Salvation
Chapter 9
San Diego, California
Nick flipped closed the silver face plate of the tiny cell phone.
His emotions were mixed. Grateful he knew Michelle was alright.
Worried about her chances of getting free of the Los Angeles area..
Seventy five miles of bedlam lay between Long Beach and
Riverside.
Once there she could pick up the I-10 east leading her to what he
hoped would be safety.
Her bike worked in her favor. Although the 07' Dyna Glide Custom
didn't have the same advantage of Sportster agility.
The coil over rear suspension beat the hell out of Nicks 02'
Softail Heritage Classic which rolled fat like a buick in comparison.
Adding to the equation the additional power of the 96 cubic inch Evolution Big Twin, Michelle's bike gave her a better than average chance..
Buck had called him from the studio around 10am.Wondering where he was.
He apologized, saying he'd had a rough night..
They all had keys, they could start without him.
While speaking with Buck the residue of the dream still haunted him.
Leaving him shaken and washed out. Nagging. Refusing to leave.
He advised Buck he'd get up there by noon and apologized again.
After hanging up he decided to take some time..
He had showered before Buck's call but also wanted to shave.
The apartment felt quiet and sober..
He decided to turn on the tv set and add some ambient noise..
That was approximately 10:30 am..
Now It was almost noon.
Police and fire engine sirens wailed consistently out side the apartment.
Helicopers thumped overhead accompanied by loud speaker warnings.
"This is the San Diego County Sheriff Department.
Police action in progress...Stay in your homes."
The skyline was muddy and filled with the stench of fire.
Pillars of thick black smoke appeared in every direction Nick could see from
the balcony of the apartment.
Standing in the center of the apartment..Dressed, helmet in hand, ready to roll.
Checking the tv for any last minute updates..Shrewish thoughts surfaced.
What other choices did Michelle have?..L.A.X and a flight out? Not possible.
The FAA had already temporarily grounded flights in and out of the entire Southern California region.
Even if they hadn't. How safe could she possibily be mixed within the masses
of a busy airport?
Stay home?
The official request of the Los Angeles police Department was exactly
that.
"If your at work stay at work. If your at home stay at home."
Had his own advice added a fuel of panic tipping Michelle's decision to flee the
area? Had his concern for her safety inadvertently put her in more jeopardy?
His own decision to leave the San Diego area was based on the logic that
in any given population the ratio of police officer to citizen was approximately
1 in 300...
Under normal conditions that ratio was sufficient to maintain society's expectation of law and order.
What Nick saw taking place here in San Diego. A hundred and fifty miles from
the center of Los Angeles. Was a huge shift against authority's response time
if an individual was in peril.
How much greater the lag in response time would Michelle suffer at her Long Beach location less than fifty miles from the epicenter?
Nick's decision to advise Michelle as he had done was based on gut feeling and the little known facts he had available to him at the time.
In his heart and mind he firmly believed there was no safety for her to be found in the L.A. region.
But what if he was wrong?
After speaking with Michelle he had called the studio back.
He spoke with Toby, then Mac, and Buck..
Passing them the information he'd learned from the news casts.
The general consensus was the three men would stay hold up
there at the studio..
It seemed the safest alternative apposed to venturing back
into San Diego..Nick agreed..
He saved mentioning Michelle and his plans to meet her
until he spoke with Buck..
He knew the idea was risky, and his life was in danger.
He knew the boys would try to talk him down.
Advise him to join them and wait things out.
Buck didn't try. He asked if Nick was bringing her back
with him to the studio.
Nick had no answers. His only concern was she get out
of the L.A. region..After that she would be deciding her own
course of action..
Once he was certain the men understood the danger
of listening to any music at this time he hung up..
He placed little foam ear plugs in both ears..
They were lying around the apartment and at the studio.
Used as a tool when recording vocals..
It was necessary to plug one ear when singing into pre recorded
playback.. A means to hear both the music and the vocalists
pitch at the same time.
He strapped on the helmet then opened the front door
scanning the immediate area..
It looked clear.
He locked the apartment and sprinted to the Softail.
Firing it up and rolling out cold.
Ashlee's death had been an accident..
They had been in love and she was ripped from him in a moment.
Suddenly. No early warning. Gone.
She simply was in the act of driving a car..
Her make up bag had slipped off the the passenger seat..
Lying on the floor board.
It would only take a second..to retrieve it..
And she wanted to look nice for Nick when she met him.
Unbuckling the seat belt. Steering with her left.
Reaching with her right and down...
Pulling her head an instant below the dashboard.
When she looked up, clutching the make up bag, her
life was over.
Two years and one month had passed. Seven hundred and sixty days..
Until last night, when he first lay eyes on Michelle,
Nick had felt exactly the same as day one.
Los Angeles, California
1:pm
The sky rained black ash. The atmosphere thick and settling like hot fog.
Close and stifling as oil fires and smog collaborated changing oxygen to
oxalic acid.
North Stanley Street in South Central Los Angeles looked much as it did on any given day.
Tan colored mock adobe homes with black rusting security bars.
Traditional wood sided structures, asphalt rolled or shingle roofed.
Intermixed with twelve unit apartments stuccoed in steel blue.
Laundry hung on back yard clothes lines, or drying over balcony
balustrades of rod iron fencing.
Scorched brown Bermuda braced another day of drought.
The littered curbs and vacant lots played host to blowing debris in the mild Santa Anna wind.
As if a overloaded sanitation truck had barreled past throwing it's candy in a parade.
A mail man appeared out of the haze making his way down the block.
Clad in blue short sleeves and shorts. The kind with wide pinstripes on the sides.
Detective Hal Pigg rolled to a stop finding an open spot against a low curb of faded red paint..
A yellow fire hydrant mounted to the weed infested sidewalk framed itself in the
cruiser's passenger side window..
The location was acceptable.
Far enough south of the suspect's address to remain unnoticed.
He removed an L.A. Dodgers cap adjusting the tight fitting wireless radio headset.
Reminding him of the first time his parents forced him to wear a tie.
The right side speaker on the headset was all but useless.
Along with the wireless issued to all field officers as of 11:am this morning was a package of wax ear plugs for the right ear as an added precaution.
He slipped a flat black SWAT issue combat helmet off the passenger seat and strapped it on.
Pressing a tiny button embedded at the base of the stemmed microphone he checked in.
...."83...(officer I.D.#).....10-97... (arrived at scene).....10-4?" (copy)
Dispatch confirmed the officer's I.D. by the last two digits of his badge number.
"83,..10-4."
Officer Hal Pigg..The surname was not the mistaken type 'O' of a less than meticulous fiction writer.
Nor the delusional trappings of a self inflated mistaken sense of humor
conceived in the dark passages of a cynical mind.
Hal Pigg was simply, Hal Pigg..He had been Hal Pigg since the day be was born..
There was nothing to be done..
He had no control over the derivatives of linguistics as they pertain to the English Language.
No say so in the philology of alphabetical concepts that were long ago pieced together forming ideas and values handed down from generation to generation by the ancient tradition of Grandfather to Father,..Father to Son.
He had been Hal Pigg since the pungent mixture of dirt playgrounds, bloody noses, skinned knees, and swollen knuckles became a daily conditioning of his young life.
And he had remained true to his Father and his Father's Father through out the years of puberty and adulthood despite the giggling groups of high school girls and embarrassed college professors caught snickering behind his back.
He turned his attention to the fire hydrant.
Seeing through the drip dried dog piss stains that coated it.
Beneath the human territorial markings expressed through 'gangster red' graffiti lingo.
Hal pulled a little back notebook from the glove box noting the street location of the hydrant.
South Central had been his beat..Back a few years when he had still been a patrol officer.
It had been his commitment for over a year now.
During his time off duty.
Repainting defaced fire hydrants through out his old patrol area.
What he saw behind the ugliness of disrespect.
Below the chipped and tattered fading yellow paint.
Was something worth honoring.
Standing strong and at ready.
Created by man to help make the world a better place.
The mail carrier was infected. Hal punched the transmit button again watching
the habits of the grinner.
As he did another cruiser pulled over shimmering 's like a mirage at the far north end of the street.
It was lieutenant Harrington's unmarked car.
" 83..Advise 10-66 (suspicious person)..One..White..Male..Postal carrier...2229 North Stanley Street..10-4"
Dispatch paused them came back.." 83,..surveillance is in progress, 10-4?"
"10-4."
Headquarters was aware of it..The post office was officially closed.
Surveillance choppers had been especially active overhead in this area.
A prelude to the code 11 (SWAT call up) about to be carried out.
They didn't want to move on Mister short pants and blow the SWAT's cover.
Hal gave lieutenant Harrington time to advise dispatch his position.
Then switch the radio channel to number 2..synchronizing the lieutenant's
radio with his own..
The mail carrier's persevering determination was commendable.
Pulling the correct order of rubber banded materials from his large tan leather pouch.
Sorting and double checking the address numbers posted on the exterior of the homes.
He simply laid the mail on the front lawns of the appropriate residences.
"That's rich"..Hal murmured.."Close buddy but no cigar."
Harrington's voice cracked in Hal's left ear." 83, 74, 87, code 12..(swat in progress)..stand by."
SWAT was positioned somewhere behind the perk's apartment building
on the block directly east of Hal's right side.
Hal, Lieutenant Harrington, and two other officers of L.A.'s Special Operations Bureau were to converge at the front of the complex thwarting any frontal escape route.
Lieutenant Harrington was in command of platoon B. The platoon Hal and officers 74, and 87 were also teamed.
The Special Weapons And Tactics platoon D, currently storming the apartment complex, was commanded by Lieutenant Samatha De La Cruz.
The radio hissed again..
" 74, and 87.. 10-88 (assume post)..83 stand by 10-4?"...
"83,..10-4."
A moment later two silent black and whites sped passed Hal
with Christmas trees blazing..They wedged a Vee at the front of the
apartment building..
"83, 10-88, 10-4?"
"83, 10-4."
Hal hit the overhead light rack and floored it..
Harrington's car duplicated Hal's action..
They slid up taking outside positions of the first cars fatting the Vee formation.
The first two officers had already swung their doors and crouched behind them
leveling their Glock 17 sidearms at the front entry of the complex.
The familiar chop, chop, chop of an approaching police helicopter was faintly heard by Hal and the other officers.
It broke into view seconds later making uninterrupted circles over the area.
Hal saw it propel the sky like stirred soup grabbing his Remington M870 12 gauge shotgun while exiting the cruiser.
Wedging the stock end to the street and the barrel against the arm rest
mounted to the driver door.
He flip the holster strap guard pulling his side arm. Holding the
weapon with both hands he extended his arms between the slopping
window frame and side body of the car.
The risk of contamination brought with it a unique protocol.
Working in a state of deafness Hal and platoon B were not able to
hear what was taking place inside the building as the operation proceeded..
The SWAT team themselves couldn't hear what was going on inside
the building.
Losing the sense of sound put the police at a great disadvantage.
Making the operation considerably more dangerous than it would already
have been with all five senses working in their favor.
Hal kept track of the passage of time by noting the
approximate one minute lap cycle of the blue and white Jet Ranger
police chopper.
It was on it's sixth loop when Hal glimpsed three more police cars
arrive converging on the mail carrier down the block..
The SWAT operation was performed with a minimal of back up..
A indication of just how thin stretched the force had become amid
the pandemonium of the day.
As commander of platoon B, Harrington alone was instructed to flip
his radio receiver to channel 3..The channel the SWAT team was
using to communicate between themselves.
He needed to be kept informed in the event platoon D needed to
pass him quick updated information.
The copper looped around three more times before
Hal's headset buzzed and Harrington's voice punched through.
"83, 74, 87, Code.12...10-26..(clear)...10-4?"
Hal pushed the transmit.."83, 10-4."
There was a short pause..Then the voice returned.
"They found three cold bodies up there."
"Copy that Lieutenant", Hal acknowledged.
"Detective...I am going to need you in with me on this one."
"Yes sir."
"I am putting you on point..Your to report directly to me."
"Yes sir."
Harrington then addressed officers 74 (Larry Carson), and 87 (Gilbert Silversmith) both ranking Police Officers lll.
"Carson, Siversmith, good job guys..I'd like you both to assist across the street
if needed."
Harrington indicated the two officers who now had the mock mail man
spread eagle on his stomach with his hands cuffed behind his back..
They worked carefully duck taping the man's headphone set like a silver sweat band around his head, securing it.
Harrington continued, "Make sure that music player keeps working. They're manageable as long as that shit keeps pumping through their system."
Officer Silversmith tapped his transmitter..
"I think that's Robertson and Wagner sir..
Out of Hollenbeck Division..Their radio's aren't going to sync up
with Metro's sir.."
Harrington frowned, then nodded in agreement.."Use sign language..Light a
fire and try smoke signals Silversmith..Do what you need to do..It's just one of
those days."
"Yes sir."
Harrington added, "When your finished there, Carson...Silversmith? I want you back over here assisting Detective Pigg..
The Detective will be assuming command of the investigation..
Keep residents clear of apartment 12, and civilians clear out front..Forensics, Coroner's office, meat wagon...Keep everyone out of their face."
Platoon D was beginning to emerge through the front of the apartment building..
Lieutenant De La Cruz appeared like a shadow from the shaded front entry.
Black on black attire..She was deep in conversation with Metropolitan Division
Special Operations Bureau with step by step accounting of the operation and
its conclusions. Her MP5 submachine gun and fixed Surefire Flashlight strapped over her right shoulder..
Harrington held up three fingers and both he and Hal switched radio signals to
channel 3. SWAT officers were taking strategic perimeter points protecting the integrity of the crime scene.
The two men approached Lieutenant De La Cruz at the same time providing
her a respectful distance as she spat codes into her microphone.
Her complexion was that of milk chocolate. Hal had decided she was a
Milky Way bar in disguise..Long wavy raven colored hair was drawn up
in a tight swirl hidden under her combat helmet.
He felt self conscious standing there waiting..Partly because he wanted to
get inside the apartment and begin his investigation, and partly because he
felt uncomfortable by the fact he couldn't take his eyes off her.
He knew her of course and she him professionally.
They both worked in the Metropolitan Division and were both assigned
to the Bureau..
It was not unusual for them both to be in attendance at conferences
and department meetings. Sometimes with her sitting next to him.
He always when away from those meetings feeling the same way.
The way he felt right now.
Finished for the moment with headquarters she turned toward Harrington
and confirmed the channel with three fingers. Harrington nodded and she
switched over..
Harrington pushed his transmitter first. "Lieutenant De La Cruz I believe
you and Detective Pigg know each other, am I right?"
She smiled and touched her transmitter. "Yes, how are you Detective?"
Hal nodded, as Harrington spoke. "Detective Pigg is going to handle the
investigation Lieutenant.."
"Oh yes?" She nodded.
Harrington continued, "I am going to confirm it with the Bureau, but I wanted
to give you a heads up Lieutenant in case you noticed anything while you
were up there..Anything you'd like to pass on."
She nodded.."Well, it's a mess up there Lieutenant Harrington as I am
sure you will agree once you see it."
She paused shaking her head. Then continued speaking directly to Hal.
"I've been around you know? I've seen it all, but this..There are three
dead men up there that look like somebody used them to paint the walls."
Harrington punched in again. "Wow..Just what we need today..Crazy music
and now a mass murder..I am switching over to 1. I've got to touch base..
Lieutenant, good job today."
"You also Lieutenant..I am afraid this day is just beginning however."
Harrington nodded then turned his attention to Hal.
"Go ahead on up Hal..I'll be there in a few minutes."
"Yes sir." Hal returned.
Harrington descended the front entry way and made his way to his car.
Hal turned and watched him out of respect for the man.
The cruisers across the street were just pulling out with the grinning mail man.
Carson and Silversmith were stopping sparse traffic and sternly advising
occupants to go home.
Hal turned back and Lieutenant De La Cruz was looking directly at him.
For a moment he lost himself in her dark eyes.
When he blinked he noticed she held up five fingers..
He started to push his transmitter to tell her he didn't understand.
Before he could she motioned to her radio and then to his.
Slowly as if instructing she advanced her channel selection to 5.
He nodded and did the same.
"Are you ready for this?" she said indicating the apartments.
He nodded then realized the SWAT team wasn't hearing this conversation.
"That was a neat trick."
She smiled and the dark mysterious eyes smiled also.
"I have my moments...Some day huh?"
"Yeah", he said..."This crazy headphone set is making my head itch!"
She laughed, "Your too?..I thought it was only me!"
He wanted to tell her he'd be happy to massage her scalp for her later, but
almost choked on the thought amazed how quickly it popped into his mind.
Instead he said something else that made him red in the face.
Wishing he could suck it back like a breath.
"Your very brave,...Lieutenant."
"Yes I am Detective" She sounded professional..Matter of fact.
But Hal saw something hidden behind the tone of voice.
Something that softened in her eyes and a slight smile that produced a dimple
on the right corner of her mouth.
"Well Detective if your ready I'll show you the apartment."
"I don't want you to have to go back in there."..He felt like a teenager..
She looked at Hal thinking to herself that this man was different.
Despite the heat and horrific conditions of the world around him. Knowing
what lay wating for him in apartment 12. His first concern was for her
safety..
Not just from the possiblilty of a crazed apartment resident suddenly
snapping and lashing out in fear and rage.
Or of a certain suspect that may have evaded the teams inital passing..
A suspect hidden in the shadows with bulging eyes and
breathing fear. Waiting..
But it was more the concern he was showing her for the safety of her mind.
An attempt to spare her another trip into the all too hellish reality of a
human being gone horribly wrong.
"You will be there" she said..."You will be there if I need you."
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Saturday, November 8, 2008
SALVATION chapter 8
Salvation
chapter 8
Atlanta, Georgia
Sal Fox crouched against the wall just outside the door of Julie Westgrove's office.
Clutching the pink waste basket like a security blanket.
The unusual silence that had raised his curiosity earlier was now replaced.
A constant buzzing of office phones ringing unanswered.
The hall on the 23rd floor remained empty..
He had persisted leaning against the hallway for some time.
Holding back for the nausea to subside, and his strength to return..
The ceiling shook twice while he waited..The result of something
heavy finding the carpet on the floor immediately above him.
There were muffled cries and screams. Sal couldn't pin point their exact location..
He checked his watch the time was 2:55 pm.
Fourteen minutes had passed since he first entered Julie Westgrove's office..
Fourteen minutes and what felt like fifteen years.
He needed to stand up. Fight off the sickness and wobble in his legs.
He sensed that what had occurred in the office behind him had duplicated
in offices through out the 23rd floor..
Everyone except himself had been audio-intimate with the new single
"King of the World."
Something unthinkable had gone wrong in the minds of those who'd listened to it..
"What have we done?"..
His eyes burned with the sweat of tears.
His mind bearing witness the events leading up to this moment..
The skyrocketing internet sales.."How many are infected now?"..
The scheduled radio broadcast release of the single in Los Angeles through a popular AM rock station.
Corporate owned and operated by Universal Music..
"That was 10 am Los Angeles time"...
Quickly computing the 3 hours time difference it would be almost Noon in Los Angeles now..
He set the waste pale on the carpet between his feet..
Forcing his palms against the wall he slid up using the strength in his
arms and legs..
"There still might be time."..If he could get to his office and call the radio station.
Often the scheduled time of air play was postponed due to complications..
It could be any little glitch causing a scheduled format to change..
A technical problem with equipment..
A hung over radio producer simply behind in their work load for that day.
Or a missed cue..
An unnoticed new slot to be filled in the song rotation..
His head swung suddenly left..
An office door opened down the hall five doors from his own on the opposite side of the hallway.
Sal shook and sucked down a deep breath.
For a moment, nothing.
Then slowly, meticulously a man emerged walking backwards into the hall.
Stereo headphones framed the man's pale balding skull.
A quarter harvest moon of fuzzy beard circled the lower jaw line.
Sal recognized the man immediately.
It was Carl Medford..
A senior account representative who'd been passed over for promotion.
Carl was of the opinion Sal now occupied his chair and his rightly deserved office space.
The grudge was fresh. Sitting on his shoulder spitting venom since Carl arrived at work today learning of the news.
Sal watched as Carl methodically unrolled a 25 foot wire extension cable plugged into the headset's 3 foot original equipment.
Robotically dropping the cable a foot at a time increasing his distance from the office he appeared from.
Carl's intended destination lay directly across the hall.
A large brown door with a big blue plastic 'men's room' identifier bolted to the face.
His expression was one of self accomplishment.
Like the triumph of a disability overcome.
He had ingeniously devised a method to an end.
Resolving a desire in meeting a dual purpose.
He needed to take a shit. And needed to hear 'King of the world' while doing it..
It wasn't that listening to 'King of the World' made Carl a happier fella.
He simply could not live without it.
The throbbing bass lines and back beat of percussion did not fill his blood
with a rhythmic sense of celebration.
A closer definition might in fact be the combination of music and lyrics
pounding through his eardrums was in the process of...subtraction.
Sucking, and feeding..
Taking what had been the totality of Carl Medford at the beginning of the day, and drinking it down into a void.
A void of blackness that's sole purpose was an attempt to fill a space
that could not be filled.
A boundless, fathomless space that held no properties established within a world of matter.
Even the cold dark forbidding aspects of the universe know as 'black holes' were
somehow tame in comparison.
For they at least were explainable..Knowable.
Kin to the fabric of a logical place and time.
Gravity existed there.
Sal stood perfectly still.
Willing his body to meld with the hallway.
Hoping to escape unnoticed by way of Carl's engrossment of deliberateness.
No such luck..
As Carl turned to confirm his distance from the men's room doorway
his eyes spat a silver flash taking in Sal pinned against the wall.
He wore the same identical grin Sal had seen on Shari Galloway's face.
"Maybe they should date," his mind interjected in an effort to maintain a footing in sanity.
And in that moment his mind followed with a reflection of a semblance..
It suddenly occurred to Sal what the grinning jowls and vacant eyes of both Shari and Carl had in common..
They were the faces of starving wolves.
For a moment that seemed an hour, the two men stared.
Then slowly, seductively, Carl's grin widened..
Sal could not ascertain recognition in those eyes.
He was absolutely certain Carl had no idea who Sal was.
He was also absolutely certain Carl didn't care.
The loping grin froze.
A single index finger protruded from Carl's right fist.
A fist that slowly rose..
The finger kissed his lips then descended pointing directly at the cable snaked before him on the floor.
Carl's head began to swing side to side as did the index finger keeping time.
Sal got the message loud and clear.
It made him recall his 3rd grade elementary school teacher.
Miss Eagelman..An elderly spinster..
Scrawny and lanky with short blue hair cut like a man's.
Ichabod Crane in drag..
Her adam's apple curtsied when she spoke and the skin around her neck reminded Sal of a turkey.
"Do not touch!"...Her long index finger wagged like a dog inches from his face, attached to a fist of lumpy red rolling knuckles.
Sal didn't realize until Carl had finished his Miss Eagelman impersonation that
his own head was mimicking Carl's robotic side to side motion..
Seeming satisfied, Carl returned his attention to the cable.
Resuming his backward trek pushing through the restroom door.
Sal inched along the wall closing the gap between himself and the door to his office.
Slipping inside he closed the door quietly behind him.
Damning the office door for no locking device, he slid the computer chair under the door nob jamming it like he'd seen done in the movies.
The closed quarters helped muffle the constant ringing of phones in neighboring offices.
Squatting at the desk he moved the computer mouse disabling the screen saver.
Sales for 'King of the World' had continued to climb to over 700,000.
But now the screen seemed frozen..No new numbers were being posted.
Sal clicked the browser refresh thinking it to be the problem.
Instead of the page returning, a new page flashed up on the monitor.
'Error 504..Gateway Timeout'...Please contact the administrator..
It seemed the site was currently offline.
He picked up the desk phone and punched through five lit lines routed to his office.
There was no one holding on any of them.
He speed dialed the Los Angeles radio station in hopes of cancelling the release
of 'King of the World'.
The number wasn't busy..
Like the office phones here at Universal the line rang, and rang.
He hung up and picked up again.
This time he dialed 911.
San Diego, California
Ed Hoffman had an advantage.
The 19 inch Zenith portable color television perched a top
two metal gray filing cabinets probably saved his life.
It was his custom to flick it on daily catching the mid morning news.
The Zenith was a trooper..It hadn't failed him in over twelve years.
Sal Fox hadn't mentioned the MENACE single promotion kicking off in Los Angeles.
Ed had to hear it for himself via a special news report breaking just as Fanny Sutherland of Omaha was preparing to spin the wheel on 'Price Is Right'.
The first initial report came over about 10:40 am.
Preliminary reports were sketchy and emotional.
It wasn't until almost 11:45 am..After a series of live updates..
The determining cause of the chaos linked to a kind of hypnosis..
An embedded subconscious suggestion contained in the
music of a band called MENACE.
It took another five minutes or so to dawn on Ed his secretary didn't have the same advantage.
By that time it was almost noon.
Lunch time..
Margie wasn't hungry though.
She'd been listening to 'King of the World' for over an hour.
chapter 8
Atlanta, Georgia
Sal Fox crouched against the wall just outside the door of Julie Westgrove's office.
Clutching the pink waste basket like a security blanket.
The unusual silence that had raised his curiosity earlier was now replaced.
A constant buzzing of office phones ringing unanswered.
The hall on the 23rd floor remained empty..
He had persisted leaning against the hallway for some time.
Holding back for the nausea to subside, and his strength to return..
The ceiling shook twice while he waited..The result of something
heavy finding the carpet on the floor immediately above him.
There were muffled cries and screams. Sal couldn't pin point their exact location..
He checked his watch the time was 2:55 pm.
Fourteen minutes had passed since he first entered Julie Westgrove's office..
Fourteen minutes and what felt like fifteen years.
He needed to stand up. Fight off the sickness and wobble in his legs.
He sensed that what had occurred in the office behind him had duplicated
in offices through out the 23rd floor..
Everyone except himself had been audio-intimate with the new single
"King of the World."
Something unthinkable had gone wrong in the minds of those who'd listened to it..
"What have we done?"..
His eyes burned with the sweat of tears.
His mind bearing witness the events leading up to this moment..
The skyrocketing internet sales.."How many are infected now?"..
The scheduled radio broadcast release of the single in Los Angeles through a popular AM rock station.
Corporate owned and operated by Universal Music..
"That was 10 am Los Angeles time"...
Quickly computing the 3 hours time difference it would be almost Noon in Los Angeles now..
He set the waste pale on the carpet between his feet..
Forcing his palms against the wall he slid up using the strength in his
arms and legs..
"There still might be time."..If he could get to his office and call the radio station.
Often the scheduled time of air play was postponed due to complications..
It could be any little glitch causing a scheduled format to change..
A technical problem with equipment..
A hung over radio producer simply behind in their work load for that day.
Or a missed cue..
An unnoticed new slot to be filled in the song rotation..
His head swung suddenly left..
An office door opened down the hall five doors from his own on the opposite side of the hallway.
Sal shook and sucked down a deep breath.
For a moment, nothing.
Then slowly, meticulously a man emerged walking backwards into the hall.
Stereo headphones framed the man's pale balding skull.
A quarter harvest moon of fuzzy beard circled the lower jaw line.
Sal recognized the man immediately.
It was Carl Medford..
A senior account representative who'd been passed over for promotion.
Carl was of the opinion Sal now occupied his chair and his rightly deserved office space.
The grudge was fresh. Sitting on his shoulder spitting venom since Carl arrived at work today learning of the news.
Sal watched as Carl methodically unrolled a 25 foot wire extension cable plugged into the headset's 3 foot original equipment.
Robotically dropping the cable a foot at a time increasing his distance from the office he appeared from.
Carl's intended destination lay directly across the hall.
A large brown door with a big blue plastic 'men's room' identifier bolted to the face.
His expression was one of self accomplishment.
Like the triumph of a disability overcome.
He had ingeniously devised a method to an end.
Resolving a desire in meeting a dual purpose.
He needed to take a shit. And needed to hear 'King of the world' while doing it..
It wasn't that listening to 'King of the World' made Carl a happier fella.
He simply could not live without it.
The throbbing bass lines and back beat of percussion did not fill his blood
with a rhythmic sense of celebration.
A closer definition might in fact be the combination of music and lyrics
pounding through his eardrums was in the process of...subtraction.
Sucking, and feeding..
Taking what had been the totality of Carl Medford at the beginning of the day, and drinking it down into a void.
A void of blackness that's sole purpose was an attempt to fill a space
that could not be filled.
A boundless, fathomless space that held no properties established within a world of matter.
Even the cold dark forbidding aspects of the universe know as 'black holes' were
somehow tame in comparison.
For they at least were explainable..Knowable.
Kin to the fabric of a logical place and time.
Gravity existed there.
Sal stood perfectly still.
Willing his body to meld with the hallway.
Hoping to escape unnoticed by way of Carl's engrossment of deliberateness.
No such luck..
As Carl turned to confirm his distance from the men's room doorway
his eyes spat a silver flash taking in Sal pinned against the wall.
He wore the same identical grin Sal had seen on Shari Galloway's face.
"Maybe they should date," his mind interjected in an effort to maintain a footing in sanity.
And in that moment his mind followed with a reflection of a semblance..
It suddenly occurred to Sal what the grinning jowls and vacant eyes of both Shari and Carl had in common..
They were the faces of starving wolves.
For a moment that seemed an hour, the two men stared.
Then slowly, seductively, Carl's grin widened..
Sal could not ascertain recognition in those eyes.
He was absolutely certain Carl had no idea who Sal was.
He was also absolutely certain Carl didn't care.
The loping grin froze.
A single index finger protruded from Carl's right fist.
A fist that slowly rose..
The finger kissed his lips then descended pointing directly at the cable snaked before him on the floor.
Carl's head began to swing side to side as did the index finger keeping time.
Sal got the message loud and clear.
It made him recall his 3rd grade elementary school teacher.
Miss Eagelman..An elderly spinster..
Scrawny and lanky with short blue hair cut like a man's.
Ichabod Crane in drag..
Her adam's apple curtsied when she spoke and the skin around her neck reminded Sal of a turkey.
"Do not touch!"...Her long index finger wagged like a dog inches from his face, attached to a fist of lumpy red rolling knuckles.
Sal didn't realize until Carl had finished his Miss Eagelman impersonation that
his own head was mimicking Carl's robotic side to side motion..
Seeming satisfied, Carl returned his attention to the cable.
Resuming his backward trek pushing through the restroom door.
Sal inched along the wall closing the gap between himself and the door to his office.
Slipping inside he closed the door quietly behind him.
Damning the office door for no locking device, he slid the computer chair under the door nob jamming it like he'd seen done in the movies.
The closed quarters helped muffle the constant ringing of phones in neighboring offices.
Squatting at the desk he moved the computer mouse disabling the screen saver.
Sales for 'King of the World' had continued to climb to over 700,000.
But now the screen seemed frozen..No new numbers were being posted.
Sal clicked the browser refresh thinking it to be the problem.
Instead of the page returning, a new page flashed up on the monitor.
'Error 504..Gateway Timeout'...Please contact the administrator..
It seemed the site was currently offline.
He picked up the desk phone and punched through five lit lines routed to his office.
There was no one holding on any of them.
He speed dialed the Los Angeles radio station in hopes of cancelling the release
of 'King of the World'.
The number wasn't busy..
Like the office phones here at Universal the line rang, and rang.
He hung up and picked up again.
This time he dialed 911.
San Diego, California
Ed Hoffman had an advantage.
The 19 inch Zenith portable color television perched a top
two metal gray filing cabinets probably saved his life.
It was his custom to flick it on daily catching the mid morning news.
The Zenith was a trooper..It hadn't failed him in over twelve years.
Sal Fox hadn't mentioned the MENACE single promotion kicking off in Los Angeles.
Ed had to hear it for himself via a special news report breaking just as Fanny Sutherland of Omaha was preparing to spin the wheel on 'Price Is Right'.
The first initial report came over about 10:40 am.
Preliminary reports were sketchy and emotional.
It wasn't until almost 11:45 am..After a series of live updates..
The determining cause of the chaos linked to a kind of hypnosis..
An embedded subconscious suggestion contained in the
music of a band called MENACE.
It took another five minutes or so to dawn on Ed his secretary didn't have the same advantage.
By that time it was almost noon.
Lunch time..
Margie wasn't hungry though.
She'd been listening to 'King of the World' for over an hour.
Friday, November 7, 2008
SALVATION chapter 7
Salvation
chapter 7
Long beach, California
11: am
Michelle putterer about her condo sipping on coffee and hand watering the indoor plants that created a microcosm liking to a South American rain forest.
"Good morning Mister Fernster"...she said in a low soft voice..The big bushy Boston variety graced the condo bay window..
Her stereo kept busy kicking Nick's vocals just over INTENT's backdrop of drums, guitars, and bass.
She had put their first album on the cd player earlier and was listening to it for the second time today..
A soft smile accompanied her as she turned her attention to the acacia palms framing the Boston fern above them.
Her favorite piece of furniture, a big fluffy oversized lounging chair, still held her helmet and leather jacket where she'd laid them last night after returning home.
She giggled to herself, "He sounds like Bruce Springsteen."...
"I like Bruce Springsteen" she told the glossy green palms watching them drink up their breakfast..
She frowned remembering Jackie hadn't called and left a message as promised..
Jackie was suppose to confirm the wedding gig this Sunday. If it was a go.
Jackie Thornson had formed the all women rock band three years ago and Michelle was currently the fifth keyboardist to join.
A high turn over was the nature of bands and a constant headache for band managers.
Finding work was difficult enough.
Worrying whether every member would show up or not was the other half of it.
Jackie had named the music group "Girls Night Out."
They did covers of mainstream top 40 rock bands starting in the 80's to present.
Jackie and Michelle shared lead vocals depending on the current song being performed.
Jackie's voice covered the ranges for singers such as Pat Benetar, Grace Slick, Chrissy Hynde, Reba Mc Entire.
Michelle's suited voices such as Madonna, Stevei Nicks, Jewel, Cyndi Lauper.
They had built up a versatile repertoire of almost 200 songs, including dance, rock, country, and punk genders.
Michelle enjoyed it. It was a fun band. The fact it was an all woman group was a blessing.
She had almost given up her music ambition after a year of dealing with egos,
expectations, demands, promises, and ugly rage.
More often than not her music contribution was secondary agenda when
offered a position as a member of a predominately male band.
The memory of the last band she had associated, and her narrow escape caused her to pause.
She sat down on the eight foot couch, a matching component to the big easy chair..
Taking in her surroundings.
The condo, furnishings, her late model Toyota economy car, monthly monetary needs, all taken care of by her parents.
It was on one hand, a means to an end..Without their support she realized her life would be like many in the pursuit of a career in art, very difficult..
All the traditional warnings were true..
Michelle also realized her acceptance of the parental gifts was love returned
in the form of her Mother and Father's peace of mind.
It had been two years now since she'd been out here, on her own.
And true the music world with all it's artistic expression, continued to draw her heart in much the same way it did before her journey began..
However as she lived her life day to day, evening to evening, night to night, she felt there was still much she wanted to obtain outside her occupational goals..
She longed for the right person to share her life with..
That special man whom she could feel not only free,
but compelled to communicate her victories, challenges, setbacks, joy and sorrows.
Sitting here now, rehashing the coarse memory of fear and humility she lived through during the dark days of her association with Herman Gilespie and his fledgling band MENACE.
She wondered if the kind of man she saw in her mind's eye existed in the realm of musicians..
Men seemed so full of,...themselves.
She should have followed her initial instinct when she first heard the kind of music MENACE created..
It wasn't the heavy metal nature of the compositions that caused a red flag in her being.
It was instead the nature of the words attached to the songs..
Lyrics that promoted a religious fervor.
They were not the typical expression of a group conscience immersed in
the pursuit of fame and fortune, as was the case with most she had come to know.
Nor were they simply a reflection of an addiction to pleasure.
Herman Gilespie was a zealot in the religion of self gratification.
A kind of unholy priest in an order of theology who's creed placed the pursuit of power most high.
She was at first infatuated with the music. It's presence.
The atmosphere of excitement. The near hypnotic effect it had on fans.
It was weeks before she began to sense what was left after the clearing of the stage.
She never found Herman to be an attractive man..
His build is wispy, thin..His face too long and his shoulders slump.
He has an effeminate nature that is accented by his attempts to hide it.
Plus, he stinks..
Before she had any idea of his 'religion', she often thought to herself "it must be against his religion to bathe."
His advances toward her started almost immediately.
At first he masked charm..Or what he must have conceived to be charm.
Herman lacks the ability to comprehend what it means to touch a woman.
He only understands the concept of grope.
In the words of Paul Simon, "The man ain't got no culture."
No amount of civil communication dissuaded him..
He seemed not to hear words like, "I am not interested", "I would prefer
to keep things professional", or "Keep your fucking hands to yourself."
Choosing instead to keep her backed in a corner, his glassy eyes reflecting it's prey.
A frozen smirk pasted to his face.
She began to miss rehearsals, making excuses, feinting sickness..
That's when he got mean..
The lust in his eyes turning to hate.
To this day she had not decided which was the more unnerving..
She shook her head and threw the memory off..It was over..Done with..
She had changed her address, changed her phone number, and disappeared.
Walking to the stereo now, she turned the music off..
The haunting memory of Herman Gilespie left a depression in her mood..
She thought of Nick then tried not to think of him..
"What have I been thinking?".."I don't even know the man."...
She stepped in the kitchen and thoughtlessly began washing a few dishes laying in the sink.
"Honestly Michelle...You wanted to meet him you did..He was nice.
You had diner together..It was nice..That's it...That's all."
..."He does have nice eyes though"..."Damn it!"..She tossed silverware in the strainer
like an afterthought..
"It was just one kiss!"..."Why do you always do this to yourself?"
"For Christ's sake!"...."He probably won't even call."
The phone rang..
She turned to the sound amazed..Then realized it couldn't be Nick calling.
It was her cell ringing..She'd given Nick her number for the house phone.
Relieved for the distraction, and disappointed at the same time, she found the
cell phone in the motorcycle jacket.
"Hello?"
"Michelle!..Thank God I got you!"
"Mom?" She recognized distraught in her Mothers voice. "Mom?..Are you alright?"
"Honey your Dad is standing right here next to me..Listen to me Michelle..You've got to get in your car right now and come home."
"Mom..What?..What do you mean?" She could hear her Father's voice in the background.
"Give me the phone Laura.".."Michelle!"..
"Dad?" Her Father's voice cracked as if close to tears.
"Michelle honey...Turn on your television...Turn it on now while I am on the phone."
Michelle held the phone to her ear crossing the living room..
"All hell is breaking loose out there Michelle!..You've got to get out of the city now while you still can!"
Her Mother screamed in the background.."Tell her not to listen to the radio!"
Michelle grabbed the T.V. remote and pushed the power button.
"Yes Laura I am telling her!...Honey?"
"Yeah Dad." Her heart was pounding. Filling her veins with dread..
She had no idea why, but she was certain her parents feared for her life.
"Now listen to me Michelle!"..His voice was iron..
"When you leave the condominium you must make sure you cover your ears!..
When you get to the car keep the windows up and under no circumstance are you to turn on the radio!
Do you understand me?"
The television lit up to a local Los Angeles news station..
A speechless anchor woman stared back at Michelle.
Aerial footage rolled behind the woman of a scene playing out in downtown Los Angeles.
A scene of chaos and carnage..
Collisions of automobiles clogged the streets and sidewalks.
Hind quarters of vehicles extended out street facing entry doors and display windows.
Like births gone horribly wrong expelling backwards from a womb.
Doors hanging open and ajar.
Dead people, puppets with out strings falling out the sides.
And in each case a new owner standing near.
Bloodied from a fight won. Armed and grinning.. Protecting it's claim.
Michelle watched in horror as vehicles on a nearby freeway over crossing launched themselves like stampeded cattle to macadam graves a hundred feet below.
Looters by the hundreds pillaged the store fronts.
There was a certain added diverseness to what one normally expects in an urban environment..
The pillagers, the innocent, and today, the zombies.
The zombies were newzies..Never seen around these parts before..
They were the grinning ones.
The ones guarding the wrecks with radio's or cd players turned up full blast.
Some of the grinning zombies were content just standing around..
Plugged in.
Sporting portables..Cd players, mp3 players, cell phones with music players built in..
"It's the music!" Her Father screamed..." Michelle!..It's the music!"
The phone spat and cracked.."Dad?...Daddy?...She heard him faintly, fading, as the signal died.
"Get out!..Get out now!"
Her mind raced. She bolted to the bedroom grabbing her purse with the car keys all the while
gripped by a single thought..
"What am I going to cover my ears with?"...She couldn't think...
Not one single thing could she see or think to cover her ears with.
Tearing to the front door, "I'll cover them with my palms..I'll cover them with my palms!"...
Grabbing the door nob she turned back remembering her jacket..
The black motorcycle jacket with the helmet sitting on top of it..
"The helmet!"..It was a half helmet size but with ear flaps for cold weather..
She banged it on, cinching down the chin strap while grabbing the jacket.
The house phone rang..
"It's Nick."...It could have been anyone, but she knew it was Nick.
Her mind cautioned...."No time, no time, no time!"
"Nick"...
"No time! No time! No time!"...
His eyes filled her and she stopped her raging mind.
She raced for the phone in the bedroom ripping off the helmet.
"Nick?"
"You've got to get out of there." He sounded out of breath.
"I am leaving right now...Where are you?"..
"I am on the road heading east toward the desert....Meet me."..
"My parents just called, I....Where do you want me to me you?"
"Take the 10 east toward Las Vegas. Call me when your clear of the city.
Here is my cell number..858..612..2429."
She tore open her purse grabbing at a pen an scrap of paper..
He continued.."You have a cell phone?"
"Yep..I am bringing it with me...858 612 2429?"
"Right..You got a full tank on the bike?"
"The bike?..I am taking my car."
"No!..Take your bike Michelle..You'll never get through in a car!"
She turned her head taking in the scene on the television..
"Oh my God, your right Nick!"
"Can you get clear of the city with the fuel you've got honey?"
"Yes..Oh man, I am so glad I decided to fill it up last night!"
"Smart girl..Once you get on that bike don't stop darlin'..Don't stop for anything, ok?"
"Ok Nick..I am so glad you called."
"Me too..I'll be heading north after I hit the desert to find us a safe fueling station. I'll
be waiting for your call Michelle."
"Ride safe Nick."
"Ride safe Michelle."
chapter 7
Long beach, California
11: am
Michelle putterer about her condo sipping on coffee and hand watering the indoor plants that created a microcosm liking to a South American rain forest.
"Good morning Mister Fernster"...she said in a low soft voice..The big bushy Boston variety graced the condo bay window..
Her stereo kept busy kicking Nick's vocals just over INTENT's backdrop of drums, guitars, and bass.
She had put their first album on the cd player earlier and was listening to it for the second time today..
A soft smile accompanied her as she turned her attention to the acacia palms framing the Boston fern above them.
Her favorite piece of furniture, a big fluffy oversized lounging chair, still held her helmet and leather jacket where she'd laid them last night after returning home.
She giggled to herself, "He sounds like Bruce Springsteen."...
"I like Bruce Springsteen" she told the glossy green palms watching them drink up their breakfast..
She frowned remembering Jackie hadn't called and left a message as promised..
Jackie was suppose to confirm the wedding gig this Sunday. If it was a go.
Jackie Thornson had formed the all women rock band three years ago and Michelle was currently the fifth keyboardist to join.
A high turn over was the nature of bands and a constant headache for band managers.
Finding work was difficult enough.
Worrying whether every member would show up or not was the other half of it.
Jackie had named the music group "Girls Night Out."
They did covers of mainstream top 40 rock bands starting in the 80's to present.
Jackie and Michelle shared lead vocals depending on the current song being performed.
Jackie's voice covered the ranges for singers such as Pat Benetar, Grace Slick, Chrissy Hynde, Reba Mc Entire.
Michelle's suited voices such as Madonna, Stevei Nicks, Jewel, Cyndi Lauper.
They had built up a versatile repertoire of almost 200 songs, including dance, rock, country, and punk genders.
Michelle enjoyed it. It was a fun band. The fact it was an all woman group was a blessing.
She had almost given up her music ambition after a year of dealing with egos,
expectations, demands, promises, and ugly rage.
More often than not her music contribution was secondary agenda when
offered a position as a member of a predominately male band.
The memory of the last band she had associated, and her narrow escape caused her to pause.
She sat down on the eight foot couch, a matching component to the big easy chair..
Taking in her surroundings.
The condo, furnishings, her late model Toyota economy car, monthly monetary needs, all taken care of by her parents.
It was on one hand, a means to an end..Without their support she realized her life would be like many in the pursuit of a career in art, very difficult..
All the traditional warnings were true..
Michelle also realized her acceptance of the parental gifts was love returned
in the form of her Mother and Father's peace of mind.
It had been two years now since she'd been out here, on her own.
And true the music world with all it's artistic expression, continued to draw her heart in much the same way it did before her journey began..
However as she lived her life day to day, evening to evening, night to night, she felt there was still much she wanted to obtain outside her occupational goals..
She longed for the right person to share her life with..
That special man whom she could feel not only free,
but compelled to communicate her victories, challenges, setbacks, joy and sorrows.
Sitting here now, rehashing the coarse memory of fear and humility she lived through during the dark days of her association with Herman Gilespie and his fledgling band MENACE.
She wondered if the kind of man she saw in her mind's eye existed in the realm of musicians..
Men seemed so full of,...themselves.
She should have followed her initial instinct when she first heard the kind of music MENACE created..
It wasn't the heavy metal nature of the compositions that caused a red flag in her being.
It was instead the nature of the words attached to the songs..
Lyrics that promoted a religious fervor.
They were not the typical expression of a group conscience immersed in
the pursuit of fame and fortune, as was the case with most she had come to know.
Nor were they simply a reflection of an addiction to pleasure.
Herman Gilespie was a zealot in the religion of self gratification.
A kind of unholy priest in an order of theology who's creed placed the pursuit of power most high.
She was at first infatuated with the music. It's presence.
The atmosphere of excitement. The near hypnotic effect it had on fans.
It was weeks before she began to sense what was left after the clearing of the stage.
She never found Herman to be an attractive man..
His build is wispy, thin..His face too long and his shoulders slump.
He has an effeminate nature that is accented by his attempts to hide it.
Plus, he stinks..
Before she had any idea of his 'religion', she often thought to herself "it must be against his religion to bathe."
His advances toward her started almost immediately.
At first he masked charm..Or what he must have conceived to be charm.
Herman lacks the ability to comprehend what it means to touch a woman.
He only understands the concept of grope.
In the words of Paul Simon, "The man ain't got no culture."
No amount of civil communication dissuaded him..
He seemed not to hear words like, "I am not interested", "I would prefer
to keep things professional", or "Keep your fucking hands to yourself."
Choosing instead to keep her backed in a corner, his glassy eyes reflecting it's prey.
A frozen smirk pasted to his face.
She began to miss rehearsals, making excuses, feinting sickness..
That's when he got mean..
The lust in his eyes turning to hate.
To this day she had not decided which was the more unnerving..
She shook her head and threw the memory off..It was over..Done with..
She had changed her address, changed her phone number, and disappeared.
Walking to the stereo now, she turned the music off..
The haunting memory of Herman Gilespie left a depression in her mood..
She thought of Nick then tried not to think of him..
"What have I been thinking?".."I don't even know the man."...
She stepped in the kitchen and thoughtlessly began washing a few dishes laying in the sink.
"Honestly Michelle...You wanted to meet him you did..He was nice.
You had diner together..It was nice..That's it...That's all."
..."He does have nice eyes though"..."Damn it!"..She tossed silverware in the strainer
like an afterthought..
"It was just one kiss!"..."Why do you always do this to yourself?"
"For Christ's sake!"...."He probably won't even call."
The phone rang..
She turned to the sound amazed..Then realized it couldn't be Nick calling.
It was her cell ringing..She'd given Nick her number for the house phone.
Relieved for the distraction, and disappointed at the same time, she found the
cell phone in the motorcycle jacket.
"Hello?"
"Michelle!..Thank God I got you!"
"Mom?" She recognized distraught in her Mothers voice. "Mom?..Are you alright?"
"Honey your Dad is standing right here next to me..Listen to me Michelle..You've got to get in your car right now and come home."
"Mom..What?..What do you mean?" She could hear her Father's voice in the background.
"Give me the phone Laura.".."Michelle!"..
"Dad?" Her Father's voice cracked as if close to tears.
"Michelle honey...Turn on your television...Turn it on now while I am on the phone."
Michelle held the phone to her ear crossing the living room..
"All hell is breaking loose out there Michelle!..You've got to get out of the city now while you still can!"
Her Mother screamed in the background.."Tell her not to listen to the radio!"
Michelle grabbed the T.V. remote and pushed the power button.
"Yes Laura I am telling her!...Honey?"
"Yeah Dad." Her heart was pounding. Filling her veins with dread..
She had no idea why, but she was certain her parents feared for her life.
"Now listen to me Michelle!"..His voice was iron..
"When you leave the condominium you must make sure you cover your ears!..
When you get to the car keep the windows up and under no circumstance are you to turn on the radio!
Do you understand me?"
The television lit up to a local Los Angeles news station..
A speechless anchor woman stared back at Michelle.
Aerial footage rolled behind the woman of a scene playing out in downtown Los Angeles.
A scene of chaos and carnage..
Collisions of automobiles clogged the streets and sidewalks.
Hind quarters of vehicles extended out street facing entry doors and display windows.
Like births gone horribly wrong expelling backwards from a womb.
Doors hanging open and ajar.
Dead people, puppets with out strings falling out the sides.
And in each case a new owner standing near.
Bloodied from a fight won. Armed and grinning.. Protecting it's claim.
Michelle watched in horror as vehicles on a nearby freeway over crossing launched themselves like stampeded cattle to macadam graves a hundred feet below.
Looters by the hundreds pillaged the store fronts.
There was a certain added diverseness to what one normally expects in an urban environment..
The pillagers, the innocent, and today, the zombies.
The zombies were newzies..Never seen around these parts before..
They were the grinning ones.
The ones guarding the wrecks with radio's or cd players turned up full blast.
Some of the grinning zombies were content just standing around..
Plugged in.
Sporting portables..Cd players, mp3 players, cell phones with music players built in..
"It's the music!" Her Father screamed..." Michelle!..It's the music!"
The phone spat and cracked.."Dad?...Daddy?...She heard him faintly, fading, as the signal died.
"Get out!..Get out now!"
Her mind raced. She bolted to the bedroom grabbing her purse with the car keys all the while
gripped by a single thought..
"What am I going to cover my ears with?"...She couldn't think...
Not one single thing could she see or think to cover her ears with.
Tearing to the front door, "I'll cover them with my palms..I'll cover them with my palms!"...
Grabbing the door nob she turned back remembering her jacket..
The black motorcycle jacket with the helmet sitting on top of it..
"The helmet!"..It was a half helmet size but with ear flaps for cold weather..
She banged it on, cinching down the chin strap while grabbing the jacket.
The house phone rang..
"It's Nick."...It could have been anyone, but she knew it was Nick.
Her mind cautioned...."No time, no time, no time!"
"Nick"...
"No time! No time! No time!"...
His eyes filled her and she stopped her raging mind.
She raced for the phone in the bedroom ripping off the helmet.
"Nick?"
"You've got to get out of there." He sounded out of breath.
"I am leaving right now...Where are you?"..
"I am on the road heading east toward the desert....Meet me."..
"My parents just called, I....Where do you want me to me you?"
"Take the 10 east toward Las Vegas. Call me when your clear of the city.
Here is my cell number..858..612..2429."
She tore open her purse grabbing at a pen an scrap of paper..
He continued.."You have a cell phone?"
"Yep..I am bringing it with me...858 612 2429?"
"Right..You got a full tank on the bike?"
"The bike?..I am taking my car."
"No!..Take your bike Michelle..You'll never get through in a car!"
She turned her head taking in the scene on the television..
"Oh my God, your right Nick!"
"Can you get clear of the city with the fuel you've got honey?"
"Yes..Oh man, I am so glad I decided to fill it up last night!"
"Smart girl..Once you get on that bike don't stop darlin'..Don't stop for anything, ok?"
"Ok Nick..I am so glad you called."
"Me too..I'll be heading north after I hit the desert to find us a safe fueling station. I'll
be waiting for your call Michelle."
"Ride safe Nick."
"Ride safe Michelle."
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
SALVATION chapter 6
Salvation
chapter 6
San Diego, California
"You don't love me anymore."
Ashlee's unmistakable voice brought him back from a dreamless sleep.
Nick opened his eyes.
She floated above him. Stretched out.. Face down.. Four feet above his bed..
Somewhere separated from him, his mind stirred and whispered reassuring, "your only dreaming.."
It was not convincing enough, to free him from the dreadful grip of immobility, or the sound of his own strident breathing.
Her form was nude and glowing as a funnel of sunlight pouring through a split in stormy skies.
Behind her lay the black void of nothingness from which she came.
"You don't love me anymore".
He fought to turn away from the face, but could not move his head. "Must wake up now, must wake up!"
His thoughts caromed quickening his dread. He could not fathom her words to be formed from love or rage.
The intensity of her radiance emphasized her eyes..Hypnotic flickering candles that held no warmth.
"You don't love me anymore."..It was not the tearful wailing of a deserted heart..It was an accusation.
Disembodied limbs floated towards him..White claws reaching closing on his throat.
Her face sinking closer and closer.
He tried to scream but only a faint hiss escaped.
She shook at his throat, her illustrious hair tossed in it's own wake.
Now his mind was fully awake and screaming "do or die, do or die, do or die!"
Finally the scream came. A howling, carnal eruption of fear and pain.
He torn away from the claws and ran..
Fleeing into the darkness behind her..Away from the looming face, blooming hair and white clutching claws.
Once entering the darkness his legs could not support him..
Desperately they drudged some semblance of time with the pace of his fear..
Frantically they churned seeking friction..
But there was no floor in the vastness of nothing, and he fell, and floated, and fell again.
He woke up. Drenched in sweat.
Morning light pierced loose seaming in the bedroom curtains..
"Welcome to my nightmare" Alice Cooper offered in the back of his mind.
Atlanta, Georgia
Sal Fox and team members of the rock music division watched minute by minute updates of the MENACE phenomena unfolding through out the day.
Periodic outbursts of cheers and applause echoed in neighboring offices through out the halls.
An uninformed bystander might easily mistake the mid week celebrating for Super Bowl Sunday and touchdown reaction from mesmerized fans.
The Universal Music Corporation's Atlanta office was overwhelmed with phone calls from frantic distributors demanding huge shipments of the single "King of the World."
Amazon and LALA were experiencing server melt downs from the huge worldwide response.
Since receiving the call back from Ed Hoffman a mere two hours ago sales had skyrocketed from Ed's quoted 34,646 in new sales to over 500,000.
Computer sales projections estimated new sales of over 3.2 million in a twenty four hour period..
Sal sat back, his feet resting on the mahogany desk of his new office located on the 23rd floor of the
exterior mirrored glass skyscraper.
Behind him construction workers busied themselves removing temporary plywood sheeting covering the ruptured glass section Ken Anderson had thrown himself through at approximately 3 am Atlanta time..
Less than 12 hours ago.
Sal was not resting on his heels however..
He did not rise to the executive position in Artist & Repertoire he now enjoyed by resting on his heels.
Behind the dark gray eyes, beneath a perfect manicure of wavy black hair, the wheels where turning..
There were questions.."Why this song?"
"Why only this song.?"..The sales for previous MENACE singles and albums were virtually non existent in the new sales figures.
And there was the note.
The mysterious handwritten note left in the top sliding drawer of his newly inherited mahogany desk.
The police investigators hadn't found it. And neither had Sal until a short time ago.
It had been purposely taped to the ceiling of the drawer..
Meant to loosen in time and become known to the current possessor of the desk.
The handwriting was unmistakably that of Kenneth Anderson..
The message consisted of a single sentence..Written shakily, hurriedly, or under stress.
It was a lyric from the legendary rock band Led Zeppelin.
From a song off their second album..
Sal slid open the drawer viewing the note once more.
It had been scribed in red flat tipped felt pen.
What Is and What Should Never Be
Sal slid the drawer closed once again entombing the note.
It occurred to him as he did so the consistent celebrating in the adjacent offices had unexpectedly ceased."What happened?"..He mumbled checking the computer screen.
Nothing wrong there. The sales for "King of the World" continued to climb in numbers coinciding with the projected computer generated model.
He quickly check the face of his Rolex wrist watch..It read 2:40 pm..
He swung his feet off the desk and strolled out into the hall.
"Everybody leave early today?"..He mused..Not really believing it to be the truth.
The office next door was Julie Westgrove's a junior account executive.
He knocked politely then opened the office door.
Shari Galloway, Julie's secretary, sat motionless staring at her computer..
She was sporting headphones and as Sal approached he could see the virtual
music player on her screen in the process of streaming music..
He smiled noting the current title in progress was "King of the World."
"What else?"..He thought making a mental note to himself he needed to listen to it again just for knowledge base..
He hadn't especially liked the song when he heard it for the first time Sunday afternoon.
But Sal had never been a big fan of hard metal rock himself..
Or of the popular Rap music so prevalent in the new millennium.
That information was carefully kept private between himself and himself..
It was his private skeleton in a closet..Secret.
Even to close friends outside the business.
He grinned at Shari now amused at her absorption.
She hadn't even noticed his presence, or acknowledged him.
"They rock huh Shari?"..
No answer.
"How loud has she got that thing turned up?" He wondered..
"Hey Shari!"..He raised his voice to a level he believed would distract her.
There was still no response..
The song ended, and just as it did he noticed her right hand move the mouse slightly and click the left button making the song replay itself..
Never taking her eyes off the computer screen.
"What, is she stoned?" He thought to himself..
He reached out gingerly to tap her shoulder half fearing he'd startle her..
As he did he leaned closer and noticed something that made him step back..
The headphone set Shari was wearing had a gooey red stain seeping down the frames.
A soft sticky red ooze that was collecting around the base of the padded speakers.
His eyes narrowed and the frown line at the bridge of his nose deepened.
The red ooze was overflowing at the base of the speakers and dripping in thick splats onto the shoulder of her blouse.
It had been doing so for some time as the top of the blouse was now soaked through to the skin.
Unattended, unconcerned, unnoticed.
Sal felt a distinct shiver of goose flesh run up his spine..
He froze a moment then slowly turned his head in the direction of the back office door where Julie Westgroves' work station was positioned.
The door was slightly ajar and through it he sensed only silence.
Sal didn't conscientiously direct his body toward the back office..
Like a magnet it just seemed to be drawn there.
He pushed on the partly opened door and stepped inside..
Julie Westgrove sat in her high back satin fabric computer chair with her face down on the desk in front of her..
The back of her head had been caved in by repeated blows to it compliments of her desk top computer housing.
Dead arms lay slack hanging at her sides..
The walls of the office were a collage of smeared and dripping blood.
The mangled computer housing was bend and wedged into a U around her skull like a hat.
Sal gagged and his mouth filled with partially digested lunch.
Pasta from Romero's..An upscale Italian restaurant within walking distance of the corporate office building..
If your ever in Atlanta I am sure Sal would recommend it to you highly..
He bolted from the room almost tripping on a pair of broken headphones soaked in blood lying on the floor.
This time the commotion he made did disturb Shari's concentration and her computer chair swiveled slowly in his direction..
He spat the mouthful of bile into a pretty pink trash pale next to Shari's desk and vomited again.
"What?...He staggered hyper ventilating.."What, happened?"..
Her lips curled back in a grin that wasn't a grin..
Her eyes took him in but there was nobody home behind those eyes..
Whom ever Shari was when she arrived at work today had already left town..
What remained was a thing..A thing that breathed in and breathed out with only one mission..
"I broke my headphones by accident and she wouldn't let me borrow her's."
The grin suddenly disappeared..The eyes gleamed and communicated with out the need for words..
"You got a problem with that?"
The computer chair slowly swung back to its original position..
Her dainty blood stained palm grasped the computer mouse.
The left button was depressed ordering a repeat play of the song "King of the World."
chapter 6
San Diego, California
"You don't love me anymore."
Ashlee's unmistakable voice brought him back from a dreamless sleep.
Nick opened his eyes.
She floated above him. Stretched out.. Face down.. Four feet above his bed..
Somewhere separated from him, his mind stirred and whispered reassuring, "your only dreaming.."
It was not convincing enough, to free him from the dreadful grip of immobility, or the sound of his own strident breathing.
Her form was nude and glowing as a funnel of sunlight pouring through a split in stormy skies.
Behind her lay the black void of nothingness from which she came.
"You don't love me anymore".
He fought to turn away from the face, but could not move his head. "Must wake up now, must wake up!"
His thoughts caromed quickening his dread. He could not fathom her words to be formed from love or rage.
The intensity of her radiance emphasized her eyes..Hypnotic flickering candles that held no warmth.
"You don't love me anymore."..It was not the tearful wailing of a deserted heart..It was an accusation.
Disembodied limbs floated towards him..White claws reaching closing on his throat.
Her face sinking closer and closer.
He tried to scream but only a faint hiss escaped.
She shook at his throat, her illustrious hair tossed in it's own wake.
Now his mind was fully awake and screaming "do or die, do or die, do or die!"
Finally the scream came. A howling, carnal eruption of fear and pain.
He torn away from the claws and ran..
Fleeing into the darkness behind her..Away from the looming face, blooming hair and white clutching claws.
Once entering the darkness his legs could not support him..
Desperately they drudged some semblance of time with the pace of his fear..
Frantically they churned seeking friction..
But there was no floor in the vastness of nothing, and he fell, and floated, and fell again.
He woke up. Drenched in sweat.
Morning light pierced loose seaming in the bedroom curtains..
"Welcome to my nightmare" Alice Cooper offered in the back of his mind.
Atlanta, Georgia
Sal Fox and team members of the rock music division watched minute by minute updates of the MENACE phenomena unfolding through out the day.
Periodic outbursts of cheers and applause echoed in neighboring offices through out the halls.
An uninformed bystander might easily mistake the mid week celebrating for Super Bowl Sunday and touchdown reaction from mesmerized fans.
The Universal Music Corporation's Atlanta office was overwhelmed with phone calls from frantic distributors demanding huge shipments of the single "King of the World."
Amazon and LALA were experiencing server melt downs from the huge worldwide response.
Since receiving the call back from Ed Hoffman a mere two hours ago sales had skyrocketed from Ed's quoted 34,646 in new sales to over 500,000.
Computer sales projections estimated new sales of over 3.2 million in a twenty four hour period..
Sal sat back, his feet resting on the mahogany desk of his new office located on the 23rd floor of the
exterior mirrored glass skyscraper.
Behind him construction workers busied themselves removing temporary plywood sheeting covering the ruptured glass section Ken Anderson had thrown himself through at approximately 3 am Atlanta time..
Less than 12 hours ago.
Sal was not resting on his heels however..
He did not rise to the executive position in Artist & Repertoire he now enjoyed by resting on his heels.
Behind the dark gray eyes, beneath a perfect manicure of wavy black hair, the wheels where turning..
There were questions.."Why this song?"
"Why only this song.?"..The sales for previous MENACE singles and albums were virtually non existent in the new sales figures.
And there was the note.
The mysterious handwritten note left in the top sliding drawer of his newly inherited mahogany desk.
The police investigators hadn't found it. And neither had Sal until a short time ago.
It had been purposely taped to the ceiling of the drawer..
Meant to loosen in time and become known to the current possessor of the desk.
The handwriting was unmistakably that of Kenneth Anderson..
The message consisted of a single sentence..Written shakily, hurriedly, or under stress.
It was a lyric from the legendary rock band Led Zeppelin.
From a song off their second album..
Sal slid open the drawer viewing the note once more.
It had been scribed in red flat tipped felt pen.
What Is and What Should Never Be
Sal slid the drawer closed once again entombing the note.
It occurred to him as he did so the consistent celebrating in the adjacent offices had unexpectedly ceased."What happened?"..He mumbled checking the computer screen.
Nothing wrong there. The sales for "King of the World" continued to climb in numbers coinciding with the projected computer generated model.
He quickly check the face of his Rolex wrist watch..It read 2:40 pm..
He swung his feet off the desk and strolled out into the hall.
"Everybody leave early today?"..He mused..Not really believing it to be the truth.
The office next door was Julie Westgrove's a junior account executive.
He knocked politely then opened the office door.
Shari Galloway, Julie's secretary, sat motionless staring at her computer..
She was sporting headphones and as Sal approached he could see the virtual
music player on her screen in the process of streaming music..
He smiled noting the current title in progress was "King of the World."
"What else?"..He thought making a mental note to himself he needed to listen to it again just for knowledge base..
He hadn't especially liked the song when he heard it for the first time Sunday afternoon.
But Sal had never been a big fan of hard metal rock himself..
Or of the popular Rap music so prevalent in the new millennium.
That information was carefully kept private between himself and himself..
It was his private skeleton in a closet..Secret.
Even to close friends outside the business.
He grinned at Shari now amused at her absorption.
She hadn't even noticed his presence, or acknowledged him.
"They rock huh Shari?"..
No answer.
"How loud has she got that thing turned up?" He wondered..
"Hey Shari!"..He raised his voice to a level he believed would distract her.
There was still no response..
The song ended, and just as it did he noticed her right hand move the mouse slightly and click the left button making the song replay itself..
Never taking her eyes off the computer screen.
"What, is she stoned?" He thought to himself..
He reached out gingerly to tap her shoulder half fearing he'd startle her..
As he did he leaned closer and noticed something that made him step back..
The headphone set Shari was wearing had a gooey red stain seeping down the frames.
A soft sticky red ooze that was collecting around the base of the padded speakers.
His eyes narrowed and the frown line at the bridge of his nose deepened.
The red ooze was overflowing at the base of the speakers and dripping in thick splats onto the shoulder of her blouse.
It had been doing so for some time as the top of the blouse was now soaked through to the skin.
Unattended, unconcerned, unnoticed.
Sal felt a distinct shiver of goose flesh run up his spine..
He froze a moment then slowly turned his head in the direction of the back office door where Julie Westgroves' work station was positioned.
The door was slightly ajar and through it he sensed only silence.
Sal didn't conscientiously direct his body toward the back office..
Like a magnet it just seemed to be drawn there.
He pushed on the partly opened door and stepped inside..
Julie Westgrove sat in her high back satin fabric computer chair with her face down on the desk in front of her..
The back of her head had been caved in by repeated blows to it compliments of her desk top computer housing.
Dead arms lay slack hanging at her sides..
The walls of the office were a collage of smeared and dripping blood.
The mangled computer housing was bend and wedged into a U around her skull like a hat.
Sal gagged and his mouth filled with partially digested lunch.
Pasta from Romero's..An upscale Italian restaurant within walking distance of the corporate office building..
If your ever in Atlanta I am sure Sal would recommend it to you highly..
He bolted from the room almost tripping on a pair of broken headphones soaked in blood lying on the floor.
This time the commotion he made did disturb Shari's concentration and her computer chair swiveled slowly in his direction..
He spat the mouthful of bile into a pretty pink trash pale next to Shari's desk and vomited again.
"What?...He staggered hyper ventilating.."What, happened?"..
Her lips curled back in a grin that wasn't a grin..
Her eyes took him in but there was nobody home behind those eyes..
Whom ever Shari was when she arrived at work today had already left town..
What remained was a thing..A thing that breathed in and breathed out with only one mission..
"I broke my headphones by accident and she wouldn't let me borrow her's."
The grin suddenly disappeared..The eyes gleamed and communicated with out the need for words..
"You got a problem with that?"
The computer chair slowly swung back to its original position..
Her dainty blood stained palm grasped the computer mouse.
The left button was depressed ordering a repeat play of the song "King of the World."
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
SALVATION chapter 5
Salvation
Chapter 5
San Diego, California
Nick pulled between faded white parking strips outside his apartment shutting down the Harley.
Unstrapping the helmet his cheeks filled like balloons before exhaling fatigue.
He checked his watch under dreary carport lighting. It read 11:20.
The night air was sultry..It hadn't rained. Cloud cover insulated warmth left from the day.
He yawned, walking across the lot then stopped and turned.
A sudden chill pushed at his back riding a cold breeze out of the north.
He shivered. The sudden change crept passed as if searching for a home.
The unnumberable recollection of Michelle's warm body pressing close to his back returned.
After exploring the studio they decided they were hungry.
The local diner was open until ten giving them plenty of time.
Michelle insisted paying half, and Nick insisted she didn't.
It was a frolic fight.
They compromised, each saving face. He paid for dinner, she left the tip.
Shop talk was deliberately left out of conversation.
He wanted to know her.
She the same about him.
Her surname was Mc Allister.
He learned she'd recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday in August.
Less than a month ago.
She was born and raised in Aspen Colorado where both her parents still reside.
Her formative years were spent in private schools..
Both Father and Mother supported Michelle's early interest in music.
She'd learned piano before the age of puberty.
She spoke freely, openly, concerning her childhood, parents, and love for winter sports..
Figure skating, snow skiing, sledding, snowmobiling which led to her interest in motorcycles.
She was the product of the great American dream..Loved, educated, admittedly, a bit indulged.
Listening to Michelle's life story was like the unfolding of a fairy tale.
Nick shook his head..'Down in the boon docks' a pre British invasion pop song toyed with his self
esteem.
Seeing himself as a poor boy in rags hopelessly pursuing the rich girl from across the tracks.
In romance novels those hurdles of culture and social status where often overcome by the power of love.
In Nick's world, birds of a feather still flocked together.
His was a world where people started life at zero.
Anything added was done so by the laws of cause and effect.
The cause was survival.
The effect was survival.
What made Nick different from most people starting at zero was his definition of the term.
Survival simply meant creation.
Fulfillment was centered in the act of creation.
So much so that even as the development of a music composition came nearer to completion.
It's initial non matter form shaped and honed, constructed and forged into the material world.
Nick's interest would wane. The piece become something of less value than at it's conception.
Until, by the end of the process, he would have already moved on.
Unlike others who kept adding space between themselves and zero in the form of 'things' gained.
Nick began everyday from the same initial starting point.
His family never understood it.
His friends never understood it.
The society he survived in didn't understand it.
And Nick never quite understood himself for it.
Sitting across the table from this beautiful woman.
A woman fully enraptured by all that life offered.
Things and non things equally exciting, equally enriching.
He felt alone.
His difference separating him.
He saw in his mind's eye how that difference would disappoint her, and fill her with sadness.
Not today. Not tonight, but soon..Very soon.
When she was finished with the Nick she thought she wanted to know.
When she finally realized, and shrank back in fear, the zero-ness of his life.
"Where are you?"..
He looked up.
Her eyes were searching him. Eyes that smiled saying, "I am proud I've found you."
"Are you alright?"..
His body moved without thought.
He stood and slid next to her in the booth seat taking her hand.
"Right here..Right now..This time..This place..This second..I am definitely alright."
He kissed her.
Hating himself for not protecting her. For not choosing to save her.
For falling in love with her.
La Mesa, California
Utopia Records exists as a sub label company under the parent Universal Music Group Corporation.
It's single moderate office is located in a somewhat unique area of university avenue zoned for both residential and commercial use.
The north side of the street consists of 1960's era two bedroom stucco track houses.
Today, practically every other structure has a business sign posted in it's front yard.
Income tax services, chiropractics, palm readers, insurance companies, dental arts, florists, among others.
On the south side of the street, the general atmosphere of the business district is one of hard working independent business proprietors catering to middle class America.
Laundry mats, discount groceries, auto repair shops, thrift stores, liquor stores, strip malls with 'for lease' signs in over half the available offices.
Utopia Records is on the north side of the street.
Ed Hoffman's littered office is located in a converted back bedroom..
The main reception area and front desk were at one time, someone else's living room.
Mr. Hoffman's office smells like the stubby cigars that burn consistently in the abalone shell ashtray sitting on his desk..
There seems to be a verifiable fascination with Venetian blinds through out the office.
As with most establishments gracing the north side business sector of university avenue..
Perhaps due to the Venetian blind cleaning service and discount factory outlet located at the end of the block.
Ed Hoffman is a big man.
Now in his early 50's, a life well aquainted with the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune.
Over sized posters of Green Bay Packers football teams adorn the walls and halls..
Bitter sweet reminders of what could and should have been.
Slated to be drafted into the National Football League as an offensive guard.
His left knee blew out in a time modern sports medicine techniques were yet unimagined.
The disappointment and suffering in his own life may have been the driving factor fueling his desire to help struggling musicians realize their chosen dreams.
His oversize face, now drooping with age, still retained large sympathetic brown eyes akin to a basset hound.
A voice moderately high pitched. Mismatched in comparison to his 300 lb. frame.
Clients were often mildly shocked when meeting Ed for the first time.
Especially after initially speaking with him on the phone...
The tenor quality left to the imagination a young twenty five year old executive with sleek black hair, Italian designer clothing, and turbo charged BMW's.
Often was the case.
Black and silver clad musicians would involuntarily seek beyond the 6 foot 6 inch man standing before them in shorts, scuffed running shoes, and faded Charger's jersey advising him, "I am here to see the 'other' Ed Hoffman."
Currently he was on a phone conference with a Universal executive located in Atlanta Georgia concerning one of the acts Ed represented.
He leaned back in the oversized office chair blocking a third of the wall behind him.
A wall covered with 8x10 framed photos of bands and individual artists he'd handled over the years.
"Sure Sal, I can get in touch with them...
Well, they've been active mostly in the L.A. area..
Their sales?...Some..Mostly in the micro market..
They've got a decent fan base working for them off the LALA site..
This year?...To date?
Just a sec....I can give you that.."
He leaned forward wedging the phone receiver between his shoulder and right ear.
Bringing up account software on the computer as he spoke..
"Yep here it is right here..27,830 mp3's off LALA...
With an additional 4,900 full album down loads. Mostly off the first album..
Ok, and here's Amazon..They've got 6,100 on mp3 singles, and 1,443 album down loads."
He paused, listening..Then responded hesitantly..
"Really...I am surprised actually..Pleasantly surprise of course.., just surprised.
Well, I mean Universal has been leaning heavily into rap the last few years."
He paused listening again..
"What do you mean, have I heard the new single?..I was there when they mixed it down Sal.
I am not getting defensive Sal..I am just not quite sure what you getting at."
He suddenly felt he was being evaluated..He decided to choose his next words carefully..
"I think the new song is fine..It's just..Well, pretty much in the same vein they've been writing in.."
What he heard next made him pause..
"Oh, really?..Ken likes it that much?
What?...Your shittin' me!...Last night?...Oh, shit man..Oh, shit..
Ken didn't seem the type...I mean nobody loved the industry more than he did.
This Friday?...Sure..Yes, I'll fly out..
Wow!..So, your taking over the rock division?..As of today..
I see...Congratulations are in order.
I'll see you come Friday then..Right...Right, I'll have Margie get the details...Ok Sal.."
He hung up.
The left knee strained as his weight pressed down walking to the reception area.
Margie was working for a change..On the phone.
A second line blinked holding..The receptionist's pink dyed pixy hair danced as she spoke.
"Yeah girlfriend, this weekend..at Indio's in the valley.."
Fair skin, black lipstick, blue fingernails, nose, ear, tongue piercings..
She could chew gum and talk at the same time..
In Ed's eyes that made her a cut above her predecessors.
"Have I heard it?...Hello!..We are their record label, duh.."
She hung up looking at Ed.
"Wass up, bro?"
He pointed to the phone.
"You've got another call waiting."
She held up a 'hold on' index finger to him and picked up the phone.
"Utopia records Margie speaking....Uh huh.."
She shook her head as if in agreement as she spoke.
"Friday, Saturday, Sunday at Indio's in the valley...San Fernando..Right...Bye."
"Busy day?" Ed smiled.
"Duh!..Haven't even had time to do my nails!"
He chuckled. "Margie I need you to hook up with the Corporate office in Atlanta.
Get me details on a funeral for a Kenneth Anderson."
She raised her eyebrows.."Somebody died?" She said popping a big pink gum balloon.
"Yeah, an exec I knew at Universal...It was suicide actually."
Her eyes widened, "Jumpin' Jesus!"
"Yeah..Anyway I got to fly out there Friday and attend the funeral."
Her eyebrows raised again. "That mean I don't got to work Friday?"
He ran the palm of his hand over a short cropped salt and pepper scalp.
Too much input in too short a time, he thought.
"I don't know about that yet Margie.." turning back to his office..
She pushed.
"Yeah, cause if I don't have to work some friends of mine are goin' out."
The phone rang..
She rolled her eyes picking it up. "Utopia records Margie speaking."
Ed could hear her voice rise to squeaky excitement as he limped into the office.
"Oh my God!..Your the fifth person in a row to ask me that!"..Believing once and
for all in the serendipity of the universe.
He sat down heavy in the office chair, making a mental note to prepare for rain in the next day or so..
The soft tissue damage in his knee advised it..
He put both hands on the sides of the throbbing knee and slowly massaged.
Then did a double take at the computer.
He'd left the sales totals up on the screen after hanging up with Sal.
The totals had changed..Drastically..
"That was 27,830 off LALA right?" He talked to himself not believing what
he saw..
The mp3 sales now read 54,202..A difference of 26,372.
His hands trembled..Scrolling down he checked the Amazon sales..
Was 6,100 single mp3 sales..Now the total read 14,373..
8273 new sales?...He double clicked the calculator icon and added the
combined new sales from the two sites..
"34,646 mp3 sales in less than ten minutes?
No way..No fucking way!"
He grabbed at the mouse almost knocking it off the desk scrolling to the
top of the account page..
"You fucked up man..You pulled the wrong account! Sal is going to be furious!"..
He spun the mouse wheel until it topped out at the beginning of the account page and sat back in the chair astonished.
"It is the right account" he whispered..."Plain as day."
In thick Black Arial font the words MENACE stared back at him..
Chapter 5
San Diego, California
Nick pulled between faded white parking strips outside his apartment shutting down the Harley.
Unstrapping the helmet his cheeks filled like balloons before exhaling fatigue.
He checked his watch under dreary carport lighting. It read 11:20.
The night air was sultry..It hadn't rained. Cloud cover insulated warmth left from the day.
He yawned, walking across the lot then stopped and turned.
A sudden chill pushed at his back riding a cold breeze out of the north.
He shivered. The sudden change crept passed as if searching for a home.
The unnumberable recollection of Michelle's warm body pressing close to his back returned.
After exploring the studio they decided they were hungry.
The local diner was open until ten giving them plenty of time.
Michelle insisted paying half, and Nick insisted she didn't.
It was a frolic fight.
They compromised, each saving face. He paid for dinner, she left the tip.
Shop talk was deliberately left out of conversation.
He wanted to know her.
She the same about him.
Her surname was Mc Allister.
He learned she'd recently celebrated her thirtieth birthday in August.
Less than a month ago.
She was born and raised in Aspen Colorado where both her parents still reside.
Her formative years were spent in private schools..
Both Father and Mother supported Michelle's early interest in music.
She'd learned piano before the age of puberty.
She spoke freely, openly, concerning her childhood, parents, and love for winter sports..
Figure skating, snow skiing, sledding, snowmobiling which led to her interest in motorcycles.
She was the product of the great American dream..Loved, educated, admittedly, a bit indulged.
Listening to Michelle's life story was like the unfolding of a fairy tale.
Nick shook his head..'Down in the boon docks' a pre British invasion pop song toyed with his self
esteem.
Seeing himself as a poor boy in rags hopelessly pursuing the rich girl from across the tracks.
In romance novels those hurdles of culture and social status where often overcome by the power of love.
In Nick's world, birds of a feather still flocked together.
His was a world where people started life at zero.
Anything added was done so by the laws of cause and effect.
The cause was survival.
The effect was survival.
What made Nick different from most people starting at zero was his definition of the term.
Survival simply meant creation.
Fulfillment was centered in the act of creation.
So much so that even as the development of a music composition came nearer to completion.
It's initial non matter form shaped and honed, constructed and forged into the material world.
Nick's interest would wane. The piece become something of less value than at it's conception.
Until, by the end of the process, he would have already moved on.
Unlike others who kept adding space between themselves and zero in the form of 'things' gained.
Nick began everyday from the same initial starting point.
His family never understood it.
His friends never understood it.
The society he survived in didn't understand it.
And Nick never quite understood himself for it.
Sitting across the table from this beautiful woman.
A woman fully enraptured by all that life offered.
Things and non things equally exciting, equally enriching.
He felt alone.
His difference separating him.
He saw in his mind's eye how that difference would disappoint her, and fill her with sadness.
Not today. Not tonight, but soon..Very soon.
When she was finished with the Nick she thought she wanted to know.
When she finally realized, and shrank back in fear, the zero-ness of his life.
"Where are you?"..
He looked up.
Her eyes were searching him. Eyes that smiled saying, "I am proud I've found you."
"Are you alright?"..
His body moved without thought.
He stood and slid next to her in the booth seat taking her hand.
"Right here..Right now..This time..This place..This second..I am definitely alright."
He kissed her.
Hating himself for not protecting her. For not choosing to save her.
For falling in love with her.
La Mesa, California
Utopia Records exists as a sub label company under the parent Universal Music Group Corporation.
It's single moderate office is located in a somewhat unique area of university avenue zoned for both residential and commercial use.
The north side of the street consists of 1960's era two bedroom stucco track houses.
Today, practically every other structure has a business sign posted in it's front yard.
Income tax services, chiropractics, palm readers, insurance companies, dental arts, florists, among others.
On the south side of the street, the general atmosphere of the business district is one of hard working independent business proprietors catering to middle class America.
Laundry mats, discount groceries, auto repair shops, thrift stores, liquor stores, strip malls with 'for lease' signs in over half the available offices.
Utopia Records is on the north side of the street.
Ed Hoffman's littered office is located in a converted back bedroom..
The main reception area and front desk were at one time, someone else's living room.
Mr. Hoffman's office smells like the stubby cigars that burn consistently in the abalone shell ashtray sitting on his desk..
There seems to be a verifiable fascination with Venetian blinds through out the office.
As with most establishments gracing the north side business sector of university avenue..
Perhaps due to the Venetian blind cleaning service and discount factory outlet located at the end of the block.
Ed Hoffman is a big man.
Now in his early 50's, a life well aquainted with the slings and arrows of
outrageous fortune.
Over sized posters of Green Bay Packers football teams adorn the walls and halls..
Bitter sweet reminders of what could and should have been.
Slated to be drafted into the National Football League as an offensive guard.
His left knee blew out in a time modern sports medicine techniques were yet unimagined.
The disappointment and suffering in his own life may have been the driving factor fueling his desire to help struggling musicians realize their chosen dreams.
His oversize face, now drooping with age, still retained large sympathetic brown eyes akin to a basset hound.
A voice moderately high pitched. Mismatched in comparison to his 300 lb. frame.
Clients were often mildly shocked when meeting Ed for the first time.
Especially after initially speaking with him on the phone...
The tenor quality left to the imagination a young twenty five year old executive with sleek black hair, Italian designer clothing, and turbo charged BMW's.
Often was the case.
Black and silver clad musicians would involuntarily seek beyond the 6 foot 6 inch man standing before them in shorts, scuffed running shoes, and faded Charger's jersey advising him, "I am here to see the 'other' Ed Hoffman."
Currently he was on a phone conference with a Universal executive located in Atlanta Georgia concerning one of the acts Ed represented.
He leaned back in the oversized office chair blocking a third of the wall behind him.
A wall covered with 8x10 framed photos of bands and individual artists he'd handled over the years.
"Sure Sal, I can get in touch with them...
Well, they've been active mostly in the L.A. area..
Their sales?...Some..Mostly in the micro market..
They've got a decent fan base working for them off the LALA site..
This year?...To date?
Just a sec....I can give you that.."
He leaned forward wedging the phone receiver between his shoulder and right ear.
Bringing up account software on the computer as he spoke..
"Yep here it is right here..27,830 mp3's off LALA...
With an additional 4,900 full album down loads. Mostly off the first album..
Ok, and here's Amazon..They've got 6,100 on mp3 singles, and 1,443 album down loads."
He paused, listening..Then responded hesitantly..
"Really...I am surprised actually..Pleasantly surprise of course.., just surprised.
Well, I mean Universal has been leaning heavily into rap the last few years."
He paused listening again..
"What do you mean, have I heard the new single?..I was there when they mixed it down Sal.
I am not getting defensive Sal..I am just not quite sure what you getting at."
He suddenly felt he was being evaluated..He decided to choose his next words carefully..
"I think the new song is fine..It's just..Well, pretty much in the same vein they've been writing in.."
What he heard next made him pause..
"Oh, really?..Ken likes it that much?
What?...Your shittin' me!...Last night?...Oh, shit man..Oh, shit..
Ken didn't seem the type...I mean nobody loved the industry more than he did.
This Friday?...Sure..Yes, I'll fly out..
Wow!..So, your taking over the rock division?..As of today..
I see...Congratulations are in order.
I'll see you come Friday then..Right...Right, I'll have Margie get the details...Ok Sal.."
He hung up.
The left knee strained as his weight pressed down walking to the reception area.
Margie was working for a change..On the phone.
A second line blinked holding..The receptionist's pink dyed pixy hair danced as she spoke.
"Yeah girlfriend, this weekend..at Indio's in the valley.."
Fair skin, black lipstick, blue fingernails, nose, ear, tongue piercings..
She could chew gum and talk at the same time..
In Ed's eyes that made her a cut above her predecessors.
"Have I heard it?...Hello!..We are their record label, duh.."
She hung up looking at Ed.
"Wass up, bro?"
He pointed to the phone.
"You've got another call waiting."
She held up a 'hold on' index finger to him and picked up the phone.
"Utopia records Margie speaking....Uh huh.."
She shook her head as if in agreement as she spoke.
"Friday, Saturday, Sunday at Indio's in the valley...San Fernando..Right...Bye."
"Busy day?" Ed smiled.
"Duh!..Haven't even had time to do my nails!"
He chuckled. "Margie I need you to hook up with the Corporate office in Atlanta.
Get me details on a funeral for a Kenneth Anderson."
She raised her eyebrows.."Somebody died?" She said popping a big pink gum balloon.
"Yeah, an exec I knew at Universal...It was suicide actually."
Her eyes widened, "Jumpin' Jesus!"
"Yeah..Anyway I got to fly out there Friday and attend the funeral."
Her eyebrows raised again. "That mean I don't got to work Friday?"
He ran the palm of his hand over a short cropped salt and pepper scalp.
Too much input in too short a time, he thought.
"I don't know about that yet Margie.." turning back to his office..
She pushed.
"Yeah, cause if I don't have to work some friends of mine are goin' out."
The phone rang..
She rolled her eyes picking it up. "Utopia records Margie speaking."
Ed could hear her voice rise to squeaky excitement as he limped into the office.
"Oh my God!..Your the fifth person in a row to ask me that!"..Believing once and
for all in the serendipity of the universe.
He sat down heavy in the office chair, making a mental note to prepare for rain in the next day or so..
The soft tissue damage in his knee advised it..
He put both hands on the sides of the throbbing knee and slowly massaged.
Then did a double take at the computer.
He'd left the sales totals up on the screen after hanging up with Sal.
The totals had changed..Drastically..
"That was 27,830 off LALA right?" He talked to himself not believing what
he saw..
The mp3 sales now read 54,202..A difference of 26,372.
His hands trembled..Scrolling down he checked the Amazon sales..
Was 6,100 single mp3 sales..Now the total read 14,373..
8273 new sales?...He double clicked the calculator icon and added the
combined new sales from the two sites..
"34,646 mp3 sales in less than ten minutes?
No way..No fucking way!"
He grabbed at the mouse almost knocking it off the desk scrolling to the
top of the account page..
"You fucked up man..You pulled the wrong account! Sal is going to be furious!"..
He spun the mouse wheel until it topped out at the beginning of the account page and sat back in the chair astonished.
"It is the right account" he whispered..."Plain as day."
In thick Black Arial font the words MENACE stared back at him..
SALVATION chapter 4
Salvation
Chapter 4
San Diego, California
The woman startled him..
What she saw in that first few seconds was the unmasked wonder of a boy
in the grip of discovery..She liked it.
Then, as the man within the boy emerged, the eyes narrowed, taking her in..
"I am sorry"...Nick said embarrassed..."I didn't see you...Where did you come from?"
"Oh."..She turned a perfect oval face and pointed down the dirt road.."Just over there."
Her chestnut hair caught the dusk and colors of sunset..
She looked back at him again smiling."The green store?"
"Oh yeah"..He felt himself relax as the rational relativity of her appearance fell into place..
The establishment she referred to was a combination liquor & grocery just at the 94 highway.
A half city block from them.
"The green store" he nodded allowing his gaze to rest on her again..
A quarter of his awareness registered she was wearing riding gear..
A miniature version of his leather jacket. Black riding chaps over blue jeans, and motorcycle boots..
The other three quarters of him was lost in eyes, lips, and dimples of that smile.
It was right here in these first split seconds of silence.
When a man and woman first meet.
Nick had learned a great deal about himself, and the kind of woman he chose over the years.
Something that was the core of Nicolaus Flannery surfaced at these moments..
It was not the makings of conscience decision.
But a distinct wisdom of direction dictated by the soul.
An essence of being that from time to time, stepped in.
Cutting a decisive course at a fork in a road.
Nick's soul dictated silence..And in that silence he waited as he had done so many times before.
It was a moment of truth that, more often then not, resulted in separation..
The woman searched his eyes in that silence.
It didn't occur to her to step back.
She simply stepped forward.
Raising her hand for him to take.
In that gesture, she created a bridge.
In the eyes of Nicolaus Flannery, that act of creation changed her forever.
From a woman..To a goddess.
"Hi, I am Michelle."
He took her hand softly..absorbing it's warmth.
"Nick Flannery", he smiled.
"I know" she said..It was her turn to feel embarrassed..
"I mean, I saw you guys play..At the Crypt..About a month ago?"
He remembered. " Oh yeah, the one in Orange."
She laughed.."Dirt parking lot?..And "Bob", the three hundred pound bouncer?"
He chuckled, "Yep, that's the place!"..
"I play in a band too"..
"Really?"
She touched his arm.."I like how you guy's sound by the way."
"I am glad" he said..
She laughed.."Anyway, I didn't see you between the set, but I talked to, Toby?"
"Yeah."
"He was telling me about where you guys are from and about this rehearsal studio of yours."
"Right..You really play in a band?"
"Yeah."
"I think that's, wonderful!"
"Yeah..
So, I ride with this club, and we get down this way sometimes..Like, today!"
She laughed.."I remembered Toby saying it was in this railroad museum..
I wanted to check out this amazing studio for myself!."
"I am glad you did..It's more primitive than amazing though."
"I think it's cool!"
"Come on, I'll show it to you." He indicated for her to walk up the steps ahead of him.
"Nick?"
"Michelle?"
She smiled.."You think I should go get my bike?"
"Oh..Yeah..Just a second." He stepped inside the studio and grabbed his helmet.
"I'll give you a lift over there.."
"You ride too" she said.
"Yeah."
"I think that's wonderful."
"Yeah."
Los Angeles, California
"Tap, tap, tap"
"That's it!" Herman screamed at the door. "That's fucking it!"
He was crying, sniffling, wiping snot on the sleeve of his shirt as he approached the door.
Amazed himself at the level of rage he was still capable of.
He kicked the flattened writing table and phone set out of his way..
"That's it!...I am coming mother fucker!"...
He twist the door nob yanking the door.."You are so fucking lucky I don't have a gun, fucko'!"
A beautiful, young, sensual woman stood in the doorway.
She strutted into the apartment full of sexual confidence.
"Got a drink, big boy?"
Herman hung his head out the doorway expecting someone else to enter also, but then realized the
woman was alone.
He closed the door.."A drink?...Ah, yeah.." Pointing to the kitchen.."Right through there."
The woman winked then disappeared into the kitchen..
Herman could hear the sound of ice cubes and glasses..
"You'll have one with me Herm?" She spoke up so he could hear her from the next room, but her voice
retained a sultry texture to it.
Herman sat on the couch.
A moment later she returned with two glasses of gin and tonic on the rocks.
"It is Herm...right?" She handed him a glass.
Still standing she downed her's in one gulp.
"Yeah..Yeah it's Herm." He answered.
"Great"..She winked at him again then proceeded to the kitchen mixing another drink..
"So, Herm....You, called?"
He was scattered, confused, just beginning to regain some steadfast of mind.
"Called?..Well, yes..Originally...On the phone."
He sucked on the gin, felt the warm glow hit his stomach and continued..
"Yeah, on the phone I spoke to a man.."
He could hear the gin and tonic hitting the glass as she poured.
"Would you have preferred me a man?" She called out.
He relaxed a little reflecting on her pert upturned breasts. Settling into the couch, crossing his legs.
"No, no..That's not what I mean..I was just expecting a man, I guess."
"Cause, I can do a man, Herm."
Herman's eyes snapped up..It was a man's voice, and it was definitely a man who just walked out of the kitchen.
He wore a zoot suit and over sized fedora..He stood, towering over Herman.
Stirring at a glass of gin with a cocktail umbrella.
"I can do a man like nobody can!"
Herman squealed, "Whoa!"... slamming the gin down his throat.."How did you..?
"Cut the chit chat Herm!" The man interrupted.."Let's get down to business..I repeat...You called?"
He slid down on the sofa next to Herman whispering in his ear.
"So..Entertain me...Freak."
Herman jumped.."Ok..so, alright.. You want to hear the demo right?"..
The man, pulled out a pocket watch.."You've got three minutes Herm..And this better be good..
Cause if I get bored"..He pointed at the floor.."I'll drag your ass down stairs..Hang you on a meat hook till some friends of mine show up for lunch!"
Herman stammered making his way toward the bedroom. "The stereo is in there..I'll turn it up loud."
He slipped in the demo cd of the single "King of the World" his band "MENACE" had finished last week.
Then forced himself to return to the couch.
"My band" he said as the music started.
MENACE music was hard core metal rock. Herman's high pitched guttural vocals sliced through the
heavy bass lines complimenting consistent second octave lightning fast guitar rifts..
All of it riding gigantic sound waves of unbelievable one hundred fifty beat per minute monster percussion.
When the song ended, the air still rippled and shuttered through out the apartment like a series of after shocks.
"Well, what do you think?" Herman asked the man..He couldn't help himself..He was confident..He loved his music and he knew it was good.
The man stood up and turned to Herman..
His eyes were black coal.. Slack Lips slid back into eternity..
A gateway to hell lined with metallic spikes..
Shrewd razors that might in another world, be associated with teeth.
"What do I think?"..He advanced..A great gaping jaw expiring the breath of doom lingered inches from Herman's face..
"What do I think?" It screamed.."My ears are ringing!..My head is throbbing!..That music stinks!..Your
vocals suck!..And, I think I am going to be.."
He vomited...Green gobs of chunky puke covered Herman's head and face..It stuck and slipped it's way down his jaws and chin dripping thick stew....."Sick!"...
Herman rolled off the couch a gagged maggot.."Oh God!..Oh, God, oh God!"...
The man moved quickly.
Grabbing the back of Herman's head, forcing him down to his elbows and knees.
Then kneeling and kicking Herman's knees apart, began dry humping him while speaking seductively to his left ear..
"It's exciting stuff Herm!..Right up my alley!...Yeah!...Yeah, get it baby, get it!"
Completely helpless Herman only moaned "Oh, God!"
"What?"...What the fuck did you say?"
Disgusted, pushing it's self off Herman It stood and thundered.."God has nothing to do with this!''
It stood a moment straightening the zoot suit, turned and headed for the kitchen.
"I need a fucking drink."
Herman slowly drug up to his knees.
A seventy year old obese woman emerged from the kitchen.
She wore black and red lingerie while sporting a tall boy glass of booze and ice.
"Oh, there you are you silly, boy!"..She giggled and swigged.."Come on now, up and at them eh?
You want to be rich and famous don't you Hermie?..Time is money, and idleness a sin."
She swaggered, downing her drink then threw the empty glass shattering it against a wall..
"Whee!"..She shrieked in joy then danced giddily..
Rolls of fat shivered and quivered keeping time with flaccid arm flab.
"I don't know..I don't know, I just love doing that!"
Herman stared at the spectacle in bewilderment.
She advanced toward him seductively running her hands over a cellulite infested body.
"Oh baby!...You look good!..Uh huh...Your going to go far with that body!"
She took a wide stance directly in front of him.
Reaching down she grabbing the front of his shirt and yanked him to a standing position..
His arms were slack, waving at his sides like a rag doll subject to a stiff breeze..
She held him close gyrating against him..Cupping his crotch in her left hand..
"Yeah baby..Your going to be,...in there!"
Taking Herman's left hand she held it to her right breast slowly rotating.
"Yeah, oh yeah baby that's the spot!"
She reached up slowly massaging his hair, then grabbed it with both fists..
"First we got some business to take car of."
Forcing his head down between her enormous cleavage she giggled and squirmed..
"Contract!"...You see the contract, baby?"
She lifted his head allowing him to breath..
"I...Yes, I."...He responded like a puppet..
"Good!" She giggled pulling his head back down.."Good, good, good!"
"Get it baby!...Get it!"..With your teeth!" Pull it out nice, with your teeth."
Herman obliged.
Slowly she lifted his head with the contract papers clinging in his jaws.
Moaning and riving ecstasy as the paper slipped between her breasts..
"Oh, oh, oh!..Yeah, yeah, disco biscuit honey!"..
She tore the contract from his mouth.
Grabbed his buns pulling him hard..Grinding her hips..Whispering in his ear.
"Oh baby!...Was it good for you too?" She giggled releasing him and sank herself on the couch.
Laying the contract papers on the coffee table she lit a smoke..
"All that's left is the signing" she grinned..
Herman move in slow motion. Staring at the paper work staring back at him.
She shook a finger at him coyly. "Don't you disappoint me now."
He pointed to the bedroom.."I..I have to find a pen."
The old woman suddenly looked disqusted. She stamped out the cigarette on the floor.
"No, no, no you idiot!" She leaped up pounding him on his back. Herman fell sprawled over the coffee table.
"Don't you know anything?"...In blood!...It's got to be signed in blood!"
With his back to her she attacked..
Spreading her legs she straddled him sinking her teeth into the base of his neck..
Herman screamed and the scream built as she tore a chunk of flesh away..Spitting it to the foor she attacked again sucking a mouth full of blood from the wound.
She stood up bringing Herman with her by the nap of his neck..Holding up the contract she sprayed blood over the front page..
Grinning.. Red liquid running down the corners of her mouth. "There!..That will do!"
As Herman fainted away, the clock in the kitchen struck midnight.
Chapter 4
San Diego, California
The woman startled him..
What she saw in that first few seconds was the unmasked wonder of a boy
in the grip of discovery..She liked it.
Then, as the man within the boy emerged, the eyes narrowed, taking her in..
"I am sorry"...Nick said embarrassed..."I didn't see you...Where did you come from?"
"Oh."..She turned a perfect oval face and pointed down the dirt road.."Just over there."
Her chestnut hair caught the dusk and colors of sunset..
She looked back at him again smiling."The green store?"
"Oh yeah"..He felt himself relax as the rational relativity of her appearance fell into place..
The establishment she referred to was a combination liquor & grocery just at the 94 highway.
A half city block from them.
"The green store" he nodded allowing his gaze to rest on her again..
A quarter of his awareness registered she was wearing riding gear..
A miniature version of his leather jacket. Black riding chaps over blue jeans, and motorcycle boots..
The other three quarters of him was lost in eyes, lips, and dimples of that smile.
It was right here in these first split seconds of silence.
When a man and woman first meet.
Nick had learned a great deal about himself, and the kind of woman he chose over the years.
Something that was the core of Nicolaus Flannery surfaced at these moments..
It was not the makings of conscience decision.
But a distinct wisdom of direction dictated by the soul.
An essence of being that from time to time, stepped in.
Cutting a decisive course at a fork in a road.
Nick's soul dictated silence..And in that silence he waited as he had done so many times before.
It was a moment of truth that, more often then not, resulted in separation..
The woman searched his eyes in that silence.
It didn't occur to her to step back.
She simply stepped forward.
Raising her hand for him to take.
In that gesture, she created a bridge.
In the eyes of Nicolaus Flannery, that act of creation changed her forever.
From a woman..To a goddess.
"Hi, I am Michelle."
He took her hand softly..absorbing it's warmth.
"Nick Flannery", he smiled.
"I know" she said..It was her turn to feel embarrassed..
"I mean, I saw you guys play..At the Crypt..About a month ago?"
He remembered. " Oh yeah, the one in Orange."
She laughed.."Dirt parking lot?..And "Bob", the three hundred pound bouncer?"
He chuckled, "Yep, that's the place!"..
"I play in a band too"..
"Really?"
She touched his arm.."I like how you guy's sound by the way."
"I am glad" he said..
She laughed.."Anyway, I didn't see you between the set, but I talked to, Toby?"
"Yeah."
"He was telling me about where you guys are from and about this rehearsal studio of yours."
"Right..You really play in a band?"
"Yeah."
"I think that's, wonderful!"
"Yeah..
So, I ride with this club, and we get down this way sometimes..Like, today!"
She laughed.."I remembered Toby saying it was in this railroad museum..
I wanted to check out this amazing studio for myself!."
"I am glad you did..It's more primitive than amazing though."
"I think it's cool!"
"Come on, I'll show it to you." He indicated for her to walk up the steps ahead of him.
"Nick?"
"Michelle?"
She smiled.."You think I should go get my bike?"
"Oh..Yeah..Just a second." He stepped inside the studio and grabbed his helmet.
"I'll give you a lift over there.."
"You ride too" she said.
"Yeah."
"I think that's wonderful."
"Yeah."
Los Angeles, California
"Tap, tap, tap"
"That's it!" Herman screamed at the door. "That's fucking it!"
He was crying, sniffling, wiping snot on the sleeve of his shirt as he approached the door.
Amazed himself at the level of rage he was still capable of.
He kicked the flattened writing table and phone set out of his way..
"That's it!...I am coming mother fucker!"...
He twist the door nob yanking the door.."You are so fucking lucky I don't have a gun, fucko'!"
A beautiful, young, sensual woman stood in the doorway.
She strutted into the apartment full of sexual confidence.
"Got a drink, big boy?"
Herman hung his head out the doorway expecting someone else to enter also, but then realized the
woman was alone.
He closed the door.."A drink?...Ah, yeah.." Pointing to the kitchen.."Right through there."
The woman winked then disappeared into the kitchen..
Herman could hear the sound of ice cubes and glasses..
"You'll have one with me Herm?" She spoke up so he could hear her from the next room, but her voice
retained a sultry texture to it.
Herman sat on the couch.
A moment later she returned with two glasses of gin and tonic on the rocks.
"It is Herm...right?" She handed him a glass.
Still standing she downed her's in one gulp.
"Yeah..Yeah it's Herm." He answered.
"Great"..She winked at him again then proceeded to the kitchen mixing another drink..
"So, Herm....You, called?"
He was scattered, confused, just beginning to regain some steadfast of mind.
"Called?..Well, yes..Originally...On the phone."
He sucked on the gin, felt the warm glow hit his stomach and continued..
"Yeah, on the phone I spoke to a man.."
He could hear the gin and tonic hitting the glass as she poured.
"Would you have preferred me a man?" She called out.
He relaxed a little reflecting on her pert upturned breasts. Settling into the couch, crossing his legs.
"No, no..That's not what I mean..I was just expecting a man, I guess."
"Cause, I can do a man, Herm."
Herman's eyes snapped up..It was a man's voice, and it was definitely a man who just walked out of the kitchen.
He wore a zoot suit and over sized fedora..He stood, towering over Herman.
Stirring at a glass of gin with a cocktail umbrella.
"I can do a man like nobody can!"
Herman squealed, "Whoa!"... slamming the gin down his throat.."How did you..?
"Cut the chit chat Herm!" The man interrupted.."Let's get down to business..I repeat...You called?"
He slid down on the sofa next to Herman whispering in his ear.
"So..Entertain me...Freak."
Herman jumped.."Ok..so, alright.. You want to hear the demo right?"..
The man, pulled out a pocket watch.."You've got three minutes Herm..And this better be good..
Cause if I get bored"..He pointed at the floor.."I'll drag your ass down stairs..Hang you on a meat hook till some friends of mine show up for lunch!"
Herman stammered making his way toward the bedroom. "The stereo is in there..I'll turn it up loud."
He slipped in the demo cd of the single "King of the World" his band "MENACE" had finished last week.
Then forced himself to return to the couch.
"My band" he said as the music started.
MENACE music was hard core metal rock. Herman's high pitched guttural vocals sliced through the
heavy bass lines complimenting consistent second octave lightning fast guitar rifts..
All of it riding gigantic sound waves of unbelievable one hundred fifty beat per minute monster percussion.
When the song ended, the air still rippled and shuttered through out the apartment like a series of after shocks.
"Well, what do you think?" Herman asked the man..He couldn't help himself..He was confident..He loved his music and he knew it was good.
The man stood up and turned to Herman..
His eyes were black coal.. Slack Lips slid back into eternity..
A gateway to hell lined with metallic spikes..
Shrewd razors that might in another world, be associated with teeth.
"What do I think?"..He advanced..A great gaping jaw expiring the breath of doom lingered inches from Herman's face..
"What do I think?" It screamed.."My ears are ringing!..My head is throbbing!..That music stinks!..Your
vocals suck!..And, I think I am going to be.."
He vomited...Green gobs of chunky puke covered Herman's head and face..It stuck and slipped it's way down his jaws and chin dripping thick stew....."Sick!"...
Herman rolled off the couch a gagged maggot.."Oh God!..Oh, God, oh God!"...
The man moved quickly.
Grabbing the back of Herman's head, forcing him down to his elbows and knees.
Then kneeling and kicking Herman's knees apart, began dry humping him while speaking seductively to his left ear..
"It's exciting stuff Herm!..Right up my alley!...Yeah!...Yeah, get it baby, get it!"
Completely helpless Herman only moaned "Oh, God!"
"What?"...What the fuck did you say?"
Disgusted, pushing it's self off Herman It stood and thundered.."God has nothing to do with this!''
It stood a moment straightening the zoot suit, turned and headed for the kitchen.
"I need a fucking drink."
Herman slowly drug up to his knees.
A seventy year old obese woman emerged from the kitchen.
She wore black and red lingerie while sporting a tall boy glass of booze and ice.
"Oh, there you are you silly, boy!"..She giggled and swigged.."Come on now, up and at them eh?
You want to be rich and famous don't you Hermie?..Time is money, and idleness a sin."
She swaggered, downing her drink then threw the empty glass shattering it against a wall..
"Whee!"..She shrieked in joy then danced giddily..
Rolls of fat shivered and quivered keeping time with flaccid arm flab.
"I don't know..I don't know, I just love doing that!"
Herman stared at the spectacle in bewilderment.
She advanced toward him seductively running her hands over a cellulite infested body.
"Oh baby!...You look good!..Uh huh...Your going to go far with that body!"
She took a wide stance directly in front of him.
Reaching down she grabbing the front of his shirt and yanked him to a standing position..
His arms were slack, waving at his sides like a rag doll subject to a stiff breeze..
She held him close gyrating against him..Cupping his crotch in her left hand..
"Yeah baby..Your going to be,...in there!"
Taking Herman's left hand she held it to her right breast slowly rotating.
"Yeah, oh yeah baby that's the spot!"
She reached up slowly massaging his hair, then grabbed it with both fists..
"First we got some business to take car of."
Forcing his head down between her enormous cleavage she giggled and squirmed..
"Contract!"...You see the contract, baby?"
She lifted his head allowing him to breath..
"I...Yes, I."...He responded like a puppet..
"Good!" She giggled pulling his head back down.."Good, good, good!"
"Get it baby!...Get it!"..With your teeth!" Pull it out nice, with your teeth."
Herman obliged.
Slowly she lifted his head with the contract papers clinging in his jaws.
Moaning and riving ecstasy as the paper slipped between her breasts..
"Oh, oh, oh!..Yeah, yeah, disco biscuit honey!"..
She tore the contract from his mouth.
Grabbed his buns pulling him hard..Grinding her hips..Whispering in his ear.
"Oh baby!...Was it good for you too?" She giggled releasing him and sank herself on the couch.
Laying the contract papers on the coffee table she lit a smoke..
"All that's left is the signing" she grinned..
Herman move in slow motion. Staring at the paper work staring back at him.
She shook a finger at him coyly. "Don't you disappoint me now."
He pointed to the bedroom.."I..I have to find a pen."
The old woman suddenly looked disqusted. She stamped out the cigarette on the floor.
"No, no, no you idiot!" She leaped up pounding him on his back. Herman fell sprawled over the coffee table.
"Don't you know anything?"...In blood!...It's got to be signed in blood!"
With his back to her she attacked..
Spreading her legs she straddled him sinking her teeth into the base of his neck..
Herman screamed and the scream built as she tore a chunk of flesh away..Spitting it to the foor she attacked again sucking a mouth full of blood from the wound.
She stood up bringing Herman with her by the nap of his neck..Holding up the contract she sprayed blood over the front page..
Grinning.. Red liquid running down the corners of her mouth. "There!..That will do!"
As Herman fainted away, the clock in the kitchen struck midnight.
SALVATION chapter 3
Salvation
Chapter 3
San Diego, California
Nick had been working the better part of an hour in the little office area of the studio when he heard the approach of Buck's old ford econoline van.
He punched the print icon waiting for the 'Battle of the Bands' advertisement to
emerge from the old Canon 1600 before logging off the internet.
Buck, Toby, and Mac sat in the van a minute finishing off a joint before the van's door hinges
squeaked and moaned signaling their exit.
Toby walked around stretching, and pulling dark sunglasses over the top of his receding hairline while
viewing the sky..."Oh, man..Dude, is it only ten?"
Mac checked the watch wrapped around his meaty wrist. "Quarter after".."Why?"..
He laughed, "Bro, you look like somebody walking on the moon for the first time.."
"Hotter than hell out here already."..Toby groaned..
"Bitch, bitch, bitch", Buck muttered..
"Blow me" Toby shot back...He pulled open the van and grabbed the 12 pack they'd hauled up with them.
Smiling, "Man can not live under these conditions without beer."
"Too early for me" Buck said moving to the shade of the big oak tree.
"I'll take one of those bad boys" Mac grinned..
"Go long", Toby said pulling a can out of the box. He backed up two steps feinting a quarter back.
"Fuck that!"...Mac stood.
Buck began his ritual Tai Chi exercises..He was tall, lean, sharp featured with jet black hair and green eyes.
Lead guitar, vocals, and a good foundation in the language of music.
His riffs were exacting, practiced to perfection, regimented.
What Nick brought to the band in the form of raw fresh inspiration, Buck balanced with hard finite boundaries dictated by music theory.
Together they had broken through some walls of convention and emerged an artistic expression to be dealt with.
Toby and Mac stood around a few minutes mesmerized by the display of fluent motion Buck demonstrated with the Tai Chi movements..
Fly's and meat bees being what they are..It wasn't long before the young men's concentration was disrupted by involuntary swats and swipes of defense..
They looked at each other, and broke out laughing...
The kind of giddy uncontrollable nonsense laughter that is inherent with a pot high..
Toby jerked a thumb in Buck's direction..."Talk about your man on the moon!"..
Causing the laughing hysteria to regenerate it's self, over and over...
"you guys are gay"..Buck commented never breaking his rhythm..
"Your girl friend doesn't think so" Mac spat back causing another round of side splitting.
As the boxcar was safe and secure it afforded the luxury of leaving their equipment set up..
Only packed and moved into the econoline Thursday nights as Friday, Saturday and Sunday's were gig days.
Toby and Mac managed to stumble their way up the wood steps to the studio..
Mac played drums and Toby bass guitar...
Like night and day, once in the studio their demeanor's changed..
Business like concentration..The work day had begun.
Three minutes later the stock yard erupted in a wall of sound..
Mac and Toby jammed warm ups..
Buck entered the studio and moon danced his way to the hard shell case housing his favorite Gibson Les Paul..
He slapped on the Marshal Stack, digitally tuned, and within 30 seconds had joined in..
Unplugged, was never in the mind set of any member of INTENT..
Los Angeles, California
Herman blinked..The shower stall was empty.."What the?"..
"Ring, ring"...The sound was right behind him.
Spinning around, his heart gagged in his throat.
What he saw recoiled his mind..Instinct reflex forced his body back.
His heels caught the edge of the shower entry..
Eyes bulging, arms flailing, ripping and tripping through the curtain as inertia had it's way..
Two things flashed through his intellect a split fraction before the back of his head meld with the ceramic sidewall of the shower.
"Things in motion tend to stay in motion"..And,...Wylie Coyote..
BAM!..Bam, bam!...The Flintstone kid kept flickering in and out of his vision as he slid down the wall..
He heard Ralf Cramdon yelling, "One of these days Alice!...To the Moon!"
He came to rest sitting on the shower floor..
Feet and shins poking out at a 45 degree angle pointing directly at the phone set sitting on the sink counter..
The mangled end of the extension line slithered and snapped like the tail of a poisonous snake.
Like a 'Headless Horseman' the decapitated jack terminal end was mysteriously missing..
Only Jagged flayed wire remained where the line had been savaged from the wall..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day" Herman whispered, fainting in and out of conscienceness..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day."
San Diego, California
"..And I find, that I don't understand, about love...
In time, will passion harmonize, with trust?
I really want to know, baby if it's so let's take a chance..
Please make up your mind do you want to find some true romance?
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
Nick belted out the bridge and chorus lines to the title track of the bands pending third album release..
It was now 7 pm and although exhausted, the atmosphere was one of a highly charged and productive day.
Nick's announcement of the up coming annual "Battle of the Bands" event hosted by a coalition of major record label corporations provided the band with new incentive..
The event was huge..Bands from all over the world bled, begged, borrowed, or stole to meet the criteria and thousand dollar per band member entry fee for a chance to be a part of it..
Every year one band walked away the winner of a guaranteed major record company recording contract, and international tour deal.
Opening for no less than the current tenth rated band in the world..
An honest to goodness tangible opportunity to be the next 'over night sensation' any ten year old kid ever fantasized jumping on their bed playing air guitar in front of 50,000 screaming cheering fans...
An hour later Buck, Mac and Toby piled back in the econoline talking a mile a minute about the shoe in INTENT would be at the Battle of the Bands event..
After the vans tail lights faded Nick sat down on the steps of the deck shaking his head.."Like kids at Christmas eve."
Crickets chirped in agreement..A hoot owl sang it's evening song, while coyotes answered in the distance..
Even after a gallon of folgers through out the day, he felt his head sag, and his palms returning to the boiling pots of water...Every day seemed to end the way it began.."Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered to himself..
"I am sorry"...Were you talking to me?"
He pulled his hands away and lifted his head..
The woman that stood before him was a vision..
Los Angeles, California
He woke up.
Sensing the back of his head was still intact, but the sick headache generating from back there made him question it..
Slowly raising his right arm he pressed a palm and felt a knot and something more..
Dry blood caked in his hair.
The traps between his shoulder blades burned, but he managed to get himself out of the shower and onto the toilet before pissing himself...
The phone stared back in silent menace.
"You"...He glared with pure hate.."You fucking, fuck!"..
Overwhelmed with rage, he stood, swooped up the handset and marched into the living room heaving it with all his might into the front door..
Stars filled his eyes, and feeling he was going to pass out again, grabbed an arm of the couch steading himself.
"You!...You belong over there!..With the fucking writing table, asshole!"
"Tap, tap, tap."...
Somebody, or something was at the door.
Fear..Total blinding freaking fear swallowed his rage like Jonah to a whale.
"Get the..fuck!...Get the fuck out of here!"
"Tap, tap, tap."..
"God damn it!..Are you deaf?...I said fuck off!"..
"Tap, tap, tap.".
He was whining now...Broken, and defeated.."Please....Leave God damn you."..
"Tap, tap, tap"....Something was at the door..
Chapter 3
San Diego, California
Nick had been working the better part of an hour in the little office area of the studio when he heard the approach of Buck's old ford econoline van.
He punched the print icon waiting for the 'Battle of the Bands' advertisement to
emerge from the old Canon 1600 before logging off the internet.
Buck, Toby, and Mac sat in the van a minute finishing off a joint before the van's door hinges
squeaked and moaned signaling their exit.
Toby walked around stretching, and pulling dark sunglasses over the top of his receding hairline while
viewing the sky..."Oh, man..Dude, is it only ten?"
Mac checked the watch wrapped around his meaty wrist. "Quarter after".."Why?"..
He laughed, "Bro, you look like somebody walking on the moon for the first time.."
"Hotter than hell out here already."..Toby groaned..
"Bitch, bitch, bitch", Buck muttered..
"Blow me" Toby shot back...He pulled open the van and grabbed the 12 pack they'd hauled up with them.
Smiling, "Man can not live under these conditions without beer."
"Too early for me" Buck said moving to the shade of the big oak tree.
"I'll take one of those bad boys" Mac grinned..
"Go long", Toby said pulling a can out of the box. He backed up two steps feinting a quarter back.
"Fuck that!"...Mac stood.
Buck began his ritual Tai Chi exercises..He was tall, lean, sharp featured with jet black hair and green eyes.
Lead guitar, vocals, and a good foundation in the language of music.
His riffs were exacting, practiced to perfection, regimented.
What Nick brought to the band in the form of raw fresh inspiration, Buck balanced with hard finite boundaries dictated by music theory.
Together they had broken through some walls of convention and emerged an artistic expression to be dealt with.
Toby and Mac stood around a few minutes mesmerized by the display of fluent motion Buck demonstrated with the Tai Chi movements..
Fly's and meat bees being what they are..It wasn't long before the young men's concentration was disrupted by involuntary swats and swipes of defense..
They looked at each other, and broke out laughing...
The kind of giddy uncontrollable nonsense laughter that is inherent with a pot high..
Toby jerked a thumb in Buck's direction..."Talk about your man on the moon!"..
Causing the laughing hysteria to regenerate it's self, over and over...
"you guys are gay"..Buck commented never breaking his rhythm..
"Your girl friend doesn't think so" Mac spat back causing another round of side splitting.
As the boxcar was safe and secure it afforded the luxury of leaving their equipment set up..
Only packed and moved into the econoline Thursday nights as Friday, Saturday and Sunday's were gig days.
Toby and Mac managed to stumble their way up the wood steps to the studio..
Mac played drums and Toby bass guitar...
Like night and day, once in the studio their demeanor's changed..
Business like concentration..The work day had begun.
Three minutes later the stock yard erupted in a wall of sound..
Mac and Toby jammed warm ups..
Buck entered the studio and moon danced his way to the hard shell case housing his favorite Gibson Les Paul..
He slapped on the Marshal Stack, digitally tuned, and within 30 seconds had joined in..
Unplugged, was never in the mind set of any member of INTENT..
Los Angeles, California
Herman blinked..The shower stall was empty.."What the?"..
"Ring, ring"...The sound was right behind him.
Spinning around, his heart gagged in his throat.
What he saw recoiled his mind..Instinct reflex forced his body back.
His heels caught the edge of the shower entry..
Eyes bulging, arms flailing, ripping and tripping through the curtain as inertia had it's way..
Two things flashed through his intellect a split fraction before the back of his head meld with the ceramic sidewall of the shower.
"Things in motion tend to stay in motion"..And,...Wylie Coyote..
BAM!..Bam, bam!...The Flintstone kid kept flickering in and out of his vision as he slid down the wall..
He heard Ralf Cramdon yelling, "One of these days Alice!...To the Moon!"
He came to rest sitting on the shower floor..
Feet and shins poking out at a 45 degree angle pointing directly at the phone set sitting on the sink counter..
The mangled end of the extension line slithered and snapped like the tail of a poisonous snake.
Like a 'Headless Horseman' the decapitated jack terminal end was mysteriously missing..
Only Jagged flayed wire remained where the line had been savaged from the wall..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day" Herman whispered, fainting in and out of conscienceness..
"Ring, ring"..."What a fucking day."
San Diego, California
"..And I find, that I don't understand, about love...
In time, will passion harmonize, with trust?
I really want to know, baby if it's so let's take a chance..
Please make up your mind do you want to find some true romance?
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
I want you to stay...
Nick belted out the bridge and chorus lines to the title track of the bands pending third album release..
It was now 7 pm and although exhausted, the atmosphere was one of a highly charged and productive day.
Nick's announcement of the up coming annual "Battle of the Bands" event hosted by a coalition of major record label corporations provided the band with new incentive..
The event was huge..Bands from all over the world bled, begged, borrowed, or stole to meet the criteria and thousand dollar per band member entry fee for a chance to be a part of it..
Every year one band walked away the winner of a guaranteed major record company recording contract, and international tour deal.
Opening for no less than the current tenth rated band in the world..
An honest to goodness tangible opportunity to be the next 'over night sensation' any ten year old kid ever fantasized jumping on their bed playing air guitar in front of 50,000 screaming cheering fans...
An hour later Buck, Mac and Toby piled back in the econoline talking a mile a minute about the shoe in INTENT would be at the Battle of the Bands event..
After the vans tail lights faded Nick sat down on the steps of the deck shaking his head.."Like kids at Christmas eve."
Crickets chirped in agreement..A hoot owl sang it's evening song, while coyotes answered in the distance..
Even after a gallon of folgers through out the day, he felt his head sag, and his palms returning to the boiling pots of water...Every day seemed to end the way it began.."Fuck, fuck, fuck," he whispered to himself..
"I am sorry"...Were you talking to me?"
He pulled his hands away and lifted his head..
The woman that stood before him was a vision..
Los Angeles, California
He woke up.
Sensing the back of his head was still intact, but the sick headache generating from back there made him question it..
Slowly raising his right arm he pressed a palm and felt a knot and something more..
Dry blood caked in his hair.
The traps between his shoulder blades burned, but he managed to get himself out of the shower and onto the toilet before pissing himself...
The phone stared back in silent menace.
"You"...He glared with pure hate.."You fucking, fuck!"..
Overwhelmed with rage, he stood, swooped up the handset and marched into the living room heaving it with all his might into the front door..
Stars filled his eyes, and feeling he was going to pass out again, grabbed an arm of the couch steading himself.
"You!...You belong over there!..With the fucking writing table, asshole!"
"Tap, tap, tap."...
Somebody, or something was at the door.
Fear..Total blinding freaking fear swallowed his rage like Jonah to a whale.
"Get the..fuck!...Get the fuck out of here!"
"Tap, tap, tap."..
"God damn it!..Are you deaf?...I said fuck off!"..
"Tap, tap, tap.".
He was whining now...Broken, and defeated.."Please....Leave God damn you."..
"Tap, tap, tap"....Something was at the door..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
