Chapter Two: "Frank and Ernest" Pt 1 & 2
Note to reader: It is not necessary to know or to
have read Chapter One, but it might help. The main
thing to know is ...many many years have passed
since the last we ended.
We pick up here:
Somewhere in the future with a phone call.
WARNING
*This story contains graphic language and violence.
Part I: The Calls
“Yeah, yeah. About that Alex... ...Er... ...What? Whatever. I don't call anyone Mr... ...Yeah, ok, “Shuffle.” I'm a busy guy. You see. Jack can't make time for everybody. I know I owe you asshole. I'll send a couple my best guys. That's all I can do for now.”
-END TRANSMISSION-
“Hey Frank.”
“Yeah?”
“Got a job for you.”
“What's it pay?”
“5,000,000 Zelos.”
“Holy shit stacks Jack! That’s a fat stack. Who do you want me to kill this time?”
“I want you to go out to Deadlands, LT zone. No technology works out there apparently. Some sort of old town. Nobody even knew it was out there, past the wastelands.”
“Fuck no Jack. I ain’t in shape for that.”
“I don’t give a damn Frank. Get yourself a fucking horse. You’re my number one. I need you on this.”
“What the fuck Jack? $6,000,000 Zelos, and three girls, or I ain’t getting dressed for shit.”
“Fine Frank. I’ll have them sent over. Ernest will be traveling out there as well. Meet with him. It’s a place called Kasia or something like that. Meet Ernest and then an old associate of mine named Alex, Alex Shuffle. I think he’s gone a little crazy. Bring some guns.”
“Don’t I always anyways Jack.”
“Right, alright, watch your mailbox and your doorbell. I'll send ya a coordinates and your evening entertainment. You won’t find this place on any map.”
“They better be hot Jack or I’ll be super pissed off.”
-END TRANSMISSION-
“Look Jack, I'm not going into no LT zone until I have my deposit. Communications won't work there and I'm not going into this ghost town till I see the Zelos confirmed in my account.”
“It's on its way Ernest. I swear. You know how these digital currencies gotta pass through all their proof of stakes. It's on its way, be patient, it's being verified. Watch your damn account.”
“It's a lightning network Jack. It should be instantaneous.”
“Ernest, I can see it on my end. The witnesses are confirming the block transactions. Your connection to the grid is slow out there. You probably have a bad signal. Give it a sec, or hour.”
“This is the last job Jack.”
“How sweat Ern. Have I ever let you down?”
“Fuck you Jack.”
-END TRANSMISSION-
Part 2: “The Man in the Hat”
(White breath, calm, a slow, rhythmic heartbeat)
“I should have saved for a retirement.” Ernest whispers in the night. His blue scarf flapping off his shoulder. “This fucking wasteland. What the hell am I doing? At least it’s kind of peaceful out here. Can finally hear myself think.”
He pokes at the embers of a small fire with a branch to get the coals ready. Ernest thrusts a thinner stick down the lizard’s mouth he shot this afternoon. Its lifeless body internally crunches. He lowers and rotates it over the flickering red glow. Out beyond the sand dunes a coyote howls. Full moon looms in a cloudless sky. The sand feels cool between his fingers as the day’s heat dissipates into the darkness. This is Ernest's third night on the old road: yellow sand blown over century old cracked pavement.
The coyote smells the cooking meat or maybe thinks it has a chance getting a nibble off Ernest’s steed. It creeps along the horizon inching closer in hesitation. Ernest takes big bites out of the lizard's carcass chewing tough skin and sweet white meat. He watches the coyote approach and pulls out his revolver.
“You hungry for a snack buddy?” He whispers in the night. The coyote stops, crouches, and watches. They sit in a stale mate, neither making the next move. Ernest shoots the gun up into the air.
“Buzz off you old scavenger! This my lizard-pop.” He fires two rounds in the direction of the wild animal. The bullets explode puffs of sand and the coyote disappears beyond the hills.
“Might be safer to travel at night.” Ernest says finishing his dinner. “Couple hours rest and I'll continue. I'm running low on water.”
High noon arrives beating blinding heat upon Ernest, it thirsts for the moisture off his dark skin. A body lays half buried in the road. Someone has brushed off most of the sand. A rib cage spreads open to the sky. Organs and skin gone. A thread of ripped clothe ripples in the wind. Ernest bends down to study the skull. A small spider crawls out of the eye socket.
“Sorry kid.” He says. “I'll have to burry you on my way back through. I don't have time right now.”
Another three days pass for Ernest since crossing into the LT zone. He applies the last of his cream on his dry cracking lips as he chews a small stick to keep the saliva moving.
The road twists past weathered mountains and broken peaks. Ernest sees the first signs of civilization beyond the wasteland, a tall square sign. “All You Can Eat Buffet.” He reaches the illusive town of Kasia. The coyote has been following him. Ernest brushes off the desert dust from his jacket.
“If I ever make it back...” he says covering his mouth with the blue scarf.
Walking past boarded up houses Ernest heads towards main street in hopes of finding life, water, any form of civilization. A dozen vultures block his path in the road. They bounce, screech, and snap at each other around a dead dog. As Ernest approaches they pay no heed to him busy pecking rotting meat off the carcass. Ernest crosses around them as a few screech warnings at him. Two vultures play tug-a-war with a strand of flesh.
A low murmurer drifts through a gathering crowd as Ernest staggers into the main street. He pulls the blue scarf tight around his face. Wide colorless blood shot eyes watch him cross through the market. Skeletal fingers point whispering to each other. White paper masks cover their mouths and noses as they shelter their frail pale bodies under wide brim straw like hats or umbrellas. Ernest is a lone ebony key of a broken piano.
Earnest weaves through aisles of dried vegetables, cacti stems, and dead animals. Flies buzz skinned cats and dogs strung up on poles. Vultures sit and squawk on top brick buildings in the distance. Dark sentinels reminding everyone of death.
Ernest pulls out his canteen and swallows the last few warm drops. This is where he’s suppose to meet Frank. A man sits behind a counter with trinkets and watches. His skin sags off his skull and bone as if melting. He looks up at the visitor with thick gray bushy sideburns. The trinket man’s bald shines with brown and black scabs riddled across abnormal white skin.
“You buy these?” Asks Ernest showing the man the watch on his wrist. He checks it again. The hands have stopped moving.
“Sometimes I buy. Sometimes I sell them.”
“How much for this one?” Ernest tosses it on the table. The trinket man picks it up with short nob knuckled fingers and squints. “2 Krons. Nothing more.” He says dropping it back across the table.
“Ok.” Says Ernest. “What the hell is a Kron?”
The trinket man lifts a coin from his pocket. Kron. He puts two on the table and pushes them across.”
Ernest slides them into his hand and studies them. They seem to be blacksmithed. “Very well. Do you know where I can find water for my canteen?”
“Well is around the corner.” He says without looking up. “Middle of town. Tastes funny. Not like when I was a boy. Use to be delicious.”
“Thanks.” Says Ernest.
“It's rationed now.”
“What?”
“The water.”
Ernest searches through thin white kicked up dust floating in the air. Three cattle cross the road led by a hunched over man beneath a large brim hat. The hip bones of the cattle protrude from their skin as does their ribs. Flies buzz and land on their hairless, scabbed, and blistered backs.
A thin pale child comes walking down the lane with his head down. He is dragging a toy by a string. His mother, down the street, doesn’t realize he has left her side as she is preoccupied in conversation.
Her expression changes to panic as she notices her son is gone and there is a new visitor. The boy stops almost walking into Ernest. His wide round eyes bulge from deep socket holes as he looks up. He drops the string.
“Hello,” Ernest says.
“What are you?” Whispers the boy.
“Just a visitor.”
The mother comes running to scoop up her child in a panic and pulls him away. She holds him tight, as she begins coughing, and wheezing. She attempts to protect the boy's smooth hairless head with her bone thin fingers. Together they shrink away back.
“Have you come here to die too?” She shrills from the other side of the street. “Or have you brought death with you?”
“Still trying to be the good guy, are ya, bud?” says a low, rusty voice from behind Ernest. “Don't let that one bother ya. This town is fucked up.”
Ernest quickly turns and instinctively reaches for the gun at his hip.
“And jumpy as always,” says Frank as his face peals out of the shadows. He steps into the street from out of an alleyway, cackling. “Calm down, ol’ bud.” He puts up both hands. “Don’t shoot me, don’t shoot.” The smile dangles off his face as he slaps Ernest on the shoulder. “I missed you too, buddy. Glad you still care.”
“I don't appreciate surprises.” says Ernest. “Next time you might get a bullet in your fat belly.” Ernest shrugs off Frank’s hand. “I don’t like you touching me, either. And I don’t like this town. It’s full of some sort of sickness or something.”
“Something ain't it, hu?”
“They're like walking skeletons. Why the hell did Jack send us here?”
Frank smiles, revealing a set of nasty black and missing teeth. “Let's go get something to eat.”
“What? Eat the food from this town? Man, you got a death wish? You want to catch what they have?”
“Na man, it's like hereditary or something. I think. Least that's what Jack said. Don't worry about it,” he said. “Anyways, I'm fucking hungry and I don't work on an empty stomach. My belly is starving for some cheep ass noodles or something spicy. Hell, I'll even buy you dinner.”
Frank puts his arm on Ernest's back to lead him down a side alley and away from the market square. “Let's get you off the main stage.” They ducked into the shade of an alley. “Best to stay out of the sun too. Now listen Ern, I found sixty thousand Zelos on a dead kid on my way in. Must have tried leaving this place long time ago. Some little rich shit didn't make it too far. Don’t know how he got his mits on sixty thousand Zelos.”
“Yeah.” Said Ernest. “Might have seen a body on my way in. Bad situation this town is in. I'd leave too. Hell, let's get this job over with. I wanted to leave the second I got here. I don't want to stick around a minute longer than necessary.”
“Woow wow bud. What’s the rush. We can enjoy a little of the hospitality.”
“Sierra caught the bug.”
“The big bug?”
“The big bug.” Said Ernest. “I need the Zelos to pay off some bastard hacks to reverse the bug they planted.”
“Seirra? Shit, is that Tenzon’s kid?” Asks Frank. “Well I’ll be smacked jolly after Church I haven’t seen her since she was shorter than me. She’s a mom now? Ha ha! And that makes you an old man gran-pappy!”
Ernest lowered the blue scarf covering his dry lips. “I won’t be long if I can’t pay for her cure.”
“Don’t you worry ol’ bud.” Said Frank. “Those damn hacks aren’t as clever as they think they are. I should know. I use to work with a bunch of them. Fuckers still using the same designer disease from fifty years ago. They’re fucking retro rated at best. I’m sure Jack can help ya out.”
“I’m sick of owing Jack any favors. Asshole use to be a good guy.” Said Ernest. “If this job goes well, I get Sierra cured and with any luck, live out my remaining days somewhere quiet. Maybe grab myself a new wife.
“Right right bud.” Said Frank. “But let’s not work on an empty stomach. So, bare with me. First we eat and then we go meet this most important guy Shuffle. Shit, for what he's paying us. This job has to be a big fucking deal.” Frank looks around. “Not much out here. Don't understand what kind of job this could be. No banks to rob. Locals all look poor as shit. This whole town is in the crapper. What the hell we getting paid six mil to do?”
“Six?”
“Uh, yeah, I mean, five.” Said Frank putting his hands in his pockets while wearing a wide large tooth grin. “Five mil.”
Ernest scoured at Frank. “Sure about that?”
“Ah yeah, come on. Beats me what this is all about. I'm eager to find out, get it over with, get out of here, and on with my riches.” Said Frank.
Ernest put the scarf back over his face.
Watching Frank slurp down a brown mush bowl of what might be noodles Ernest's stomach turn.
“I can't believe you're eating that.” Said Ernest.
“I can't believe you're not eating.” Said Frank with a burp. Droplets spitting across the napkin tucked into his collar.
“You don't know what's in that.” Said Ernest.
“I eat exotic.”
“Sure you do. Eat about anything.”
“Screw you Ern, ya sour puss. Don’t be such a party pooper. When amongst locals, dine like the locals. That’s my motto.”
“Sure it is.”
“Anyways, Fuck it. Tastes alright. I was fucking hungry. What you expect? This job didn’t come with any diet restrictions. I've been here since mid noon yesterday, staked out the whole damn town waiting for your slow sulky ass. Guy has to eat ya know and I ain’t dead yet.” He slurps up a big chewy wad of cartilage and farted. “A bit of indigestion and some wicked gas. Nothing I ain't use to.”
“You know where this Shuffle is?” Asked Ernest.
Frank fishes an eye ball out of his gruel. “Fuck me!” He shouts flicking it out the open windows. “Now that, I won't fucking eat. Even if it is local delicacy.” The eyeball lands in the dirt. A dog with three legs drags itself from around a corner. Large patches of fur are missing. It sniffs the eyeball and licks it up. A gush of white ooze pops. The dog swallows and looks at the two men with empty sad eyes. Green liquid drips from one nostril. It licks it.
“Yuck! Fuck that ugly mutt! Make me puke.” said Frank. “Put that poor bastard out and do everyone a favor.” He throws his spoon at it. It clinks off the brick wall above the dog's head. The dog cowers without contest and ducks back down a dark alley. “Glad I'm done eating. I lost my damn appetite.”
Frank wipes his moist double chin on the bottom of his shirt exposing his fat pale belly for anyone to see. If there were anyone else eating. Snarls of long strands of hair coil out of his deep indented bellybutton. He pulls out a black leather pouch of tobacco and digs his fingers dig into it. “Nothing beats a good smoke after a meal, hey bud. You still smoke, Ern?” He rolls a cigarette, puts it to his lips, and lights it. Gray smoke seeps from his gaping nostrils.
“No, I quit,” Ernest said, “and please don't call me that.”
“Ok, bud.” Frank’s smile wrinkles the corners of his little beady eyes. Deep sagging bags droop beneath them. He takes a long drag. “Whatever you say Ern.”
“Do you have an idea what this Mr. Shuffle needs us for?” Asks Ernest.
“Nope. Something about a fire, or fame, or something. I think. I don’t know. Jack didn’t have too many details.”” He exhales. “Beats the hell out of me. All I know is it pays well. Worst part of the mission is the damn commute.”
“Say that again.” said Ernest. “Not that this town is any better.”
“Worst part of the this is the damn commute.” Frank bites down on the thin rolled cigarette. The smoke stains his teeth and fingertips. He stairs off. “Yeah, yeah, this retched sick stinking town is a real peach too. Let's get a move on before dark.” He says. “It get's creepier then.”
The two men gather themselves and step out from between the stone buildings. They continue down narrow streets avoiding making eye contact with the gawking locals.
“Remember the good ol’ days we had in Gucken?” Said Frank “We had some good time slinging for the Gemini Twins. Ur, before Jack shot his own brother.”
Ernest stops and stands silently for a moment, rubbing his chin covered with the blue scarf. “That’s not exactly how I remember it. Wouldn’t necessarily call those days a highlight in my life either.” Ernest stares at a passing cloud. It moves effortlessly in a windless blue white sky. The day is nearing mid afternoon. He thinks about his granddaughter and squints his eyes in the glaring sunlight.
“Let's meet this ‘Shuffle’ guy. Get it over with. I want to get the hell out of here.” He says.
Frank blows out a long trail of smoke. “Righty-oh Ern buddy, righty-oh. Ain't no good times to be had in this shit show of a town anyways.” Frank starts marching down the middle of the dirt road. “This Mr. Shuffle lives at the edge of town. Tall dark building. The creepy looking one. Might have been a church I think.”
Frank leads Ernest down a few winding passageways. Small, pale children with large heads on bone-brittle bodies run about the sandy streets, kicking up dust yelling and playing shoot-‘em-up. Frank spins an imaginary gun in his hand and points the barrel of his finger at one of the boys, thumbing back the hammer.
“Bang, bang, bang!” He shoots all the kids dead with invisible bullets. They all run away.
Women in loose shrouds hear the kids scream and stare at the two foreign travelers crossing town. They know where they’re headed.
A woman in blue comes flying out a doorway. She grabs Ernest’s scarf and screams in his face. “Go away!” She spits in his face. “Your kind have never been welcome here.” Her deformed face peels back rotting black teeth and a blister scabbed tongue. Ernest gages at the smell of her breath. “You're kind have diseased our town. Now where are all sick. You go to your filth, the one who did this to us. He rots in his house. Shuffle. I’d like to cut his black heart out.” She reveals the knife she was holding behind her back. “He took my son from me.” Tears ran down her bone thin face.
Ernest stares back into her bloodshot eyes. For the first time he feels a sense of terror at his core. Frank runs up and slaps her across the face with the back of his hand.
“You ugly bitch. Back the fuck up!” He shouts.
She falls to the dirt. A trickle of dark blood drains from the corner of her eye and drips, soaking into the dry ground. Frank looks at his hand. Some of her flesh is stuck to it. Frantically, he wipes it off on his pant leg.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” He screams jumping up and down. “I got her face juices on my hand! Fuck this town! Fuck everyone who lives here!” He pulls out his two guns and spins around in a frantic dance on one foot. “You all stay the fuck back. Ya here? Don't come any closer. You sick fucking turds. You so much as sneeze in my general direction I’ll put a bullet through your thought processing. Ya dig?”
“I told you Frank,” Ernest said. “There isn't anything good in this town. I feel it. Nothing but death. Like a cold shiver.” He straightens his long jacket and covers his face with the blue scarf.
“Let's get this over with.”