It Sometimes Snows In May: A B.E.A.N. Police Novella

by Tope Oluwole

  “Who I am isn’t important. It’s safer for both of us right now. If you could remember, you’d know why.

  Zota walks to the other side of the bar opposite the kitchen as Ryles pulls a plate of red speckled scrambled eggs, hash browns, and sausage out of the microwave. “Diced tomatoes, no onions, right?” Zota asks.

  “Right.” Ryles grins, and then pulls one of her throwing knives out of the cutting board on the countertop. She shovels some eggs with the spine of the blade, and then after balancing carefully, rolls the eggs in her mouth.

  “I know that, but I don’t know your name,” Zota says. “But there’s more than just business between us. I can’t feel it.”

  Ryles laughs hard and long. She pulls a beer out of the fridge, and passes a second to Zota. He hesitates to take it until Ryles smiles and waves the bottle under his nose. “You can feel it? Feel what? Sounds like your little head talking smack.”

  Zota looks down; and hunches his shoulders. “A connection. Something more.”

  “You wish,” Ryles says. “Plus, you don’t really like me much, remember? Oh yeah, that’s right. You don’t remember.”

  Zota looks up. “I had a dream last night.”

  “What it a wet one?” Ryles giggles. From under the table Zota pulls out Ryles auto-pistol and point it at her chest. Ryles’ face turns stone cold.

  “You wanna put that down, before you hurt yourself,” Ryles growls.

  “Now I got your attention?” Zota says.

  “Undivided.”

  “I dreamt you and I were in a house, in New Mass. We were living together, and there was another woman, important looking, who didn’t like the idea.” Zota held the auto-pistol and remained silent.

  “Put that down...let’s talk,” Ryles says.

  “We got into a car.” Zota narrowed his eyes. “A red sports car. The two of us. The same car that was spinning.” Zota winced in pain, and put a palm to his temple, unconsciously lowering the auto-pistol.

  “You’re confused and stressed out. You haven’t been laid in over three months, at least. I would be stressed out too. Now put the gun down,” Ryles says.

  Zota raises the auto-pistol sharply and Ryles recoiled with her hands now raised. “I remember watching you step into the car. I saw a tattoo on your lower back,” Zota says

  “Ooooh, I get it. You think I’m a clone?” Ryles shakes her head. “Maybe I should have left you for the body bandits.”

  “You’ve already lied about being my sister. Maybe you’re lying about being my business partner. Maybe you’re just some crazy chica looking for a man?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself. And I’m not your chica.” Ryles says. “I got the contract with your signature on it.”

  “That doesn’t mean a damn thing, since I still don’t know who I am,” Zota says. “I got a better idea. Turn around and lift up your top.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Zota jerks off a round into the ceiling to the right of Ryles, who snapped her head to the opposite side. Zota flinches and slowly regains his focus on Ryles.

  “Fine.” Ryles turns around slowly, and then lifts her tank top to reveal a scar in the shape of a scorpion, on her left shoulder blade.

  Zota’s lowers the auto-pistol. “Sorry, I had to be sure.”

  Ryles storms from the kitchen into the living room, grabs the auto-pistol, and slaps Zota, hard. “That’s for being the ass you always were.” After tucking the auto-pistol back in her hip holster, she stomps back to her breakfast place at the bar. After one bite of the hash browns, she grimaces. “Yech. Cold.” Ryles places the plate back in the microwave. “Two minutes, start,” Ryles commands.

  Zota rubs the side of his face and turns to Ryles. “I thought you were going to kill me...once you got what you wanted.”

  “You’re worth more to me alive, right now,” Ryles says. “But that might change if you ever pull a gun on me again.”

  The microwave dings at the same time the front door chimes. Ryles and Zota glance at each other. Ryles pulls her plate out of the microwave. The door chimes again.

  “Oh yeah. Some guy, John, called,” Zota says. “He said he was coming over, and wanted to know if you’d be home.” The door chimes again. Ryles’ face turns ashen. She comes up to Zota until they are eye to eye.

  “Who did John ask for when he called?” Ryles asks.

  “Huh?”

  “Who did he ask for?”

  “Rals, Rails, or something,” Zota says.

  A older male voice booms through the door. “Hey! It’s John! You in there?”

  Ryles put her finger over her lips, and passed Zota her auto-pistol. “Grab the duffel bag in the room. Head out the back.”

  “The back? What back?” Zota asks.

  Ryles points to the terrace. “There’s a temp-car on Fifth and Bay State. Meet me in the back of East Ispari Hospital in an hour.”

  “What’s going on?” Zota asks.

  “Go!”

  As Zota runs to the bedroom, Ryles grabs the rest of her throwing knives from the table. She then re-wraps the towel around her hair.

  “I’m coming!” Ryles says. She strolls to the door.

  Meanwhile, Zota bounds out through the terrace with the bag.

  The door gives way, inching open to the left as Ryles approaches. Two massive hands slowly force the door further open. Ryles wraps her fingers around one of the blade handles.

  Once the door is completely open, John, Director of Protocol, and on of the Triad heavies all stand in the doorway. Dried and fresh blood, and bruises, plaster John’s head, nose, and mouth. The heavy holds him upright. Director of Protocol smiles. “It appears we have a mutual acquaintance.”

  Elisa steps into Zota’s office to grab some digital photos and recording, in addition to their wedding license. She trips and falls into a pile of clothes.

  Aalin hears Elisa scream, and runs upstairs.

  Elisa spies an object beneath the bookshelf as she attempts to get up. She focuses with one eye to see a media card. When Elisa hears footfalls in the hallway, she scurries for the card, and slips it into the cybernetic reader embedded in her wrist.

  Aalin walks into the room. “Are, are you all right?”

  Elisa slowly rises. “Just a bit of a tumble. Nothing to bother about.”

  “Are you sure?” Aalin asks. “Let me take you to the hospital.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Elisa says.

  “Okay. We should get to Ispari then,” Aalin says. “We don’t want to risk your husband remembering things we don’t want him to.” Aalin cradles Elisa in his arms and they both embrace. We see Elisa stare into space while Aalin’s voice fades into the background. Elisa’s eyes begin to glaze over with bits of code swirling across. Suddenly, her eyes turn from brown to crimson.

  Zota scurries down the hill behind the house and through the parking lot, and into the recreation area. Through a side route, he runs into a cross street. Zota looks behind and around him frantically. He sees no one, and then strolls briskly down the street, further away from the apartment. Ahead, Zota see an intersection to a main street.

  At the intersection of Second Street and Bay State Avenue, a bus whisks by Zota. Zota looks in both directions, and sees a bus point on the left and runs to it. On the area map a red circle flashes around the text, “YOU ARE HERE”. Zota taps and holds the map’s zoom control, until he can orient himself to his surroundings on the map.

  The image of a handsome, thin faced man with short hair overlays on the map. “Good afternoon? How may I be of service?”

  Zota turns his attention to the virtual assistant. “I need to get to Fifth and Bay State, fast!” The map begins reorienting itself, and plots the optimum path based on Zota’s request.

  “Go one half-mile, east, by taxi...”

  “No!”

  The virtual assistant receded into the screen. “I’m sorry, but the next bus won’t arrive for another thirty-seven minutes.”

  “I’ll walk,” Zota s
ays.

  “Judging by your perspiration, your load, and labored breath, I would recommend resting for five minutes before proceeding.”

  “Thanks, I’ll walk slowly.”

  Director of Protocol hovers over to Ryles, who is being suspended a couple of feet in the air by one of his heavies.

  John lays crumpled on the living room couch next to them, in a fetal position, barely conscious.

  “I suppose I wasn’t very clear that I expected you not to disappear for three months. It’s very uncharacteristic of you. Which is why you are still alive,” Director of Protocol says. He nods to his heavy, who drops Ryles to the ground. After coughing for a bit, Ryles turn on to her back slowly, wincing in pain. “We can do this all day,” Director of Protocol says.

  “Why..why don’t you just...put a bullet in my head? Spare me...the lecture?” Ryles asks.

  Director of Protocol whisks his finger up, and the heavy lifts Ryles off the ground again. “Well, I do have approval from the Triad due to your breach of contract.” Director of Protocol fans his hand as he swivels his hover-chair around. “We have searched this place from end to end, and have found no sign of the ware. I take no pleasure in wasting life, especially since you have done good work for us in the past.”

  “Don’t get sentimental on me. You’re not the type,” Ryles says.

  “The Triad has the right to...terminate your employment, and has shown restraint in exercising it. So why are you so eager to die,” Director of Protocol asks.

  Ryles grins “Maybe I’m tired of it all.”

  Director of Protocol nods, and his heavy drops Ryles again. Ryles moans in pain. The Director hovers to the entrance to the terrace. “Maybe you found a better offer? Maybe you though, if I get burned, let me burn everyone else?”

  “Maybe...you should...lay off the drugs,” Ryles says.

  “You ought to know,” Director of Protocol hisses. He hovers back to the heavy. “Throw him off the terrace, and put her into the car.”

  Elisa stares out across the bridge connecting New Mass to Ispari and then her view drifts to the dunes beyonds. The sky is clear and the temperature is still high enough that the air conditioning is on high. “It’s a shame what the civil war did to this valley,” Aalin says. “Thank God we won.”

  “Did we?” Elisa rub her hands on her belly. Suddenly Elisa hears a voice. She spin her heads to Aalin. “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Aalin replies.

  “Nothing.” Elisa composes herself.

  “Well...you have to admit, It was easy for the daiswrights and excretas of New Mass to put you in office after that. With their crossing to Ispari foiled, they had nothing. No food, no water. Not a hole to bury themselves in. What choice did they have but to accept the terms of the new constitution, and integrate into the caste system for their welfare chips?”

  “He seems resentful. Don’t you think.” Elisa hears in her head.

  “Jealous?” Elisa responds.

  “Jealous, of what?” Aalin asks.

  “That you chose Zota over him.”

  “Well, I married a daiswright instead of a plutocrat,” Elisa says.

  Aalin walks back towards Elisa. “You needed a pretty face for the photo ops during your campaign. I get it. You needed someone that could help pull the daiswrights to your side, and see you as the best of the worst. Your mistake was keeping him around too long. Long enough to become a liability. My mistake was not taking care of the liability when your poll numbers first began to slide.”

  Their sport luxury vehicle reaches the Ispari end of the bridge. Guards at Ispari border gate control scan their passports. The guard reviews the analysis on Elisa’s passport, and then does a double-take when he reads the caste details. “My apologies ma’am.” He quickly waves at the gate sensor to allow them through. “It’s procedure.”

  “Well you wouldn’t want to make it appear you’re too eager for a seat at the table of power, now would you?” Elisa asks Aalin.

  “He can’t be trusted to be satisfied with whatever he gets.” The voice in her heads whispers.

  “I’ve paid my dues Elisa. I’m not going to let a ghost from your past take what’s rightfully mine,” Zota says.

  “He means rightfully ours, doesn’t he.”

  Elisa turns away back to the glass, looking back out the window as the vehicle speeds into Ispari. Her gaze is haunting and vacant.

  Zota arrives at the corner of Normandy Avenue and Fifth Street. He scans his surroundings after wiping the sweat off his brow. His chest heaves and falls, and his lungs burn. “Man, I’m out of shape.” Zota begins to dig into the bag while it’s still slung on his shoulder. He drops to one knee, placing the bag on the ground once it proves too cumbersome to attempt a one-handed search. Zota opens the bag up just wide enough to fit his hands. Soon, Zota hears two sets of footfalls approaching. The footfalls slow down and Zota pretends to feel around the bag. When the footfalls stop, Zota looks up. Two large teenage boys are about four meters in front of him.

  “You need help,” a teenager sporting a mohawk says.

  “No thanks. I’m just looking for my water bottle,” Zota replies.

  “That wasn’t a question man,” the other teenage with tatoos on his bald skull says. He laughs.

  Zota’s hand brushes over Ryles’ auto-pistol. He stops cold.

  Seconds later Guard Practice, swooshes by in a hover cruiser. She sees two teenagers towering over a man stooped over, and pulls over.

  “Yo! guardie,” the mohawk teenage says.

  “You’re lucky day pops,” the tatooed tenageer says, “let’s hover.”

  Zota hears their footfall move away from him. He exhales and releases his grip on the auto-pistol. He hears more steps from the opposite direction approach.

  “Are you okay sir?” Guard Practice asks.

  “Yeah.” Zota rises up and turns around. When he sees Practice he smiles nervously. “I’m looking for a rent-a-hover station at Normandy and Fifth. Those kids weren’t much help though.”

  “Actually, if you follow those kids through the mall parking lot, you can’t miss them. Look for the yellow signs in the first row,” Practice says.

  “Thanks,” Zota replies.

  Back in the vehicle the computer broadcasts and calls to Practice. She waves off to Zota and dashes back to the hover-cruiser.

  Patel and Practice arrive at the address next to Ryles’ apartment. An older woman rushes out to their hover cruiser waving frantically.

  Their hover-cruiser hisses to a stop a meter in front of the woman dress like someone interrupted her shower. Patel and Practice step down from the cruiser.

  “Oh my God. It was awful, just awful. They just threw him out like a bag of trash,” she says.

  “Calm down, ma’am…” Patel says.

  The woman waddles to the side of the house she came out from. “This way!” She leads Patel and Practice beside her house, and then to the back. Splayed out over inflatable pool furniture, is John, bloody and bruised.

  Patel pulls his auto-pistol and begins scanning the area. Practice sprays on some insta-skin, waits a few seconds, and then checks John’s pulse. “He’s dead.” Practice tap her earpiece, “Med-unit to my twenty, subject dead at scene.” The older woman gasps at the body, and then turns away. Practice comes beside her. “Can you identify who did the throwing?”

  “Oh yes. He was a big fella. Like that wrestler on Friday Night Fights,” she says.

  “Was there anyone else involved?” Practice asks.

  “Yes. A few minutes after the man threw the guy over, a fat man in a hover chair came out. After him, the same big fella. The big fella, put a woman in the trunk of his car.”

  “Did the woman look like this?” Patel shows the older woman an image of Ryles on his PDA. The older woman squints, and then turns her head from one side to the other.

  “Well, it could be her, but I dunno. I mean they all kinda built the same you know,” the older woman says.
/>   “Yes. We know,” Practice says. “What type of vehicle was it? What color?”

  “It was one of those temp cars, you know? Rent by the hour… A red one I think. Yes, it was red,” the older woman says.

  “How do you know it was a temp car?” Patel asks.

  “It had the logo on the back,” the older woman says. “I passed when I was walking Reginald..” Patel and Practice were about to respond. “..my dog. It was too new and cheap, to belong to anyone on this block. We like the old stuff. You know, cars that last at least five years.”