Jack Onan Three

I had an hour maybe two to get clear of the office. The System would've noticed the big-ass transaction into my account. I would've preferred sumptuously untraceable anonycards, but no, she had to dump a big pile of money into the heavily monitored banking system.

Nice one.

So Emeresda Zaggywaggy was fucking me over already and I've only been working for her for an hour. Peachy.

I threw back another shot of some top shelf vodka that Ivan kept hidden in back somewhere. I knew to ask for it. I went over rooftops to get here. The sidewalks were just not safe.

Fucking Ivan. Dumb as a rock. Understands little English but can recite the fucking Bible backwards and forwards -- it'll get him far in today's America. His daughter was running the bar now grunting off in a corner over some glasses.

She was big. Really big. Tonight she wore this little red disgustingly tight tank top. Her arms squirted out from the sleeves like yeast of a bread pan -- except without the great coloration.

We fornicated once. You probably heard the scream the next morning. It didn't look any better on video the next week. Why her father would show it in the Dive I'll never understand...

Ol' Ivan treated me better after that though. Leena (or Lisa as she insisted despite her fathers protests) treated me worse. We still managed conversations. Like now.

"Another bottle, Lisa," I said smiling though a thick potato-liquor fog at the glowering square jawed behemoth.

"Fuck you, pindick," she said and kept walking.

Four or five of the dregs at the bar, ex-Russian military types crewcutted, thin, hired guns who spent all day glaring and praying for a gig, all laughed at me.

They'd seen the video. Their giggling leer in my direction made that plain. Ivan ran it all day long -- the sick fucker. I bet they didn't sell a lot of potato dumplings THAT day, boy.

One of the killers chimed after too long of a pause, his voice slow, "He already did fuck you, Leena -- he's probably saving up his money so he can buy enough flour for the next time."

His English was fucking impeccable -- practically Oxfordian.

I stood and clapped. Leena growled and turned sending her long blond and red hair airborne like a fiery newly lit flame.

She was fast for a fat chick.

The bottle whizzed just shy of the mouthy man's scarred and pitted face. His grin remained intact -- a glorious display of yellow and brown teeth. The bottle struck into the side of another patron as he jumped to get the fuck out of the line of fire. Too late old timer.

He went down with a girlish shriek.

Worse -- a bottle still half full of vodka (albeit the cheap shit) exploded against the begrimed concrete floor.

A second bottle came to her sausage thick fingers and was poised to throw.

"Not the good stuff!" I said screaming as loud as I could.

So maybe I'd drank more than one bottle. Maybe it was the pills I bought off of an armless asian, Wally or Billy I can't ever remember, in the alley just outside my office. I couldn't feel my feet. I was standing on something though.

Fucking Billy man -- or Wally, man. He was the greatest source I knew of unlabelled random drugs. Was it a coincidence that he was pissing in the alley entrance to the building housing my office? That he had a pocket full of happiness, sadness, and numbness at the same time I had a single card that was attached to a mound of money? "Oh yeah," I said aloud giggling.

The bottle hit me square in the bone beneath my left eye. It was preceded by a scream so manly it would've made some great General leading his army into mounted combat proud... except it came from Fat Ol' Leena and not me.

The System Enforcers kicked me awake in the alleyway. It was dark. Previously it was light. My crotch and ass were cold and wet through my poly pants. My left eye wouldn't open. The other would. The back of my head hurt like fuck. And these four jackasses wrapped in their black body armor and riot helmets were trying to shake lose one or more of my ribs.

"Hey," I said more a cough than a protest.

More kicking.

"I'm awake," I said and raised my arm.

They grunted like a trio of gorillas in heat who'd just found their first female.

More kicking. I gave the appropriate grunts and groans. I was still a man after all... despite the piss stains and, judging from the smell, a potential shit incident.

"Wait!" I said bolting upright. That in itself inspired so much fucking pain in my head and back that I almost blacked out again. "Wait!"

Amazingly, the neanderthals stopped. Their helmeted heads turned down to me. No faces -- only the mirrored shields reflecting my face all warped and bent and crooked. And there was blood. Yeah. Caked black and crunchy next to my mouth.

Fight back said some survival node in my brain. I tried to remember if these goons had cups in their uniforms or not. It looked padded.

"Jack... Jack Jack Jack -- its a big day if you're out. It must have to do with all of that money of ours that you're holding... Jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaack," the familiar voice said.

Detective Constantine Sumar.

"Connie -- where are..." I said

The answer was a boot to the blind side. It struck me below the ribcage in the kidneys. I dropped back down. Turning my head, I saw over me the black clad bald leering form of good ol' Connie.

He held in his hand a slender silver slate. He waved it over my head. "Open this," he said holding it down to me. I groaned and rolled over on my side so I could get a better look with my one good eye. It was most likely my note slate, slightly larger than his palm, silver, screen blacked out.

"Fuck you Connie -- you open it."

I expected one boot. I got four or five from different directions. One guy just kept kicking. Connie had to tell him to stop. I spit out blood. And a tooth.

"I erased it, Connie," I said, my voice one long gasping wheeze. "I'll tell you what it said though."

I drew in a breath.

"It said that Emeresda's husband was a rich merchant fucking his male assistant, that her daughter was murdered three years back in a snuff film, and that her effeminate teenage son has disappeared -- my guess is he's up in Vancouver peddling his sweet ass."

Two enforcers pulled me up, steel cable arms sliding under my own and lifting me into the air. A breeze in the alleyway reminded me that I'd shit and pissed myself. It felt cold. I'd have to change.

There was Connie in front of me, Detective Constantine Sumar, shaved head, silver goggles covering what I recall as squinting weasel eyes, wide chin, and the slate gray trenchcoat of the Detectives. What a little prick he was still after all of these years.

"What is she paying you to do, Jack?" Connie said slipping an insincere grin into place.

"Find her faith," I said. He wouldn't believe me anyway so why the fuck not go with the truth.

He punched me in my gut. Not as hard as he should've though. It didn't knock the wind out of me, but it did make me cough.

"He's up in Vancouver, Jack. You won't get a pass to leave the city for some little sodomite." He thought I meant her dainty son. I didn't. I found the missing tooth hole then with my tongue. The blood was sour in my mouth. My lip was swollen and now wet with blood and drool. With my one working eye, the other trying and failing to open, I looked at the mirrored goggles of the Sumar. I tried to put a sneer on my lips but it only liberated more bloody slobber.

It looked like he plucked his black bushy eyebrows, the little Nancyboy.

I opted not to say that though and instead went with "Well, I guess I'm done then."

Sumar took a step closer. His mouth screwed up and his nostrils danced. "Damn, you smell worse than the street people." He took a step back.

"They are smart enough not to shit on themselves," I said shaking free of the already releasing Enforcer arms. My legs worked less well than remembered. I half-buckled but regained control of the ship at the last minute. I didn't bother to dust myself off. This suit was shot.

"Go back to your vacuum tube, Jack," Connie said, waving a black leather wrapped hand to call away the four Enforcers around me. He said the Zaggywaggy family name then except properly and then went on "are too powerful for a shitbag like you. Plus, the wife is not okay in the head. Mr., " and again Zaggywaggy was how I heard it, " is trying to get her locked up."

Huh. Well, that makes a degree of sense then. I nodded to him, closing my one eye pretending to be thoughtful while my hand moved over the sore and swollen other half of my face.

Connie walked off with the four blackclad giants leading the way down the alley towards the better lit pedway beyond.

I wasn't going to let this go. It wasn't that I cared. No, not at all. Rather, it paid too well for me to just let it go.