by V X Lloyd
No one talked for another stretch. Moony sat on his hands when he finished eating. He knew it would look bad if he went out to have another smoke, so he denied himself the feeling that he craved one.
"Just let yourself want it," came a voice in Moony's head. He looked around him, which invited curious glances from the others at the table. "Just because you can't have it doesn't mean it's not worth feeling how much you want it," the voice explained. It sounded like his own voice, but it didn't sound like something he would say.
When the waiter returned, Joanna asked to see a menu.
Perry motioned toward a dark woman sipping espresso in a corner table. “She doesn’t look away.”
"The Gypsy," Moony said under his breath, flabbergasted.
Everyone at the table spoke more or less at the same time.
"Oh, that's The Gypsy?" Perry said, thoughtfully, as if appreciating a museum piece. "She's sort of short, huh?"
“You insinuating to me that this is a coincidence?” asked Amethyst, suspiciously eyeing Perry, Celia, Moony.
"Something wrong with being short?" Celia asked.
“What business is this you’ve gotten into?” asked Joanna.
“Sales,” answered Celia. Moony said thanks to her by sighing with relief.
A moment of silence in which Moony made sure to firm up his mind so that the Gypsy couldn't read his plans for betraying her. He hoped Perry was doing the same. He sensed absolutely no chill that signaled her drawing from his mind. Whatever the Enclave had done must have worked. If not for the fact that they had promised to digest his head, he really wished there could be some way of thanking them. For the time being, he fought to keep up the cerebral appearance that they were all simply having a normal dinner together.
Celia asked Amethyst what she liked to do in her free time.
“Oh. Whatever, really.” Entranced, she watched The Gypsy finish her espresso, yet she kept sipping for a long time. It was impossible there was anything left in her little cup.
“Was the ice cream good?” asked Moony.
“I’m ready for more wine, to be perfectly honest.”
“Oh, me too,” said Celia.
Joanna called the server. “Ah, I’ll have this,” pointing at random. “That one. Je l'adore.” She looked around the table, “What does that selection say about who I am? Any judgers?”
“I used to be a professional wine taster,” said Moony, “and your choice was first-rate.”
“Ah? Let me guess. Was that when you slacked off and lived with your parents?” said Joanna.
“I’ll have a guess too. That was when you lived in Spain?” said Perry, lips painted purple from wine.
"Shh!" Amethyst said.
The Gypsy glided by the table, on her way handing Moony a pair of lorgnettes. She said, "Just as two individuals join in love and union, we have bonds with spirits of other dimensions and times."
Moony took the lorgnettes and looked through them across the table at Amethyst. The lenses were vaguely amber-hued, flecked with some sort of transparent glitter. "Opera glasses? That's about the a weirdest-ass thing anyone could hand anybody," he muttered to himself.
“That was your supervisor?” Joanna asked. “My dear, as long as we’re handing out gifts, I brought you this,” she said, handing Moony a small box. Inside was a Rolex. “You said you lost yours, so I couldn’t resist.”
“I sometimes make collages,” said Amethyst, delayed. They looked at her.
Celia touched Amethyst’s shoulder. “I like collages too, dear.”
Staring down at the senselessly expensive wristwatch, Moony reflected on the current state of things. The Gypsy was here, watching them. Even if she hadn’t been privy to any of their thoughts, her presence here meant that she knew Amethyst was working with them. It also meant that she had known they were going to meet, had known the place and time of their meeting. What’s more, she wasn’t making her presence a secret. She wanted Moony to know that she was watching him. Perhaps she was flaunting her power, insinuating that his small successes didn’t threaten her.
He adjusted his posture and redoubled his effort at Moony-mode. “Deb stole my watch, actually. But thank you for this. It’s fantastic.”
“Who’s Deb?” asked Joanna.
“Perry’s fiancée,” Moony answered.
Celia stared at her napkin.
“Oh?” said Joanna, eyeing Perry. “You’re engaged?” She looked disappointed, but also intrigued.
Moony watched as Perry prepared a mental outline of his relationship history with Deb.
To smooth it over, Joanna asked Celia what her family did.
“I’m an orphan.”
Joanna laughed a single Ha. “Little orphan Celia.”
Celia redoubled her interest in her napkin; it was floral and did nothing but remain stationary. Joanna looked down at the napkin too. “You were serious. Well. You’re welcome in my home any time. Ignore all the gentleman callers. Dan Senior is never around, see.”
“What a shame,” said Perry. The way he looked at Joanna distracted her for a moment.
“Shames. . . Oh. My husband, where to start?" Joanna said. Clearly, she was ready to start.
Moony eyed Perry. Making contact, they established a secure channel for communication.
Perry, did you tell anyone else about our plans tonight? I’m not comforted that the Gypsy seems to know more about our plans that we do.
No, Perry said. Just us here at the table, we’re the only ones who know.
Seeing how the two men watched each other, Amethyst looked deep into Perry’s eyes. “You have so many beautiful colors in your eyes,” she said.
Perry broke contact with Moony. “My eyes are brown.”
“But there’s green in there too, around the edges.” Amethyst’s former boyfriend had green eyes.
“What a riot,” said Joanna, at Amethyst.
“A party!” said Celia. “Dan always makes me laugh,” said Celia to Joanna. “He once told me that there were three ways of hanging toilet paper on the roll.”
“Dan, yes. Dan is a gentleman’s name,” Joanna answered, then took a long drink of wine, using a bit of the tip of her tongue to guide the glass, her lips breathing an O around the red wine.
“The right way, the wrong way, and bachelor-style.”
Perry laughed and said “bachelor-style” to himself so he would remember the phrase later.
As they left the restaurant, Moony explained to his mother that he was busy with work and that's why he missed Yvette's cremation.
“Work? At your opera or wherever? Your kids aren’t going to worry about inheritance tax, will they?”
Amethyst chimed in, “Picasso’s children paid off their inheritance tax with more artwork. The government opened up a museum of that stuff in a big house.”
“If that’s in Spain,” Perry asked. “Maybe we could go there.”
Moony shushed him. “No, it’s not in Spain.”
“Let’s stop by a drive-thru burger joint.” Joanna eyed Perry, “I could be down for a burger. Down, down, down.”
Moony slapped his forehead.
"Dan, honey, remember to call AAA to fix your tire," Joanna said as they got into her Escalade. A bumper sticker on it read “Gun Control Means Using Both Hands.” She didn’t own a gun, but she liked to use both hands.
Moony didn't feel like calling. Telepathy linked with a global human computer network could really take care of something like that quite handily. Or, he corrected his fantasy, the manufacturer should have placed sensors in the car so that whenever something went wrong mechanically, the sensor would go off and trigger the mechanic to arrive. The car would also need to have a tracking device in it, of course, so the person who could fix everything could locate the vehicle.
Joanna chewed her lip. Perry watched her from the passenger seat.
"Let's go to that art show tomorrow. The one Perry is putting on," Joanna said to Moony.
He hadn’t heard of
it. It was to be held at the bank a few blocks from Sod Hill. Perry was good friends with the owners. They gave him the key to the front door and security codes, and he pledged to bring in fifty new customers in a year's time. So far, he had brought in seventeen. Art was donated by residents. The event was called "Bi-Weekly Whitecomb Art Fair."
Consulting the Sphinx as to whether he should go, Moony received a new bookmark, this one also in the Bible.
Then all of you came to me and said, “Let us send men ahead to spy out the land for us and bring back a report about the route we are to take and the towns we will come to.”
- Deuteronomy 1 1:22
Unfortunately, it sounded to Moony like the Sphinx recommended that he attend the Bi-Weekly Whitecomb Art Fair. He would keep his senses peeled for information relevant to his trip to Seville.
"A funeral might have been really nice," said Joanna with a mouthful of cheeseburger. "Lots of people would show, wonderful reception. Open casket, she would have looked lovely in there." Joanna had been taught how to respond to tragedy, but her feelings had knotted over her social conditioning for acting decent and subdued.
"Is it a long drive to your hotel?" Perry asked. Amethyst, Celia and Moony could only hear Joanna’s drum and bass music: Dieselboy.
"Beg your pardon?"
"Would you like to stay in my guest bed?"
She offered him the hamburger. “Do you want the rest of this?”
He shook his shaggy head. "Sleep in my bed."
As if it had rung, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the hotel, canceling her reservation.
To his utter dismay, Perry received a very long, very earnest kiss goodbye from Amethyst when she was dropped off. On the Escalade's stereo now was Sonic Youth’s “One Hundred Percent.” Sitting in the backseat, Moony could not make out the conversation between Joanna and Perry, but the chemistry between them seemed clear enough.
To Moony's confusion, Celia wanted to be dropped off at her home for the night.
"Just for the night." She smiled. It looked innocent.
*
When Moony was dropped off at Sod Hill, he could see under the orange street lights that Shadrack and Heath were having a row. Shadrack was wearing Heath’s clothes, threatening to slide down the snowy hill using the God pot as a sled. For a couple of dudes with contacts in extraterrestrial realms, they sure did blend in well with the eccentricities of ordinary trailer trash.
“You said you were just going to look into it!” Heath said, gripping his rock friend. Shadrack laughed a happy demon laugh.
“I get better reception up here!” He put the pot on his head. Heath threw the stone as hard as he could – it dented the pot and knocked Shadrack over with a terrible resonance. He tossed the pot down the hill and ran at Heath, who was already entering Moony’s apartment to hide out.
When Moony got there, he shut the door and locked it behind him. He didn't need Shadrack interfering. Now that he had Heath here on his own turf, he felt clear and strong about his next move. He wanted more information about the nanoserum, and here was just the man who could help him. It was a plus that Heath seemed momentarily in touch with at least some aspects of the normal human experience. But since Heath's brain was a junkyard of chemicals, he couldn’t form a reliable link through telepathy. Especially these days, when his abilities were shakier than ever.
"You and me, we both have something the other person wants," Moony bluffed. He liked the way it sounded. He didn't know what he had that Heath wanted, and even if he did have something Heath wanted, he wasn't sure he wanted to give it to him. But it sounded good. It sounded tough. After a moment's reflection, Moony realized he had plenty that Heath might want, like sanity, health, contacts in higher spheres, and access to bottomless wealth. He let all these thoughts go and attended to his opponent.
Heath sat down on the couch, running his tongue across his dentures and contemplating the future. This was the last time he sat down on Moony’s couch.
A moment passed as Moony positioned himself in the center of the room facing Heath. Moony crossed his arms and took the opportunity to just stare at Heath, really examine the man, size him up.
Heath's body was well past what you might say were its glory days. He remained fit, athletic, and certainly lean, but there was a stretched, hollow quality to his face. He gave off the sense of a man who had devoted himself intensely to random pursuits for spans of time. His eyes had the tendency to shine with a sharp, intermittent, geometrical brilliance, yet a brilliance wreathed in an awful dryness, a stinginess of whatever nurturing force he relied on to lubricate his high, awkward thoughts. The result was that he always looked like he was either about to fall asleep or to sprint away. Energetically, there was no middle ground with Heath.
Heath squinted at Moony but said nothing.
"How's the weather in Seville?" Moony asked him, watching his neighbor carefully. He didn't know if he could trust his words, so he would watch his body language for any incongruity that might betray a juicy secret.
"I'm not like you, Moo," Heath shook his head. "I'm just a plain old terrestrial, just a normal guy who wishes he could have the gift that you aliens have. Shadrack has it. You have it. I wanted it. A couple of months ago, I tried. I figured some things out. Nobody just came to me with any answers, man. Lots of trial and error, lots of eating only white rice, along with rounds of Vb-10, smoked, injected. Rinse and repeat. It put me in contact a rogue Qualid, an emissary of Taleth-Ha." Heath's eyes shone. "The compound worked." He looked at the floor again. "I've moved on to other variations. There are a whole host of beings out there, you know. Out there... and in here." He pointed to his head. "Just waiting for someone to meld with them."
A moment of disturbing pause in which Moony found Heath to be exactly the opposite of a good salesman for such a life choice. He didn't know what Taleth-Ha was, nor how Heath knew about Moony's alien heredity, though it was likely the Gypsy had told him. Moony nodded, pressing Heath further.
"My alien brain device, it changed the whole scene in my mind. Before, it was smoky. Now it's all like creamy, milky. Taleth-Ha is improving my brain. It gives me mathematical formulations."
Moony gulped and reminded himself that what Heath described was not what he had himself experienced. He was not host to such a parasite, he was pretty sure. He closed his eyes and checked for any sign of milky goo. He only had that same vague sense of something golden at the far edge of his field of inner vision. So far, so good.
"I’m in need of a serum."
It wasn't brilliant, but it was all in the way he said it. He said it without giving away any sign that he was bluffing. His words carried a certain gravity. Many times in Moony's life, he had been accused of having a football player's ability to flaunt vegetative states of consciousness. Here was a moment in which his manner of stone-stillness worked in his favor.
Heath sniffed the sharp, quick snort of a suspicious rodent. "You're not dealing with just any junky, Moo. My Qualid knows you're trying to brew the checkered potion. Therefore, you need the dark side’s finest brew. But there's something very, very important that you don't understand about the way nano-3 works. Your potion won't work. What you need is not just a good sample of nano-3, but a special kind of nano-3 configured to hook into the majority mass of all dark funnel networks, not just the current iteration of them. The ingredients aren't the hard part. The Gypsy is. I can get you the ingredient. But you won’t succeed, because you haven't proven yourself as the pupil of darkness. From what my Qualid knows about the potion's ingredient list, it matters whether you are allied with darkness or light. The student has to take down the teacher. I'm going to guess you'd rather than was The Gypsy than her sis."
Moony was shocked to hear so much from Heath. No only was he speaking in long coherent sentences with large words, he also had, from the sound of it, accurate insights as to the ingredient list for the checkered potion. But it was possible Heath was playing him for info using the very cop trick that Per
ry had suggested he use against Heath. Moony didn't want to let on that Heath had spoken truly.
"I'm glad to know that even though I'll fail, you're willing to help."
"I'm helping you because I support this artistic endeavor. Art almost always fails."
"What's wrong with using regular nano-3 as an ingredient?"
"The forces of darkness, man, they go right up against the forces of light. My Qualid says that if you brew the potion as-is, it would only work against the majority mass of dark funnel cell networks. Right now, Nano-2 is the majority protocol for the Gypsy's network. So if you brew the potion and it takes down the network, it'll take down nano-2, and that's almost doing her a favor, since it'll be obsoleted in a matter of months as she deploys more nano-3 and it reaches majority mass."
Moony bit his lip. He didn't sense anything from Heath that suggested he was lying. This wasn't good news. "So just hypothetically here, so that I can be sure I understand what you're saying... if someone was to rush out there and drink this magic potion, with the system as-is, drinking the potion won't do jack?"
"It'll do jack to the obsolete network, but not to the new one. And with that potion, you only get one shot. It can only be brewed once, for all eternity. Take my word on that. That potion will be the only silver bullet in existence. Timing matters."
"So what are you saying, here? You and the Gypsy are tight, so why say this to me?"
"Like I said, with the Gypsy and me, it's only business, Moo. What I seek to gain from you is... it's art. No price can be put on that."
"You're suggesting that I let The Gypsy move forward with her plan to spread nano-3. And when the time is right, you wouldn't be against someone using the potion to take down the whole network. But what were you saying about going deeper into darkness?"
Heath's eyes glossed over a bit as if he had grown sleepy. "What you really need is to meet Shane Shakahara." His eyelids grew more drawn, his face even more soporific. "Of course, if you know what's good for you, you'd stay far away from such a criminal."