by Aidan Truhen
Just a historical point.
Make a few phone calls. Set up my dog-walking scheme. Send a guy to the warehouse district with a sewing kit and some very traditional men’s hygiene products. Kinda thing I’m doing requires some fucking preparation is what. History is all very well but this is the modern world and I’m using a seven-stage cutout through the deep web plus two mobile relays a bunch of encrypted la la la. I could be on the moon is what I’m saying. Not that I won’t get caught eventually. Just that it won’t be now unless there’s some mahoosive bad luck some coincident moment where I just walk right into one of them in the street on the crosstown whatever. There’s a few months of digital effort in my comms even for someone brilliant and I don’t have a few months because I’m not running I’m standing and Karenina will know that. Won’t stop her from trying but by the time she cracks me—me not the system I will screw up and give her entry somehow because people inevitably do—and by the time I do something dumb and it gets her into my shit, it’ll all be over anyway.
VoIP to a new casual tasking service LateToTheParty dot me. Talk fast, one pro to another: I need a pickup I’m going to be late for a client. It’s a vet call so I really can’t reschedule. I need you to say you’re with the vet. Can you do that okay? Okay buddy I’ll owe you…yeah just bring it right to the—yeah. Yeah. Okay cool beans man! Five stars in his service box, everyone likes a good rating. Al, that’s his name. No point being stingy with Al, and he’s good people anyway. But really no point bookmarking him either, sadly.
OKAY. OKAY OKAY. Got a little list, right.
Johnny Cubano: check.
And then:
The doctor.
The Finnish torture brothers.
Karenina.
Li Dong-ha the private mercenary guy.
And Fred the PR sniper.
Roll the dice man. Who’s up?
INCOMING CALL, FAMILIAR NUMBER. Don’t take it. Move locations. Burn another shirtfront person. Cross off another credit line. Move to some shithouse apartment. Got great wifi though, seriously fast connection next door some kinda hacker commune or whatever, some high-grade cable coming out and an open-access ethos because they want you to beat the NSA. Power to the people man.
Call back. Don’t slip into Bob Simons.
Hi Tucker.
Hi Price.
Tucker I’m going to assume I’m talking to a room full of Demons right now.
That’s a good assumption Price.
They get you?
I kinda got them if I’m honest.
You went over?
It’s a dog-eat-dog world man.
Oh I’m so glad you said that.
What?
Never mind man. Tell me what it is.
It’s I’m taking all your money, Price, and I’m kinda giving these nice people everything I know.
Ain’t much, Tucker.
More’n you think maybe.
Likely. Likely less than you think.
(It’s really tempting to say something like Hi Sean but I don’t because I am a professional and not a fucking angry teenager.)
Tucker laughs: sounds like someone getting his throat cut. Tucker has emphysema. Never fucking dies of it, but it never gets any better either.
Demon you there?
Yes, Mr. Price.
You take care of Tucker, he gets windy if he has onions.
I have your friends, Mr. Price.
Can’t say I do.
The construction fellow is here too.
Billy’s there? Dude are you there?
Fucksakes Price yes I’m fucking here! What the fuck you asshole?
Damn Billy that is a tough break. Demon that’s a tough break you gonna kill Billy. That’s pointless man. You know how fucking hard it is to find good scaffolding guys?
I understand you supply this man and his crew with cocaine.
I do but like on the understanding they’ll be real sensitive in its application. Seriously, you’re ever gonna do some construction in this hemisphere you’re gonna want Billy and his guys.
William is this true?
Yeah man we’re the best.
All your employees are competent? They have common sense and training? Not just you?
Yes of course man we’re a team there’s like two guys could do my job I—
Damnit Billy.
[Incoming video feed.]
[Decline.]
Oh now Mr. Price come.
[Incoming video feed.]
[Decline.]
Don’t think I give a crap man—what I call you anyway? I can’t keep calling you Demon it’s stupid.
Frederick.
Like Mr. Frederick or just Frederick like some kind of Eurotrash in Italian leather slacks?
I do not wear leather Mr. Price it is inhumane.
What?
I’m fucking with you Mr. Price. Just Frederick will be fine. I’m going to kill your friend now. You were kind enough to try to save him and I really did respect your argument but by his own—excuse me (BANG)—by his own testimony he’s (Mr. Tucker I am sorry did I get that on you how regrettable) he has effectively trained his own replacement already (goodness he is a loud fellow roaring like a bull my goodness well it will be over soon). The orderly flow of the world will continue and of course they will now have metered access to a new product which affords a clarity of mind alongside the euphoria and rarely if ever triggers cardiac events in users. We call it Beyoncé because you just want to put your face in it.
Yeah that’s hilarious man real classy.
Well I find that a little crass sexual innuendo sells very well among upper and middle class looking to titillate by transgressing the polite conventions of drug use and equally well among lower middle and working class who engage with the imagery in a more straightforwardly enthusiastic way.
[Incoming video feed.]
[Decline.]
Man I’m not gonna watch you do Billy and what all just so you can try to sneak Karenina into my phone that’s bush league.
Disappointing. I had hoped for a streak of nobility but mankind is descending into barbarism so no doubt I should not be surprised.
So you killed Billy you gonna kill Tucker too? That’d just be a fucking waste.
No Mr. Tucker is our friend now.
Get out of there Tuck. I don’t see being their friend as a growth industry.
I figure to stick around some few hours at least, Price, maybe see you get yours. Nothing personal but it’s more fun than pro sports.
You gonna make the pitch Tuck?
Sure if you like. You come in before they find Sarah or Charlie they maybe don’t die.
I figured. Answer’s no of course. But I got a counter-offer.
What’s that Price?
If they just plain fuck off home and hide right now I’ll probably only kill one or two more of them before I get bored looking and I won’t even make it last. There ya go. Is that testosteroney enough for you? I gotta go see a man about—well never mind that now. Hey Frederick you want to finish Billy before I go or you just gonna get it done when you hear the click?
They don’t answer. They just get to it. I listen because maybe there’s something to learn. That and it never hurts to be reminded why you’re doing something. Give them credit they don’t take long over it. Billy has time to curse me a couple times and then he says please but not to me and then that’s it.
I don’t hang around for more banter. Pretty much seems we all know where we stand.
I WILL ADMIT THAT I DON’T FEEL great about that. I would quite like to go and drink myself into the ground but if I do then I will miss my window on the dog-walking scheme and I will also probably die because if I get drunk I will misstep. Or I will get violent on a personal level and it is not
time for that. I will get violent on a personal level when I am good and ready.
Not because Fred killed a perfectly good scaffolder just because a rich kid wanted me dead.
Not because—presumably—for some stupid reason of his own Sean Harper killed Didi Fraser.
Not because he sent men to my house to beat the shit out of me so I’d go away. (See this is an example of what I mean: am I looking for those guys right now? No. Why not? Because that is a fucking waste of resources man that would be petty. Those guys are just guys like Billy was just some guy, and they did a mostly professional and competent job on me and they did not severely injure me but they made the process of getting fucked up hurt and that is skilled labour right there. When I need someone fucked up just right I will need guys like those although I will have a discussion with them about appropriate masks because customer service is important. I’m guessing those particular guys had a relationship with Linden which means I can almost certainly hire them out from under because he is an asshole and no doubt he pays them scale.)
Not because of any of those things which are emotional things.
I will get violent when I am good and ready because that is when it is appropriate.
So I’m just going to cry a little bit for lost possibilities. Because I’m secure in my masculinity and it’s sad when someone you know gets murdered. You should cry. You should cry even if all you really talked about was what really scary fucking place he most recently put his erection. You cry so I do. And then you get up and get on with your life because they may have left but the party is still going. I got things in motion, man. Cocktails to mix and playlists to cue.
I got bills due.
TYCHO THE SALUKI ARRIVES ON TIME. Nice dog, Tycho. Little skittish but likely you would be as an animal being owned by a notorious illegal vivisectionist, like probably most of the time when she strokes Tycho he can smell cortisol and blood and bile and all manner of other things on her and that is his mama. Once there was an experiment, they trained monkeys to take a reward from a barbed-wire sculpture. Called it wire mother. The monkeys loved it even though it hurt them. Tycho’s mama takes very good care of him. She loves him lots. But he has to know that the hands that run over his long mane are hands that crack open torsos. He’s a dog. He can’t fool himself about that shit. Mama is a predator, baby. Yes she is.
Tell you what though he loves his aniseed. Lots of sighthounds do. They will do anything for it. Carob? Tycho says you can fucking keep that shit, and we do not give a dog chocolate do we boys and girls not unless we want their hearts to explode, and I did not go to all this trouble to give Tycho a heart attack. Tycho’n me we’re buddies now.
Tycho is flatulent, but who isn’t?
He sits on the couch in my room and I can tell he’s not allowed.
I say: Good boy.
And he grins at me, doggy style.
Aw you little cutie.
I’M WALKING THROUGH DOWNTOWN not far from where I’ve been operating and I come round a corner and there is fucking Li Dong-ha. Like right there like we nearly walk into one another. He’s like five inches away. Eye contact. I know him and he sees that I know him. Just bad luck is all just wrong place wrong time.
Li Dong-ha doesn’t quite get it but he knows something’s off. He gives me his evil badass voice: Hello.
Bluff it: Oh sorry man—oh hey Tony? No I’m sorry you’re not Tony. Sorry man you look like this guy I was at—
Good try but it’s too late. Too slow and too late. He just motherfucking knows in his evil badass water that something just happened and he knows that I know it and now he’s making the connection. Tick tick tick BOOM. There’s recognition like zoom and pull focus, like shock cut, like the soundtrack is all screaming strings. Close up on the corpse.
Li Dong-ha grins like he’s absolutely fucking delighted: Oh, you must be Jack Price.
Turn and run. Someone like Li Dong-ha you do not go to the mat with. Not if you’re in your right mind. You’d know it even if you hadn’t seen his resumé which I have. Fucking regimental unarmed combat champion, 707th Special Mission Battalion, no shit, the guy looks like Asian Thor. Only thing I’ve got going for me is he’s as surprised as I am. He’s totally thinking about having sex with Britney Spears, like Oops Britney not hairless Britney. Li Dong-ha lists this as an ambition. Creepy-ass fucker.
I get a few paces out ahead of him and then break round the corner. Sneakers on thank god, and he’s in some fashion military boot item that’s making fat fucking impact slaps on the sidewalk but he is faster than me and he’s in better shape. Cut through traffic, nearly die, whatever. Across the street. Down another one. Right left whatever mad route, fucker can’t catch me. Won’t give up. Fucker can run two marathons at altitude and he knows it. Doesn’t have to catch me, just has to stay with me. Smiling as he runs up the hill behind me, swear to god smiling like he’s not sprinting like a top-grade football player. Fucking endurance hunting, hunting me.
Run run and keep going. One chance only. One chance.
Li Dong-ha picks up speed a little. Now I can hear him breathing over the slap slap of his €500 secret-brand combat boots. They’ve got little biplanes on them. Maybe dragons. Maybe vaginas. Something.
Brownout around the edges like the beating. Still not one hundred per cent because it’s not like I’ve been resting up. Wouldn’t matter if I was. I’m not this kind of supervillain.
Through the door into the warehouse space. If the fucker would just taunt me some, waste some time—
Flying.
Forward.
Pain.
Li Dong-ha just punched me in the back. Not the spine. Just the kidney. Probably the same kidney Sean Harper’s goons fucked up but good. Fucking thing’s paste now for sure. Piss and blood smell. Fuck I hope I’m smelling that because I pissed myself or it’s in the air here and not because it’s inside me.
Fucker’s playing now. Now he’s taunting me. Not even good dialogue just a list of bad shit that’s coming my way. Fucker didn’t even much like Johnny Cubano.
I crawl. He likes that. Crawl towards the far door.
There’s a blue line painted on the floor. Fresh blue paint.
You cross that line I’ll let you live another two minutes. Might make you wish I hadn’t. You crawl that far Jack Price? You got that in you still? Yes you do go on. Yes you do.
Yeah fucker I got that in me.
I crawl. I’m not sure I do.
He kicks me up the ass. Coccyx agony. Vomiting. Piss and blood and vomit. Keep crawling.
Keep crawling.
Blue line.
Eheh.
Blue line fucker.
Yeah Price well done you crossed the blue line but I changed my mind.
Yeah I bet. Tell you what though.
What Price?
Should not have let me cross the line. Freeze frame, motherfucker. Freeze frame.
FREEZE FRAME.
Here is one thing that I know: Li Dong-ha likes ribs. Likes mesquite ribs. There’s a mesquite place a real good one two blocks over from here, they do this watermelon BBQ sauce and cilantro lime mayo turns chicken into something God eats when he’s feeling a little blue. Cook is a new guy in town some guy from down in the delta and sure you may not go to heaven in a Ford V8 but it is just possible that the short rack he makes is some kind of key to the side door.
This morning I spent money. Ghost money through Poltergeist to PopupAccelerator dot com to two guys just guys looking for opportunity, and so they end up in the street talking real loud: Gotta love those ribs man and that mayo. These two guys think they are guerrilla marketing for the ribs place, think that they’re in on the ground floor of a new performative ad company which will be maybe incorporated tomorrow. They think they’re looking at stock options so they are all in: You eat that mayo on the fries or you just dip the drum
stick? You know they do a Sunday brunch with pulled pork like authentic man because it’s whatever they cooked this week all stripped off and all fantastic?
Two guys just talking like buddies, talking as they’re just walking along the road, just happens they’re walking in front of this Asian guy who looks like Thor, just happens he’s the head of this major investor and la la la.
And Li Dong-ha is all over that. He is so there. So then I watch the door and when he comes out I’m there like oops.
Oops man. You know he’s gonna chase me down—gonna catch me—because what the fuck am I to running in the city? I am not Mo Farah and I am not Usain Bolt for sure. I am just some guy. This is his thing. So he will catch me. It’s inevitable.
Yeah.
The point of being a disruptive player in an established business arena is there’s shit you can do that no one thinks of. Your transactions are not like other people’s transactions and what that means is they cannot bring all that power they have to bear upon the problem you create. In fact their weight and their strength become problems for them. That’s what it means. Like Li Dong-ha is definitely gonna catch me and normally that would be me all done. But if you’re let’s say Osama bin Laden, you don’t set out to perform an act of terrorism with direct leverage on political choices so much as you put on a show. Everyone got to know their lines and everything got to come together perfectly. It’s theatre of death. That’s what I saw when the towers came down. Some fucking awful piece of performance art that killed three thousand people and kicked off a bitch-ton of war and mortality and an economic crisis. Those unbelievable fucking assholes changed the world for the infinite worse with box cutters and lateral thinking. But what it really was was the most appalling theatre the world has ever seen.