BOOM: A Lovecraftian Urban Fantasy Thriller

by Ben Farthing

Further down, a two-story, red brick igloo covered in flowering green vines emitted music that was somehow both quick and lilting. Everard couldn't place the instrument - some kind of woodwind.

  Weird enough for Bill Bill.

  Everard walked over and inside.

  A sweet, violet haze filled the room, product of the two dozen patrons smoking from hookahs. No, smoking from a single hookah at the center of the room. Everard didn't recognize the scent - some mix of weed and blackberries - but then again he didn't frequent many hookah bars.

  "Hey!" said a skinny teenager wearing tight red jeans and a t-shirt depicting a bear munching on a branch and the word Rubblebucket. "Come on in, man."

  Everard hadn't seen someone so happy since the college dropout he hired showed up to work stoned out of his mind. Which made sense.

  "I'm Brian. It's great to meet you." He actually sounded like he meant it. "Grab a seat."

  "Everard. But I'm actually looking for someone."

  "Right? Aren't we all. Hey, is that a cat?" Brian crouched to look at George. "Little man! What's his name?"

  "Uh, George. Is this the Black Sheep? I'm looking for a guy named Bill Bill."

  "This is the Brick House, but hold on." Brian shouted through the haze. "Bill Bill, are you in here?"

  After a second, he shouted again. "Renae, is Bill Bill here?"

  A female voice responded, "Haven't seen him."

  "Sorry man, sometimes he comes in with a few Bluecoats. Get it? Bluecoat, because they have blue coats, like the British had red coats? You get it. I'm trying to get people to start calling the Regulars Bluecoats. Wouldn't that be great?"

  "Sure." So Bill Bill was definitely involved with the Burgesses. "Where's the Black Sheep?"

  "Across the way. Looks like a haunted house."

  Everard had been right the first time.

  "A lot of that crowd eats there. The Burgesses, No-Gos, Inc, Famers. Yeah, you might find Bill Bill there."

  "Okay, well. Thanks." Everard headed out.

  "Awesome to meet you, Everard. Later, George!"

  Everard walked up the steps to the Black Sheep and inside.

  It turned out pricey restaurants were the same wherever you went. Soft lighting, live piano jazz, a polished bar with wine glasses hanging from the ceiling. A smell of fried fish and steamed vegetables. People dining in pairs or small groups, each dressed like they wanted to impress someone rich.

  Everard didn't spot his neighbor at any of the tables, but he did see a man wearing the high collar, ascot, and brass buttons that might have meant he was with the Burgesses. He dined with a similarly dressed woman, probably his wife.

  A small party of men in suits laughed at something one of them had said. The CEO and Bowman were among them, silver-haired leader of Inc and his square-chinned attack dog.

  Everard walked to the bar and asked the bartender, "is Bill Bill in?"

  The bartender stuck a lime slice on a glass. "Nope. Took off about an hour ago."

  "You know where he went?"

  "Couldn't tell you." He delivered a tray of drinks to the suits.

  Everard leaned his back against the bar and surveyed the room.

  He decided to talk to the colonial couple, until he saw someone who he thought might help even more: the woman who Mr. President said was going to stop the booms, Loretta. She sat at a corner table with a man around her age, probably her husband. The nearby tables were empty. The waiter approached to fill their wine glasses, and Everard could have sworn his hand shook like he was scared. The husband thanked the waiter, who left, looking relieved.

  Everard pulled a chair from the neighboring table and joined Loretta.

  The restaurant went silent except for the pianist, who stubbornly kept on with his jazzy tune. Everyone stared at Everard. Even the waiters ignored their tables to watch.

  "Loretta," her husband put his hand on hers, speaking in the tone Everard used with pissed-off clients.

  Loretta looked Everard up and down.

  Maybe this wasn't the right approach.

  The bartender hurried over. "Hey there, buddy. I've got a nice table for you over here. Drinks on the house."

  Too late to turn back now. Better to just lean into it.

  With the attention of the entire restaurant, Everard said, "I'm comfortable here, but I'll take that drink."

  "Seriously, kid. Her husband's here." The bartender paused like he was expecting Everard to finish the thought, then said, "and we don't talk to Loretta when her husband's here."

  "He'll have a Bay's Imperial Stout," said Loretta.

  Everyone flinched, like a wave had moved through the room.

  "You heard the lady," said Everard.

  "Of course." The bartender withdrew, spared a pitying glance.

  "I'm Everard," he said to Loretta.

  "Loretta," she said.

  Everard looked at the husband, waited for a name.

  "Over here," said Loretta. "Look at me."

  The husband shook his head, smiled, took a bite of salad.

  Everard shrugged.

  "You can call him Jose."

  "Really." While Loretta was Latina, this guy was white as Prince Charles. "It's great to meet you, Jose."

  "You don't talk with Jose. You talk with me. I'd have thought you already knew that. But then again, I'd have thought also that you wouldn't be foolish enough to make Undone Duncan angry. I saw you in the square. You're either bold or stupid. Which is it?"

  For a second he saw the whirring razorblades and needles of Undone Duncan's machine, felt the Perforated Woman's fingertips pressing on his back. "A little bit of both, probably."

  The buzz of conversation around them picked back up. The bartender brought Everard a bottle and mug, opened the bottle. "Hey, can you bring me a sandwich or something? Whatever will get out here quickest."

  "Of course," the bartender said through his teeth.

  Loretta took a swig from her own cup. "Everard the bold and stupid. What insanity made you interrupt my dinner with my husband?"

  The man definitely not named Jose looked at Everard with amused curiosity.

  "I'm looking for a friend, told me to meet him somewhere down here," said Everard. "Bill Bill."

  "Then why are you talking to me?" asked Loretta.

  "I don't know where to find him. If you work for Mr. President, I figure you might know where to find Bill Bill. Pretty sure he's involved with them somehow."

  Loretta scoffed. "Pay attention: I don't work for Mr. President. He's my client; he paid my fee. I'm no rebellist, but no one gives me orders."

  Everard thought he might like Loretta.

  "If you don't know Bill Bill's relation to the Burgesses, you must be new, no? Now I see why you thought it was okay to stick yourself into our dinner."

  "You caught me," said Everard. "Today's my first day in the Periphery. Bill Bill sent me down here, and now I'd like to find him."

  Loretta sipped her beer. "He sent you?"

  "More or less."

  "Hmm. I'd check the House of Burgesses. That's usually where you'll find him. What do you want to talk to him about?"

  Everard decided he trusted her. She seemed belligerent enough to not have any ulterior motives. "The bounty the Burgesses put on me. I want it gone."

  "Too late," said Loretta. "Everyone already knows you exist. Besides, you should be asking why there's a bounty on you in the first place."

  "I don't care about why. I only want to get back to my life."

  "That'll be a problem, what with Inc over there." She gestured toward the suits.

  "What've they got to do with anything?"

  "Everything. They'll do anything to make the Burgesses look weak. Even bribe Undone Duncan to grab you before anyone brings you in."

  Bowman laughed at something another suit had said.

  "Those guys sent the Perforated Woman after me? Almost got me tossed into that machine?"

  "They're the money behind it."

  "How do you know
?" His anger grew as it found a nearby target.

  "I discover secrets for a living." She popped an olive into her mouth. "Now drink your damn beer. Antonio's probably putting it on my bill."

  Bill Bill might have started all this, but it was Inc almost getting him killed. "What do they want with me?"

  "Maybe you should ask."

  "I think I will." Everard stood, his chair screeched on the floor. Still curious about the guy who approached Loretta when her husband was around, the diners glanced at Everard, then back to their food to avoid catching his attention. He took a swig from his mug. "Watch George for me."

  Jose muttered, "What'd you do that for?"

  Everard ignored it and walked over, tapped Bowman on the shoulder.

  "Hey buddy. Word on the street is you're calling up the freakshow, sending them my way. Mind telling me why?"

  A scowl of disbelief decorated Bowman's clean-shaven, blocky face. He looked like a Men's Warehouse model.

  The other men, who all had similar features, exchanged glances, and then looked to the CEO, expectantly. The silver-haired man nodded to Bowman.

  "Antonio," Bowman called to the bartender. "This gentleman is disrupting our meal."

  "Are you trying to get yourself killed?" said Antonio, coming around the bar. "Jesus Christ."

  "You can just call me Everard." He tapped Bowman's shoulder again, this time more of a jab. "I asked you why you're paying Undone Duncan to harass me. You got an answer?"

  Before the bartender reached Everard, Loretta said, "Antonio, I need another beer."

  Antonio hesitated, stuck between pissing off two people who terrified him.

  Everard felt bad for the guy, so he decided to make sure the suits focused all their attention on him. He shoved Bowman, making him spill wine down his beige, dotted tie. "Whoops."

  "Bowman," said the CEO, "deal with him."

  Everard stepped back, letting Bowman stand. The suited man wiped his shirt with a cloth napkin then threw it down.

  "You must be new here," said Bowman.

  "People keep commenting on that," said Everard. "Do you not get many visitors?"

  "Not visitors with a death wish."

  "I just want to know what you and Undone Duncan want with me."

  "We don't do business with criminals," said Bowman. "Not that we answer to people like you."

  Bowman took off his suit jacket, rolled up his sleeves. He stood a few inches taller than Everard, but a little skinnier. Swinging a hammer and carrying lumber did more for you than sitting at a desk all day.

  "C'mon guys," said Antonio. "Maybe you could go talk outside."

  "I just want him to answer my question," said Everard.

  "Let's do what he's asked and go outside," said Bowman. "Stop bothering the patrons of this fine establishment."

  Everard said what he thought would piss off Bowman the most. "I can't be the only one wondering what's got you excited enough to work with that murderer."

  He pointed at the old colonial couple. "Don't you want to know why?"

  The couple became deeply interested in their food.

  "What about you?" Everard said to a man dressed as a glam rocker, sitting at a long table surrounded by his groupies.

  The glam rocker mumbled something.

  "What?" said Everard.

  "I ain't fucking with Inc," he said.

  Around the room, uncomfortable faces avoided eye contact with Everard. Except for Loretta and Jose, who looked amused and slightly worried, respectively.

  Everyone down here was a coward. Too scared to accuse a reskinned, too scared to ask Inc a question.

  "What do you want with me?" Everard demanded. He stepped nose-to-nose with Bowman.

  The CFO didn't back down. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "You're lying."

  "Bowman," warned the CEO, "my food is getting cold. Are you capable of doing your job?"

  "You heard your master," said Everard. "Now be a good dog and throw me out."

  Practically snarling, Bowman grabbed Everard's shoulders to shove him towards the door. But Everard had been right: thirty minutes at the gym couldn't overcome sitting at a desk all day. Bowman pushed himself backwards more than anything.

  Everard laughed, but then Bowman hit him with a flurry of punches. He felt his cheek split under his eye and his front teeth cut his mouth.

  "Not in here," shouted Antonio.

  Everard drove his fist into Bowman's side. The taller man grunted, raised his forearms to deflect Everard's second strike.

  Everard wiped blood from his face as they reevaluated each other. He was getting that familiar feeling in his gut, the one that said he was in over his head, the one he usually ignored. But shit, no hypnotism, no skinned men—he could handle this.

  "I don't want a show," said the CEO. "Remove him. Now."

  Bowman pulled a lighter and a fifty dollar bill from his shirt pocket. He flicked the lighter to ignite a black flame, touched it to the bill, which burnt in a flash. Exactly like he'd done before subduing the reskinned.

  Everard had forgotten about that. The twinge in his gut erupted into panic. He lunged for the lighter.

  Bowman flicked his wrist. A six inch steel pipe appeared above Everard - not connected to anything - swung down into his gut to lift him off the ground and sent him crashing down onto a table. The diners leapt out of the way. Warm food and cold drinks dripped through Everard's shirt. He crawled to his hands and knees, finding a place to push himself up that didn't have shattered glass or ceramic.

  His stomach hurt—both from the impact there and the impact a little farther south—and the blow had knocked the wind out of him. He breathed quick and sharp.

  "Cheap shot," he wheezed. Where had that pipe come from?

  Bowman pulled out another bill, lit it.

  "No," said Everard. An invisible, pressing weight around his mind again. He couldn't take another hit like that, and more than that, the situation was just screwed up. Inc had almost got him killed by Undone Duncan, and this room was as scared of the suits as they were of the reskinned. The whole thing pissed him off. The mental mist pushed against him, but his fury burst through it. "No."

  The black flame disappeared. The bill remained half burned.

  Everard breathed deeper, air finally coming in normally. What had he just done?

  Bowman flicked the lighter again. The flame popped to life.

  Holding tight to that same feeling of resistance, Everard willed the flame to go out. The weight around his mind returned in full force. The flame fluttered like a breeze had passed through, then it burned strong, enveloping the cash.

  Everard braced himself.

  "That's enough." Loretta spoke calmly, placing herself between them.

  Bowman hesitated. The air buzzed with potential energy.

  The restaurant patrons closest had left their tables to get out of the way, leaving if they were close to the door.

  "Everard," said Loretta, "apologize for staining his shirt."

  "No," said Everard.

  "An apology is hardly going to atone for this slight." The CEO stood to walk to Bowman's side, leather soles tapping on the wood floors. "I'm afraid this man will have to come with us."

  Everyone in the restaurant watched intently, except for Antonio, who was already picking up the broken dishes.

  "And go where?" asked Loretta. "You don't have the authority to arrest anybody."

  "And the cult you work for does?" spat Bowman.

  "I work for lots of people," said Loretta. "But the people asked the Burgesses to handle crime."

  The CEO adjusted his cufflinks. "The people today do not all agree with the decisions of their grandparents."

  Everard became distracted by Bowman's tie. It was beige and polka-dotted earlier. Now it was red, and halfway down, a little piece of cloth jutted to the side, carefully stitched like it'd been designed that way.

  The three other suits stood. They must have all gone to the same
tailor. The five men faced down Loretta. They were all taller than her, but somehow it felt like she was the one with the power.

  "Until the people ask you to take over," said Loretta, "making off with a free denizen is kidnapping."

  One of the suited men spoke, the only one with any kind of extra fat under his chin. "You're not immortal, Loretta."

  "I never said I was." Loretta pulled Everard to his feet, brushed off spaghetti and crushed bread.

  "And neither is your husband."

  She stopped. Everard could have sworn the room dropped ten degrees.

  The patrons went from watching the drama to staring at their food. Another group slipped out the door.

  Even the other suits looked incredulously at their double-chinned friend, anxiously shuffling a few inches away.

  Bowman took a full step to the side.

  The CEO raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm sure Mr. Huff only meant to say-"

  "I know exactly what he meant to say," said Loretta.

  Everard looked over at Jose, who took a swig of Everard's beer, as relaxed as a guy at a baseball game.

  Mr. Huff cleared his throat, the vain look of juvenile superiority replaced with fear of either Loretta or of the CEO's fear of Loretta. "My intention was to say that we must all care for our own. Inc cares for the people of the Periphery like you care for your husband."

  "You must have been a lawyer," said Loretta. "I hate lawyers."

  She turned to Everard. "You all right?"

  "Yeah," he said, embarrassed to have to be rescued in front of an audience. And now twice in one night. At least the first time had just been some insane criminals, not these infuriating "I'll be in charge because I care" sociopaths of Inc. He'd meant to put them in their place; instead he'd reinforced everyone's fear of them.

  "You ready?" Loretta asked Jose.

  He nodded, tossed some cash on the table, then walked out carrying a beer in one hand and George's carrier in the other.

  Bowman lifted his red tie, examined the strange protrusion, then shot Everard a knowing look.

  "After you," said Loretta to Everard.

  "Hold on." Everard pulled some cash from his wallet and handed it to Antonio. "Sorry, about... well. Sorry."

  He walked outside.

  Behind him, Loretta said, "split the rest of the damages between my bill and Inc's."