Something about watching things float in the sky brought it to mind. The sky and/or windmills of any kind always make me think of that track I think.
This chunk’s orbit caused it to come closer to the ground than usual and he was just high enough up on the mountainside to make out the little guy or whatever it was. I guess he would have been normal size, just real high up. Probably my imagination, though, anyway. I was soused.
Oak flattens out and Felix crosses Van Ness to the sidewalk by a Walgreens drugstore, passes it, and walks up Market Street.
The chess games are going strong. There are several sets of neatly arranged plastic tables and chairs arranged in rows. When not in use, each table has a chessboard and set of pieces ready for play. Right now, they are all in use. Some of the players are homeless. Some are locals with homes. Some are tourists that must have heard about the Market Street chess arena and decided to stop by and get whooped on by the genuinely wicked skilled regulars.
Felix sat down for a game once. It lasted one minute and nine seconds. I think he took an extra-long time checkmating me so it would end up at “69” seconds.
They used to be up Market a ways by Powell Station but they were shut down for fighting or gambling or just maybe local political reasons. Felix never heard a convincing answer. Eventually, they set up much further down on the north side between 10th and 11th. They are in front of an old building with a “for lease” sign in front so they probably don’t get messed with too much Felix hopes.
In amongst the regulars and noob suckers, there are two men Felix hasn’t seen before playing each other. They look homeless but a little strange too. Their big duffle bags and thick, warm clothes are normal but there is something off. Felix is walking up the sidewalk perpendicular to the table arrangement so he can only see the face of one of them. The one he can see is a small white man with light brown hair and large blue eyes. They are a little too large which makes them look odd. He looks kind of like caricatures Felix has seen of the actor Peter Lorre. The man across from Big Blue Eyes with his back to Felix has greying blond hair and is taller by probably two heads.
A trio of blimpwhales soars over Market Street moan-singing and Felix looks around for on-lookers before casually looking up and watching through his mirrored shades. He tilts his head and scratches his ear just in case. He smiles a bit at the playful frolicking of the behemoths.
As he looks down, Felix sees that Big Blue Eyes is watching the blimpers too. He looks back down and locks eyes with Felix who was obviously just looking down from them too. It feels almost like he’s looking straight through Felix’s aviators. He studies Felix’s face and clothes then mumbles something across the chessboard to the taller man.
Felix tries to look natural as he shifts course toward Market Street itself with the intention of hurriedly jaywalking across. He doesn’t know what their trip is and surely doesn’t want to. The F Market streetcar is cruising down the center of Market toward them from the Embarcadero end. Noted.
The taller weird hobo looks back at Felix and does a double take. His eyes are the same too-large orbs with rings of unnatural, plastic blue. On casual inspection, the eyes look real if not a bit big. Closer scrutiny reveals them to be subtly odd and unsettling. It finally hits Felix that what’s strange about the eyes is that the pupils are too large for how bright it is and they don’t seem to react to light much or change size realistically either.
Upon seeing Felix, the taller man stands up, jostling the chessboard and knocking over several pieces. In a raspy, low voice, the man says, “Hey! You there!”
The shorter man stands and slings his duffel bag.
Felix doesn’t wait to see what they want. He bolts across Market Street, weaving in-between swerving, honking cars. He looks back as he reaches the south sidewalk and sees the taller man sling his duffel bag and take a few steps toward the street but then stop. Something concealed under his long coat was moving too freely for his liking and he adjusts it before continuing to give chase.
Felix runs down the sidewalk as fast as possible, which isn’t one hundred percent. I need to cut down, damn. He hasn’t had to run for a while and all the smoking is catching up with him. He just hopes that doesn’t make it so they do the same. His pace is strong enough that they aren’t gaining yet at least.
The tall man yells, “Stop! We just want to– shit!” Felix looks back and sees the men dodge the honking F Market streetcar, the small one juking over to Felix’s side and the taller one having to rush parallel to them on the other.
Felix just keeps hoofing it hard and makes it to the corner of Tenth, then cuts south around it and runs across the street at an angle heading southeast. He sees an alley street called Jessie and runs into it without looking back.
He runs through puddles in the asphalt in the shadows of the buildings. About halfway down the alley the southern building is only one story as opposed to the twelve or so on the corner he came in on and bordering the far end. The dim light trickling from the overcast sky brightens a bit and the shadows seem to grow darker as the contrast intensifies. The light goes from a dim trickle to a vibrant pour.
Reluctantly, he slows to a gasping stop in the bright patch of sidewalk and outer building wall. He walks slowly though it using the wall to steady himself and enjoys the warmth for once. He fights to breathe through a hacking cough.
Felix looks back down the alley, hoping to watch the strange men pass quickly by– and the smaller man does! But the taller, older looking man glances into the alley and shuffles to a stop. Shit. He calls to his faster, smaller comrade before entering the alley.
Felix forces himself back into a medium run and hurries into the shadow of the far building, missing the warmth almost instantly. He looks back and sees the men approaching the big rectangle of brightness and imagines them burning and sizzling in it like creatures of the night or maybe even being literally flattened against the lit up wall by an invisible trash compactor wall of power. I need to cut down on the smokes and the pills.
As if to spite Felix’s fantasy vision, the clouds swallow the warmth and light back up just as the men run through it.
Booking out of the alley and down the sidewalk bordering Ninth, Felix sees the intersection with Mission and what he hopes is a stop for the 14 bus. He throws all he has into running down and across ninth, backed by a chorus of angry honks. He makes it down to Mission and sees the walk sign so he starts to run across the crosswalk between a few other people stepping off the curb–
And gets up-ended by a mercifully slow-moving 1990s Mustang 5.0 attempting to run the red light and slams into its windshield with his bad left shoulder and his face. It doesn’t pop out again, but it doesn’t feel good either as it strains against its bonds. The distant part in him jokes, At least it wasn’t a bus or a trash truck. And come on… the one time I use a valid crosswalk too? Is it any wonder I hate fucking cars and driving?
The 5.0 squeals to a stop and Felix is thrown off onto the street and rolls over a couple times. He groans deep as he hauls himself off the asphalt. He picks up his hat and replaces his aviators back over his blue left eye from their new hanging position over his right eye and mouth. He doesn’t want to wait for the apology from the mortified looking man who is getting out of the car so he puts his hat on and turns toward the bus stop.
The man is large and muscular and has a crew cut, which seems to squirm and wriggle with popping veins. Not to mention the tentacles writhing like ferns in the wind in the surface of his head and chest.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” the man demands. As he yells, the tentacles flutter and writhe on the side of his face, a smaller part curling into his mouth and squirming like the arm of a small living octopus.
Okay, so apology was a bit much to expect I guess? Oh, I gotcha: sleeveless “Tapout” shirt to go with Vanilla Ice mustang and crew cut.
Felix waves him off and says, “Don’t worry about me. My fault, my fault.” He sees the 14 bus coming from down near E
ighth and tries to head for the bus stop but the man grabs Felix’s jacket by the hood and the strap of the HDV-426 bag and pulls him back.
“You’re lucky you didn’t crack my fucking windshield, faggot!”
Felix doesn’t appreciate the man grabbing his things so roughly like he is and he starts to get mad. He spins around, wrenches the man’s arm off his jacket with a wide swiping motion, and says, “Suck my dick, bro-beef.”
The tough guy is ready to go now and says, “Whatthefuck-yousaytome, bitch?!”
Felix becomes enraged by the self-assured look in the man’s eyes and his disrespectful manhandling and name-calling.
The man raises his arms to push Felix but out of reflex Felix has already brought his arms up between the man’s with his hands close together like he’s making a steeple with his fingers and he whips them outward, throwing the man’s arms wide to his sides. Felix lifts his left leg and drives his boot down at an angle into the man’s right knee and it bends the wrong way and pops. Shouldn’t lock your legs, homie.
The man screams in pain as he collapses and his head hits the front-left windshield on his car, a little spider web appearing in the surface as he flops down to the ground. Felix considers kicking him in the face and gut until he stops moving but fights it off. Felix bends over and gets real close to the man’s face, which he’s covering defensively with his arms now.
“There’s your crack, you big pink bitch! And I said ‘suck… muh deeeiiiick’!” RIP ODB. Big Baby Jesus forever.
Felix remembers himself and why he was running and sees that the two weird homeless guys are watching from the sidewalk back up Ninth, apparently wary of the small crowd forming near Felix.
The bus pulls in on the other side of the street and Felix limps hurriedly around the back of it and up to the doors. People are calling for him to deal with the man on the ground. Some are calling for justice in his favor and some in the man’s. Felix ignores them and pays the fare in the machine as the bus driver eyes him cautiously. He looks through the windows as he walks down the aisle and sees the two hobos at the corner watching him and arguing about what to do. Felix sits as the bus speeds off. Those weird bum guys can fuck off along with the lookie-loos. Okay, back to business. After a few stops, I’ll double-back and get off around Eighth.
Come to think of it, though, what the fuck is wrong with me anyway? Since I started taking more pills, they make me super irritable and quick to anger. I also don’t feel as bad about doing things I don’t really think I should. That guy might never walk right again and I was this close to kicking him to death…
Well, he shouldn’t have mad-dogged me like that. He was going to throw a blow for sure and he might have been highly trained for all I know, so fuck him! Mr. “Tapout” should have seen it coming and stopped it. Now he’ll have a limp to remember me by. Maybe I should have kicked the shit out of his head and gut for fun. Make some cracked bone gut slop soup. Yeah, just for the fuck of it–
Fuckin’ hell… See, that’s not me. It’s like me without the Me. No empathy. I’m going to have to watch myself. I need to see but these pills are getting to me.
The sky darkens as Felix gets off a few stops down and gets on the next 14 going back the way he came. As he passes the 14 coming the other way, he ducks down in his seat and scans the passengers as it blows by. Sure enough, the weird hobos are standing up in it, holding polls as they watch out the windows all around for signs of Felix. They don’t spot him and he rises up in his seat again.
Then his bus passes the scene of the Tapout and he ducks again. The guy is on a gurney that’s being slotted into the back of an ambulance. Other than the obvious pain he looks worried about his leg as well as crushed and pitiful. Felix feels a spear of guilt and sadness (with a spritz of poison self-loathing on the vorpal tip) slam him through the chest and rest there for a moment sticking out his back before the meds his brain is swimming in try to snap and dislodge it.
I had to do it. He was going to attack me.
Yeah, but I didn’t have to cripple him–
He would’ve done the same to me! He could’ve been a goddamn trained ninja for all I know!
But–
No buts! You are such a pussy, Felix.
There are witnesses giving statements, pantomiming what Felix looks like and what happened. Great… Snitches get stitches, NARCs.
Felix is actually more concerned with reaching his destination without being spotted now than any perceived slight from these strangers who watched him defend himself attack that poor, poor bro-hemoth.
He has so much to do.
It starts sprinkling as the bus pulls in and stops at Ninth and Mission. Felix flips his hood up over his hat and lets the light droplets speckle on the outer surface of his aviators as he walks down Ninth watching for cop cars or the occasional SFPD beat officer.
He steps into a doorway overhang and lights a Kamel then continues on, taking drags from it occasionally. To protect against the light precipitation, he keeps the cigarette pointed downward in his curled hand, holding the filter end between his thumb and index finger. He’s also careful not the bite the edge of his pinky with the lit end.
Felix makes it to where Rincon cuts perpendicular through the block on the other side of the street and crosses, looking both ways. You bet I do. My shoulder and face ache like hell.
25
Felix walks down Rincon until he comes to a big warehouse vehicle door. The blue light bulb in the fixture above the smaller entry door of the warehouse is on. Probably from the night before. Although, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him turn it off.
Felix presses a button by the door and the he hears the muffled sound of a B-movie actress screaming in terror inside the warehouse. He shifts on his feet for a full minute then presses it again. Another, different scream. He waits another minute and reaches for the button again but hears shuffling steps and cussing in Japanese about stupid nuisances and the value of patience.
Hirofumi unlocks the door and swings it open, squinting out from the dark warehouse interior like he’s staring at the sun. His hair is wild and unwashed and he’s wearing royal-blue silk pajama bottoms with bare feet an old Mickey Mouse shirt. The feeling of familiarity almost chokes Felix up. He’s been out of the loop with normality for a decent bit and Hirofumi is a very welcome sight.
Hirofumi scowls, rubs his stubbly chin, and demands, “What do you need? I don’t pay beggars!”
Felix smiles sheepishly.
“Well? I don’t need smiles! Go away, man!”
Felix realizes his disguise must be more effective than he thought. He says, “Hiro, it’s me.”
Hirofumi scowls and says, “Get away from here!”
Felix takes off the aviators and tilts the SF cap up a bit as Hiro says, “I will call the police–” Hirofumi stops, squints, cocks his head, and says, “Hontou ni… Felix?!” His face brightens and he widens his eyes. “Doushita no?! Genki desu ka?!”
Felix laughs and says, “Genki desu!”
Hirofumi wraps himself around Felix in a bear hug, even lifting his legs around his back so that Felix has to hold him up. Hiro gyrates up and down on him and yells, “Iroppi!”
Felix laughs and helps Hirofumi down.
Hirofumi grabs Felix’s shoulder and leans against it at arm’s length, looking Felix up and down. He smiles and screws up his face as he says, “Your clothes are stupid! You look like my game characters!”
“I know, I know. It worked, though, didn’t it?”
Hirofumi looks a little confused by that answer but moves on for now, pulling Felix into the warehouse by his shoulder with a big smile on his face.
Hirofumi closes the door behind them and locks the three big industrial locks on it. They walk in through the old administrative and control rooms on the first floor below the “house” upstairs. Hirofumi’s office and studios are down here. He must have had his headphones on or been upstairs when Felix rang.
As they enter the warehouse proper, Fe
lix sees that the projectors have been hooked up around the warehouse again like the night of the beta party months ago. Seems like years at this point… I wonder if they just kept them hooked up. Haven’t been here since that night.
The different projectors are currently throwing moving images of the Disney version of Swiss Family Robinson from the 60s and direct home/free feeds from different players exploring the looming, stark city in search of colorful recyclables or comically large bottles of alcohol. The audio from both sources is audible but the movie is loud enough to make out over the sounds of the city’s different locations. Low under both of these Felix can hear a Portishead track. Probably coming from their “house” upstairs. Wandering Star I think it’s called.
Oscar is sitting on a padded stool in front of a small easel. He’s finishing up a set of different caricatured hobo design versions in Gouache. He has his back to them but looks back out of curiosity.
“Holy shit! You alright?”
Felix answers, “Yeah, I’m cool.”
“I’m glad!”
The rows of computers in the rough center of the warehouse are still installed too and there are several people sitting in the rows with laptops hooked up next to the desktop stations they are playing home/free on. Must be working on the game in some way.
On the end of one of the rows sits Yevgeny, Weyland-Yutani symbol emblazoned knit cap hanging casually off the top and back of his head like a reservoir tip on a rubber. He’s wearing a PC headset that wraps around the back of his head. His pale, crystal blue eyes leave his screen and land on Felix and his face slowly forms into a relieved smile. He smokes more shnikka than Audrey. A lot more.
Yevgeny takes off the headset and rests it around his neck. “Hey, Felix! I knew you’d show up. These fools were worried. I told them you just need to go on walkabout to finish Brain Wrap script!” Yevgeny laughs until he coughs for a bit.
Felix notices glowing spidermites crawling languidly in and out of Yevgeny’s nose and mouth. Some disappear into his face on his jaw or cheek. Others seem to be waiting for something. Yevgeny picks up a small glazed glass water pipe from near his keyboard and lights it with a bic lighter. As he takes a nice size hit, the spider things on his face quickly crawl back into his nose and mouth. He holds it and lets it out slowly, mouth open in a big oval.
A Tear in the Veil Page 32