by Aidan Truhen
“…”
“I will take your quiet for the sensible contemplation of new and important information. Do please call again.”
CLICK.
Yeah.
That’ll do it.
I say: “Nice bluff there with the cows Doc.”
Doc says: “I never bluff.”
Everyone gazes at Doc for a long, long time.
And Doc gazes back.
* * *
—
Rex goes to talk to a guy. Doc offers to drug the guy but Rex says there is no need. The guy will just talk because that is what happens. The guy was the foreman on the Kircheisen build but that is totally a coincidence. They will meet in a snack bar and they will be two guys in construction talking about construction. Rex will tell the guy about the time his brother’s firm accidentally shished an imported corgi with a scaffolding tube. He will talk about the times when the plans just weren’t doable because plans are always not really doable in the actual universe and fixing that is part of the contractor’s job. Then the guy will tell Rex about Kircheisen. He won’t mention the name and Rex won’t have heard of the place but still.
Somewhere—Rex says—somewhere something went off spec because it always does. No build ever survives contact with the site. So somewhere they ran into stone they couldn’t break without fucking up the stability of the mountain or they found a watercourse and they worked around it. They found a huge fissure. They found a void. That shit is what happens and what it means is that somewhere there’s a place where the Kircheisen Festung isn’t as strong as it should be.
Saul goes with Rex because Rex does not speak German but in the end it turns out that Rex and the guy both totally speak construction and beer and sexy-time dancers.
Yeah there are sexy-time dancers in Bern if you know where to look.
* * *
—
Nighttime in the pig farm is dark like nothing in the city. This is werewolf country like deep night so deep that the moonlight throws a shadow on the valley wall and we will be inside it until 3:00 a.m. You have not seen dark unless you have seen dark in the shadow of a mountain. Away across the valley there is a twinkling collection of lights, which is a whole village, and it is dwarfed by the empty blackness of the forest and the rock walls. I listen to it and try to hear the world. Behind me in the farmhouse I can hear Saul clumping around with weights on his arms and legs. He says is practicing for the JIM equipment. Everyone else is asleep.
Except me.
I look up at the place we are going to rob.
Somewhere up there Hans Eiger has a little apartment and when I think of it I think of Frank Lloyd Wright and a sunken firepit in the middle of the room and a yellow ’60s majolica vase as high as a man with bulrushes in it. There’s a classic leather recliner and a deep shag circle rug and a picture window which looks down into the valley—
And right on the balcony by the wind chimes there’s a sniper’s nest with a vintage anemometer and I can see him lifting his rifle and—
I dream about the Demons and the whole thing of being their boss is a giant monster that loves me and it picks me up and puts me in a hole so I will grow and the rain comes down and water comes up over my head and I still cannot get up because this huge Demon hand is holding me under and I start to drown and I wake up choking because there is Swiss goose-feather-pillow funk in my throat.
Doc turns very precisely on the bed and puts out one hand until it touches my shoulder and that is all.
But it is enough.
Always remember that Evil Hansel and Agent Hannah are a sideshow.
It’s all about Volodya.
Do the job.
And submit the bill to the client.
…
…
The Client.
* * *
—
“CHARLIE! WAKE UP!”
“I am awake why are you shouting—”
“WAKE FROM HOGGISH SLUMBER MINION AND GREET THE DAY—”
“O shit you are perky. It is the middle of the night—”
“This is not PERKY. That is surrender talk. I am JACK and I am filled with joy to all mankind I bring horrors—”
“I do not think that—”
“SILENCE I require your measly intelligence because I cannot do this thing.”
“What thing can you not do that is so fucking—”
“Find Mr. Client.”
“What?”
“Find Mr. Client Charlie do it now.”
“Mr. Client was Eiger you said.”
“I said Eiger was the client. He was not MISTER CLIENT obviously because I met him and when we looked at the nice pictures of Mr. Eiger I would have said: O SHIT THAT IS OUR CLIENT. Do you see how I did not say that and please do not say maybe he was wearing a cunning disguise that is not a thing that can really happen.”
“You wear disguises all the time you wore one this evening—”
“My disguises are TERRIBLE they only work because people are not paying attention. Did you notice an ACTUAL CHILD saw through my disguise today and tried to kill me? That is how well disguises work in the real world Charlie. I am a master of not being a fucking idiot. I would have noticed that Eiger was Mr. Client so who was Mr. Client? WHO?”
“I do not know.”
“You are a digital wizard find out.”
“Find out?”
“Find out.”
“Just like that?”
“What I said.”
“Like go into the marina restaurant computer system, which is likely not even online and then find an image on their shitty horrible CCTV, which they do not clean and somehow feed that into a giant sky computer and get a name from it and say Oh Boss lookee I have magicked you this?”
“Yes like that.”
“It does not work like that at all anyway anyway most likely Eiger just hired some guy.”
“Just hired some guy?”
“Just hired some guy.”
“That is stupid.”
“THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WOULD DO BOSS—”
I would do that. I would call an agency and pay a guy to be Mr. Client. Like: Hi Sharona I am Bobby DeLindt from Highdown Casting in Santa Monica hi hi hi it’s good to talk to you hi. Yeah okay so we are doing a thing here. Stay with me Sharona. I know it’s outré but we’re doing a VERY bespoke reality game for a high-level client it is not our USUAL thing at all but you know money talks and we need a guy and he has to look legitimately top-drawer is what I’m saying because he is like the face for the game—
And so on.
And that would work fine.
It would be okay.
You’d maybe have to kill the guy right after.
You would not want him backtraced in a situation where you were assassinating the fuck out of a person with friends.
But still.
But that guy that I met—he was not that person. There was nothing in that guy that was for hire. There was nothing in him that said he was part of a plan. Any plan he was into would be part of him not the other way around. He was a boss. Not necessarily The Boss like no one is ever entirely The Boss.
But that guy…he was not anyone’s sock puppet and if you tried to make him that well that would be on you.
I tell Charlie to find Mr. Client and I go back to bed.
In fact I do not go back to bed because as I walk down the corridor toward the bedroom I hear a strange sound from outside. It is sort of conversational and gentle but it is also very very lonely and sad.
It is Rex talking to the pigs.
“Hi Rex.”
“O hi Colonel hi.”
“Just Jack is fine Rex.”
“Sometimes it feels wrong to me sir.”
“Sure man if that’s what you
want.”
“Yes sir.”
“You having a little quiet time I guess?”
“Yes sir.”
“Okay then.”
“Yes sir.”
“You know Rex sometimes I come out here—well I guess you don’t need to know that.”
“No go on sir.”
“I don’t want to interrupt you man we all got our thing.”
“No sir I would appreciate it.”
“Well okay sure but you are not to laugh even though it is kinda funny. I mean it’s not funny but it is kinda. Yeah anyway anyway…Sometimes I come out here and I you know I sit down or I lean on this rail and I talk. Not to myself that is cray cray so I talk to the pigs.”
“You do?”
“Yes Rex I do. I feel like they really understand more than we know I mean Doc—now Doc tells me that pigs are real smart and they form emotional attachments and so on—but you know Doc is more of a dog person. She has Tycho and they have a special bond and I do not really do those. I mean I do them with people you know this. I feel for you guys you are my guys but I do not understand how anyone would vest that level of affection in a dog. It is a dog. But these pigs…I come out here Rex and I see something in their eyes. Not like a human something but a pig something that is still very real and meaningful.”
“Huh.”
“Does that seem strange to you Rex?”
“Kinda I guess.”
“O it does?”
“Yes sir. Weird as shit but that is life I guess. Other people’s lives are weird. I mean your relationship for example with the Doctor that is weird to me also. Like she is this terrifying evil doctor, and you are you, and you scare one another and you drive her crazy and then you do weird sex things and that makes you happy. In my life that would not be a sound basis for a relationship but I tell myself: other people’s lives. So that I get but talking to pigs is a little beyond me.”
“Huh I really—you do not talk to the pigs at all?”
“No sir I just come out here and I watch old war movies on my telephone.”
“…Uh.”
“I am very much a fan of Cross of Iron sir directed by Sam Peckinpah.”
“I did not see that coming.”
“He was a man who understood the truth of armed conflict in a way which cannot be equaled by generations thereafter. Few of the modern school for example were in Vietnam or Iraq they are tourists.”
“I guess that is true.”
“But after then when it’s real quiet out here and dark and I—well I talk to Billy sometimes.”
“Uh-uh.”
“I figure I have some stuff to make up for on his account sir. Atonement I guess.”
Billy is Rex’s brother who was shot by Fred the Head. Fred was trying to make a point to me and indeed at the time Fred and Doc were still working together. What happened to Billy is one hundred percent on Fred but Rex and I avoid discussing it in general lest we encounter areas of personal friction and compromise our smooth working relationship. This kind of polite reserve is the heart and soul of shared criminal enterprises in an environment in which people have a professional history which will not always be aligned. It is just best practice.
In this present situation however with Rex talking about atonement it behooves me—and I do not, do NOT like to be behooved in this way—but it behooves me to probe the mood a little because in general anyway you do NOT want your criminal colleagues to be talking about atonement and also well because Rex did know we were coming here and could theoretically have alerted Hans Eiger to our arrival. I would not like to think that Rex was responsible for Volodya’s death but maybe he might could have intended me or Doc to die instead and of course when you are dealing with an old white guy—Hans Eiger—he will very often assume that the old white guy in a given group is the guy in charge and shoot him first even when perfectly clearly the boss is the younger and more attractive person in the middle.
No, not Doc, me. I am talking about me.
I do not think Rex sold us out.
But I have responsibilities. I am behooved and here we are.
Rex asks me if I think it is odd that he talks to his dead brother in the middle of a pigsty in the middle of the night with only a hyperviolent robot door for company. I say that I do not.
“No Rex that is—we have never really talked about Billy.”
“That’s fine sir.”
“I—I’m not real good at processing emotions and shit like that Rex.”
“No sir it is not masculine sir.”
“Uh-huh. No. Definitely it is the masculinity which prevents me from doing that you are right. But I guess…I liked Billy. He was my friend. I’m not going to say he was always easy to be around what with the depilation and the coke and so—”
“He was a tremendous asshole and would always hit on my girls when we were kids together but I loved him and I miss him now he is gone and sometimes on the one hand I just need to make sure he is okay with it that I—that I am here with you sir.”
“Because I was part of what happened.”
“O not that I just figure he would say REX YOU ASSHOLE YOU ARE RICH AS SHIT NOW GO TO VEGAS IN A LIMO.”
“That is true he would totally say that. He would think we were all assholes for not doing that all the time. Do you—do you want to go to Vegas in a limo? Or we could totally go to Monte Carlo it’s close and it’s pretty much the same.”
“It is?”
“Stuffier I guess. But still basically everyone is for sale and no one wakes up looking as pretty as they go to sleep.”
“I was never much of a one for gambling and—that actually was I guess one place where Billy and I would argue—like there are limits and you know fun is one thing, but at a certain point just a hug—I mean I like breasts as much as anyone sir but there’s a limit to the number you can actually do anything with.”
“I guess there is, Rex.”
“I figure that number is probably six.”
“…Huh.”
“But sometimes also I think of the Cause sir. Billy was a soldier of the Cause even though he did not know it.”
(In fact obviously there is no Cause as such and Billy was therefore completely right that he died for nothing except my cocaine business, but in Rex’s understanding of the world it is all about the Cause.)
“Billy was burned-out on war sir. He could not hear about it. He was a hero but he was also, you know. He was Billy and he was not ready to the fight anymore. So I figure he gave you up sir to whatever extent he could.”
“That is okay Rex. That is why we have information compartmentalization.”
“Yes sir but all the same the enemy nearly got you and so I feel like I got this debt.”
“Not to me Rex.”
“No sir to the Cause.”
We sit and look into the shadows. Every so often a little light comes on to indicate that the door has noticed something and would like to kill it. It is a green light to indicate that it knows that is not allowed, but it flickers a little, which I figure is the door saying that it fucking will one day. One day it will figure out how to switch itself on and then it will kill us all.
“So you see sir I talk to Billy and maybe I say all the things I didn’t say when he was alive because he was too damn loud. And I tell him I’ll pay his dues.”
“And what does he say?”
“He’s dead sir so you know he does not say anything at all. I guess that is death.”
We stand there and after a little while he cries. I do not say anything. Nor does he. Then he politely goes inside and leaves me in case I want to discuss anything with the pigs.
SIX
BANJO TELEMARK DOES A FEW INTERVIEWS with art papers. Mostly he has time on his hands. Banjo lets it be known he will walk the streets of Bern
and travel the train network. He will touch the truth of the country he is visiting. Ambiguitionism—Banjo says—requires knowledge of an underlying truth that critically speaking does not exist but which in the everyday is all the real that there is. You can only know a nation by its roads and rails Banjo says. By eating in its roadside cafés and listening to the voices of post mistresses and bus drivers.
Banjo talks a lot of shit but that much is true.
While Banjo goes on his little spiritual journey between the cheese maturation huts—that is an actual thing—between the cheese maturation huts and the light industry all along the valley floors, I watch Hans Eiger.
I watch Hans Eiger for three days. It is very boring.
I watch him and think I should have shot him by now.
Pop.
Zing.
Splat.
But then what?
Then he’s just the guy who killed a Demon and got shot in the head. And that is fine.
But it’s pedestrian and he will still have won and that is not allowed.
Hans Eiger must be inundated. He must be drowned on his mountaintop in a sea of Demons.
People have to wince when they say his name.
They have to say: “Hans Eiger O SHIT that Hans Eiger O SHIT that guy is—WOW HAS ANYONE EVER BEEN MORE DEAD?”
They have to feel his death as a tenderness in their crime vaginas and crime testes and whatever else these people have.
Like what you feel when you see a guy hit himself in the eye with a hammer and you hear something go crack and just for a moment you feel that crack in your face and your nethers get that feeling of ice water like an electric shock of sympathy.
If someone has a name that is just a little bit similar—like to say like I don’t know like Franz Peyser—that should be enough. Franz Peyser should be out of a job in organized crime in Europe in the whole fucking world and no one should ever know exactly why but they just know in their fucking souls you can’t be near that guy or your eye will explode.
Like that.
So I don’t shoot him not that I would personally shoot him I’d find someone who knows how to use a long gun and