.” Says George
“Smoke?” asks Nancy
“Please.” Says George, grabbing one, lighting herself, rolling down the window, the cool, peaceful air of the city breezes through their car, peasant air; calm, quiet, contented, unassuming, and beautifully humble air, polite and friendly, the good mood air, it lifts the girls spirits as they drive out towards the country, enjoying the silence for a long moment, a welcome respite from the relentless hustle and bustle, Nancy drinks from the pint on the floor
“Do you remember this air?” asks Nancy
“What? Do you?” asks George, tired, unassuming in banter
“Sort of.” Says Nancy
“It feels like the normal air.” Says George, slowly, puzzled
“I don’t know, for whatever reason certain things, sensations, they bring back certain memories.” Says Nancy
“Like what?” asks George
“I don’t know. Nothing in particular, just this feeling of air, this texture, reminds me of a certain time… when we were younger.” Says Nancy
“I’m going to need a few more clues.” Says George
“I don’t have any. It’s just a vague memory of nothing in particular, the only memory is this exact feeling of air really, being outside at night, it’s a vivid memory of nothing really, I just remember feeling less dead inside, the feeling comes back to me, but nothing more.” Says Nancy
“I never took you for a person that’s dead inside.” Says George
“I don’t know if dead is the right word, but more people-y, I felt rich with people-ness, feelings, dreams, thoughts. I’ve lost some of that over the years.” Says Nancy
“Yeah, Nancy, I take the wear and tear might have some effects on your body.” Says George
“It’s just a feeling, feeling something like a mental photograph, vividly familiar, the feeling of living in that photograph, comparing it to myself now. It’s a pleasant memory, but it feels like something I will never feel again, something too pure and youthful.” Says Nancy
“Never took you for a sentimental girl, Nancy.” Says George
“I’d cry a single tear if this were a dramatic movie, but it’s just a soft twinge of sadness really. I just felt more real back then. I don’t know how to describe it.” Says Nancy
“You’re less real now?” says George
“I felt like a real person, George, really fucking people-y, I could fucking reach into the jar and lather myself with all of that people-y people stuff. Thick and delicious, a wellspring, all tasty too, always tasty.” Says Nancy
“Ok.” Says George, unsure of anything Nancy is talking about at this point,
“I’m saying I’ve lost some of that, a lot of that. I’m not so people-y anymore, I don’t know, sometimes, it just feels like I’m a ghost, I’m fading away, losing touch with everything.” Says Nancy
“I guess. I’ve always tended to feel like a ghost, or at least tried to. I know what you mean, but the meaty feelings, the real ones, those are like daggers Nancy, those are the ones that hurt.” Says George
“No, not those. The pleasant ones, the thick jam of youth, your feelings are so real and thick, everything, the freshness of the world has yet to fade.” Says Nancy
“I’ll be honest, as a kid I was so riddled with anxiety and shame that I guess I didn’t get many of those feelings.” Says George
“That’s a tragedy, George, but what I’m saying, it’s that I felt like a whole person.” Says Nancy, lighting up a cigarette
“I guess I still feel that way, I don’t know any other feeling than that.” Says George
“It’s like my soul is thinning, it’s wispy now, not thick and rich. I’ve got holes in the soul, things that need to be filled for me to feel whole. Bess, you know, she hits that spot, and I love the feeling, it’s just that I feel thin, weak without something like that.” Says Nancy
“You really love my cousin, do you?” teases George
“Like nothing else. The thirst four soul is real, I fucking love that girl. I’ve got half a soul, but she’s still so thick and rich, and I just love to experience that, even just by proxy. It numbs the emptiness when I let her soul live in my body. I love that feeling.” Says Nancy
“I don’t know much about the thirst for soul.” Says George
“Do you feel whole on the inside? You’ve got enough to keep yourself happy?” asks Nancy
“I suppose, as whole as I’ve ever been.” Says George, perplexed by the thought
“I’m betting you’re still wet behind the ears. Once you find that feeling, that girl, you’ll know what I’m talking about.” Says Nancy
“Love and soul are different to me, I mean, my soul is my soul, that’s entirely my own, I experience that daily, I experience love from my own perspective. I can’t say I know the feeling of letting somebody else’s soul live inside my body.” Says George
“Oh my, I don’t know if that’s how you love. I just let that girl crawl inside my body, my mind is just filled with her thoughts, her feelings, or at least my fantasies of those things.” Says Nancy
“Head over heels, are we?” Teases George
“It’s a respite from this reality. Do you like your own soul? Living with your soul?” asks Nancy
“Well, I don’t tend to object to the existence of myself. Sure, it may be painful sometimes, but I think and live in my soul, my soul is me. I don’t tend to separate myself from my soul.” Says George
“The soul, it’s a feeling, it’s the ambiance of yourself, the symphony of yourself, and mine is weak, it’s airy, like you’re on a drive and slowly losing the radio station you’re listening to, but there’s no static it’s just fading into silence. I’m a product of my actions, my principles, my thoughts, but the richness of soul, it’s fading.” Says Nancy
“My soul is still coming through loud and clear, for better or for worse.” Says George
“What’s left of a body when the soul leaves?” asks Nancy
“I have no idea.” Says George
“Memories, sensation, the obligations of the meatbag, the existence, perpetuation; but the music fades away.” Says Nancy
“Damn, Nancy. I don’t know. If you’re alive I’m pretty sure you have a soul.” Says George
“Soul is a feeling, I know the feeling of soul, and those memories, the ones I’m talking about, the random sensations and memories of nothing, I remember the feeling, and in this feeling, I can feel my own soul, and I can feel that it’s gone today. It makes me feel like a ghost.” Says Nancy
“I don’t think it’s gone, Nancy. Maybe lay off the hooch a bit.” Says George, trying to ease the girl
“The feeling is gone, not the whole soul per say, it’s thinning, a fragment of what it was, I have some sort of ghost soul now, an odd perspective of myself. Almost as if my soul has been dying before my body dies.” Says Nancy, growing weak in her banter, talking slower, the phrases distinctly separated in exhaustion and disconnection
“Does it feel dead?” asks George
“Not in an unpleasant way, just like a ghost.” Says Nancy
“I’m still thinking it’s the hooch.” Says George
“It’s just everything is less real to me now, there’s nothing real about me, the world is softened. What was once thick, rich, and vivid is soft, thin, and fleeting, the symphony of life has become but a whisper.” Says Nancy
“Are you like legit dying? This is a little worrying. It sounds like some deathbed shit right here, Nancy.” Says George, worrying for the girl, Nancy chuckles
“I just feel old, I don’t know, like I’ve had so many years pass by.” Says Nancy
“I mean this job does take a toll on the body and mind.” Says George
“It’s like my body and mind are leaving the Earth, just slowly fading into the air.” Says Nancy
“And going where?” asks George
“Nowhere. Just emptiness. Fading into the ether.” Says Nancy
“Maybe you’re dehydrated, drink this water.” Says George, giving her the plastic bottle, she takes a drink
“I’m dying, George. I’m dying slowly before my eyes.” Says Nancy, accepting the truth, fading into the ether
“I mean, that’s life, but you’re a bit young to feel that way. Does it make you sad?” Says George
“No. I’ve lived a good life. Maybe sad just in the sentimental way, but it’s a pleasant sadness. The memories of loved ones sort of sadness, you remember the good times, and you remember that it was worth it.” Says Nancy, weakly
“I’m glad it was worth it.” Says George, softly comforting the girl
“Yeah.” Says Nancy, quietly, fading into nothing, George drives in the darkness, clenching her jaw, tears silently running down her face
The Buick slowly rolls the last few miles into the countryside, the clean air stinging the heart of the remaining conscious girl, the purity and innocence, the feminine beauty of the warm springtime air stroking the face and hair of the girl, stoking flames of shame and inadequacy in the girl’s heart, paralyzed by the tender loving caress, unable to enjoy the compassion without feeling unworthy of such beauty, sickened by the thought that such a heart would offer itself to her unquestioningly, unable to accept this love because she is unable to accept herself as a child of this virtue, instead knowing herself only as a child of the vice of man, hating herself on moral grounds, disgusted by such benevolence offered to a wretch like herself
Th car stops in front of the gate to the manor, she presses the remote and opens it. The floodlights of the mansion shine in the near distance, driving up the cobblestone path, slowly. The manicured lawn, ornamental shrubs all neatly refined to the standards of human aesthetic, the cleanness, the neatness, the demonstrable obedience to civilized man, a march of plants as regal as the man who owns them look upon the girl. This is home for her, she is comforted by the plants who spit upon her with their dignity, for she’s more than willing to bite them and spit upon them in return, in contempt, to substantiate her indignity and discontent, her spite and malice for such displays of demure objectification solely to please the eyes of men.
She takes pride in herself, almost pitying the planets were it not for a lack of confidence and self-respect, for if nothing else, she knows she is not an ornament of aesthetic pleasure. Each of these plants, meaningless, unremarkable in their uniform beauty, fading into the pettiness, the cattish insecurity and conflict of egos that plague the women she hates. Despite the endless labor to keep them beautiful, their beauty becoming meaningless and unremarkable in the uniform sea of uniform beauty. The uniformity itself perhaps the only beauty to George, the comforting meaninglessness and triviality of the individual, despite endless efforts, when perfection is attained.
The car parks in the roundabout. George grabs Nancy’s shoulder and shakes her. Her eyes open slowly. She softly groans in pain as the light floods her eyes.
“We’re home.” Says George
“Jesus, I thought I was dead for a moment.” Says Nancy
“You had me worried for a second too.” Says George, lighthearted, the tears wiped away, dried by the wind, the introspection having allowed her to compose herself, Nancy takes a drink of water from the bottle
“God damn this water is awful. It tastes like plastic. Change this water.” Says Nancy, drinking it anyways
“There’s good water inside. Come on, let’s get up.” Says George, slapping the thigh of Nancy with the conviction of a busy mother and the subtlest seasoning of complimentary compassion
“Aye aye.” Groans Nancy, frisking herself, taking the handgun from her coat and putting it in the glovebox, finding the two empty packs of cigarettes, putting them in her pocket, grabbing the empty pint from the floor, getting out of the car, George follows, carrying the water bottle. Nancy hobbles weakly to the plastic recycling container, dropping the bottle in, throwing the empty hard-packs of cigarettes in the garbage
“Damn, you’re beat up, girl.” Says George, grimacing
“Long day at the office, yeah?” Jokes Nancy, shaking off the fatigue, wiping her shoes on the doormat
“If there ever was one.” Says George, Nancy opens the door into the mansion, George follows her in. Soft warm incandescent lights in the chandelier greet the girls, burning for nobody in the meantime. The girls walking past the stairs into the grand room, the television idly rambling, Bess runs in from the kitchen like a puppy to greet them, hugging Nancy, Nancy holds her firmly, kissing her longingly on the mouth with insatiable thirst, Bess more than happy to give her the tongue, Nancy squeezes her ass firmly, she stares at Nancy deviantly surprised
“Damn, I missed you.” Says Nancy, soul thoroughly warmed by the youthful passion of the girl
“Was everything ok?” asks Bess
“Close enough.” Says Nancy, Bess still hanging on to Nancy’s neck, staring into her eyes
“Hannah made some lentil soup if you’re hungry.” Says Bess, lovingly
“Oh boy.” Says Nancy, a tired drunken smile lazily lights up her face, letting go of the girl and lightly slapping her ass towards the kitchen,
“I’m going to wash up. Give me a minute.” Says Nancy, walking to the bathroom, throwing her trench-coat over an empty armchair in front of the television, George sits down in front of it, comforted by the harmless vapid meaninglessness.
Nancy washes her hands and removes her make-up, she looks at herself in the mirror, visibly exhausted, but she smiles warmly because she still loves herself, for no reason, but she never thought a reason was necessary for such love. She cups her hands to drink some water from the tap, crisp, fresh, refreshing water, the good water, going for a second drink gratefully.
Bess fixed the girls bowls of soup and glasses of water, George sitting at the table, Nancy joins her, the both of them eating exhaustedly, but entirely grateful for the unassuming meal, free from the implications of social dining
“What have you been up to today?” asks Nancy, the girls eating casually
“I was helping Hannah around the house, we did some gardening, cleaning, all sorts of stuff.” Says Bess
“No croquet and lemonade?” Teases Nancy
“Maybe a little bit.” Says Bess, smiling cutely
“You know Hannah asked me if I was going to school today. I thought that was a bit funny.” Says Nancy
“She just wants the best for you.” Says Bess, comfortingly
“Does she ask you if you want to go to school?” Says Nancy
“I already graduated like years ago.” Says Bess, rolling her eyes playfully
“That doesn’t count.” Says George
“I’m pretty sure it does.” Says Bess, playful
“You got a Homemaker’s Degree.” Says George
“And that’s what I am. That’s what I want to be, and I got my degree in that.” Says Bess, proudly
“You were like 13? A little young to be committed to housewifery.” Says George, mockingly
“I mean, Nancy knew she wanted to be a detective when she was young. Is she too young to know what she wants too?” asks Bess, stand-offishly
“I mean, there’s a difference.” Says George
“There’s not a difference.” Says Bess, defensively proud
“I’d say it’s the same. She’s good at what she does.” Says Nancy, honestly, defending her girl
“See?” says Bess
“You’ve got to be married to be a housewife.” Says George, in a quasi-sibling’s cruelty
“Well, that just means we have to get married.” Says Bess, squeezing Nancy’s hand under the table, expectantly, Nancy smiles
“One day.” Says Nancy, squeezing her hand, warmly, dreamily optimistic, but not enough to look Bess in the eyes
“I think you just need a wife, George.” Teases Nancy
“I’m 16. That’s not on my mind right now.” Says George, defensive and subtly jealous
“That’s when you’re supposed to get married, George.” Says Bess, innocently
“Jesus, you spend too much time with Hannah. This isn’t the 1950s.” says George, condescendingly
“You’re supposed to at least want it by now.” Says Bess, a bit let down by the girl
“I’m happy by myself.” Says George
“Are you really happy, George?” asks Bess, concerned in the softest sternness
“Happy enough.” Says George, heartlessly indifferent in hopelessness
“I’m sure she’ll get struck by the arrow one of these days, some damsel in distress, you know George is the heroic type.” Teases Nancy, George smiles
“You got me.” Says George, Nancy gets up, grabs an old-fashioned glass, and pours herself a drink, a double scotch, neat
“Care for a drink, George?” asks Nancy
“I’ll just grab a beer.” Says George
“Fair enough.” Says Nancy, downing the double with heartless conviction, leaving the glass next to the sink, taking the two bowls from the table and placing them in there, she places a hand Bess’ shoulder and slowly moves down the arm to grab her hand
“Would my fair lady like to join me on the couch for some R&R?” asks Nancy
“Of course.” Says Bess, delighted, lady-like, getting up, Nancy’s arm around her hips, leading her to the couch, George goes to the fridge to get a beer, opens it
“What are you watching, Bess?” asks George
“It’s the good news.” Says Bess
“It’s just been showing little animals for the past 10 minutes.” Says George
“Cute animals are always good news. I’m certainly not going to watch the bad news.” Says Bess, proudly displaying her intelligence, sitting down on Nancy’s lap, Nancy reclines, pulling Bess on top of her, fondling her softly, kissing her meekly
“I’ll find something to watch.” Says George, picking up the remote, sitting in the recliner, Nancy slides her hand up Bess’ t-shit, fondling her bare breast, the other sliding under the waistband of her sporty sweat-shorts, groping her modest yet decadent rump, suckling the passion from Bess’ mouth. Bess slips her hand under Nancy’s dress and starts to stroke her gently, holding her close.
“Wow, that was fast. Jesus.” Says George, caught off guard “Not too much, I’m not trying to sleep in your cuddle puddle tonight.” Says George, still flipping through the channels, landing on Gunsmoke, Nancy glances at George, George expresses subtle disapproval, Nancy spins Bess over, holding her from behind, cuddling her slender belly, slipping the other hand into her shorts and teases her playfully, smelling her neck and kissing it
“Gunsmoke.” Says Nancy, meaninglessly in half-assed facetious dramatism, adding nothing to the conversation which doesn’t exist, George looks at her blankly, Nancy returns the blank look with the smile of approval and goes back to fondling Bess, grinding against her ass and starting to finger her passionately, Bess is moaning softly
“If you’re going to fuck, go upstairs, Jesus. What is wrong with you?” asks George
“Whoops.” Says Nancy, a bit drunk, calming herself, sitting Bess up on her lap and sliding her off, she mindlessly sucks her fingers clean and reaches for the cigarettes on the table, lighting one up, leaning forward into the table, smoking the cigarette strongly, inhaling deeply as if starved for breath, quickly with no respite for clean air between draws
“What is it about this show, George?” asks Nancy
“It’s relatable.” Says George
“Is it?” asks Bess
“Very.” Says George
“How? Are you a cowboy now?” teases Bess
“It helps me sleep at night.” Says George
“You would be the type to fall asleep to gunshots.” Says Bess, grimacing
“It helps me think I’m not some godless sack of shit. It helps me think I’m a good person.” Says George, serious from bitterness, the vivid loneliness from witnessing such love, absent from jealousy, contemplative, fighting pessimism and hopelessness, guarded only by her jacket and stern face
“Matt Dillon lets us know that we’re doing it right.” Says Nancy, warmly, snuffing out the butt of the cigarette in the ashtray on the coffee table
“Sometimes. Sometimes he tells us we’re doing it wrong.” Says George
“Don’t compare yourself to such an angel, this is ideality, staged beauty, George. While we cannot operate under the laws of ideality, we can still uphold the same principles, we just need to apply them properly in reality.” Says Nancy, George scoffs
“Sometimes when you talk like that it makes me think I need to go back to school.” Says Bess, frowning cutely
“Don’t worry about that stuff. There’s no need for you to understand those things. You see that frown on George’s face, that’s what we’re talking about. You don’t want that, do you?” asks Nancy, pulling Bess into her lap, kissing her, George chuckled half-heartedly,
“No.” says Bess, smiling, cutely embarrassed, honestly grateful and certainly happy to be living without such a frown
“Good.” Says Nancy, heart eased by the purity of the girl, holding her close, vigilantly protective through instinct alone, only knowing this feeling as love
“So, Bess, what is it about Nancy? You know I’m a little envious of the magic she works with you.” Says George, Bess smiles and rolls her eyes
“Well, she’s kind, loving, compassionate, tender, friendly, funny, and happy. She reminds me a lot of my dad, and I love my dad, so clearly, I love Nancy a lot. When I was a kid, I always wanted to find a boyfriend like my dad, and then I found Nancy.” Says Bess, kissing Nancy on her cheek
“I didn’t know Nancy was a boy.” Teases George
“She isn’t, clearly, if anyone’s the boy here it’s you, George.” Says Bess
“If you wanted a boyfriend, how come you’re with a girl now?” asks George
“Well, when I was young, I had lots of fantasies about boys, thinking about the perfect boy I wanted. It turns out when I met real boys, they’re not like that at all, they’re cold and distant and mean. They’re defensive and cruel, nobody ever came close to my warm, tender, friendly, loving boyfriend fantasies. Then I sort of realized Nancy had everything I wanted in a boyfriend, and that sort of made me interested, like… that, you know. I could just be myself around her, and she treats me the way I want, and I really like that.” Says Bess
“She had everything you wanted? Except for a penis, maybe.” Jokes George
“I didn’t want that part, George, I was like a kid, I still don’t. I think that part is pretty gross, definitely doesn’t turn me on or anything.” Says Bess
“You like girls’ bodies?” asks George
“Yeah, I mean they’re beautiful and soft and tender, and those are things I love.” Says Bess, holding Nancy tightly
“Fair enough, it’s hard for me to imagine what a soft and tender bodied man looks like, and I’m sure it’s not physically attractive.” Says George
“I figure you’re in the same boat as me, huh?” asks Bess
“I mean, I see eye to eye with you on a woman’s body. That’s for me. I guess a lot of it is that I want what I don’t have. I’ve never been a girly girl, always jealous or bitter about it, and that just makes me want to fuck girls. Beautiful girls. Even if I can’t enjoy it myself, I can still enjoy it in other girls.” Says George
“Guys don’t do it for you?” asks Bess
“Not at all. I hate men, you know this.” Says George
“I don’t believe you. You like my dad.” Says Bess
“I mean, sure, some men are fine, but it’s just the concept of men. I just hate the concept on principle.” Says George
“Is that also rooted in jealousy?” teases Nancy
“I mean, I don’t know. I was jealous about how guys could give zero fucks about everything; I was always shamed because I didn’t want to get dolled up. I just wanted to be a person, not a doll. They had what I wanted, but what they did with it, I hated it, I hated how they were assholes, how they abuse people and were cruel to each other, even when given such freedom and privilege, they voluntarily reduce it to pettiness, stupidity, and abuse. I didn’t want to be a part of that, so I guess I’m grateful I’m a woman, but it was that freedom from the doll’s life that I wanted.” Says George
“Freedom is nothing more than the freedom to make mistakes, you know. Perfection is the antithesis of freedom, and freedom is the antithesis of perfection.” Says Nancy
“Despite that, you are still free to strive for perfection, and I see men doing nothing but the opposite of this. They’re disgusting creatures, as petty as women are, at least they have taste, they understand quality and they pursue perfection, albeit in trivial ways such as beauty.” Says George
“I figure it’s not trivial if it gets you going downstairs, yeah?’ asks Nancy, snuggling her girl, George laughs
“Fair enough.” Says George, smiling in honest approval
“I see you there. I love beauty, passion, I love love, I love purity of the heart and soul, and these are things men just don’t have. The world practically forbids them from these things, so I’m not particularly surprised. Tragic as it may be, men are beasts to me, but thankfully women are human.” Says Nancy
“It’s so sad that nature says you need to like boys in order to have a baby. I don’t see why I can’t just have Nancy’s babies.” Says Bess
“I think that’s just to prevent the girl from getting herself pregnant. If two eggs made a baby, girls would just randomly become pregnant sometimes by themselves. If that happens you start to lose sexual selection.” Says George
“This is definitely sexual selection, George.” Says Bess, stroking Nancy’s forearm draped around her chest
“Yes indeed.” Says Nancy, kissing Bess on the neck, pulling the girl onto her lap
“I love Nancy and I should be able to have her babies.” Says Bess, confident in her assertion
“You would be so pregnant.” Says Nancy, softly, nervous even at the thought of getting her pregnant, having not considered herself becoming a parent, sliding her hand into Bess’ pants, more more than tempted at the thought of trying dutifully despite the futility
“You mean it?” says Bess, excitedly
“Oh yeah.” Says Nancy, softly, honestly admitting what see she sees as a shortcoming on her part, unashamed and without hesitance, kissing Bess’ neck again, petting her pussy lovingly
“You like babies, Nancy?” asks Bess, spinning around, staring at Nancy hopefully
“I don’t know, but I like making babies with you.” Jokes Nancy, too thirsty to think much about what she’s saying
“Let’s try to do it then.” Says Bess, staring deeply into her eyes, Nancy laughs, growling suggestively
“I intend on doing exactly that.” Says Nancy, seductively
“When?” asks Bess, expectantly, giddy
“In like 10 minutes.” Says Nancy, eager, grinning deviantly, yet mildly confused by the girl’s ignorance
“No, like I mean really get me pregnant.” Says Bess, passionately serious
“I don’t think I can.” Says Nancy, a bit let down that she can’t deliver
“Maybe one day.” Says George, disheartened, baseless optimism out of sincere politeness, feeling hurt for her cousin
“What does that mean?” asks Bess, a bit defeated, falling back into Nancy’s lap, turning to face George, her arms still around Nancy’s neck
“Well, I mean maybe science can do something like that someday. I don’t know. I’m not a scientist.” Says George, a bit upset by her inability to deliver a helpful answer
“Well, let’s go find a scientist then.” Says Bess, childlike in her optimism, Nancy laughs
“Soon enough, baby.” Says Nancy, kissing her tenderly, promising something she has no capacity to deliver
“Let’s go tomorrow.” Says Bess
“Woah, Bessy. That’s, I mean, wow, you’re 16 you know. That’s a little young.” Says George
“It’s definitely old enough. If I was too young why do I want a baby so badly?” asks Bess, defensively
“Haven’t you wanted a baby since you were like 4 years old?” asks George, playfully confused
“Yeah, that’s true, but not this badly.” Says Bess
“You’re young, Bess, no need to rush into this, especially with science.” Says George, endearing in her dismissal of the girl’s ambition
“I’m not young, I’m definitely old enough to have a baby. I just feel like I’m not complete without one. A baby would just make everything perfect.” Says Bess
“Wow, I mean I know this is you, but it’s a lot of you at one time for me to handle.” Says George
“It’s just when Nancy holds me, and makes love to me, I just feel like I really need her baby inside of me. I need more Nancy inside of me, I need more l need to be completed by her. It’s so powerful and it makes me sad that I don’t.” Says Bess
“Soon enough, my love.” Says Nancy, rubbing the girl’s belly, tempted by the thought of somehow getting her pregnant, thinking of this as the greatest success of the highest order of sex, thinking of fucking this girl’s brains out, convincing herself in drunkenness that it might just be enough
“Let’s go tomorrow. Let’s find a scientist.” Says Bess, sincere yet serious, Nancy’s eyes open wide for a minute in surprise
“I’m not sure that’s how science works.” Says George, honestly having little understanding of science
“Well, we should at least ask.” Says Bess
“I mean, tomorrow, me and George, we’ve got an early day, big, big stuff happening at the office.” Says Nancy, reaching for something to say, siding quickly with honesty
“Well, we can go Thursday.” Says Bess
“Yeah, we’ll go Thursday.” Says Nancy, dismissively indifferent, happy to end the conversation, with the thought of tomorrow’s Wednesday feeling like an eternity in itself, Thursday seems to her like an unimaginably long time from now, she’s pleased by this sort of thought in the far-off future, not quite ready for it today, but it’s a pleasant thought, so she places it lovingly in the future
“Oh my god, thank you Nancy. I love you so much.” Says Bess, kissing her, feeling her dreams coming true, gratefully delighted
“Wow. Ok. Best of luck.” Says George, suddenly pert despite the exhaustion, astounded but very polite about it, having nothing to add
“Well, we better go try to make that baby.” Says Nancy, genuine and virile, tempted by the woman’s body even more so now, feeling duty and conviction to her lady’s desires
“Ok.” Says Bess, her heart having grown wings at the thought, relishing her lover’s approval of her dreams, Nancy smiles filthily at George, more drunk on love and passion than liquor at this point, George looks at her, a with a confused smile perverted by her puzzled astonishment, her head twinging slightly to an angle, Nancy leads the girl upstairs.
George stares at them, walking away, she tries to think for a moment, but fails to do so, she just accepts thoughtlessness as an adequate parallel to speechlessness, and sits there, staring blankly into space for a some time, she puts her hand into her head and chuckles for a bit, thinking herself to perhaps fallen victim to her own gullibility, attempting to see the nights banter as typical bullshit, knowing in the back of her mind that Bess was dead serious the entire time, she tries to think about what was going through Nancy’s mind, fails to do so, and presumes there was nothing going on in her mind at the time, she turns off the television, reaches for the cigarettes on the table, lights one up, and smokes earnestly to calm her nerves, fearing the potential fallout of the conversation.
Nancy leads Bess into the bedroom upstairs, she slides out of her sneakers, balances herself on Bess to pull her socks off despite the difficulty, and playfully pushes Bess onto the bed and takes her dress off over her head, tossing it on the floor. Her small, humble breasts, unapologetically rigid, grace her sinewed frame, savage yet sylphlike. She mounts the eager girl, sliding her t-shirt off, her breasts tender, supple, a bountiful feast for such a cynic, are fondled lovingly by the sylph, gratefully drinking from the girl’s well of passion. Bess slides her hand into the dirty cotton panties, furthering the girl’s passion, the youthful colors of the cotton faded but still fitting snugly against her hips, the panties almost boyish in their indifference the principles of lingerie. Bess pulls the girl on top of her, sliding her panties down her thighs, which the sylph happily kicks away, the indifferent yet meager natural bush on the girl the only thing which might be construed as modesty.
Nancy forcefully pulls the girl’s shorts down to her knees, which she easily squirms out of as Nancy’s fingers slide inside of the dripping girl, firm in her strokes, serious yet tender, slow with depth stemming from a newfound hunger to be deep inside the girl, somehow; she knows this is what she wants. Bess is panting as Nancy suckles her breasts in thirst unknown, moving to kiss her neck, Bess takes it like a woman, groping the girl’s ass, pulling her forwards, opening her mouth expectantly yet, but still delightfully surprised by the intensity of her lover’s passion. Unsure of how to respond, she just enjoys the moment of being caressed so sensually, staring into Nancy’s eyes with a glazed and lovestruck passion. The gateway to the girl’s soul lies open before her, begging her longingly, and Nancy knows she never wants to lose this feeling. Nancy starts to finger the girl with fervor, she starts moaning, clutching Nancy, losing her breath. Nancy’s head in the crook of the girl’s neck, she whispers into her ear.
“You want me to get you pregnant?” asks Nancy, deviantly, blinded by drunken passion
“Yes, please. God yes, Nancy.” Pleads Bess, herself blinded by her idyllic optimism, tempted by Nancy’s promise, luring her in a dream state, sexual pleasure further enriching the fantasies of love, marriage, and family, all so readily enabled by the girl’s childlike ignorance, all seeming so unquestionably right in her mind. Nancy grabs the girl’s leg and lifts it to the side, mounting her pubis atop her lovers, grinding into it slowly, rubbing her clitoris against every fold of the girl’s firm and artful vulva, mapping the topography in her mind. The raw sexual pleasure filling her body, sharpening her mind, finding the sweetest spots, and savoring the pleasure with the slow sex of devotion.
Bess moans longingly, staring at Nancy, longing for more, the pleasure of sex starting to become vivid enough to overpower the pleasure of her wifely fantasies. She starts to grind back into Nancy’s vulva, wanting as much of the girl as she can possibly get. Nancy is delighted by the sport, the subtlest hint of interplay from her lover inspires competition from the girl’s hips, not to be out done in the slightest. Nancy quickly begins to dominate the girl’s clitoris, feeling her shudder softly, unable to control her muscles enough to contest her own domination, but more than enough to put herself forward and ask for more.
“I’m going to fuck you hard.” Says Nancy, staring Bess in the eyes, Bess moans in approval, having lost any capacity for words but fully understanding the request, Nancy drapes the girls leg over her shoulder then shifts her bodyweight onto her knees, she grabs Bess’ hips and pulls them forward into her groin, truly starting to fuck the girl with conviction. Her athleticism and vivacity allowing her the grace of a rabbit as she rubs against the clitoris of the girl with military accuracy, her almost sadistic hedonism has Bess crying in once unknown pleasure as the bed is no longer creaking, being gently slammed against the floor by the resonance between the bodies of the girls and the springs in the bed.
George, accustomed to the moans, looks at the ceiling above her head, mildly unsettled, she understands entirely the source of the soft and frequent thumping she hears, not aroused but thoroughly impressed, yet again at a loss for thought, she admits defeat and thinks nothing. Nancy is thinking, thinking about fucking, putting thought into her artistry, sexual pleasure serving in place of aesthetic, thoroughly compelling the girl to produce timeless beauty.
Bess, unthinking, knowing nothing but pleasure, uses all of her strength to offer her hips to this goddess of pleasure, rapidly weakening, the pleasure welling up inside of her body to the point of boiling, the pressure is insurmountable, almost suffocating as one fateful stroke of Nancy’s strikes a nerve in her clitoris, instantly the heat flashes into lightning, sending her body quivering and squirming like a scared animal, wrestling with no conviction and no desire to escape, her legs clutching Nancy tightly as Nancy continues to draw from the wellspring of pleasure in her hips, Bess is screaming, knowing nothing, understanding nothing, but overwhelmed by this pleasure.
Nancy takes this moment as victory in her conquest, her mind empty save for the white light of the glory of God, the sexual tension in her body descends into her hips in reverence to the tranquil purity of this purely psychological victory against her own doubts, her own inadequacy, her body becoming too weak to withstand such stoic incredulity towards this pleasure sees no reason to sustain it, the battle having been won, the pleasure explodes from her groin throughout her body, coursing in waves, body quivering from each final stoke, less and less forceful, firmer and more deliberate, as the pleasure cripples her muscles and strips her mind of coherence.
Trying desperately to do something with her hips, crying out in hopelessness, overpowered by her own body, reduced to a powerless ghost in the shell of her own body, drowning in the coursing pleasure, unwilling to stop grinding against the girl, her mind disorganized now, moaning, crying like a confused animal, desperately trying to release some of this energy she can’t control back into the girl it came from, lying on top of the girl grinding in the rigid weakness of hopelessness, moaning in such a pained and powerless vulnerability to her own body she did not know she had.
She holds onto Bess, knowing that this island of tender warmth will shelter her from the reality which just presented itself to her, the physical exhaustion in her body reducing her to a state of childlike powerlessness, the ample bosom of the girl a reminder of a woman which once gave her strength to carry on in her youth.
She gets lost in this feeling of comfort unknown to her for 6 years, suddenly returning to her the moment she needs it most. She weeps in her weakness, but finds solace in the embrace of this loving woman with the heart of an angel who reunites her with the soul of her mother.
“It’s ok, baby.” Says Bess, stroking the girls’ hair, holding her, kissing her forehead,
“I love you so much.” Says Nancy, weeping painfully
“I love you more.” Says Bess, sincere, unassuming, understanding nothing, not expecting to understand, but understanding her instincts, Nancy sobs, Bess pulls the cover over them and turns off the bedside light
The soft and modest morning sun dances in speckles over the girls through the lace curtains.
“Nancy!” shouts George, entering the door, fully dressed
“Big day, Nancy!” she shouts, shaking Nancy by the shoulder, Nancy taken by merciless surprise as a fearful ignorance covers her dumbfounded face before the pain of being alive instantly wrenches her face into one of agony
“Ow.” Moans Nancy
“Big day!” shouts George
“Big day.” Says Nancy softly, eyes closed, breathing heavily
“Like right now.” Says George, slapping the girl’s face softly a couple times, lying in fear of procrastination, Bess chuckles
“Okey-doke.” Sighs Nancy, groaning, remorselessly dutiful, sitting up in the bed, catching her breath and reaching for the fifth of scotch on the bedside table, she spins off the cap, hands shaking in weakness as she pours it into the lowball
“Fuck, Nancy.” Mutters George, unsure of anything at this point
“A little hair of the dog.” Says Nancy, downing the double gratefully
“You good?” asks George
“Give me a minute.” Says Nancy, reaching for the cigarettes, lighting one up, George sits in a chair across from the girl, patiently, equally as indifferent to the nakedness of the disheveled woman as the woman herself
“Want me to fix breakfast?” asks Bess
“Yes, please.” Says Nancy, gratefully, breathing the smoke of her cigarette with conviction, looking at George, expressionless, Bess gets up and dresses herself
“You’re not at all worried?” asks George
“I’m sure you’ve given me plenty of time. You worry enough for the both of us.” Says Nancy
“Considering that the clock is ticking, you sure are taking your sweet time.” Says George, Nancy breathes heavily with exhaustion
“Haste makes waste.” Says Nancy, emotionless
“Do you need some water?” asks George
“Bess will fix me some.” Says Nancy, standing up, walking into the bathroom to relieve herself, George remains seated in anxiety, Nancy fumbles through the medicine cabinet
“You want one?” asks Nancy
“One what?” asks George
“Dexedrine.” Says Nancy
“Does that really help?’ asks George
“You want me to take the no-go pill?” asks Nancy, dryly, taking the pill anyways, reaching for the ibuprofen
“How bad is your hangover?” asks George
“Nothing remarkable. Just a little reminder that I’m alive.” Says Nancy, walking back into the room, going back to sit on the bed to smoke another cigarette, staring at George blankly
“At least try to get dressed, this is ridiculous.” Says George, frustrated
“Aren’t you just the little White Rabbit this morning? You know I can’t wake up until I come up.” Says Nancy
“How long does that take?” asks George
“I’m getting there.” Says Nancy, smoking, growing indifferent to the smoke, contented by the increasing calibration of her body and her vices, she snuffs out the cigarette butt in the ashtray, breathes deeply and gets up, dressing herself in no real hurry, meaningless panties and a blue cocktail dress from the closet, she puts her socks and shoes on
“Ta-da.” Sings Nancy, tiredly, joking heartlessly despite honestly being proud of herself
“Good. That’s a good sign.” Says George, relieved
“I’m a good girl, what can I say.” Says Nancy, nonchalantly feigning to be full of herself, feeling nothing but pain and exhaustion
“You know, you sound cute as fuck when you moan. Like a cute little girl.” Teases George
“You were listening?” asks Nancy, smirking
“I don’t have a choice when you fuck with the door open.” Says George, Nancy chuckles
“I don’t remember much, but I remember that it was good.” Says Nancy, smiling, proud of herself
“The bed was thumping through the damn celling; you were going to town on her.” Says George
“Oh yeah.” Says Nancy, warm deviance paints her face, memory coming back to her
“You trying to eat?” asks George
“Of course. I’m fucking dying. Need to eat before this speed kicks in.” Says Nancy, George slaps her on the ass firmly, respecting the effort, endeared by her friend’s conviction, and leads Nancy out the door, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. Bess is cooking sausages, soft bread is on the table, the good bread. Nancy grabs the glass of water on the table, drinks it quickly, and goes to refill it at the sink. She kisses Bess on the cheek and pinches her ass. Bess enjoys the affection. George butters some bread, eating gratefully, Nancy joins her, Bess humming to herself blissfully. Nancy is breathing heavily from fatigue, eating slowly, but the bread lifts her spirits. Bess serves the sausages.
“Quiet this morning, are we?” Teases Bess
“Just getting my feet under me.” Says Nancy, with infallible, humble, paternal confidence
“Good. You’re going to need them for work.” says Bess, motherly,
“Lord knows I couldn’t do it without you.” Says Nancy, gratefully taking a sausage
“It’s hot.” Says Bess, Nancy cuts it into pieces, blows the steam off of a bite before eating it
“Oh my god.” She says, intoxicated by the flavor, the fat, the salt, the juices, the spice, all of it such a sweet reprieve from the parsimony of her stoicism. George forking a whole sausage and biting it, nodding and smiling in agreement, Bess proud of herself, having one for herself
“Eating high on the hog today.” Says Nancy, with vigorous pride, eyes still closed, enthralled by the hospitality
“So, big day at the office today?” asks Bess, making heartfelt meaningless small talk
“Ahh, you know, just got to wrap up a few bits and pieces from yesterday.” Says Nancy, casually, trying to avoid the point
“What was that all about? The Chief sounded really upset.” Says Bess, still concerned and unnerved by the phone call
“Just a little scuffle somebody had with the mayor. Nothing too bad.” Says Nancy, continuing to eat
“Nobody got hurt, did they?” asks Bess, blindly compassionate
“Nah, nothing too serious.” Says Nancy, casually dismissive
“That’s good.” Says Bess, George equally as unwilling to spoil the girl’s wholesome ignorance which a lack of deviant curiosity and contempt for bad news has wholly preserved despite her age
“If all goes well, the Mayor will be happy with us. Having that guy in our corner will be a blessing.” Says Nancy
“I know how important the Mayor is, so it’s good that you’re helping him. I see him all the time on TV. He does lots of nice things for the city like for parks and schools and stuff.” Says Bess
“Oh yeah, he’s a great guy, great for the city. Glad we’ve got somebody like that in office.” Says Nancy
“It always makes me happy that we live in a democracy so people get to vote for the best person.” Says Bess
“I didn’t see you as somebody with an interest in politics.” Teases Nancy, almost impressed
“I don’t. I just know that part and so it makes me happy.” Says Bess
“You don’t think it’s important to vote?” asks George
“I wouldn’t know how. If the best person gets picked anyways, then I don’t see why I would need to do it.” Says Bess
“You’re wise beyond your years, Bess.” Says Nancy
“Really? Why?” asks Bess
“People get all up in a tizzy about voting, they start clamoring this way or that way for one guy or the other. It’s silly, a waste of time.” Says Nancy
“I’d say so, if the best person gets elected at the end of the day.” Says Bess
“Exactly.” Says Nancy
“Maybe you’ll get picked as the best person one day and get a job in politics.” Says Bess, Nancy chuckles
“Maybe one day. Politicians are usually old people. I’m not that old yet, thankfully.” Says Nancy
“It will be fun though. We can be old and go to parks and schools and be nice to people all day.” Says Bess, Nancy smiles
“Who knows, maybe they’ll pick me when I’m older.” Says Nancy
“Just keep being nice and good and I’m sure they will. You’re the best person I know.” Says Bess
“I’ll do my best. It’s a long road ahead of me until I’m old enough to be a politician.” Says Nancy
“Well, even if you’re a grandma, you’ll have lots of grandma love and wisdom to help people.” Says Bess
“Once I’m a grandma, I’ll start thinking about a career in politics.” Says Nancy, smiling, enjoying the innocence
“You think you could really change careers from a detective to a politician? That’s a pretty big shift.” Says George, entertaining the thought
“It’s the same thing you know, asking questions, helping people, getting to the bottom of mysteries. It’s a job where you solve problems, and I’m pretty good at that.” Says Nancy, subtly facetious, George rolls her eyes
“See, I knew you would be a natural.” Says Bess, confidently, Nancy smiles
“We’ve probably get out the door soon. I loved the breakfast, and clearly Nancy agrees with me on that.” Says George
“I’m always happy to cook. I like to see the smiles on your faces.” Says Bess, taking the dishes up
“That’s my girl.” Says Nancy, getting up, hugging her, kissing her warmly
“I’m thinking we’ll get off early today, so that’s some good news for you.” Says Nancy
“In time for lemonade and croquet.” Jokes Bess, sweetly
“I’m optimistic. Get the wickets ready, and be good, ok?” Says Nancy
“I always am.” Says Bess, proudly, Nancy kisses her on the cheek and hustles over to the chair in the great room, grabbing her trench coat, going to the bathroom, washing her hands and starting to put on some modest make-up
“Of all the days?” asks George
“It’s important to be presentable on big days, George. You should know that. I’m not going in looking like a train wreck. I need to inspire confidence today. If I don’t look put together, people won’t think our shenanigans are put together.” Says Nancy
“Shenangians.” Says George, dryly cynical
“Hijinks.” Says Nancy, indifferently
“I think you might need to expand that vocabulary a bit.” Jokes George
“I like those words though.” Says Nancy
“But are they truly the right words for the moment?” asks George
“Semantics is a matter of subjectivity. In my eyes, they’re perfect.” Says Nancy
“A little lighthearted, no?” asks George
“Of course. If you don’t find them fitting, perhaps you need to be a bit more lighthearted.” Says Nancy
“You got me there.” Says George
“Tally ho, old chum.” Says Nancy, whisking George briskly out of the bathroom, moving to a brown paper bag in the foyer, taking a plastic pint of scotch and a pack of cigarettes, placing them in the trench coat
“Pip pip, dearest!” shouts Nancy, leading George out the door
“Ta-ta” sings Bess from the kitchen
The dew-covered amber Buick Century glistens in the morning sun, unapologetically flawless.
“Seeing it in the light, you would never guess what we put the car through yesterday.” Says George, a bit disconcerted by the lack of evidence of their recent brushes with death
“Barry does fine work, what can I say.” Says Nancy, getting in the car with George
“How long do you really think you can keep Bess in the dark about all of this?” asks Nancy
“Until we retire, at least so long as she doesn’t ask questions.” Says Nancy
“Or until we come home with a bullet riddled car.” Says George
“We’ll just drop it off in the shop and come home in a rental, ok? No need to spook the girl. Thank goodness she doesn’t have the detective spirit like us.” Says Nancy
“Count your blessings, yeah?” asks George
“I can’t count that high, but I thank God dearly for what he does for us.” Says Nancy
“Good.” Says George, Nancy cracks the pint, takes a drink, and motions to offer it to George
“I’m alright.” Says George, unwilling to fight this battle this morning, Nancy puts the cap on, takes the pack of cigarettes out, packs it firmly and quickly against her palm, opens it, takes a cigarette and lights it, offering it to George, she takes one. Nancy passes her the lighter and she and lights up.
Nancy staring out the window, mindlessly beautiful, her still-clean hair flutters in the soft breeze, legs still free of noticeable stubble, beautiful enough that one would not ask questions, the vibrant and virile European scent coming from her unwashed body left unappreciated by them both, neither having the capacity to smell anymore, but the smell certainly appreciable if the girl had the ability to enjoy it herself. It’s a beautiful day, demure and kind, the sun slowly rising as if it’s too polite to intrude, but friendly enough to make itself known.
“Do you ever ask your dad what he thinks about what we do?” asks George
“A tip of the hat.” Says Nancy, indifferently
“Is that a good thing?’ asks George
“I think it just means business is business. He knows the world we live in.” says Nancy
“You don’t think he objects to your… well… violent means?” says George
“My dad is a criminal defense attorney that has devoted his life to making sure that career criminals get acquitted. His life, his fortune, hell, even that house are built upon the blood and exploitation of innocents. Even if he’s just taking a cut, even if he’s just taxing the criminals, he’s still a part of the show at the end of the day. There’s blood on his hands just as much as anyone else’s.” says Nancy
“You make him sound like a criminal.” Says George
“Money is money, work is work. Crime is inevitable. He told me once, this is the only way we can make sure criminals pay for what they do.” Says Nancy, George chuckles
“Really?” asks George
“I was young, I think he was being euphemistic, but it’s a fair point. The crime happens, it’s only whether or not we make them pay. To be fair, at this point he’s more concerned about the cash than the justice.” Says Nancy
“Do you think he actually defends these people personally?” asks George
“It’s only for the money. He doesn’t give a fuck about any of these people personally. He doesn’t have any connections to the underworld. The families, the mob, the triads, even the well-to-do urban gangbangers, they all understand this. He’s a professional, not a criminal, this is why they turn to him. He's not sullied by his affiliations with the criminals, so his good reputation makes his defense arguments more legitimate.” Says Nancy
“I never saw you as one to talk to your dad about this stuff.” Says George
“I don’t. This is just what the people I do talk to tell me. Even if I might rub some made-men the wrong way sometimes, at the very least they respect my father.” Says Nancy
“But does he respect what you do?” asks George
“He knows how the world works. He is the intermediary between the criminals and the civilian court of justice, and to whatever extent he cares to, he understands that we are the intermediaries between the criminals and the criminal court of justice. We are different means to the same end; we just try to preserve law and order and protect the as much as we can.
We know that mutual respect of law and order between all parties involved is what keeps this city from falling into anarchy. We’re both realists, we do what we can but don’t expect to change the world. He knows that some men are above the court system, and inside of him, there’s still the soul of a little boy compelled to the bar in pursuit of justice, even if learning how the world works made him a bit cynical by the end of it all.” Says Nancy
“It’s kind of cute seeing you follow in his footsteps a little bit.” Teases George
“I wouldn’t say that.” Says Nancy
“No?” asks George
“He’s in it for the money. At least at this point. It’s just a paycheck for him. I don’t need the money. At least not yet. I do this for the city I love, for the people I love.” Says Nancy
“You love the city?” asks George
“It’s a nice place, a symphony of regimented chaos. It’s a fun piece of bubblegum, but it’s blood flavored bubblegum, and I guess I like the taste of blood.” Says Nancy, George chuckles
“All of this, just to get a taste of blood?” says George
“Heavens no, I do it for justice. Justice feels good. I’m sure it would feel terrible to murder people. Killing people, even torturing them, in pursuit of justice, that feels good. It makes me feel like a good person.” Says Nancy
“That’s a bit bonkers, you know?” asks George
“You’ve never heard of the Spanish inquisition? The Spanish did this sort of shit in the name of God, against harmless civilians, and they did it because they were compelled by morality. It’s a divine passion.” Says Nancy
“Never thought of us as a purely benevolent entity. Most people think were… well… a little bit evil, yeah?” asks George, with a twinge of shame
“It’s a necessary evil. That’s the difference. When a necessary evil is necessary to uphold morality, that act becomes an act of morality, it is a necessary condition for the existence of morality, and it becomes equally as moral as loving your wife or upholding the commandments. Despite our antics, we reduce the net evil of the city significantly. The threat we pose to the existence of criminals keeps them in check, it keeps them in line, and this is necessary to prevent crime from running out of control. We’re half the reason the civilians of the city can go about their daily life without fear of being hustled and bustled to death by random godless miscreants.” Says Nancy
“What’s the other half?” asks George
“The other half is organized crime, they’re essentially like the police that governs over the criminals, but sometimes, things get out of hand, things might not fall under their jurisdiction, or they’re otherwise too shy to address a problem. We’re like a third-party that performs audits on a company, and that’s necessary for any successful business, even organized crime.” Says Nancy
“Sounding awfully businessy” says George, grimacing, let down by the strictly business rationale
“I’m not doing this because I care about the health of the organized crime industry, George. I’m just saying why tens of thousands of armed criminals tolerate what we do, at least most of the time. Some goons may get killed, but the bosses who own those goons know it’s necessary for their business to remain healthy and stable.” Says Nancy
“Craig Stevens is a goon now?” asks George
“He’s a fucking goober, and clearly he didn’t understand the reality of the situation when he tried to step into the arena of organized crime. He made a mistake, and now he pays for his mistake.” Says Nancy
“All of this doesn’t weigh on your soul a bit?” asks George
“It’s a necessary evil. You know that. I’m sure it’s hard from a spectator’s point of view, maybe not fully understanding all of the cards at play, and that’s always been the Achille’s Heel of human civilization. It’s always third-party observers complaining about the wholly necessary actions of the first-party unto the second-party, all while the third-party has no understanding of the situation beyond the blind and feral emotions that witnessing the reality of the world stirs up in an otherwise sheltered peasant.
We shelter the peasants because it keeps them happy, but once they become curious, ask how the world works, they become furious and begrieved, all while failing to understand that it’s the dirty work the troopers like us do in the shadows that allow the peasants to be ignorant enough to be contented and happy in the first place. They spend their entire life eating the happiness we give them, eating out of the palm of our hands, but the second they see our ugly faces they wrench in fear and disgust back as if the entirely inconsequential aesthetic of an ugly master is enough to invalidate the value of the endless happiness we feed them, all out of the goodness of our heart.” Says Nancy
“If the peasants are so ungrateful, what compels you? Surely it’s not the love and adoration of the everyman.” asks George
“It’s a necessary evil. I enjoy the happiness of the peasant. I enjoy a functional civil society. Many a housewife can enjoy a Sunday drive without understanding the filth of the automobile engine that enables that pleasure, I see myself as a mechanic, allowing these people their Sunday drives, and all I ask is that they don’t look under the hood. I know they won’t like it, and I don’t want them to be unhappy.” Says Nancy
“You love the peasants that much?” asks George
“I love happy peasants. Any king, queen, or God, that’s what gets them off, the happy peasants. The well-to-do hardworking, good, unassuming, wholesome souls that we’ve come to erroneously define as the everyman. The feeling of watching these beautiful idyllic ants high-ho to work, sing and dance all day, come home, love their kids, love their wife, this is always worth what it takes to make a God, a king, a queen, or a regent like me happy. I do it because I love the beautiful peasants, but also due to my contempt for the angry peasants.
There’s nothing more unpleasant than an angry peasant, what is an angry ant to the colony? A rioting ant? A protesting ant? It’s pure insanity; and while I can’t blame a peasant, little more than a beast of burden, for the fact that its mistreatment has caused it to buck and stampede in such a way, I can certainly be furious with the masters of the peasants for failing so thoroughly in their job as shepherds as to unleash a stampede of feral, scared, and angry animals unto the streets.
That’s what infuriates me to no end, the mismanagement of the peasants. It’s not hard to keep an animal happy, but never the less, the people who shepherd these peasants are little more than beasts themselves, and the folly of the beast in the machine is what one would expect when the peasantry demands that a dog like themselves be behind the wheel of a car. Sure, there are people pulling the strings from the shadows, but if the dog drives the car too well, the angry peasants become upset because if the car stays on the fucking road, then they believe that it’s a sham and the dog isn’t really driving the car.” Says Nancy
“Nancy, lover of peasants.” Jokes George
“Aye. Tis the truth.” Says Nancy, with conviction
“That’s all it takes to justify these things we do? Your love of peasants?” asks George
“I wouldn’t hesitate for a second.” Says Nancy
“You’ve never doubted whether it was worth it?” asks George
“We do what we must because we can.” Says Nancy
“What does that mean?” asks George
“That’s how civilization works. There are constraints that exist, things that must be done to ensure that civilization continues to existing. While we are not constrained as humans to do these things, there is no natural or physical law that states that we must act in the best interest of civilization, we are still perfectly able to do these things, we can do these things, and this is why we, good people, do these things. We must do these things to perpetuate civilization, thus we do them because we are capable of performing these actions as humans.
This is the recipe for our civilization, when people do what they can to assist in accomplishing what must be done to create civilization, this collective teamwork is what empowers us. It’s no different than rearing a child. There’s no natural obligation to let your wean suckle at your teat, you’re going to die anyways, but you can do it, and you do it not because there is any personal obligation or benefit, but because you are able to do it, and this selflessness is what perpetuates the species.
The entire history of life defined by non-autonomous childhood is dependent upon this principle of selflessness in order to perpetuate the collective. It’s a natural instinct that defines everything but solitary insects, fish, and plants. It’s the nature of warm-blooded creatures to act as we do, and as cold or heartless as it may seem, we’re the incarnation of this baseline and necessary survival instinct that defines every warm-blooded creature, from mammals to birds.
Sure, we apply the identical natural logic in unnatural situations, but the logic remains equally as valid, it is our selflessness, the fact that we allow the city to suckle on our teat of justice that allows it to grow big and strong, to be healthy and powerful, rather than to be crippled by starvation and malnutrition in the absence of what is truly a vital nutrient for the species as a whole.” Says Nancy
“Nancy, mother of the city.” Jokes George
“I’m a wetnurse at best, but the baby’s got to eat. She’s crying, and I know she’s got to eat. You’re right there with me, you know.” Says Nancy
“I don’t know, I can’t understand half the things you talk about. I’m just a helper.” Says George, humbly abashed
“You’re a good helper.” Says Nancy, warmly
“Thanks… You ready to bear your teat to the city?” Jokes George, pulling up to the station
“Like it’s the French Revolution.” Says Nancy, getting out of the car, leading George into the station, looking like a barracks, men in SWAT suits milling about in the lobby, not enough suits to go around, but plenty never the less
“Remember, boys. We’re just posturing. Nancy says she’ll take care of the rest.” Says the Chief, firmly, confident, rallying his troops, inspired by the appeal to his cowardice
“Nancy!” Shouts Murphy, warmly fully suited up
“Murphy!” Shouts Nancy, delighted by his enthusiasm
“Speak of the devil.” Says the Chief, upset only through conditioning, honestly relieved to see the girl
“It’s fucking go time, baby!” Shouts Brian, side by side with Murphy in his SWAT uniform, a shoe-in for the only 3XL suit, being the only 3XL man, clearly ready for action
“No, Brian! No! We’re just posturing.” Shouts the Chief, condescendingly
“Aye aye, sir.” Says Brian
“We’re rolling up at 9’ O Clock sharp! No sooner! You hear me?!” Shouts Nancy
“Yes, Ma’am!” Shout the boys and girls, little more than goons themselves, but each a goon with a good heart
“We need to look like we mean business! That’s what posturing means, ok?! No fucking around or jerking off! Let’s roll out!” Shouts the Chief
“That’s all you need?” says the Chief, to Nancy
“Just shout into the megaphone when we get there, sound serious.” Says Nancy
“Shout about what?” asks the Chief
“Just hostage negotiation shit. Nothing too soft, make some offers, some threats, shoot the shit. You’ve just got to mean it.” Says Nancy
“How can I mean an empty threat?” asks the Chief
“It’s not a fucking facetious threat. People always believe their own empty threats. Just roll with it, just pretend that you’re going to deliver at some point.” Says Nancy
“As long as you don’t actually expect me to deliver, we’re golden.” Says the Chief
“I never would. Onwards and upwards.” Says Nancy, patting the Chief on the back, the Chief insulted but accepts the truth, following his squad out into the garage, Nancy motions George to follow, they leave the lobby and get back to their car
“Trying to beat the traffic, let’s roll.” Says Nancy, getting in the car, George follows
“Where are we parking?” asks George, starting the car
“Across the street. Train station.” Says Nancy
“Is that really inconspicuous enough?” Says George
“We’re about to have 15 squad cars and 4 SWAT vans roll up in front of this place. We couldn’t care less about being conspicuous right now.” Says Nancy
“Fair point.” Says George, terse
“You nervous?” asks Nancy
“I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is our life. We may as well live it. No turning back now.” Says George
“Atta girl. There’s no point in being upset about the things we can’t change, so we may as well enjoy them as best we can.” Says Nancy
“I’ll try my best.”, George turns the radio on, the DJ shouts in Cocaine, “We Built This City” plays, Nancy takes the empty MP5 magazine on the floor and starts reloading it, she hands it to George, George puts it in her coat, Nancy grabs the second empty magazine, reloads it, and places it in her coat. Nancy picks up one of the guns, pulls the bolt back, a bullet falls out, takes the magazine out, she puts the bullet back into the magazine, it gives, she replaces the few missing rounds in the magazine, then places it back into the gun, slapping the bolt forward, then putting the gun back on the ground. They arrive at the train station and park inconspicuously. Nancy takes the bottle from her coat, has a drink, and, offers it to George.
“I’m ok.” Says George
“A little liquid courage never hurt anybody.” Says Nancy, George takes a drink
“Salute!” cheers Nancy, lighthearted, having the bottle back, having another drink
“Salute.” Says George, obligingly, Nancy grabs a cigarette, offering the pack to George, they smoke in the parked car, the silent blue sirens come into the rearview of the car, Nancy checks her watch: 9:01.
“Let’s roll, baby.” Says Nancy, with routine optimism, handing George one of the MP5s, grabbing the handgun from the glovebox, putting it in the holster inside of the trench coat, buttoning it for functionality, and exiting the car. They walk nonchalantly to the casual clusterfuck of cop cars and SWAT vans swarming outside the entrance to J-Corp: a cold, heartless, international style 4-story war room that appears to be little more than an office building, but a classy office building, even with a little fountain in the courtyard with the small-town charm the city loves. The girls walk up to the Chief, armed with his megaphone.
“Remember, we’re just posturing! Nobody do anything fucking stupid! Just look like you fucking mean it!” Shouts the Chief, the SWAT teams and cops standing idly in front of their cars, he looks at Nancy, Nancy nods, he nods
“Craig Stevens! You are wanted for questioning regarding the abduction of a child!” Shouts the Chief through the megaphone, the Chief looks at Nancy, Nancy nods
“We want to resolve this matter peacefully! Please come out with your hands up!” Shouts the Chief, Nancy gives him the thumbs up and walks over to Murphy
“What’s the plan, baby girl?” asks Murphy
“Run it up the gut.” Says Nancy
“Just like high school. Tell me when.” Says Murphy, chuckling
“You’ll know when. Let the boys know.” Says Nancy, Murphy spreads the word like a quarterback in a huddle, bumping helmets as he goes around
“Mr. Stevens! Non-compliance on your part may result in the use of force!” Shouts the Chief, two armed guards have walked out of the door, guarding it indifferently despite being some 70 yards from one hundred armed police, themselves posturing with assault rifles and business suits, the lobby visibly bustling behind them
A massive explosion inside cracks the air like the whip from the heavens, bringing the unsuspecting spectating cops to their knees, shrapnel flies against the entourage of cop cars as many of the typical uniformed cops duck for cover behind their cars. The shouting of Murphy inaudible as he leads the charge 4 teams of armed men towards the gaping hole in the front of the building, smoke rising from the flames inside, stray body parts strewn across the courtyard. Nancy and George follow behind them, ears ringing mercilessly from the explosion.
The SWAT team enters the ruined lobby, mutilated corpses strewn across the corners of the room, movement atop the balcony surrounding the lobby is greeted with hails of gunfire from the M16s of the SWAT team. They push forward to the wide marble stairs at the back of the lobby, meeting little resistance. Murphy signals for the team to split down each of two hallways into an open office space filled with cubicles and graced with natural lighting, clearing each sector with organization and athleticism.
Brian waves his hand meaninglessly, and some of the bigger boys take note, tactically avoiding the stairs and moving into one the darkened side-hallways of the first floor. They’re greeted with gunfire from small arms in the smoke as the overhead sprinklers rain down upon them. Nancy and George follow behind Brian, trotting as fast as he can into the darkness of the hallway, pistols start popping towards him and he charges at them, unloading his pump shotgun relentlessly down the hallway. The screaming starts to become audible as the slightest amount of hearing starts returning to the girls. Automatic gunfire sprays at them down the hallway in the dim red emergency lighting, Brian unloads on them again with his shotgun despite the range, but falls in agony, his back-up unloads the M16 mercilessly down the hallway, silencing the contesting gunfire.
Nancy motions for George to follow her, opening the door to the fire escape stairwell, hauntingly empty as the building burns, the civilians in the business are too paralyzed by fear of death to flee, while the few armed guards who disregarded the order to defend the lobby decide it’s high time to show up for work.
Nancy and George make haste up the stairs to the top level, opening the door, slowly, seeing a group of 5 executives huddled the crook of the hallway, talking feverishly, one shouts as Nancy kneels down and begins to pepper the group with her MP5, George checks behind Nancy, shooting two pistol wielding executives who turn the corner heedlessly. Relentless gunfire is heard from the floors below, the fighting intense as the bloodthirsty warriors employed by the corporation are naturally drawn to the thick of the action, leaving only the cowards for Nancy to fend off.
She walks down the hallway, briskly, the glass-walled executive offices treasonously revealing their contents, the coke-fueled execs holding pistols, trying to find cover behind their desk, Nancy shoots warning shots through the glass, causing them to scurry heartlessly beneath their desk in fear, a single gunshot is heard from beneath one of the desks.
One man is posted with his back against the corner wall, peeking around it, Nancy shoots him multiple times through the two panes of corner glass that do little to provide him cover. She turns the corner, shooting the man once in the head, seeing the fake plastic trees and ornate chairs in the modest waiting area in front of the CEOs executive suite, abandoned by any who once sought to loiter there in pursuit of the man’s fancy. The glass-walled police-state building shifts to elegantly and hypocritically opaque wood paneling.
The door to the office lies open, abandoned, the plastic trees and antique furniture continue to be empty inside the office, the glass windows peer out onto the rooftop helipad, sliding glass door hastily left open. An older, angry man drags a very resistant child towards the whirring helicopter, his delusions of immortality having been reluctantly and painfully shattered by the encroaching gunshots. Nancy takes an M1 Garand rifle from a display mount on the wall, picking up the abandoned 8-round clip on the desk, pulling the bolt back firmly until it clicks, putting the clip in, and forcing the clip down while holding the bolt back before letting it snap into place. She runs out the door, George stays behind, taking cover behind the desk, shooting two salarymen through the door who charge blindly into the shallow lobby.
The man is at the helicopter, somebody inside the chopper grabs his hand to help him aboard, he refuses to let go of the child, the child refuses to get in, finding himself too weak and sickly to one-arm curl 45 pounds of stubborn, flailing 6 year old. Nancy takes a clear shot across the flat roof, it pings against the metal of the helicopter above the man’s head, she continues to close distance on roof. The Helicopter starts making lift from the ground, Nancy drops to her knee, Craig firmly aboard the chopper yet the child dangles outside, more afraid of the man than the thought of dangling from a helicopter.
Nancy takes another shot, hitting the man behind Craig cleanly, he falls backwards, now without support, his dress shoes providing little meaningful traction, the sudden weight of the child pulls Craig to the floor, slipping forwards, still holding onto the wrist of his golden goose as it now starts to dangle a couple feet above the ground, Nancy takes another shot, hitting Craig square in the pit of his elbow, nearly severing his arm, with the weight of the dangling flailing child quickly tearing the few remaining exposed and frayed tendons to fully sever Craigs forearm, the child falls to the ground as Craig rolls over, screaming in pain. Blood is dripping from the Helicopter as it starts to fly off, abandoning the child, Nancy unloads the final 5 rounds towards the cockpit of the helicopter, riveting the metal, one of them hits the cockpit, the 0.30-06 piercing the allegedly bulletproof glass, but missing the pilot.
The clip of the Garand pings out of the rifle. Nancy drops the gun on the ground and runs towards the child. She dives over the child, sheltering the girl with her body, looking upwards at the helicopter. The child, beaten, bruised, but alive and well, all the pieces still put together. She holds the crying child firmly, still reluctantly stubborn in her confusion, but welcoming the compassion of a motherly young lady, and despite some bitterness for the fall, understands the woman to be the one who rescued her. George is greeted by a swarm of armed men dressed in black suits, body armor, and M16s. The friendlies hold their fire seeing that the girls beat them to the punch.
The helicopter flies away around the side of the building, nobody inside alive enough to return fire. A loud thwoosh is heard from a rooftop across the street, a timeless second passes before a merciless pop explodes in mid-air like a firework from hell, causing the helicopter to explode into flames and go plummeting towards the city street below. The idle onlookers attempt to run for cover in the seconds before the flaming corpse of the metal bird falls gracelessly onto the standstill traffic below.
The silhouette of brown man, in a blue business suit and turban stands alone on the rooftop, the shoulder mounted RPG dropped to his feet, and he falls to his knees. Nancy runs to see what happens, and she sees the man, giving him a thumbs up. He looks to see her, but doesn’t respond, clutching his face. The child had followed Nancy in astounded curiosity and the subtlest thirst for vengeance. Nancy lifts the child up to the sky for the man to see. He lifts his hands up to the sky in thanks to God and collapses once more in weakness, crying.
Nancy puts the child down quickly after realizing how heavy a small child is. Nancy plops onto her ass on the rooftop, laying down on her back, catching her breath, exhilarated. The child climbs on top of her and hugs her gratefully, smiling, knowing exactly who that man was. Nancy hugs the child and after a moment of silence, she laughs, heartily, haughtily, victoriously, vengeful, and for no reason at all. George looks at her, smiles and nods her head approvingly.
A radio chirps from the waist of one of the SWAT men, he acknowledges the transmission. Ambulance and fire sirens are heard encroaching upon the building.
“We’re going door to door! We clean this fucker out! Peacefully! Tell them to get their hands up and march them out like POWs!” Says the man, obviously Murphy, directing his comrades back into the building. George walks over to Nancy, looks at her for a minute. Nancy smiles. George offers her a hand and helps her up, the child grabs Nancy’s hand. Nancy hugs George with her free arm, George hugs her firmly.
“What now?” asks George, letting her go
“Lemonade and croquet.” Jokes Nancy in all seriousness, George chuckles, following Nancy back towards the sliding door of the office, Nancy bends down to pick up the clip from the ground, putting it in her pocket, grabbing the Garand, hoisting it over her shoulder in marching position
“I’m keeping this.” Says Nancy
“Where’d you learn to shoot one of those?” asks George
“I was shooting skeet long before I was shooting people. Brings back memories.” Says Nancy, leading the girls back into the building, the cool water from the sprinklers a pleasant respite from the heat of battle, walking the girls back down the fire escape, still empty, reaching the darkness of the first-floor hallway
“Rip.” Says Nancy, quietly, heartfelt
“Old boy got got.” Says George, tersely
“Damn shame.” Says Nancy, seeing the silhouette of the body of a large man lie motionless on the floor in the dim red emergency light, leading the girls back into the lobby, a stream of civilians being marched down the marble stairs, hands on their head, through the hole in the front of the building. Nancy sees a friend of hers, walking in line with the civilians, winks at him, he winks at her and smiles. The corpses pushed into the corners of the room by the explosion, creating a clean walkway lined by the fruits of treachery.
Nancy walks in line with the armed police along the side of the group, making it outside, finally escaping the kaleidoscope of fumes in the smoldering lobby of the building. She pauses for a moment in the courtyard, still graced with scattered limbs and organs, she pulls the hard pack of cigarettes from her pocket, and draws out a cigarette, still dry, protected by the cellophane armor, putting it in her mouth, exchanging the pack with the survival lighter in her pocket, and lighting it.
The drenched girls walk out towards the platoon, journalists snapping photos, clamoring for something; the modest, professional make-up long having washed off her face, leaving her looking savage; a wiry, beady-eyed animal, withered and sickly with sunken eyes, unsettling despite any natural beauty that she retains in her youth, a foreign sight to the cameras.
Nancy winks at one of the men running to take her picture, smiling, indifferent to her looks, rifle over her shoulder, the girl holding her hand. George, looking like George, wet hair and boyish charm remorselessly dashing with such a rugged look, remains stone-faced and camera shy. Nancy walks through the police perimeter to see the Chief, rattled by his powerlessness.
“Thank God.” whispers the Chief, seeing the little girl running to her father who had joined the Chief below, his trademark turban and blue business suit stick out like a dandelion among the peaked caps and martial law uniforms that amble about the idle cavalry.
“I think we’re going to call it day, Chief.” Says Nancy
The Chief growls a long growl, speechless, pained, beholden, the ambivalence crippling his capacity for rational thought
“Good work today.” Says Nancy
“Fuck you.” Says the Chief
“I’m happy to help. Look at that girl, look at that man. Look how happy he is.” Says Nancy
“This was fucking insanity, Nancy.” Says the Chief
“It worked. That’s all that matters.” Says Nancy, the Chief allowing such pleasant ends to ameliorate the disagreeable means
“Where’d you get that gun?” asks the Chief
“I found it.” Says Nancy
“My dad used one of those to kill Nazis in the war.” Says the Chief
“You should have brought it. Plenty of coke-Nazis in there were begging for it.” Jokes Nancy, the Chief scoffs
“Maybe next time.” Says the Chief
“Good. Make your old man proud.” Says Nancy
“Is this finally over?” asks the Chief
“The fun never ends, my man. By the way, my boy’s name is Burt, he’s an executive here. Believe him when he tells you that he’s innocent and had nothing to do with this abduction shit.” Says Nancy
“So, you’re telling me that’s the guy who bombed the lobby?” asks the Chief, dryly sarcastic
“No, I’m telling you he’s innocent.” Says Nancy, entirely serious
“Fine. I know how this shit works. I’m sure as shit not going to contest your dad in court over something like that. I know how futile that is.” Says the Chief
“Good.” Says Nancy
“You ok?” asks the Chief, softly compassionate, feigning reluctance
“Right as rain.” Says Nancy, smiling
“Good.” Says the Chief, George nods
“Me and George are getting out of here. You take it easy.” Says Nancy
“What the fuck do I tell the press?” asks the Chief
“Say that it’s under investigation.” Says Nancy
“That’s it?” asks the Chief
“That’s it. We’ve got fucking years to come up with some long chain of coincidences that sweeps this under the rug. We got the girl, Chief. That’s all that matters.” Says Nancy, patting him on the back, finishing her cigarette, flicking it onto the pavement, walking away, the Chief grimaces, George nods silently at the Chief and follows Nancy.
Nancy walks by the mayor, giving him a two-finger winking salute and a smile. He smiles warmly and shakes his head, laughing softly, holding his girl, she snuggles his neck like a large baby. Nancy walks back into the parking lot. A large SWAT member is on a stretcher, the paramedics struggle to lift him into the ambulance in the train station parking lot.
“Big boy!” Shouts Nancy, he lifts his arm and puts his thumb up victoriously as they slide him into the back and close the door
Nancy sleeps in the mid-June dawn, Bess jumps on top of excitedly, holding a little white plastic object in front of the girl’s face; the girl opens her eyes slowly
“Nancy, I’m pregnant!”
“What?” asks Nancy, sitting up, looking at her blankly
“That stem cell thing worked!” says Bess
“Holy shit.” Says Nancy, falling back onto the pillow, staring at the celling
“We’re going to be mommies!” says Bess, joyously, falling on top of Nancy, hugging her, rolling her over, kissing her, Nancy rolls with it, just another mystery