| From: | shadowtk@********.demon.co.uk (Paul J. Adam) |
|---|---|
| Subject: | New Orleans Entertainment |
| Date: | Fri, 26 Apr 1996 23:57:25 GMT |
>>>>>[Hey, guys. Someone slipped this to me. Since it concerns a Somewhat
Hot Individual, let me make it clear that my buddy has information, and
is willing to sell it. This is the internal camera feed from Willy's
Bar, in the French Quarter of New Orleans.
+++++begin trideo
It's your typical cheap bar, fairly empty. Four guys are clustered around
the pool table, an Elven girl is playing the "You, The Brawler" trideo game
in the corner, and a few other customers are minding their drinks and their
own business.
For several minutes, you wonder why someone bothered uploading this to
ShadowLand, as the four men (all young, human, bulky with muscle) play
pool and talk, the Elf excels at the trideogame, and time passes, until
one of the pool players turns.
"Get the frag outta here, you dandelion-chewing bitch, you're fragging up
my goddamn game!"
The girl turns - electronic blood splashes the screen as "Slaughter", the
digitised Bad Guy on the other side, wipes out her chance at the high-score -
and hesitates for a fraction of a second. By then, the leader - long curly
blonde hair, wearing a lumberjack shirt and designer jeans - is advancing on
her, and he cuffs her around the head.
She is thrown sideways to hit the wall, as the man's friends laugh.
"You hear me, pixie? Vamoose, amscray, run! Or you staying around for a
reason?" The leader poses in front of her as she rises to her feet, eyes
searching for an exit.
"Hey, Joe, she's got the hots for you!" calls one.
"Yeah! Hey, Joe, she wants a *real* man!"
"Joe! Joe! Show her how *real* men give her kind a good time!"
Only one of the four - the one in a Mercurial T-shirt - is silent, hesitant,
and his two friends make up for him in their catcalls.
Joe preens, strutting: enjoying his power over the situaiton and the girl. As
he turns back towards his friends, he - and you - suddenly realise he's
eye-to-eye with someone.
The someone is tall, lean, with long grey hair tied back in a Sioux style,
and the pool-table lights flash off his black mirrorshades as he grins, saying
two words.
"Hello, asshole."
The sound of several fast blows, and Joe is suddenly doubled over, gasping.
One of his friends, holding a cue, swings it, and only manages to ruin Joe's
expensive dental work as the someone - you recognise Lynch, though you'd need
to run the tape back to see where he had been a few seconds before - smoothly,
leisurely, ducks under it.
The bozo with the cue is staring, horrified, at the crimson ruin he's made
of his friend's face. Lynch reaches out, takes the pool cue out of his hands,
and brings the butt up between Bozo's legs. Bozo collapses, Lynch stepping
around the sudden gush of vomit. The third of the group is raising his fists
in a boxing style, and Lynch lets him throw a punch: catching the wrist,
twisting and locking, and striking into the side of the elbow and the side
of the extended knee. Bones break and the man falls.
"...why?" is all he manages to get out.
"Why? You talk too loud. You move too loud. You *breathe* too loud!" Lynch
strikes into the angle of shoulder and neck with the cue and the man
collapses. "Now you're quiet. Now I don't have to shut you up any more."
The last, the Mercurial fan, is still standing with his half-full beer bottle
in his hand.
"Drink up. Come on. You didn't think they were very smart, did they?"
"I... I didn't want trouble. And I don't mind Elves."
"Good. You know their problem?"
Mercurial Fan shakes his head.
"They don't *watch*. That's what they did wrong." Lynch reaches into his
jacket, brings out a flat metal case and a Zippo, lights a cigarette.
"I don't understand. Why did you-"
"Why? Because I wake up scared. I get scared, and that makes me angry, and
after a while you don't know the difference any more. Scared, angry, too
much same same roger. So I hit out. All I can do. All I'm good at."
"Why are you scared?"
"Come on, drink your beer. You're being polite. I won't hurt you." Mercurial
Fan raises his bottle and swallows convulsively. The bartender watches, his
hands below the counter.
"Why am I scared? Long story. Lots of parts. All interconnected, like tidal
pools. I come out here, and I try to get drunk where nobody knows me, where
I can relax. But some stupid asshole like Joe here has to spoil my day. Now
I'm scared and angry and drunk. *Bad* combination. Especially for Joe."
Joe raises himself onto his hands and knees, throws up again, and begins
crawling towards the door. Lynch keeps his shades fixed on Mercurial Fan.
"What do you mean, they don't watch?"
"See that girl? She's got a knife, right hip pocket. Looks like a Jimmy Lile
JD switchblade. Pro's knife. It's a neon sign. It says "don't fuck with me".
Did Joe notice? Did any of you notice?" The Elven girl is vanishing through
the door.
"No. We didn't."
"Exactly. Did you notice me?"
"No. We didn't."
"Does Joe know where I am now?"
Mercurial Fan looks at Joe, crawling through his own vomit towards the
door. "I don't think so."
"Exactly. Which is why things like this happen to him." Lynch, precisely and
carefully, kicks Joe between the legs, then in the base of the spine, then in
the side of the head. Joe collapses into his own puke. "Boogie-woogie,
motherfucker. You see that coming? You think he saw that coming?"
"No. I don't think he saw that coming."
"Finish your beer. Bartender! Get my friend here another beer. I'll pay to
clean the floor. Nobody's going to die. You're right. You think he knew
what he bought into when he started baiting that Elf girl?"
"No." Mercurial Fan takes the bottle the Bartender - left-handed - passes
him. "No, he didn't, did he?" Mercurial Fan's hand shakes slightly.
"Don't worry. I said I wouldn't hurt you. You're helping me a lot here. I
appreciate it. You see, I can't talk to people much. I'm not good at it. I'm
only talking to you like this because I'm drunk. And I can't get drunk
anywhere around people. You *see* what happens. DAMN IT!!!" Lynch turns and
kicks Joe savagely in the ribs. "Fuckers like him have to make trouble. Have
to start shit I can't walk away from. I just wanted to get drunk and think
things over. Why couldn't he keep quiet?
"People don't look. They don't listen. They make too much noise, move too
suddenly. You stand still, don't make any noise, and I won't hurt you.
You believe me?"
Mercurial Fan, shaking a little, nods.
"Good."
Suddenly, a triple-blade set of black-alloy cyberspurs are millimetres from
his eyes. Mercurial Fan squeezes his eyes tightly shut, but doesn't move
otherwise, and Lynch retracts the blades.
"Open up. They're gone. You see, you never know where things will come from.
And you never know where they'll go. That's why you *have* to pay *attention*.
I wouldn't hurt you like that, though. Eyes are expensive, and it's a pain in
the ass being blind for weeks. And, eyes are hard targets. Throat's better.
"The track-eeh-aah, a friend of mine called it. Car-rotted artery and track-
eeh-aah, nice and easy to cut. She's dead now, though. All that useless
information she knew, that she made me learn. Who cares what it's called? Cut
it and you die. Fix it in time and maybe you live. That's all that really
matters. She's dead. Dead years ago. Like me. Dead soon. Dead now, just
a corpse too crazy to lie down and be buried." Lynch draws hard on his
cigarette, throws the butt across the room angrily.
He turns away, then turns back.
"Look, you better be careful. Lots of people are going to be wanting to talk
to you now. There are bad guys after me. At least, I think they're bad. Maybe
I'm the bad guy. You can't really tell any more. But you talked to me, they'll
want to talk to you. Just tell them the truth. I don't give a shit. Came here
for a fucking vacation, get away from it. Joe here has to fuck up my day.
Now I have to go to Atlanta instead. Sonofabitch. God damn, I'm tired.
"Oh. Shit. Bartender, will this cover the damage?" The barkeep nodds, his
right hand still below the counter. Lynch leans over. "No, no, no. Not a
light pistol. Shotgun loaded with gel. Defiance T-250 sawnoff, that's
what you want. Damn Fichettis..." He stumbles out through the door, bouncing
off the frame as he goes, Mercurial Fan and the bartender staring after him.
+++++end trideo
This person, whoever he is, disappeared into the night, admittedly not hard
to do in the French Quarter. He is an obvious menace. My contact is willing to
co-operate fully with any law enforcement agencies if it gets this nutcase put
away.]<<<<<
-- Trike <00:43:31/04-27-57>
