Neon Haze: Snakes and Roses

by Chris Sherrit

  “Something to take the edge off?” Jimmy eventually manages to notice the array of pockets littered around the inside of the jacket. Drugs, upon drugs, upon drugs. The selection is impressive and the attention to detail more so. Embossed sticky labels have been attached to each pocket with the names and prices of the drugs. The labels infused with neon to make them pop in the evening light. Jimmy scowls at the creature and grabs his shoulder, spinning him and shoving him down the road.

  “Get out of here. If I see you when I’m on the way out I’m putting you in the hole!” Jimmy shouts, as the man shimmies off down the road. Turning to Dixon he shrugs, “Fuckin junkies, man. It'd be easier to lock them up if half the crooked cops upstairs didn’t use them”.

  “His mods didn’t look in good shape, how does he have that many anyway?” asks Dixon.

  “Most of the junkies around here have similar kind of shit. Simulated livers, artificial lungs, fake bladders. They get hooked on the drugs and nearly kill themselves” Jimmy pushes the door of LAF open, Dixon nods as he listens. “They ruin their organs and shit, but still need to get their fix so they either sell enough drugs themselves to buy a mod, or let some wannabe botch modder try out a fix for them.” Says Jimmy.

  “Botch modders? I thought all modding was regulated.” Dixon glowers.

  “Doesn’t matter how many mods he gets, he can’t fix that kind of ugly” RJ quips. Dixon and Jimmy grin.

  “It was regulated, and it still is to a degree but even the big wigs will occasionally go for something a little more risqué. For those junkies, it’s like jumping the border to Mexico to get some shifty, cockeyed surgeon to stitch you up. The junkies are too tweaked out to notice that they’re getting plugged into old car batteries, and having one hundred and fifty-year-old motherboard and tech shoved in them.” Jimmy leads Dixon up to the third floor of the building. Keeping his head low, only a couple of heads turn to double take at him, nobody seems to be able to place him.

  The walls bring back memories of a slightly similar time. Working with Jimmy had been, for the most part, a fond memory. The two of them picking up cases and challenging each other to make more elaborate and convoluted explanations for why murders took place. Chuckling occasionally, as they would build elaborate stories of families torn apart by debt and hidden affairs, “it’s always the spouse” they’d laugh. When it came down to it though, Jimmy was always the one to step into question a suspect or victim. His by the book procedure was admirable. Dixon, on the other hand, saw the darker side in humanity. He had “street smarts” - is what most people would call it. He’d regularly find himself having to pick apart a situation by stomping into it. Jimmy would try to reason with words, while Dixon used his fists. This worked for the duo, their success rate was among the highest in their department. It’s probably why Jimmy managed to get promoted to detective. Dixon suspected it was more so because Jimmy really was a stickler for detail. After they’d get back to the precinct and throw the perps into their cells, Jimmy would get to work on his report. Dixon, sharing the mindset of most of his fellow officers, the report didn’t matter as much; As long as the bad guys were behind bars. Jimmy would regularly reel Dixon back in though, sit him down, and help him through the tedious pencil work.

  The doors to the bull pit open and desks are manned by several attractive women. All with their hair tied back and sharp spectacles perched on their noses. Their clothing reminiscent of a forty’s or fifty’s era, although they each wear a wraparound LAF headset that’s plugged into their glasses. The lenses seem to flicker and flash as data zooms across them. The receptionists for the detectives, carry out the task of sifting through the garbage cases that get escalated and circulated, to try and find their superior something juicy. Sitting on the front of each desk is a name, not the woman’s but the detective she has been assigned to. Dixon looks around quickly taking in as many names as he can.

  “Where’s your receptionist?” Dixon asks.

  “Oh they are only for the real detectives,” Jimmy says using air quotes.

  “Ah! How lucky they are. Did they feed you some bullshit for not getting one?” Dixon asks as Jimmy nods while opening his office door. His name printed on the stained window. Jimmy takes his coat off and tosses it at a coat hanger, it lands perfectly. Dixon looks around at the selection of boxes, each one holds a further plethora of smaller boxes. Inside, several data grids lie collecting dust. Scrawled over the boxes, an assortment of names glower towards Jimmy’s desk. He slumps down into his chair, a mould bitten old thing. Stained material from the early twenty-one hundreds edging out from tears, and probably hosting some form of life.

  “Busy then?” Dixon gestures at the boxes.

  “Don’t get me started on all this shit.” Jimmy sits up, pointing in turn at a few boxes. “Lost dog, ex stole my keys, owes me money, killed my cousin” His face drops further and further with each mention.

  “Killed my cousin?” Dixon’s voice perks interest.

  “Nah, it's bullshit. Asshole is ninety-six years old and calls up almost every month saying someone is gone. His cousin died of mod induced cancer some twenty years ago.” Pressing a button on his desk, Jimmy looks to the drawer, it doesn’t budge. He presses again, still nothing – again – still nothing. Jimmy shakes his head and grumbles, smashing the button with a fist. The drawer bleeps and slides open. Grabbing a bottle of whisky and two glasses he signals Dixon, he nods.

  “Sounds like the guy needs a carer,” RJ says, her voice soft.

  “Not wrong, RJ, you’re not wrong,” Jimmy says pouring drinks. “He has a carer, the guy is too busy trying to sell drugs in the nursing home though. Everyone is a piece of shit these days”.

  “You really are getting the shit end of dick stick then, huh?” Dixon takes the half-full glass from Jimmy and clinks it, the two take a large gulp.

  “Captain’s a good guy, I guess. Doesn’t ride my ass. He doesn’t stop all the other pricks around here from doing what they can to make sure I know I’m not one of them.” Jimmy looks into the bottom of his glass, sighing as his throat burns. “Guess I’m the lucky one for getting here”. Jimmy ironically smiles before putting his glass down and tapping another button on his desk. A square in front of him tilts up and lights blink to life. Jimmy begins swiping and tapping at the holo-display. His wrist flickering to life also and syncing up the data from his last check-in.

  “Well look at this!” Jimmy smiles while exhaling. He hints to Dixon, who gulps down the last of his whisky before leaning towards the desk. Jimmy swipes the image up from his display. The tilted display raises itself to become flat and protruding out of the desk. The holo-display adjusts and a cube morphs into view. A picture of the front of Chester’s building can be seen.

  “Looks like Mr Lopez has got him some boys to keep watch” Jimmy taps the cube, and each side of the cube displaying the picture plays the video. Chester walks out of the front of the building with two large figures, both wearing Phoenix helmets and long black trench coats. The collars of each flicking a line of red light along it every few seconds. A small bird displayed on the chest of each coat also. Dixon’s scratches his forehead. Talons.

  “Those guys look friendly” Dixon remarks as another two gentlemen walk out wearing similar garb. Chester points one in either direction before they walk out of view.

  “He must be scared shitless if he’s got Talons on lookout. They aren’t cheap ones either. He’s got some privileges if he’s getting that tier of Talon.” Jimmy smiles a little, but inside he’s getting quite nervous. “I’m pretty sure those guys are mainly reserved for the top executives or council member protection.”

  “Why does that little shit stain need so much security?” Dixon stands, adjusting his jacket.

  Jimmy looks up from the table, throwing back the last of his whisky. “Exactly”

  “So what the hell are we going to do now? Looks like they are covering all entrances.” Dixon reaches for the door.

  Jimmy crumples his fa
ce while thinking. A lightbulb almost springing to life as his gears click to an answer. “When was the last time you saw, Gizzy?”

  Chapter 12

  “Gizzy is still alive?” Dixon asks, chasing Jimmy down the stairs of the precinct towards the basement level.

  “We’re still wondering if anything can kill him” Jimmy looks back over his shoulder. They pass the prisoner level with a large metal double door. Giant bars span the entire door, and are held in place by the identification lock. Voices can be heard moaning and shouting expletives. Descending further they reach the bottom floor. “Armoury” is written in block letters across the wall. Many large bars stretch from the roof to the floor. Lining the edge of the bars, floor, and ceiling, are laser wires. The faint buzz can be heard as the wires power the bars with enough energy to wipe out a blue whale, if there were any left in the world.

  Jimmy tries to look around the bars and sees a large warehouse of toys. Tables full of clothes and priceless personal possessions, all jumbled up into boxes. The walls are lined with hooks holding every variation of weapon one could imagine; pistols, rifles, shotguns, grenade launchers, rocket launchers, energy weapons, mag weapons, rail guns - all with a tag hanging from them. An ID number, model and nickname given to them. On the next set of hooks down are several “homemade” weapons. Presumably lifted from an assortment of criminals; knives and makeshift guns hang with varying levels of rust.

  “Hey, Giz?” Jimmy shouts, a small echo of a rumble can be heard at the back. A door leading off the warehouse opens, light pouring out of it followed by a frustrated voice.

  “Huh?” The rasp of the voice easily recognizable.

  “Who’s Gizzy?” RJ whispers to Dixon, he ignores.

  “Giz, it’s me, Jimmy?” Jimmy continues to look, trying to see through the door.

  “Jimmy? Who the fuck is Jimmy?” A cough follows, filled with phlegm and hate

  Jimmy sighs “Detective Kershon!” There is a moment of silence before a bump and grumble ring through the warehouse. A whistling churns every few seconds as a body emerges through the door, sitting in a wheelchair, an old wheelchair from before Jimmy or Dixon’s grandfather’s days. The frame hooked up with some more modern day wires and stabilizers to give it more reliable control and power. Perched on it a man, looking as old as time, stares through half closed eyes. His face hanging on only by the resentment emanating from his bittered soul. The wheelchair rolls up to the small window between four of the bars. His yellow eyes fixate on Jimmy as the chair begins to rise, extending the man into a standing position. Dixon is sure he hears a couple of cracks as the ancient body reaches its peak.

  “That’s better. I told you kid, always with the detective!” Gizzy’s lips spread to reveal a yellow toothed smile. “Otherwise they’ll give you some shitty nickname like Gizmo. Then they’ll lock you down here and forget about you”

  “Yeah, I know Gizzy. Hey, I’ve got someone here you might have forgotten.” Jimmy steps aside, as Dixon slowly moves forward. Gizzy’s eyes focus together at the figure.

  “Giz, I thought you were dead, old man” Dixon’s voice widening Gizmo’s eyes.

  “This is Gizzy?” RJ whispers again, unimpressed.

  “Dixon fucking Callaway” his festering smile crawls across his face again. “I thought you were busy drinking your ass into a stupor. You pulled that mountain of shit you call a body out of the bottom of the bottle, huh? And as for you - miss cheeky AI. I’ve been around since before your ones and zeros bumped uglies to make you.”

  “I like him,” RJ says, with a hint of laughter.

  “Glad you remember me” Dixon unable to hide the warmth he feels. He always enjoyed the mutual ripping of each other with Gizmo. “That a new chair?”

  “Don’t get funny with me you little shit. I may be old but I’ll still kick your ass” The fire still in his eyes, Dixon can’t help but admire Gizmo’s intensity. “Had an upgrade to this pussy wagon. If you could call it that”

  “Definitely like him” RJ confirms.

  “Oh yeah?” Dixon tilts his head, looking down on him jokingly.

  “It whacked out on me one day, so they plugged me directly into the chair” Gizmo points a thumb to the back of his neck. Dixon notices the circuitry and wiring tying him to the chair via his spine.

  “At least I can control it on my own now, no joystick or nothing. ‘Bout as close to walking as I’ll ever get.” With that Gizmo hunches down and up a couple of times as he spins in a circle, giggling. “Now, are you two just here to jack me off, or do you want something?”

  “Be the most action Jimmy’s seen in years” remarks RJ. Gizmo laughs and points to Dixon’s arm while looking at Jimmy.

  “I like her” he states.

  Jimmy smirks “We need your help, old timer. Planning on going to see a certain Fenghuang employee. He’s got some pretty heavy duty security lingering around, figure you can hook us up?” Gizmo balls up his lips - considering the problem. His eyes look up suddenly as he swipes his finger on the touchpad of his wheelchair. Four of the bars beside the window suddenly shoot down allowing Dixon and Jimmy to enter.

  As they pass through, the bars dart back into place with a weighty clunk. The buzz from the laser wire fizzing a little as they extend the circuit again. Gizmo returns to a seated position and spins around, leading the two of them down an aisle between tables of personal belongings.

  “Talons?” He asks not looking back.

  “Yup,” Dixon picks at some strange belongings he sees amongst the selection. Small keychains, toothbrushes, children’s toys, and even a backpack filled to the brim with screwdrivers and wrenches.

  A grunt bellows from Gizmo as he turns a corner heading towards the weaponry. “Evil people those Feng’s. Never liked them. One of this filthy shits put me in this chair” He rolls past some weapons to a chest sitting under one of the tables.

  “What’s in this?” Jimmy asks, while investigating the box. Gizmo stares back with a cheeky grin and a raised eyebrow. He turns to Dixon and nods his head.

  “You’ll never get it open, kid. You’re too dumb.” Dixon laughs at the insult, RJ displays a face crying with laughter on his arm. “Go on Dixon, give it a try,” Gizmo points to the chest. Dixon shrugs and gives it a wallop with his boot. It reels back on its hinges and springs to life. Metal cogs turn and light up, a small display window tilts out of the top. The three of them look at it as if it had woken up and cried for help. “Give it another” Gizmo says leaning into Dixon. He obliges and wallops the box again. This time the box simply rocks back, and slams down. Gizmo nods at it, then to Jimmy and Dixon.

  “Hey. That isn’t going to work. I’ve seen one of these before. This is an old Valkyrie box.” Jimmy kneels down at the display, looking over the menu which asks for identification.

  “No shit, Sherlock. Where’d you get that from?” Gizmo barks again as he points at the large logo sprayed across the front. A winged woman, wearing a pointed helmet, looks to the sky as a large golden V stands in front of her. Jimmy looks up with a sarcastic smile.

  “These guys got swallowed up by Halo, and I think most of their guys work R and D now.” Jimmy’s hands hover over the display. He brings his forearm display to life, and begins to play with it as Gizmo turns to Dixon.

  “It came in about four years ago. Some Halo shipment coming in from the east coast that got hit big time by some modder gang. Halo was more interested in getting the new tech back than this old piece of junk.” He rolls off from the box, motioning Dixon to join him. “It’s been collecting dust, we couldn’t get authorisation to open it, and after a while, nobody could be bothered to figure out the lock.” As he reaches for one of the mag rifles perched on hooks, he hears an unfamiliar voice.

  “Identification Accepted” a plain female voice states. He turns around to see the box top split in two and curl out to reveal the contents. Jimmy looks over, a picture of smugness. He stands and holds his hands out.

  “No way,” says RJ.


  “Too dumb, huh?” He raises his shoulders and looks back to the contents of the box, squinting as he tries to figure out what it is. He reaches in and pulls out several large bodysuits. The large V of the Valkyrie logo displayed on the front. The woman ascending to the heavens stencilled on the back. “You know what these are?” Jimmy asks the other two, as his face begins to light up. They return to him and look blank faced, awaiting the answer.

  “They’re Valkyrie power armour suits.” He says, gaping at the craftsmanship. “I didn’t think these still existed. Valkyrie wore these when they were fighting off Zero Round in Alberta, Canada. Took Halo six months to take them down because these babies kept Valkyrie going.” He reaches into the box and pulls out another suit. Checking the size he throws it to Dixon.

  Dixon catches it and inspects it. “So what makes these things so special?”

  “Valk-suits absorb almost any energy weapon. They’ll hold back a knife with ease, and keep whoever wears it from going up in flames.” Jimmy’s eyes continue to explore the suit, finding the hidden zip in the back. Dixon squints as he tries to look for the zip on his.

  “So why did they get rid of these things then? And why didn’t we get these when LAF started contracting out for those Halo dicks.”

  Gizmo looks back and forth at the suits. “Too bulky, they were a little too heavy for their liking. Nowhere near sleek enough for them, and once Halo took over, they created a new upgraded version. One with biostatistics tracking.” He wheels forward, taking a hold of the arm of Jimmy’s suit. “They wanted to track their boys, and liked the thought of using the suits rather than LAF’s arm links.” He nods at the display on Jimmy’s arm.

  “Think anyone would notice if we took them?” Jimmy asks anxiously.