General IC [2075: Game World], Persistent World [SR5] IC Thread Options

[adamu]

Monday July 29, 2075; Rocco’s

The door swung open easily and he found himself in a good-sized anteroom, all four walls hung with the same scarlet velvet curtains, edged with gold fringe. The fabric was remarkably effective in shutting out the din of the street. There was some 19th century furniture, a few chairs, a settee, all upholstered in the same red material. Small lamps on several glass end tables were weakly burning incandescent bulbs under oppressively heavy shades. The little light they let escape was all there was in the room. The bases of all the lamps were little gold statues of dogs, each a different breed.

There was not a single piece of flash, per se, in sight, though there were easels in the room’s four corners, each with a poster-sized, gold-framed photo of a piece of body art. A woman’s back sporting a proud husky, with fur that made Al squint to see that it was indeed ink and not some sort of photographic transfer to the skin. A bald man, face ferocious and framed as that of a great jungle cat, the effect altogether transporting him from metahumanity to gray netherspace between man and beast. A woman, supine, covered in kaleidoscopically cascading scales, her body coiled like the snake goddess she had become. The chest of a woman, apparently a breast cancer survivor, hosting an Akita with eyes that caught Al’s, questioning him. “Yes,” he answered, and the sound of his own voice broke the spell. Just a tattoo. Hell, just a picture of a tattoo.

But for the life of him he couldn’t remember what the question had been.

Some clever reworkings of Jobim were filtering in from beyond the curtains, which started to move. A woman’s shadowed form, one straight arm holding a heavy section of curtain aside, creating a black triangle.

[adamu]

Monday July 29, 2075; Rocco’s

“You’re quite well armed.”

“Aw, not ‘spectin’ no trouble. Jist nothin’ but muh bike ‘twixt me an’ the sky right now.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“There’s worse. Rocco around?”

“Rocco died in the fourteenth century.”

“BC or AD?”

“Can I help you with something?”

“Well, this a tattoo joint?”

“Our client list is somewhat exclusive.”

“Got this here card.”

She emerged from the shadow, accompanied by the voice of a girl who sounded as if she must be very lovely, whispering something bossanovic in Portuguese. Then the curtain swung shut and it was just the woman and Al in the room.

“Yes, Mal mentioned he’d sent someone. But that was over a week ago.”

“Din’t know it wuz a limited time offer.”

She didn’t belong in that room. She was slender, if not skinny, and tall enough that Al glanced up to confirm her ears were round. There was nothing 19th century about her loose-fit black jeans or fluffy angora sweater, which was just the right shade of gray to clash with all the red and gold. She had long, thick blond hair that fell straight down in tireless kinks, and a face that someone who cared for her and liked large noses might find inexpressibly beautiful. Since Al did neither, he just thought she looked odd.

“It’s not.” The first hint of a smile. “But I’d thought Mal must be slipping.”

“Book guy? Codger knows his cards.”

“His referrals usually cross my threshold within a day or two. Three at the most.”

Al silently congratulated himself on constantly defying expectations. “Places ta go, people ta see.”

“I’m glad we made the list. Please, let’s sit down and discuss what you’re looking for.”

“Mighty hospitable. But beggin’ yer pardon, jist come in tonight fer a look-see. Gittin’ a mite chilly out, an’ I got some friends waiting on muh bike.”

“Well I hope you’ll be back.”

A tip of the imaginary hat. “Count on it.”

And just as he turned and reached for the door: “Why not leave them with me? Just until you sort out where you’re staying. I have a box in the back that will work perfectly.”

[Vegas]

Thursday August 1st, 2075; Zero's

From the outside, Zero's looked like a dive bar to end all dive bars. From the seat at the bar that Ali grabbed, one casual glance around the joint confirmed it. There wasn't a list of craft beer to chose from, so she asked the surly Ork behind the bar covered in as many tattoos as scars for two of whatever was coldest and set one in front of the empty stool beside her and waited for Al's arrival.

She took a pull from the bottle, grimacing slightly at the beer's distinct lack of character or flavor. The best she could say about it was that it was cold and you could get a hint of the alcohol it contained. While she waited, she zoned out watching an urban brawl match on a cracked trid behind the bar as she paid more attention to the messages being tossed back and forth between herself and a couple of others that were starting the groundwork for an upcoming job. The entire reason she was here to see Al, to pick his brain and lighten her workload.

Of the few unsavory types that were apparently the regulars of the bar, a couple of dockworkers, a woman that might pass as the neighborhood drunk, whore or both, Ali was grateful that no one said anything or even paid her much attention, and that was just the way she liked it.

[adamu]

Thursday August 1st, 2075; Zero's

It was far from Al's first time in Zero's, but he wouldn't call himself a regular. He preferred the company of men who worked for a living, and there were a lot more of those down by the docks than here at the edge of the Barrens.

There were a helluva lot better places to get a drink just a few hundred yards north…no reason to be down here unless you hated the pawns more than the thrillers. Or it was just a birds of a feather thing. Hell, he was here, wasn't he?

He resisted the urge to head straight for the bar, taking time for a quick look around for any wise guys. But it was pointless. Anyone in here could be their eyes and ears. But he was thirsty. And he couldn't let Peaches down.

She'd saved him a seat, and had his cold one all lined up.

"Hey there, darlin', how's yer folks?"

[Vegas]

Thursday August 1st, 2075; Zero's

Ali's focus shifted from the image display of her contacts to the haggard, yet better-rested face of "Uncle Al." A slight smile turned up the corners of her mouth as she tilted her bottle in greeting in Al's direction.

"Folks are good. Dad's off consulting and Mom sends her best. She wants to know when you're joining us for dinner again. Haven't talked to Adam in a week, he's comms down for a while I guess." She shrugged and took a moment to take another quick glance about the bar as Al settled himself on the seat beside her.

"You're looking better than the last time I saw you. And what's with this keeping your head down business?"

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

"Well, the one's tied ta the other, I reckon. Got muhself onna wrong side o' Arty Gianelli, with the upside bein' that it gave me the…um…opportunity ta spend some time up in the woods. Mountain air done ol' Al some good, it seems."

After his day with the hippies, it was good to see her. No spinning metal eyes or crazy computer telepathy. A damned good girl, too good for this dump, but he knew she could handle herself, though it had taken him years to accept it.

"Consultin', is it? Sounds almost like yer pa done got hisself respectable."

[Vegas]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

Ali had to stifle a laugh at the thought of her father being legit in any definition of the word, even loosely. However, her eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of a Gianelli as they weren't a family to let slights slide easily.

"What did you do, piss on his leg and tell him it was raining?" She couldn't help but shake her head slightly, sending her dark hair swinging and baring her shoulders. Al would have a legitimate reason for being on the wrong side of a Mafia family no doubt, but it did make her sit up a little straighter and keep her eyes on the locals for anyone a little too interested in the pair.

"As for Dad, I think he does it just so he doesn't feel so old and out of touch with the tech."

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

"Well, he wuz always a smart one. Can't do no wrong keeping' abreast of the curve." Watching the kid toss her hair around reminded Al she was a pretty girl. He'd have to watch the crowd in here, make sure no one got any loco ideas. They didn't see much of her quality in a place like this.

Then again, pretty or not, she'd always had a certain way of not getting noticed.

He took a long pull on his beer. Damn if that wasn't about the best brew he'd ever had. Savored, thought, answered the first question: "Reckon I dropped his car in the ocean. Didn't take too kindly to it. But tell me, now, Peaches, you din't drag ol' Al out on a cold dark night jist to buy me a beer. What kinda mischief ya into now?"

[Vegas]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

"No, it wasn't just for the beer. I needed a second set of eyes and to talk through a plan to make sure before I propose my plan, I'm not going off half-cocked and missing something that's going to get us caught up in trouble of one sort or another."

She pulled out her commlink and set it on the bar top, she manipulated it into the file system and pulled up a set of building schematics, namely the internal heating and cooling systems, plumbing and the like. She sent it to the small screen on her commlink and handed it over to Al.

"I need your advice. Need a way to move about the floor once inside, bypassing as many cameras, sensors and pairs of eyes as possible. My...friends are pushing for a matrix and magic angle, and I'm thinking old school."

She paused to read Al's face as he looked at the plans she handed him.

"Am I crazy to think that through the vents would make sense?"

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero’s

Al liked her thinking. “Ya can’t trust that matrix crap, and magic is of the devil. Old school is the only school, Peaches. Now gimme a tick here.”

He looked at the plans, scrolling around the building on the tiny screen. No, she wasn’t crazy. Usually, he’d dismiss such a hare-brained scheme out of hand, but she’d already done her homework. Unlike most HVAC systems, the ducts in this large building were indeed big enough for a small human or elf to maneuver in, even the sections that narrowed to keep air pressure constant. And the structure had a good dust filtration system, so she wouldn’t need a separate air supply. Noise was always a huge issue with these things, but he was sure she’d already worked something out for that. Her pa would have done. So he skipped the obvious and got down to his real concerns.

“Oh, she’s doable. But’cha gotta watch out fer one thing in partickaler.” Using a jagged broken fingernail, he traced the line showing her intended route. “They haven’t spent as much as some on infrastructure security, and I’d bet muh last smoke the reason is right here. See, all roads, includin’ your planned route, go through this central junction. Now the reason fer that is all the way inna sub-basement, where the boiler is. Some places go for a distributed heating layout, where they got lots o’ smaller units spread through the structure. Less distance ta move the heat, that way, an’ ya git redundancy. But there’s any number of other reasons to do what these folks done an’ generate all yer heat through a single unit. The output starts out hot - real hot, Peaches - and it shoots straight up through that central junction before cooling to where people wants it as it diffuses through the building. Since you gotta go through that area ta git jist ‘bout anywhere in there, then you gotta be ready fer a couple hunnerd degrees fer a good part o’ yer little ol’ walkabout. Now, there’s ways around that. Easiest is ta wait. Been chilly last few days - real Seattle summer - but if’n you kin wait till it gits hot again, hot enough fer the nights to be warm, then yer problem pretty much disappears cuz they ain’t gon’ heat the place. But then ol’ Al don’t know what kinda timeline you an’ yer friends is on.”

[Vegas]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero’s

Ali nodded at his assessment, once again running things by Al had proved fruitful. She very well could have ended up burnt like toast on this run had Al not pointed out the linchpin in her plan. She accepted her commlink as Al handed it back to her and studied the schematics again, seeing now what he had pointed out and filed it away for future reference, chalking her overlooking that one major factor up to a learning experience.

"Good catch Al, that definitely warrants a second beer on me since you probably just saved my hide."

She glossed over the timeline comment however as even though she trusted Al almost like family, she always went the distance to insulate herself from any leaks of information, which included removing any identifying details of the building that she'd be traipsing around in off the blueprints themselves.

She flagged the bartender over and ordered a second round for them both and waited for him to walk away before picking up their discussion.

"Any other major red flags that you can see with their internals?"

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

Al accepted the second free beer gratefully, downing half in one pull. "Naw, seems like ya got 'er sussed. 'Sides, ol' Al's jist a workin' stiff, none o' whut passes fer fancy security know-how. Reckon you'll be fine, pervided yer friends really is friends. Yer pa used ta work alone, and fer hisself. 'Cuz he knew whut I keeps telling' ya - there ain't no honor in some perfessions. So you jist choose yer mates with care, 'cuz there's folks got yer back, but vengeance generlly comes way too late ta do the avenged a damn bit o' good."

[Vegas]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

Ali held up her hand and nodded, having heard the same story time and time again not only from Al but her father as well.

"I know, I know. Dad used to work alone more often than not before everything got even more cutting edge even in the lowliest of places. When all it took was a one-man-show and you could farm out the off-site stuff. Not quite the same these days, you almost have to have someone else backing your plays, or you're working for peanuts."

She frowned slightly, knowing full well that they were both right. It was a good reminder to hear leading up to the team's next planning session. However she wasn't about to be able to support herself doing one-man-jobs, which meant she needed the rest of the group to cover her ass and if necessary draw the heat off her if it came down to it. She was careful about how much anyone knew about her, giving them just enough to trust her but not enough info to hang her out to dry if it came down to it. She could if things started to turn ugly, still walk away from the group and this job if her gut started to tell her something was going sideways.

She took a long pull from her beer and let out a long, slow breath. Better to turn the attention away from her and back on to Al and his predicament before it turned into a longer lecture, one that her parents would ultimately hear about.

"So, are you settled somewhere to lay low for a while while this car in the ocean mess blows over?"

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

The unshaven little man opened his mouth to answer, but instead burst out laughing. Just the thought of what he was about to say sent him into hysterics. Shaking his head, he patted at his pockets for cigarettes but none had miraculously materialized since he'd checked five minutes earlier. "Sorry, Peaches, but it's the damnedest thing. Ol' Al's holed up in some sorta hippie commune! Kin ya jist imagine that? But I don't reckon it matters none. We all know I's headed off ta Hollywood any day now anyway. Hell, this whole cosa nostra kerfuffle might be jist the time ta kiss the Emerald City g'bye. Hey, ya got a smoke, hon?"

[Vegas]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero's

Ali shook her head with a grin on her lips as Al mentioned being holed up with today's version of hippies and quietly mused to herself who might crack first. She then wrinkled her nose at the thought of having a pack of smokes on her as she continued to shake her head.

"You know I don't touch the stuff Al, but next time I'll bring a pack just for an occasion like this." She chided slightly, knowing the cigarettes weren't doing anything of value for Al's health.

"Holing up with hippies, Dad's never going to let you hear the end of this you know..." She finished the first of her beers and slid the remaining one over to Al. "I do appreciate letting me run my thoughts past you Al, but I don't want to keep you out past your commune's curfew." She winked and tossed a couple of nu in script on the bar for the bartender. She really was a rather charming girl, once she trusted you enough to let you in.

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Zero’s

The older man laughed and shook his head, helping himself to Ali’s untouched beer as she walked out. “You jist watch yerself, Peaches,” he said under his breath by way of goodbye.

A fourth and fifth beer later, he remembered he was hungry. Talked to the bartender for a few minutes, and fifty nuyen later his bike was safely in the storeroom of the dive and he was headed north on foot. Thirty minutes and he’d be out of the Barrens and in Puyallup proper. Meridian was pretty well lit up to where the rollers stopped their patrols, and once he was back in civilization he’d keep to back streets until he found his way back to Rocco’s.

On his way, he ducked into a well-fortified bodega and payed certified cred for a couple of sandwiches, a carton of Lucky Strikes (thank Samedi!), and another beer. Eating as he walked, he thought about what sort of tattoo he’d like to get.

Of course, he shouldn’t have needed to think about it at all, since he’d decided it days ago. But he was all confused about it now. He knew it was something to do with his voodoo powers, maybe that was really as far as his thinking had gotten.

Whatever. He’d work it out by the time he got there. And by the second sandwich, he was pretty sure he had.

[adamu]

Thursday 1st August, 2075; Rocco’s

It was past eleven by the time he got there, but like most of the street the lights were still on and the door still unlocked. And like last time, there was no one in there but the pretty voice of the girl singing bossanova.

Everything was the same, even the odd looking blond that came out from behind the red curtain.

“Are you here for your snakes, or to talk about your piece?”

“How’re they doin’?”

“How are you doing?”

“Reckon I’ll live.”

“Then you can sit down.” And she sat.

He joined her, taking a place in a red velvet chair half facing her. Stretched his legs out in front of himself and crossed them at the ankles.

She waited.

“Reckon one ‘o the voodoo gods.”

“Do you mean a loa?”

“Aloha back.”

She licked her lips. “No, by god do you mean loa?”

“Sister, God is God, an’ there ain’t but one. Ol’ Al said god-z, pluralized, lower case.”

“Of course. It is a very important distinction. But what I meant to ask is, by gods were you referring to loa?”

“Whut?”

“Ghede, Legba, Shango...”

“Yeah, sister, them, the voodoo gods. Want one ‘o them.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ll allow as they’s genrally ugly sons o’ bitches, but ya want the juice, ya gotta give ‘em their due.”

“i won’t argue. And which is your patron?”

“All of ‘em. Except the spider-lookin’ one. Got no truck with him.”

“Very well. Which of the others would you like for your piece?”

“Little hazy on that right at the moment.”

A smile, very slight. “That is perfectly all right. It is not a decision to rush.”

“Well, I appreciate that, though I beg yer pardon for wastin’ yer time.”

“Not at all. I find it a pleasure to talk with you. Al, did you say?”

“Oh heavens ta Betsy, where’s muh manners? Al Guthrie, at yer service.”

“It’s a real pleasure to meet you, Al Guthrie. It really is. What I think we should do is really take our time with this. You can visit me as often as you like, and we will figure out exactly what you’d like your piece to be.”

Al congratulated himself on the way women always warmed to him. “Well that is mighty hospitable,” he said, getting up. “An’ I’ll be back fer muh friends sooner ‘n later.”

“No problem,” she said, holding the door. “And by the way, just a bit of trivia for the road - did you know that all voodoo practitioners - except for you, of course - have only one patron?”

[Drace]

July 29th 2075


Deck Settings (Attack: 3 Sleaze: 6(7) Firewall: 5 Data Processing: 5)
Programs running: VM, Exploit, Baby Monitor, Sneak, stealth

Flying high in the matrix stream of Seattle, Revenant settled down into the node he was given as the next access point. The code he was told to use gave him access and as his persona entered he saw the change in scenery.

The inside of the node was blank slate grey walls, nothing of note whatsoever. In the "center" of the node was a simple file, with the password for the data bomb presumably synced to the code he used to access the node.

'A fragging dead-drop...' He thought to himself. A few months on the run from MCT and his past life and he was running low on cash, food and options. He had been helping at a local truck stop in the edge of Puyallup, retrofitting their archaic software and sculpting the system while also fixing up and editing all their files and archiving it. In return he had been getting 3 square meals, lodging and no questions asked. Plus all the Long Haul he could afford from his previous cred stick dispenser frauds.

His persona's body symbols lit with a white glow and a rotting hand started to emerge from the file, followed by the rest of a small zombie as his edit file started the file transfer and he sighed.

Atleast it's better than nothin. Mr. Shigari hadn't been in contact for weeks until this last message he had received this morning containing the coordinates and passcodes for this node.

The file finished crawling towards him - 0.0003617 seconds- and seemingly walked into his persona, being absorbed. Having completed it's one download the file self destructed and the node began a shut down protocol.

-2.6 seconds until complete-

Atleast he could rely on his old supervisor being thorough he thought to himself before he gracefully logged off the matrix and awoke to the dingy room before him.

Taking in the scene of the room the young man stood up and brushed his hair from his face. He knew he needed to eat and drink, to take care of himself. The surgery lines from his recent chop shop surgery were still red and raw, the earlier infection finally wearing down. He regretting having to get cheap, used ware in himself but it was a necessity, after his second attempted mugging he knew he needed the advantage to bring his rather frail body up to par with the streets he now lived on.

With little ceremony he grabbed the half eaten sandwich and ramen he had started earlier and wolfed it down with tepid water along with a pair if antibiotics from the "surgeon". His work for the manager had given him another month lodgings and good here, and he knew he needed to make good use of it or before he knew it he would be out on the streets again with nothing but what was on his back.

With a dreary head he lifted the datacable from his deck to his cranium and jacked into his decks memory banks.

[adamu]

Friday 2nd August, 2075; Rocco's, Puyallup City

Same red curtains, same dog lamps, same nouveau bossanova. Al had a big canvas sack in his hand.

His bike was out front, which wasn't smart. He needed new wheels and a fresh ID, which he reckoned he'd have soon, but he hadn't wanted to leave his new charges with tattoo witch a minute longer.

Like clockwork the tall skinny big-nosed kinky-haired blond moved through the curtain, only blackness behind her.

"I'm glad to see you."

"Jist come fer muh snakes."

"Let's sit down."

"Let's not."

"How old are you?"

"Old as I feel, lady. How old 'er you?"

"How old do you think I am?"

"Learned not ta step inta that bear trap afore I knew muh letters."

"Some women are sensitive. I'm not."

"A woman, or sensitive?"

"Your snakes are in the back."

"You a devil worshipper?"

"No."

"In league with Satan?"

"Not the last time I checked."

"Well jist git me muh snakes."

"I'm not picking them up."

"Well lead the way then."

"Through the curtains is only for customers. I am sensing you no longer fit that description."

"Well then you are plenny sensitive."

"Perhaps about some things."

"So what's ol' Al a'thinkin' right now?"

She gestured toward the front door with her chin. "Pull around back, and I'll let you into the storeroom that way."

Once he'd pulled around, the door was opened as promised. The storeroom was just as it had been when he'd left the snakes there a few days earlier. Opening the large wooden box, Al could see that the animals had been wall cared for - warm, watered, and one had fed. As he picked them up and worked them into the bag, he felt a lot better.

"Listen, reckon I wuz up on muh high horse a bit. Ya done took good care o' my friends here, an' I am grateful."

"You're welcome."

"That yer work in them pictures inna lobby?"

"Yes."

"Reckon I'd still like me some o' that."

"Come back again, we'll continue our chat."

"Shore." He opened the back door, but looked back. "Reckon ol' Al knows who he is. Knows what he is."

"Half right."

He opened his mouth to reply, but something stopped him. He got on his dirt bike and headed home with his new pets.

[adamu]

Saturday 3rd August, 2075; Rocco’s, Puyallup

They sat straight down tonight. Same seats as before.

“Have you decided which of your many patrons you’d like for your piece?”

“Don’t do that. It ain’t gon’ gitcha nowhere.”

“Sorry.”

“Ya ain’t rattlin’ me no more. Ol’ Al knows which side his bread’s a’buttered on, an’ he knows who’s doin’ the butterin’, an’ it don’t make no nevermind nohow ta you whether it’s one or a baker’s damn dozen.”

“But I’m not sure you want a baker’s dozen on your back. Eventually you’ll have to make a choice. And won’t that be significant? Won’t that be a bit like playing favorites?”

“Who said muh back wuz where I wanted it?”

“No one - that’s just usual for a major piece. And I only do major pieces.”

“Well I ain’t hardly usual, sister.”

“I know that very well.”

“An’ the back’s out.”

“What do you have there now?”

“Well, it ain’t ink.”

“Show me.”

A pure white Akita nosed its way through the red velvet curtains. She was huge. Sat on her haunches next to Al and without so much as a by-your-leave started licking the burn-melted flesh of his left hand.

“She likes you.”

“They genrally do.”

The dog looked at the blond and whined ever so slightly.

“It seems I have to go. I am truly sorry to cut this evening’s chat so short. Can you show yourself out?”

[Drace]

July 29th 2075, Puyallup


Revenant jacked out of his deck, returning to the meat world before him. It had only been a few moments he had been going through the deck offline, and sadly the file only contained a few small documents. The first was a chamber of commerce piece about a tribe called the "Mechanicals", while the second was a list of MCT personnel, in alphabetical order, glaringly lacking both his own name and his parents. Lastly was a word document containing two words "Fre∑dom Tribe".

'A little enigmatic...' He thought to himself, mentally going through the data. Though unsurprised by his new found lack if existence, the notion saddened him. His whole life, who he was, his family, everything gone. No trace, like he never existed.

Guessing it's time to do some research, he settles back in to a comfortable position on the bed and jacks himself back in to the 'trix

Deck Settings (Attack: 3 Sleaze: 6(7) Firewall: 5 Data Processing: 5)
Programs running: VM, Exploit, Baby Monitor, Sneak, stealth

The virtual representation of Seattle laying before him, it only takes a moment to render himself hidden and electronically transfer himself to MCTs public host. A few moments more and he was checking up the lists for enrolled students and alumni. Nothing recorded.

Not wanting to disturb anything and pry further, Revenant gives the digital equivalent of a sigh, returning to the Seattle area matrix and gets to work.

[adamu]

Sunday 4th August, 2075; Puyallup, Puyallup

By the time Al reached the city, all safe behind his tinted windows and airtight vehicle reg, he was sore hungry. Driving around an upper-middle-class shopping district near the municipal offices, he looked for a place that served real food but was casual. Ended up dropping a hundred nuyen on a steak dinner with all the trimmings at a bistro that catered to the evening shopping crowd.

It wasn’t exactly the soup kitchen.

The beer was expensive and imported, but aside from bringing back some decadent nights in Hamburg, it didn’t sing to him any louder than the cheap stuff he usually drank. Still, he had four.

And by the time he was done, the shadows had lengthened into night. It was time to go figure some things out.

[adamu]

Sunday 4th August, 2075; Puyallup, Puyallup

“I’m sorry about last night.”

“What fer?”

“I like to give my clients my undivided attention.”

“Ya don’t seem ta have many.”

“Quality over quantity.”

“Don’t exactly make fer a volume business.”

“I make it up with my prices.”

“An’ the book codger’s yer scout.”

“One.”

“So if’n I’d never ventured inta his shop...”

“My card would still have found you.”

“Still can’t decide which one I want.”

“I know.”

“Okay, reckon I’m settin’ muhself up fer another damned riddle answer, but how?”

“How are your friends?”

“They’s makin’ out jist fine. An’ I thank ya kindly once more.”

“Have you named them?”

“Hell, they’s jist reptiles.”

“Well, they must...like...you. Or something. You handled them so casually. For a moment I thought that must be our answer. But it’s not. Weren’t you afraid?”

[adamu]

Monday 4th August, 2042: 10 miles up a dirt track from Lynch Creek, Arkansas, CAS

“Weren’t you afraid?”

“Aw, goodness no, EmKay. It’s jist like Pa sez, if’n yore soul is right afore the Lord, then ain’t no power o’ the adversary kin act upon ya. He sez handlin’s in muh nature.”

“Well I’ve been to a whole lot of meetings, baby brother, but I dare to say I ain’t never seen the spirit fall upon anyone like it did you yesterday.”

Of all his siblings, Al loved Emily Kate the most dearly, but at fifteen she was only a year his senior, and he hated when she called him baby. “You want ta call someone baby, howzabout one o’ these two pups?”

“I ain’t no baby,” protested the two young boys in near-unison. Leroy was nine, but almost as big as Al, though that wasn’t saying too much, since Al was well on his way to being the runt of the litter. At six, Memphis hadn’t got his growth on him yet. Bright apple cheeks under a mop of cowlicked hair, he followed Leroy everywhere.

The four youngest Guthrie children were sitting in a circle on the dirt floor of the shed where Pa kept the still. It was always warm here. Memphis said, “But Al you musta been scared, handlin’ all three o’ them at once.”

“An’ them so worked up an’ all,” added Leroy.

“Once you’ve had yer witness that they cain’t harm ya none nohow, then they ain’t nothin’ ta be afeard of. Like it sez inna Book o’ Mark, chapter sixteen,’ Al began, when the dinner bell rang. The three boys stubbed out their cigarettes and all four children ran to the the small family home. Smells of fried chicken and peach pie wafted across the intervening space. They met Elmo and Cletus coming in from their work in the barn, and the younger boys charged them, only to end up being carried into the house over shoulders or suspended by their ankles. Inside, the kitchen was aswirl with activity as children and teenagers went about washing up, and Pearl helped Ma keep greedy hands from the biscuits before grace was said.

[adamu]

Sunday 4th August, 2075; Puyallup, Puyallup

Al smiled. “No. Not afraid.” Voice still like bones in a blender, but somehow, for a moment, there was something lighter to it. “But I thought we wuz talkin’ ‘bout muh piece.”

“We are”

“An’ how’s that?”

“Al, I don’t suppose I need to tell you I’m not exactly your average tattoo artist.”

Maybe now some answers. “Do tell.”

“I’m a really good, really really good tattoo artist.”

Tease. “Go on.”

Her hand moved expansively, its sweep taking in the photos on the easels. “Good?”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“The technique is good.”

“Never seen better. Never seen anythin’ comes close.”

“But it’s not the technique that speaks to you.”

“No.”

“It’s the matching of the work with the canvas.”

“But that ain’t all.”

“The work alone is ink. But it brings something out. Something that makes it more, greater than the sum.”

“An’ if that somethin’s not already in there ta be brought out...”

“As I said, it all starts - and ends - with the matching.”

There was a new cigarette in his mouth, and he held his Zippo up in both scarred hands to light it. “Like a marriage.”