The Axeboy's Blues (The Agents Of Book 1)

by Andy Reynolds

  File 9 :: [Roman Wing]

  Roman arrived at the docks about half an hour after he was supposed to meet The Function. Besides the unused wooden docks jutting out over the Mississippi, there was a large empty lot and a few large warehouses with broken windows and rusted metal doors. He'd been eating from a small bag of cashews, letting his body become more physical and visible again, and now tied the bag closed and slipped it into his coat.

  The Function wasn't there, so he wandered up to the warehouses. Caution still gripped him – since he was the only active Agent and there were more than a few powerful entities that would not be so diplomatic about trying to take him out, given the Agency's current weakened state. And now of course he had some feelings with Elsh to process as well, but that could wait.

  As he approached one of the warehouses he heard movement and the scraping of metal from beyond the broken windows. The heavy metal door was open less than a foot, and Roman flattened out his body inhumanly and slipped through, immediately draping himself in the first shadows that he found, which were beside some decaying pieces of ancient cranes. The room was dimly lit and mostly empty, and the rolling door that faced the street was open several feet. Around the sides and ceiling of the warehouse was a vast array of mechanical devices, all gleaming and new and plugged into one another, some aimed at the middle of the empty cement floor. Pieces spun and whirred, fluids gurgled inside glass containers and ran through rubber hoses. The whole display looked uncomfortably familiar to Roman.

  Electricity sparked near the ceiling and splattered across the ground. He looked up and saw the large mosquito, about as big as a possum, clinging to some railings and soldering some wires into a panel.

  Roman got to his feet and dropped the shadows to the ground. “What are you two up to now, Scape?”

  The mosquito stopped soldering, turned its round head and looked down at him, its many eyes covered by gigantic safety goggles. Its proboscis unrolled, then coiled back up. Scape pulled his goggles off his eyes and his translucent wings began buzzing so fast that they blurred and nearly vanished. He rose into the air and then began floating down towards Roman.

  Roman had always liked Scape, most likely for the insect's lack of humanness, and found that the mosquito made The Function, who was the insect's partner, so much more tolerable. Roman gestured around at all the contraptions that were wired together. “If the two of you are going to steal one of my inventions, you may as well assemble it properly.”

  Scape set his goggles and soldering gun onto a rolling tool tray. The mosquito wore a dark blue vest with black pinstripes and a dark purple handkerchief sticking out of the pocket. He motioned to the tray, as if saying, Why don't you give it a shot?

  “That's The Function's plan, isn't it? He asks me to meet him here, stands me up and then expects me to fix all the mistakes. And since it is The Function we're talking about, I'm sure he's on his way here with some poor sap to use this on, allowing just enough time, with luck, for me to fix it before they arrive. Of course he wouldn't count on me being late, since I never am, and I'm over half an hour late now, so his whole manipulative plan is all for naught.”

  Scape merely cocked his head to one side, his large feathery antennae waving slowly in the air.

  Roman sighed and looked around at the whirring machines, the tubes and the liquids. “The person that this is for – are they worth it?”

  The mosquito unrolled his proboscis and began to open his mouth, and Roman raised a hand to stop him.

  “No need for that, there isn't time. I'm sure you believe in what you're doing here.” He pulled off his coat and hung it on a rusted piece from a crane, then unbuttoned the sleeves of his blue shirt and began rolling them up to his elbows. “It's actually not so bad.” He took another look around at the work. “But we'd better get moving, if this is going to happen.” Grabbing a wrench from the tool tray, he pointed at Scape as the insect began strapping his goggles back on. “But if this ends up being some empty, frivolous plan that The Function's pulling me into while I'm needed out in the city, I won't agree to meet him or you or even Serendipity again.”

  Scape nodded and picked up his soldering gun, and Roman began telling him in detail what needed to be fixed first.

  ***

  Roman was right about The Function's plans, and if The Function's end of the plan had gone accordingly, the collection of devices would not have been ready by the time the car pulled into the warehouse. But The Function had been a little overconfident in figuring how long it would take to convince a young pastry chef to let the memories of a mercenary into her mind, and then to rob a bank. He also didn't know how long it would take for Mars to configure the camera-like device to overlay the photo images onto herself and Edith. Neither did he take into account that Mars and Edith would have to spend a few minutes walking around in their new body-suits so they wouldn't just trip and fall on their faces when they walked up the stairs and into the bank.

  All in all, though, he was only off by about half an hour – which, by most peoples' standards and given the circumstances, was not too shabby. And that extra half an hour, combined with Scape being able to decipher most of Roman's diagrams and notes, worked itself out rather beautifully.

  So when the car lurched up the driveway and bounced into the warehouse, Roman and Scape were ready. Roman leaned into a large horizontal lever, shoving it one hundred and eighty degrees and releasing several different fluids through the various mechanisms, and Scape pulled a series of levers as he hovered near the ceiling, all while a thunderous shot rang out from inside the car and the car screeched to a stop. Light flooded the inside of the warehouse, light that sounded like a million plastic candy wrappers crackling against each other right next to both of your ears. Roman's hands covered his ears as he fell to his knees. He'd hypothesized that there would be a noise of some kind, but he had no idea that it would be of such magnitude.

  Scape, meanwhile, was fine, because he was a mosquito – which was convenient, since it was his job to shut off the machinery. He flipped a switch and pushed back two of the levers he'd pulled and then the tremendous noise and light were gone.

  Roman got to his feet, leaning against one of the contraptions as his vision cleared. The first door to open was the driver's side as The Function stumbled out. He ran to the other side of the car and opened the back door, pulling out a man in a trench coat and fedora who seemed to be unconscious. A shotgun fell to the ground, but instead of clattering it just sort of splatted onto the cement floor where it quickly began to decompose. In fact, Roman realized, the man in the fedora himself seemed to be melting.

  “The device really shouldn't be melting people,” muttered Roman. “That doesn't make sense.”

  The back of the melting man's head was bleeding, and The Function yelled something at Roman, at which point Roman realized that he couldn't hear anything.

  “What?” said Roman.

  The Function pointed wildly at the tool tray. “A towel!”

  Roman grabbed the cleanest towel he could find and ran it to him.

  “You're ok,” The Function was saying to the melting man. “You're gonna be ok.” Roman had never seen The Function so worried before, and as he looked down at the man's melting face, Roman recognized him.

  “Dean Smith?” said Roman. “What in the hell is he doing here? And why is he melting?”

  “Roman, you've got to help her!”

  “It's a he, not a her!” said Roman. “And I don't know what's wrong with him! My machine didn't do this to him!” Roman looked into the open back seat of the car and saw a portly man slouched forward against the front seat, also melting, with someone else sitting on the other side of him. “What in the hell's going on here!”

  The Function's eyes widened and he stood up, then marched around the car and opened the other back door. He dragged a man out and threw him against the back of the car. The man he pulled out of the car was also Dean Smith, just not wearing a coat or fedora, and certainly not me
lting. Dean Smith was looking around madly, breathing heavily.

  “Holy shit, I'm out in the world!” laughed Dean, hardly able to stand as he leaned back against the car's trunk. “I could kiss your ugly mug! I didn't think you'd pull it off.”

  The Function hit him hard in the gut and Dean doubled over. The Function pushed him back up and pointed to the melting version of Dean on the ground. “If she isn't ok, I'm going to put you in another revolver, and then I'm going to throw it in a swamp, where it will sink and sink until the world stops turning.”

  He let Dean go and the mercenary slid to the ground, laughing and moaning at the same time. “I swear we were being followed,” said Dean. “And you weren't exactly the picture of calm back there yourself. You could have eased up the driveway.”

  Roman walked up and looked at Dean. He appeared to be fully alive – his old cocky self. The Function went back to the door that he'd pulled Dean out of. “Roman, can you give me a hand?”

  Roman helped him pull out a melting portly man, who was much lighter than he should have been and also unconscious. “At some point you're going to have to explain this all in great detail,” said Roman. Part of the man's melting face was ripped open, and Roman could see a woman's closed eye and eyebrow underneath.

  The Function looked closely at the rip in the person-suit. “Good, the bullet didn't do any outer damage to her.”

  Roman plunged his hand into the man's melting neck, found the woman's neck beneath, and felt her pulse. “She's alive.” He got up and checked the other one, who was also alive and had stopped bleeding.

  Scape flew down after powering off the machines and closed the rolling garage door.

  “Someone's out there,” Dean told the mosquito. “We were followed.”

  “You're getting your realities mixed up,” said The Function.

  “I only have one reality,” said Dean. “The reality of being crammed into a damned gun for nearly eighty years, until one day I end up in some pastry chef's head, robbing a bank and being followed while getting away, then being shot in the head, getting my body back and then being punched in the stomach by you. I'm not confused. We were being followed by a Ford from my day, and I know the difference between cars in my day and the square boxy things they drive around in now.”

  Scape flew over to the woman in the portly man suit and landed on the round, melting stomach. Four of his legs began sinking into the thick goo-suit, and he bowed his round head towards hers, his feathery antennae wafting in the air as on his forehead a third cluster of eyes appeared, which began pulsing with silvery light as he pressed his forehead to that of the woman.

  “What in the hell...” muttered Dean.

  “He's saving her life,” said The Function. “And at the same time, saving yours.”

  “So he is.” Dean reached over and used two fingers to pull a revolver out of the portly man's coat pocket, and it began flaking apart like a gun-shaped croissant in his hand, quicker and quicker until all that was left of the gun was a pile of black flakes on the cement floor. Dean let out a deep sigh. “All the adventures we've had together, darling. You will be missed. Here's to a new era.”

  Roman crossed his arms and looked around at all the machinery. “How did this get Dean out of the gun? I've tried so many times and it never worked. He was jammed in there too tight.”

  “It didn't get him out of the gun,” said The Function, who nodded towards the melting portly man with Scape crouched atop him/her. “She did.”

  “And she's the pastry chef?” asked Roman.

  The Function nodded. “And a memory reader. She's damned powerful, much more powerful than Rachel was. But this one doesn't know what she's doing yet – she hasn't had any training. I got her to pull Dean out of the gun and into herself, but had to get him out quickly before he took up residence inside her permanently.”

  Roman glanced at Dean, then back at The Function. “That's one of the stupidest, riskiest plans I've ever heard of. Impressive, but stupid.”

  “Thanks,” said The Function, who didn't seem too pleased with the results. Whoever that woman was in the melting Dean suit, The Function was really upset by her current state.

  Roman looked down at the goo from the two melting women/men, which was splattered all over his arms, hands and clothes. “You bastard.” He licked some of the goo off his finger. “You used my camera. You stole my camera and then used it.”

  “No, I was loaned the camera.”

  “I loaned the camera to Albert.”

  “Who loaned it to me. Don't worry, the camera's fine. It worked great. Albert owed me for a time that I saved his life.”

  “To call in that kind of favor, and to do all this work, was it worth it? I mean, we're covered in sludge, there are two unconscious women covered in sludge, and all we have is Dean Smith in a body again. I know we we've tried over the years to get him out of his gun, but to take such a risk? Has Dean Smith ever done anything positive for any of us? Or for anyone we know, for that matter?” He looked down at Dean. “I don't mean any offense, Dean. I know you are a very talented individual.”

  “No offense taken,” said Dean, still sitting on the ground. “Your point is well articulated, Roman. But knowing The Function, I'm sure he has some off the wall scheme in which to play me as his ace.”

  The Function shook his head and glanced at the portly man with Scape crouched atop him. “No, our scheme this time is not so off the wall.” He turned back to Dean. “First of all, we were The Agents of Karma when we contracted you to help us.” The Function raised his hands and shook his head. “Without saying who's to blame, you ended up shoved inside your revolver. And since 'karma' was in our name, we couldn't very well stop trying to help you get out, right? So one of our priorities, even though the Agency has gone through a few incarnations since then, was to get you out of that gun.”

  “How very poetic,” said Dean Smith.

  “Thank you,” said The Function.

  “I was being ironic.”

  “So was I.” The Function looked over at the portly man, or the woman named Edith. “The second reason you are here in the physical world, Dean, is that you were a test for Edith. I needed to see if she had the dormant ambition and heart that I hoped she did.”

  Dean looked over at the portly man. “Miss Downs is definitely a remarkable woman.”

  “Now I'm going to go talk to my associate, Mr. Wing, in private,” said The Function. “You, Dean, are free to leave as soon as Mars wakes up and I deem her unharmed by your brash actions.”

  Dean's eyes narrowed into slits as he glared at The Function. “Very well. I shall wait a few moments longer.”

  Roman followed The Function over to a far corner of the warehouse where one of the mechanisms was still hooked up to a generator, both of which were whirring and grumbling with noise enough to drown out their words. He mouthed the words Edith Downs a few times. He knew the name and what it meant for the Agency, but it seemed that The Function hadn't caught on to the woman's significance so Roman decided to keep quiet about it.

  “Alright,” said Roman. “Now what else is going on here?”

  “One – I think we should seriously consider Edith here for the Agency. She was exceptional today. She's highly talented, just needs some training, and she has the drive and the heart of an Agent.”

  “We? So you're helping the Agency now? Is this Serendipity's order, or are you volunteering your spare time as a recruitment officer for us?”

  The Function laughed. “Spare time. Yeah, I'm sure I have as much spare time lying around as you do.” The Function sighed more than a little dramatically. “Serendipity always helps the Agency when it is in need, doesn't she? Our organizations are like sisters, and the city needs both of them to be intact and fully operational.”

  Roman glanced over at the girl in the portly man suit. “And you've spoken to the pastry chef about this?”

  “Not yet.”

  Roman shook his head. “Well, Julius isn't going to w
ant to accept another memory reader. Not after what happened with Rachel. They're not grounded enough and they're too vulnerable.”

  “I'm telling you, Roman, she's stronger than Rachel.”

  Roman pushed down the emotions that kept bubbling up at the mention of Rachel's name. He motioned to all the machinery. “Ok, so then why all of this? Why all this effort just to see if she was Agent material? It doesn't make sense. There's something missing.”

  The Function held up two fingers. “The second reason...”

  “The second person suit. The one that looks like Dean – who's in it?”

  “Mars.”

  “You let Mars rob a bank?”

  “She was helping figure out the plan and she asked to go with Edith. She was perfect. I've been keeping you from recruiting her for long enough and she won't shut up about joining the Agency. So if you want her, she's all yours.”

  “We'll take her.” He'd always wanted Mars in the Agency. “Give me a third reason.”

  “Three – Dean and The Wellington Bank have made an arrangement. Dean will work for The Wellington in the bank's black market dealings. We both know Dean well enough – we know he's going to get involved with other shadowy entities of the city as soon as he gets his bearings in this time period.”

  “And how does this help us?”

  “Mr. Smith is unwittingly going to be our mole. We have his gun.”

  “His gun disintegrated. It's most likely useless now. Though my machine really shouldn't have done that.”

  “That wasn't his real gun. I had Mars switch them. Dean doesn't know that the gun shouldn't disintegrate. I thought it was a rather poetic touch.”