Flotsam Prison Blues

by M. K. Gibson

  The screen that came up showed somebody who was not Maz.

  “Who are you?” asked the half-demon, half-human hybrid. By all looks, Maz’s new receptionist was a pretty boy incubus.

  “Um, is Maz there?”

  “I repeat, who are you? How did you get this code?”

  “Land Baron Salem. And I have the code because Maz gave it to me.”

  “Mmmhmm,” he hummed, unbelieving. Snarky little shit, wasn’t he?

  “Hey, pretty boy, how else did I get a restricted code? And I’m calling on a noble access line. Now put him on and quit wasting my time.”

  “No noble looks like . . . you. No doubt a hacker. Please be so kind as to stay where you are while we trace route this call and apprehend you, incarcerate you, and punish you severely. Thank you.”

  “Christopher, who is it?” I heard Maz ask.

  “Nothing to trouble you with, sir. Some scum who got an illegal hack of this code line.”

  “Maz, it’s me,” I said, getting irritated.

  “It’s OK, Christopher. I know him.”

  “Hmmm.”

  A moment later I saw Maz on the screen. A familiar demonic face. His usual long lank black hair was now short, clean, and styled. And if I wasn’t mistaken, his horns were polished.

  “Looking sharp, bud.”

  “Thank you,” Maz beamed at the compliment.

  “You have a receptionist now?”

  “Yes, my life has become very busy as you could imagine. Christopher may be insufferable, but he is so pretty.” Maz smiled. I knew Maz’s sexual preferences—everything. “You, however, look like warmed-over shit.”

  “Yeah, thanks, I feel like it. Which is why I’m calling.”

  “Do tell.”

  “Hitter. Someone tried taking me out along the TK Highway, as I was coming north. Know anything about that?”

  “Of course. I sanctioned it.”

  My mouth hung open. “You did what? Why?!”

  Maz looked puzzled. “Because a direct attack on a noble requires approval of the district’s lord, duh. As a land baron, you belong to no district, therefore no lord. So the approval has to come through me.”

  I lit a smoke and tried to calm myself. “Maz,” I began, clenching my teeth, “what I meant to ask was why would you sanction a hit against me.”

  “Oh. You need to be more specific next time. I sanctioned it because you are a month behind on your tithes. From my last census provided, you have grown to 2,814 people on your land and you owe tithes for each one of them.”

  “Why didn’t you just talk to me first?”

  “Because sanctioning the hit was me talking to you. You were late on your first and last monthly payments. I cannot allow that to go on. The assassins were just a wake-up call. Before you ask, no, I didn’t hire them. But the request went through the proper channels and had all the paperwork. So I allowed it to happen. Now, I could threaten you about how if this happens again I’d raze your little commune to the ground, and so forth. But I think you get the point, Baron. There will be no second time. And the assassination attempts will continue until you are caught up on your tithes.”

  “I thought we were friends, Maz.”

  “Why would you think that, human?”

  Wait . . . them? “What did you mean by you didn’t hire them?”

  The screen went blank. That red-skinned motherfucker just hung up on me. I rubbed my face in frustration.

  ************************

  I found Father Grimm sitting at a round table, legs crossed and nose deep in a book from my library. The library was filled to the brim with books I collected over the years. Grimm’s own books were transported here following the firebomb attack on his lair some months ago. Since then a few walls had been knocked down to expand the library into something special: a shrine to knowledge and the written word.

  Sure, everything was digital now and had been for years. But nothing beats the feel of a real book in your hand. Ask any aspiring author.

  The collection grew even more as the people of Midheim, now Löngutangar, added their own books, collected and saved over the years. An elevator was being built to connect the underground library of my lair directly to the topside library of the town. It truly was something to behold.

  The holographic image of my mother flitted about, organizing everything. She was in her element here.

  Mom.

  Things were not as comfortable between her and me as they were with my father. It had always been that way since . . . well, since then. I shook my head. Old bad memories only get worse when you dwell on them.

  “Isaac, hello dear,” my mom said in her pleasant digital tone. Her digital projection was her in her prime, in her mid-thirties. Her darker skin from her Hispanic heritage glowed. Her brown hair was pulled back and her glasses, which she obviously didn’t need, completed the librarian look. Her real body was deep below next to Dad’s, in suspended animation.

  But that “Isaac” shit needed to go.

  “Mom, please.”

  She smiled a knowing smile. The old woman could get under my skin. She always knew how to make me feel like a little kid, no matter how old I was.

  “Fine, Salem. Please be useful and help organize this latest shipment of books.” I looked over at Grimm for some help, but he just smiled and sat reading an urban fantasy novel about a druid who lived for over two thousand years. I shrugged and gave in. I grabbed books and began putting them where I thought they belonged, making organized piles for my mom to sort later.

  Underfoot, moving about and carrying books, were mechanical ants the size of dogs. T’s creation, which I first encountered after meeting Grimm. The mecha-ants’ fiber-optic antennae twitched as they scuttled about, perceiving their surroundings.

  Creepy little things was what they were. One tried to curl its antennae around my leg like a cat’s tail. T had been adding an “affection” sub-routine to the ants.

  I stand by my statement—just plain creepy.

  I kicked it off me and it scuttled on. I was getting impatient as I stacked more books. We needed to get out of here and get to my vault. I heaped books into various piles haphazardly.

  “Salem, honey, please pay attention to what you are doing,” my mom scolded.

  “Yes, pay attention to what you are doing.” Grimm chuckled as he turned another page, not looking up.

  “You are not helping. Literally. We need to get going.”

  Grimm turned another page, seemingly ignoring me. “Have you ever noticed an inordinate amount of red-headed people in sci-fi and fantasy?”

  Lord, grant me the serenity to not shoot my friends in the ass with a plasma blaster.

  “Yes, a redhead with green eyes was the nerd’s unicorn character. Recessive genes apparently make a hero rather than a creepy pale person who can’t go in the sun. Anyway, are you ready?”

  “What’s the rush?” Grimm asked.

  OK Lord, I no longer ask for serenity. Now I just want a clear shot.

  “Just talked to Maz. Apparently he allowed a sanctioned hit on me for us being behind on our tithes. Time is ticking.”

  “Is it?” Grimm asked.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “In more ways than one. Maz outright said other attempts will come until he gets his money. So, since I have an image of the assassin, we haul ass to Dante’s and see if The Field can tell us who he is and who hired him. Plus, if any more attempts on my life happen, best to not be here where innocents could be hurt.”

  “There are innocents in the city,” Grimm countered.

  I shook my head. “In that city? No way.”

  Grimm in turn gave me a paternal glare and I knew he was right. It was the same look he’d given me in the past when I scoffed at humanity. It sucked then and it sucks now.

  “Fine,” I said. “Let’s go.”

  Grimm nodded as he stood and set the book down carefully. “Elena, thank you for the lovely time and conversation. I expect the elevator should be complete
d within a few days.”

  “Thank you, Grimm,” my mother responded, and went back to organizing the books.

  There was something between those two. Something told me I didn’t want to know what.

  “Be careful, dear,” was all she said. She hugged me and then popped back over to the other side of the library and continued her work.

  “Thanks, Mom,” I whispered.

  Looking at her hurt. Being around her hurt more. But that was a story for another time.

  Suddenly, alarm sirens began to blare from my central security server.

  “What the hell?” I said as I started loping down the hall of my lair, with Grimm on my heels. We headed up the stairs to my main living area and monitoring system. Grimm was suddenly ahead of me, standing in front of my terminal.

  Freaking magic.

  “Took you long enough,” Grimm said with a smile.

  “Oh shut up. I got blown up by a missile.”

  “Rocket.”

  “Whatever. And you cheated.”

  “It is not cheating when one uses all the skills at his disposal.”

  “Did you eat the fortune cookie after you read that bullshit?” I asked as I nudged Grimm out of the way. “OK, what the hell is going on?”

  Grimm smirked. “It appears you are being robbed.”

  “What? Where?”

  The security system showed several of my caches within Ars Goetia, secure hideaways I had set up long ago in case I needed a place to lay low. They also served as places where I stored a lot of my stuff.

  Since the beginning of the second Demon War, I’d been storing items and goods of all kinds. Bartering, stealing, selling, and trading. My collection was how I built up my own little empire. And now some prick was ripping me off. From the security feeds, it looked like I was being hit at five different locations simultaneously. Those weren’t all of my vaults, but it was enough for me to know I had a security leak somewhere.

  I immediately began top-level secure lockdowns via remote on my other locations, in Ars Goetia and in the other kingdoms of New Golgotha. Prick wasn’t getting the rest of my stuff.

  Right then, I could have cried in frustration.

  “First assassins and now thieves?” I asked aloud, sighing as I did. “OK, universe, what’s next? How about a nice flood? Or maybe a rabid badger explodes from my ass?”

  “Eloquent,” Grimm commented.

  Then, the security warning went off one more time. Vault 47.

  Shit.

  Some asshole just bypassed my most secret vault. Immediately after I initiated my most secure lockdown. As if he knew and wanted to give me one last “fuck you.”

  “Fuuuuck!!!” I yelled. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucky-fuck fucking fuckers!”

  “Angry?” Grimm asked.

  I turned on him and cocked my arm back, ready to swing. I felt a cold hard mechanical hand clamp down on my wrist. I snapped my head around to see T.

  “Ne dechak. You still all messed up. No need start fight you no win,” T’s synthesized voice warned. I looked at T and the stocky cyborg was not flinching. I could feel the little hairs on my arms begin to rise. He was powering up for a massive electro-pulse if I didn’t stand down.

  “OK, OK, I’m cool.” T didn’t let go right away. “Seriously, I’m in control.”

  T’s camera head swung over to Grimm, who nodded. T released me and I rubbed my wrist where his clamps had held me.

  “Now, what is the problem, so that we may find a solution?” Grimm asked, all calm and even. Don’t you just hate people like that? I took a steadying breath, which did absolutely nothing to calm me. Fuck you, transcendental breathing. I fished out a smoke and lit it, breathing deep.

  Ahh, now that was a calming breath.

  “Someone broke into some of my various caches,” I answered Grimm between drags of the smoke.

  “Yes, I can read the screen,” Grimm said in a tone that hinted at me to get on with it.

  “Well, besides my livelihood and life’s work, Vault 47, had . . . special items.”

  “How special?”

  Ugh. I did not want to get into this right now. Hell, I wasn’t sure I ever wanted to get into it.

  “Hey T, can you give us some privacy?” I wasn’t sure if a head and jar could show disapproval, but T managed to pull it off.

  “Da. Have work to do.”

  Once T had cleared the area, I motioned for Grimm to have a seat at my large work table. The square wooden top was littered with various junk, tech, and beer bottles. I used an empty one as an ashtray and lit another smoke.

  “Ok, Vault 47 has—had—certain sensitive items.”

  “I thought you kept your most special and expensive items here.”

  “Normally, yes. But when there are certain items, painful ones, I move them to Vault 47. One in particular comes to mind.”

  “Which item?”

  I sighed. “Jensen’s arm.” As I told Grimm, his usual stony face dropped for a moment and realization hit him.

  Jensen had been a friend. The cyborg was the former doorman and bouncer of Dante’s. But when I got mixed up with Grimm, Jensen had turned sour. We were eventually betrayed and Jensen was my Judas. We discovered Jensen was working for the princes. The original fallen angels who ruled the modern world.

  When we last saw each other, Jensen had taken on almost everyone in the bar by himself. All of us who had survived the attack on Abraxas. After he ripped off Caitlin’s cybernetic arm, I tore his off and beat him in the face with it. But he said two words that made me stop and gave him time to use his internal teleportation device to get away. Two bloody words.

  He said: “Dad, stop.”

  Since then those two words had been in my brain like an open wound. Never healing.

  Was it true? Was it a trick? All I had to do was run a bio-scan and I would know for sure. But instead, I moved the arm to my most secure vault. I let myself get beat up by demons over and over in fighting pits. I scrubbed my brain nightly with alcohol and held hate in my heart for the very people of Midheim whom I had fought to protect.

  I am such a fucking asshole.

  “So, what we have are assassination attempts as well as robbery. Both target you. Thus, they are linked.”

  “Unless the universe is conspiring against me.”

  “I would not rule that one out,” Grimm said. “So, which do we investigate first? Assassin or robbery?”

  And that was it for him. He knew my pain, and he wasn’t a fool. He knew the best thing to do was to get busy with a project.

  “Robbery. Get arm back so I scan. Know one way or other if you papa,” T’s electronic Slavic voice came from down the hall.

  “Thought I asked for privacy.”

  “You did,” T responded as he clanked back into my living area. “But am nosy.”

  I sighed and dropped my cigarette butt into one of the old beer bottles, swirling it around to ensure it was out. “When we get it back from the thieves, I will. OK?”

  “U redu.”

  I turned back to Grimm, who had cracked open a couple of fresh beers. He smiled and gave me one, then a small salute by touching the brim of his battered old gaucho stetson. It’s funny when you think about it. When you feel like the world is going to shit all around you, little things, like a cold beer for breakfast and a smoke or four, help center you.

  Sure, it was a fleeting moment. But sometimes, it helps to first take control of one small moment and make it yours. Conquer that one moment, and the rest tend to come easier. So I clinked bottles with Grimm and we drank our beers in friendly silence. I smoked and just let my mind go, letting what needed to be done coalesce into a plan:

  One, find the fucker who stole from me and rearrange his organs.

  Two, don’t get killed by the hitters who have been hired to kill me.

  And three, find a way to get some income to cover the 2,800 or so people living on my land before Maz fire-bombed the place.

  Yup, that seemed simple eno
ugh.

  Chapter Five

  Appalachian Vikings

  My land was just barely within New Golgotha, along one of the westernmost wall borders of the former Maryland. I had about a little less than a thousand acres of land I acquired back when I was a war profiteer during the second Demon War. I wanted it specifically because I knew what was under it. So, my land was mine and left alone. Untamed. Free from the urban sprawl that the supercity had become.

  Löngutangar had become a small boomtown almost overnight. When the former residents of Midheim came to my land, they brought only their most basic of necessities with them. Homes were being slowly built from local timber and supplemented with the synthetic stuff I bought at a discount.

  The land used to look like an irradiated ghost town. Now it was a growing frontier-like settlement. There were dashes of the old Midheim mixed in. Appalachian Vikings. But the new town was a being unto its own. Two months of growth and planning were taking shape. This would be a place of beauty.

  The first building raised was the new great hall, an homage to the great Viking mead halls of old. The new hall was bigger and more beautiful than the old one in Midheim. I was told by several of the residents that the old outer town still stood. They could not bring themselves to take it down. Not if it could possibly bring aid to other people in the wastelands.

  People greeted Grimm and me when we came topside. I said hello when necessary, smiled, kissed hands, and shook babies. All that leadership crap.

  The spirit of the people was infectious. They had lived out in the open for the first few weeks, while the mead hall was built. Afterward, homes were created from the raw materials, everyone helping one another. Soon there would be a school for the children so they wouldn’t have to go into the city proper. After that, the library would be built directly over the spot leading down to my underground library.

  It truly was a marvel to watch the people of Midheim build. There was something about creating and planning, sweating and accomplishment. The original Midheim was a ramshackle community pieced together from wasteland scraps. But Löngutangar was purposeful and perfect.