by Glen Kenner
-I sure do have questions. And it’s a good thing you have answers. Let’s just hope they’re the right answers.
I squeeze just a little bit harder.
-Who are you?
-Glen. Glen Ray.
I squeeze harder.
-I didn’t ask for your name, Glen Glen Ray. I asked who are you?
-I- I- I don’t understand. I’m sorry. Can you let go of-
And a little harder still. His eyes are watering.
-That’s a question, Glen Glen Ray. You said you have answers. Who are you?
-I- I’m the guy that’s been trailing you. I’m a private investigator.
He seems to prepare for another squeeze but I let up a bit. Sometimes the only carrot you need is to stop using the stick.
-Glen Glen Ray the private investigator. Why have you been following me? Make this answer a good one.
-I’m being paid to. By a client. Just watch you. Keep tabs on you. Easy stuff. Mr Smith, my hand-
-Your hand’s fine. Unless you prefer I squeeze something else?
-No no no.
Sarah leans close to me and tells me a security guard is watching us. I let go of Glen Glen Ray’s hand and he immediately holds it out in front of him. It’s swollen and a light shade of purple.
-Let me see that goofy smile of yours again.
He’s learning fast. He smiles and I realize that the goofy smile is just his normal smile. Poor guy. I pat him on the shoulder and ask him if he can give us a lift to my truck? He nods his head and out the doors we walk. Sarah says that the security guard stayed put. We’re good.
Outside the terminal we get in his car, me up front and Sarah in the back.
-Glen Glen Ray, it would be great if you could drop us off at my truck but, first, we need to make a pit stop.
He starts up the car and pulls forward into the traffic lane.
-Follow the signs for the cell lot. There’s the first sign up there.
I point to the sign ahead and he sees it and stays right as the lane forks. A few more signs and we pull into the mostly empty cell lot. I tell him to back into a spot at the far end so that we’re facing the entrance. He does so without a word.
-You still have some of that Sammy Hagar from the other night?
-Yeah, sure. The Red Rocker!
-Put it on and turn it up.
He puts a best of CD in the player and I wait for the music to come on.
-Does this have Bad Motor Scooter?
-Hell yeah. A live version.
He skips ahead and I take a minute to listen to the crowd and then Sammy gives a shout out to St Louis before making his guitar sound like a revved up motor. The crowd goes crazy.
Glen Glen Ray starts to whip his head around while playing air guitar.
-Shit, I didn’t realize this was in St Louis! Were you there?
-I was. The Checkerdome. Early 80s. I don’t remember the exact year. Great concert, though.
He’s still whipping his head around when I roll down my window, eject the CD, and fling it way out over the trees next to us. Those things can fly. His eyes go wide and I roll my window back up.
-I’ve got some more questions Glen Glen Ray. I’m hoping that I don’t have to throw anything else out of the window. Sound good?
He nods his head several times and manages to say yes twice.
-Who do you work for?
-I don’t know.
-Well fuck. That didn’t take long.
I start to roll my window down and tell him to give me his hand.
-What? No. No, listen! Please!
He tucks his hands under his armpits.
-I really seriously honestly have no clue. Somebody pm’d me and gave me the details and paid me in bitcoin. I pm them back every night. It’s 100% anonymous.
-Sarah, what the fuck is he talking about?
Sarah moves up and leans between the front seats and explains that he got a private message. In a chatroom. Somebody told them what they wanted and they paid him in bitcoin to do it. Bitcoin is electronic money.
-Yeah, it’s electronic money. 100% secure, anonymous and untraceable. It’s the future. I first bought in at-
-I know what Bitcoin is. So someone hired you to watch me and tell them where I go and what I do at what times with who? Right?
-Yes! Yes, exactly.
-Fucking Kingsley.
-Kingsley? It’s not Kingsley.
-You know Kingsley, Glen Glen Ray?
-Everyone knows Kingsley. The King of New York. He owns New York. Probably owns the whole East Coast.
-Nobody owns New York. I’m sure he’s doing well but-
-John. I mean, Mr Smith… John? Seriously, Kingsley owns that mofo shit. He owns the people who own the companies. He owns the politicians from the governor down. You feel me?
Sarah sits back up and leans forward between our seats.
-Why are you talking that way?
-What way?
-Like you black.
-What? No. This is how I talk, boo-
-The fuck you just call me?
-What?
I jump in because this is only going to get worse.
-Hey, Glen Glen Ray. First of all, changing up your voice and whatever you started doing with your body language there? Don’t do that. It’s one step away from singing Mammy in blackface. Secondly, you’re pissing off Sarah. That is really really dumb. Let’s get back to me asking the questions.
He nods his head a few more times and Sarah slumps back into her seat.
-How did you know to meet us at the airport today?
-My client gave me your flight number and arrival time. In fact, John, he told me to introduce myself and bring you up to speed. He wants to help you, if needed.
-He wants to help me? Your supposedly anonymous client? Help me how?
-He is anonymous. I have no idea who he is. I just think of him as Mr High Class. And he has connections. A lot of connections. He knows people. The right people. He said you don’t. I suppose that’s how he could help you.
-Mr High Class?
-Yeah. Mr High Class.
-Ok, I’ll bite. Why Mr High Class?
-He never uses contractions in his messages. It sounds kinda classy to me.
I shake my head and roll my eyes.
-Your eyes went wide when you realized Sarah is a First. Is that the first time you knew and does your client know?
He tucks his hands back under his armpits.
-No. I trailed you both to your friend’s house last week. Maurice. I caught that fight on video, including what Sarah did to the guy with the gun, and I uploaded it to Mr High Class. Shitty quality but it’s clear that she mangled his hand and nearly took his head off with her forearm. I went back the next day but none of the neighbors could identify the woman. But I had earlier trailed you to her apartment building and saw her in the upper left window wave to you after you were buzzed in. I got her name off the mailbox inside. Her neighbor let me in the front door. I was back in my car and getting ready to go get something to eat when she came out without you. She disappeared down Delmar for half an hour but when she came back, she ran up and down the street so fast, I knew she had to be a First. Or on serious drugs. But then she flew right past my car, onto Delmar, and nearly knocked over a city bus. I was so freaked out that I didn’t get anything on camera. Mr High Class wasn’t happy about that. Anyway, I don’t have access to the FAA system but he apparently does. He told me you were coming in from Tel Aviv to Paris to Detroit and then St Louis. I put it together on my own that you must have visited the History Keepers to ask some questions. Maybe about the prophecy. Oh, and the whole thing in Paris cemented it for me. I didn’t mention it to Mr High Class but he seems like a smart guy. I’m sure he saw it on the boards and figured it out.
-What thing in Paris?
Sarah sits back up and leans in again. Glen Glen Ray keeps talking but sounds confused.
-The thing. In Paris. Jimmy O’Reilly.
Sarah cuts in and looks at me.
-Uh, John, I need to tell you something. I mean, I was going to. We were supposed to have the Paris discussion as soon as we got back from the airport. But-
I turn to look her in the eyes.
-It’s ok. I already know. You ran into another First at Notre Dame. Fucking drunk-ass Jimmy O’Reilly. I know him from New York. It’s alright. Word was going to get out about you anyway. I just hate that guy and wish he’d keep his mouth shut.
-Oh fuck!
Glen Glen Ray is trying to hold in a laugh.
-Oh fuck! He doesn’t know?
He’s looking at Sarah, who’s looking at me, and then he looks at me. Why’s everybody suddenly looking at me?
-You don’t know? About Jimmy O’Reilly? He’s-
-I killed him.
Sarah blurts this out and the words run together into one.
-What?
Now it’s my turn to look like an idiot.
-What do you mean, you killed him?
-I killed him. He didn’t know anything about me until I was coming out of the airport. I heard his buzz, he heard mine. He freaked out but I assured him I wasn’t a Second. He asked me where I was going, I said I didn’t know, and asked to come along. Said he’d been to Notre Dame before and could show me the best views and get me back in time for my flight. We grabbed a taxi and kept talking. I told him I’d just become a First. Days ago. He said he could answer any questions I had. Give me advice on dealing with all of these changes. He said he remembered what it was like to be confused and scared and skeptical and excited all at the same time. He also asked me about the prophecy. I told him it wasn’t me. He said he was a little drunk from the airport bar. But I know drunk when I see it. I thought he was faking but didn’t know why. We got to Notre Dame and got inside and he asked me to go back outside with him to the men’s toilet and wait for him outside the door. I said ok and we went down those stairs outside, I don’t know, to where the restrooms are and we went past a door for a toilet for disabled people and he grabbed me and pulled me in. Said he was going to… uh, going to…
-Fuck her like First Death.
Glen Glen Ray says it softly but it cuts through the air just the same.
Sarah grabs his shoulder.
-How did you know that?
-It’s on the boards. He posted that he met a brand new female First in Paris. He said he was going to fuck her like First Death.
-Oh, god. He wrote that? He must have done that while we were in the taxi. Oh, god. I can’t-
I get out of the car and open Sarah’s door and help her out. She’s trembling and inhaling short shallow breaths. I tell her she needs some fresh air. I put my arm around her and we walk around next to the car, stopping and taking a few more steps and then walking around in aimless circles before stopping again. I ask her if she needs to throw up. A good vomit can calm the nerves. She laughs a little at that. She takes some big breaths and holds her hands out. No more trembling. She looks me in the eyes and forces a smile. I try to smile back.
-Hey, no need to talk about this now. We’ll talk about it more later, if you want. Ok? No hurry. Whenever feels right for you. Let’s just get this goofball to drop us off at my truck and we’ll figure out what to do from there. Ok? Because this is all going to be totally ok. Ok?
-I killed him, John. Sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry I did it. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I- He was going to rape me. He thought I was weak. A new First. A woman. He yanked me into the restroom and reached up my skirt and tried to pull my underwear down. I can’t believe I was so slow to react. I just- I don’t know. I just didn’t think fast enough. It was like I was watching it happen to someone else. But as soon as he pulled at my underwear, I grabbed his neck in both hands and snapped it. I just saw red and… snap! It was easier than breaking a pencil. It was all a blur. And then he just kind of slumped down onto the toilet and I left him there.
-Alright. You did good. He deserved it. A snapped neck and more.
-I just let him pull me into the restroom like I was in a daze. And then when I kinda woke up, I acted without thinking. I wasn’t like this before, you know. Before a week ago. Will I get into some kind of trouble now? With the Firsts? Like do I have to go before a tribunal or something?
-What?
I laugh out loud but she’s not laughing.
-No, no, Sarah. No. Sorry, I shouldn’t have laughed. Sorry. No, there is no tribunal. There’s nothing at all. There are no courts or judges or juries for Firsts. It doesn’t work that way. We’re all just running around for thousands of years doing our thing and watching our backs. Make sense? There are no First laws. But even if there were, he was going to hurt you and you stopped him. End of story. Look, walk around a bit more. Make sure you’re ok before you get back in the car. We’ll talk more when we get back. Or we’ll find someone for you to talk to, if you’d rather do that. A professional. Ok? For now, get some fresh air. I need to talk with the idiot for a minute.
-Ok. I will. But John?
I look into her eyes, trying to see what she’s feeling.
-Don’t hurt that idiot anymore. I think he wants to help. Besides, I hate to see you get angry like that.
-Alright. No more torturing the idiot.
-Promise?
-Promise.
And just like that I make another promise to another woman not to hurt people. I didn’t even see it coming.
-Hey, idiot. Is your name really Glen Glen Ray? Because that’s a serial killer name if I’ve ever heard one. You know Sirhan Sirhan?
-Are they a band? A boy band?
He looks at me trying to figure out where this is going.
-A band? Shit. No.
-My name is just Glen Ray. Not Glen Glen Ray.
-Ray is your last name?
-Yeah. Ray. Like James Earl Ray. No, forget that one. Rachael Ray. The cute tv chef.
-Don’t know her. Where were you conceived, born and in what year?
-Cleveland, I guess. Cleveland. 1999.
-1999? What? When did you have First Death?
-Last year.
-Shit. You’re a baby!
-I’m older than Sarah.
-You know her age? When was she born? When’s her birthday?
-Sure. 2000. Halloween.
-No shit?
-No shit. My birthday is June-
-How long have you been following me? When does your assignment end? Has your client ever had me followed before? Did you hit me in a pickup truck last week?
-Uh… three weeks. Next week. Yes. But I don’t know anything. No. But I saw the YouTube video. It’s sick. There’s a new one with a auto-tuned voice of Homer Simpson saying-
-What did you do before this PI job?
-Desktop support at The Cleveland Clinic.
-Huh. Sarah asked me to not hurt you anymore. I promised her I wouldn’t. Don’t make me break that promise.
-John, that won’t happen. We can be tight. I got yo back, fam.
-You were warned about that.
-Yeah, sorry. Look, I thought you should know, Jimmy O’Reilly not only posted that First Death stuff. He wrote more.
He pulls out his phone and messes around on it a bit. He says that he screenshotted it just in case and then shows me.
luck of the irish fuk yea you mfs I just met up with a newly mintd sexy af FIRST no shit an american lass in paris 100 ebony tight sarah abe from st louis im gonna fuck u lik first death.
-Do you want me to translate it for you?
-No. I understand it. Fuck. This is bad. Is that post still up?
-No. It was deleted by mods - moderators - but there’s a million other posts talking about it. Not just because of claiming that there’s a female First, which would normally be crazy, or even claiming to hook up with a female First, which is just OCI – sorry, off the chain insane - but because less than an hour after this post, police found O’Reilly’s body in the handicap can outside Notre Dame. Sarah must’ve snapped his neck an
d then twisted his head right off and kinda put it back. I guarantee pics will leak. I mean, not just to Firsts, but in France and America. All over the news. O’Reilly owned a bunch of apartment buildings in Queens and was dating some hot tennis player from somewhere. Croatia. Is that a place?
-It’s a place.
-Right. Firsts are going apeshit, saying Sarah’s the prophecy or that she’s actually a Second and on and on. She’s here to kill us all. Some are calling for her to be taken out. That we need Kingsley to take care of her. The mods tried to delete everything but guys just started new posts over and over. It’s huge. It’s all anyone is talking about. And John, your name came up. No one, I guess, knows you were in Paris, but everyone knows you live in St Louis. So they’re wondering what your connection is. Most people think you’ll be dead in a few days. The prophecy, you know.
-All of this is on those boards? On the darknet? Owned by Kingsley?
-Yeah. That’s pretty much it.
We’re both quiet for a minute and I watch Sarah walking around. Stretching. Jumping up and down. She ran track. I guess she knows what she’s doing.
-You gotta get in the First Club. That’s what it’s called. The boards. You could tell your side. I mean, tell what really happened. First Club. It’s a take off of Fight Club. The movie. You watch movies?
-This is where you learned about me?
-Oh, yeah. You’re a fucking legend in First Club. Guys write fucking fan fiction about you, bro. No shit. The stories people tell about you are off the chain. Like fighting sharks off the coast of-
-So, if I join this First Club, am I going to see a story about you and me hanging out in the cell lot at the airport?
-Bro, you’ve got this all wrong. Nothing I’m doing here will ever go anywhere but to Mr High Class. Swear to God. I’m a straight-up professional. But also, I’m like your biggest fan. Seriously. I’m kind of an expert on you, man. The good and the bad. And the scary. There’s so much scary. That’s why my client chose me for this gig. For my expertise. Besides, who do you think left that steak with you and wrapped you up in that tarp to keep the cops from finding you in that empty lot?
-That was you?
-You know it, bro.
-Don’t ever call me bro.