Nightfly Shotoff 2011-01-18 22:56:56
This piece fits somewhere in the Nightfly universe, but I'm not sure when yet. Regardless, it's a glimpse into Ryan Louis Cipher's elusive background. It began as writing about myself, but as usual Louis took it over. I write in chunks, so if it seems like a cliffhanger at the end of the post, it's probably on purpose. It's still an ongoing process as well, so it'll continue to come out as I see fit. Please enjoy and critique.
"I got nine lives, cats' eyes, using everyone of them and running wild"- Angus McKinnon Young
Back in Black
I'm at my desk, simultaneously smoking a cigarette, flipping my Zippo lighter open and closed, reading some bullshit article online and listening to John Coltrane when BB walks into my office and tosses a folder in front of me. "It's a pretty interesting file," he assures me. "Thought you might be interested."
"What, some asshole got his head stuck in a toilet, drowned and you want me to greet him and give some lame one liner about his embarrassing demise? Don't you have anything better to do than getting kicks from people's weird deaths?"
"Can't you just take me serious for once? Jesus Christ, every time I come in here it's like going to a bar where everyone's an insult comic except for me."
"No, I never take you seriously BB. And I never will, until you at least get some better looking threads. That suit does not go well with your tie or your body type."
"Whatever. Just look at the goddamn file, will ya?" BB leaves. Thank God, I can't stand the man. He's the annoying coworker no one likes but holds a bunch of keys to places you'll never be able to go to without him. I put my cigarette out in the ashtray and pull the file closer to me.
I open to the file to find some standard stuff, like TOD (Time of Death), location, etc. It seems like the guy was murdered; he was mixed up with the wrong mob and got nicked. Not surprising, but it's the style of the execution that intrigues me. The legs are placed on top of each other, and the arms are spread out. There's one bullet into both legs, a bullet for each arm, and one to the forehead. This can't be right; no one uses that MO, rather, everyone who knew that MO is dead, bribed, or both.
My right arm begins to twitch, as well as my right index finger. My eyes close for a second and I can smell gunpowder and blood mixed with the endless sand. I walk over to the closet and bend down beneath the gun rack to open a safe. I take out a plain album along with a brown bag. I'd thought I'd never have to do this, but when time calls, I must.
I empty the contents of the bag. An driver's license, a key to a 1968 Pontiac Firebird , a nicked up sliver Zippo lighter, a black diving watch with the initials MCBCP'80 on the back, a KA-BAR knife in its sheath, a Samsung cell phone, another ring of keys, and a Colt .45 semi-automatic handgun in a leather holster fall onto my desk. I take off my Rolex watch and replace it with the diving watch. I leave the Rolex, along with my current cell phone and Zippo lighter on my desk while I take the items from my bag. I haven't used these items in years, but it feels just like yesterday I was this persona of death. Heh. How ironic. I don't dare open up the album; I don't need that kind of emotional crap now.
"Where are you going?" yells out Astaroth as I leave my office.
"I'll be back soon. I just gotta tie up some loose ends. Tell the boss I'll be out for the afternoon, will ya?" I call back.
"Whatever. Just make sure you're back in time for the meeting."
"Cool." I walk out of the office building and into the parking structure. I pass various cars from various time periods until I reach the car that matches my key. Ah, the Pontiac Firebird my father left me. A beautiful car, unnoticed for its time. I've given this car nothing but neglect, sadly. It's covered in dust, only because slashing portals is so much easier and quicker. Regardless, the V-8 engine roars to life as I start the car up. I drive out of the garage and tell Logistics to send me to E-1P5A.
Since E-1P5A is a pretty standard dimension there isn't much trouble driving through the portal. That being said, I still pay attention. One wrong turn, and, well, you end up where really bad shit goes down really fast. The last time any of us did that, and, let's just say it didn't end well. Someone flipped the winner cards, and I think Ang Lee is still pissed. Regardless, you don't want to take your eyes off the road.
The V-8 engine roars as the Firebird finally hits solid concrete. Thank goodness the shockers still work; I'd rather not make a scene coming back to this dimension, the one I'm from. Somebody might recognize me and get the wrong impression.
The City still looks grey and foggy, as per usual. Nothing's changed since I've left the place, but then again, it's only been 3 earth years. For me, that's been nearly an eternity. But that's just boring data shit for scientists. I need to find the guy who spoke to me last.............