The Memory Garden

Chapter 9 by William S 

The slow dull beat of a tune he’d never learned the name of merged with his existence. 

His eyelids fluttered and fell, he rolled his head trying to relax neck muscles stiff from sitting hunched up too long. A sliver of a smile turned up the left of his lips. He felt the familiar rush of past power seep into him from the rhythm of the beat. Some memories have a life all their own. They lay dormant, sleeping, then suddenly rush forward from your subconscious to strut and preen, centre stage of your minds immediate mental play. He snagged the powerful memory, chaining it down and played it forward again and again to relish in every nuance and subtlety of ideas the memory was giving him. The music accompanying it growing robust and pondering, feeding off of his desire to relive it. Sucking in a cleansing breath he opened his eyes and glanced down at the mess arrayed with practiced precision before him. He’d been tracing diagrams, maps, and schematics over cups of coffee for what seemed hours. Betraying thoughts of fear and doubt had been plaguing him since the refilling of the cream bowl. The floral pattern, Formica counter top was littered with scraps of ideas all on used paper. One fear was that his ideas were just as used.The music of memory was long in coming. His geometry to gather to himself the tools for tonight’s efforts was sketchy at best. Time to time he’d taken to glancing up to track his surroundings. A tiny hole in the wall coffee shop, booths, a few tables, one long counter with screwed in seating.A chuckle welled in his throat threatening to dislodge the music and fade the memory still trapped on play back. He asked himself why was it he always found himself in coffee dives when the important work needed to be done. His dead sister’s voice whispered from the wings of his internal stage, “
Newton’s Laws demand it. Inertia is just a fancy word for lazy.” He tracked the room again.The scent of grease cooked food, burned coffee and a lemon scented cleaner clung to the place. To his nose not a detestable smell, in many ways it gave him a feeling of home and loving hugs from his mom. His sliver of a smile spread wide to a grin as the memory of peanut butter cookies paid him a flash moment of time, a thought passed by in its wake. “My sister is right I do suffer from Inertia.”Four people shared the dinner with him. Two drunks, one male, one female, one old, faded, used up by years of debauches with the grey areas of existence’s substances. The other young and abused by association. A desperate pair ever seeking to wash away the suffering they had caused themselves. Any excuse to tip a glass, right? Not my fault life dealt me a crummy hand, right? May as well numb the pain, right? I can always quit, right? Right?They were riding out the last few waves of the alcohol sea they’d been swimming in. They had the look and mannerisms of forgotten people, so he gave them their wish. Forgetting about them was easier then continuing to look at them and feeling the longing for companionship. His smile failed, he frowned down into his coffee mug reflection. Even they had some one. The music slowed. He smeared and kicked his emotions into the neglected corner where they belonged. He was here for an important task. Got to keep priorities straight.Somewhere in the kitchen he was sure a cook was puttering, He could hear pots, pans and dishes being moved about. The only other occupant was Beth the over tired looking waitress. She once was pretty, never beautiful but definitely pretty. Stirrings in his cock warned him of his desire for her. Well maybe, it was more her sex he wanted then her.  The part of her that was Beth was irrelevant. All he wanted was tits, ass, and the sweet slick warmth of her twat. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and lowered his head over his coffee. White knuckling the mug as he kicked and punched his desires back. The music and power memory were needed. Desperate longings were out of place here. He could satisfy himself latter on a pay slut he chided himself, now was working time, damn it. Fuck. He knew that if he was to act it was now or never. The city demanded its tithe. He could no more walk with it or its ways without the tithe then he could with all the angels in heaven. He was an outsider here. His presence a nagging paper cut to the being of the city. He must pay the tithe, his dues or be cast out. There was a mission to think of, goals to be reached, and objectives to achieve.With a grinding of his teeth and a sigh he opened his eyes, released his grip of the mug and set to work. He checked his notes once more, scanned his maps, hoped his crayon calculations were right and then folded the lot into his old battered leather wallet. The street through the wide front window was crisp and clear. Two taps of his left pinkie on a Pilot ink rune covered Kit Kat wrapper siphoned a taste of power from the memory still playing over and over. The window shuddered and in it mirrors of the reality within the café stilled for the city’s residence to see. Putting on his best smile of harmlessness he motioned for Beth to join him.“Miss? Miss I would like to settle up now.” His voice was deep and thick with maleness. It sounded alien to him, it always did. She walked over, her heels clacking in time with the rising music in his head.“Sure thing honey. That was a bottomless coffee, two slices of pecan pie, and one apple. That’s nine bucks plus taxes. I’ll have the bill in just a second.” She pulled out her pad and flipped a few pages. “The pie was good, especially the apple. I love apple pie. Do you make it yourself?” He hoped that sounded right. Talking was not always easy for him. She gave him a smile as she put his bill down on the counter. A doodled smiley face in blue ink mocked him from the back of the bill. He covered it with a rough skinned hand. Beth was still talking.“The pecan we bring in, but Melvin makes the apple, fresh in the back. I’m glad you liked it.”“I liked it a lot. Could you call… Melvin, did you say, from the back? I’d like to thank him personally.’ He got a quizzical look from the request but she did as he asked and disappeared into the kitchen. Like quicksilver he turned and bored a stare into the back of the male drunk’s head. It was easy to bully his way into the subconscious. The drunk’s thoughts were a slow hurricane of booze tossed impulses. He navigated quickly, if not subtly. His girl was noticing the spasms. With a twist here, a slap there he set off a chain reaction down in the mammalian depths of his first victims mind. Out went the male, his head bashing down to the table with a bounce. Before she could scream he bulldozed the woman. She slumped into the corner of the booth, blood trickling from one ear.The witnesses out of the way he turned with a smile back to the kitchen door. His left hand strayed down to his trouser waist. Tucked round to the side and concealed by his brown leather coat sat
Norman his best friend in the world. He gave it a fondle.Beth whisked out from the kitchen followed by a portly man, clean-shaven, white, and smiling a crooked grin of satisfaction.
Norman annihilated the smile, causing Beth to suck in a deep breath for a scream.
Norman pointed her way with an ‘O’ of disappointment upon his face.“Don’t scream! Don’t fucking scream. Do it and I splatter you all over the cook.” He poured the weight of his power into the command. The effect achieved was desired, she snapped her jaw shut and stood there quivering, fear mixing into her adrenalin, pumping and bubbling for the right mix. He stood and waved her closer, testing her scent like a wine conosoure.  She showed no indication of moving. He frowned. “Get your slack ass over here, now.” Again the weight of his power was enough, or maybe
Norman was helping convince her. She staggered forward, not making a good show of it. Her puppet strings tangled by the confusion and horror of the situation, all naturally understandable. He forgave her the wasted time in her slow movements.Tears running down her face, making a mess of what was turning out to be too much make up she approached. He stepped forward into a punch to her solar plexus. Air rushed out of her as she doubled over.  Shoving
Norman down the front of his pants he could feel his best friend’s smile against his stiffening cock.Beth was showing signs of resistance, pain does that, but a finger flick to a temple took that out of her. She crumpled to the floor. Scooping her up he flopped her over the counter like a rag doll. Selecting the proper scalpel out of a little black zip case from his jacket pocket he set to work.It was an old ritual, one he knew he should not be using, too much history attached to it, but time was short and he was prone to nostalgia. So he did it anyways. Dumping out pie after disgusting pie onto the booth table with the now cooling drunks he carefully arranged her internal organs in the rotating pie display. Not part of the ritual but fun to do. Last to come out was her heart. So much poetry written about what in reality is a rather disgusting muscle to look at. Consulting his notes he dipped a finger into her heart’s blood and drew the required pictograms, runes, helioglyphs and lettering needed to dedicate Beth’s reluctant sacrifice to the city, the cold Formica of the counter top drinking it all in and relaying the message. Fuck the Internet, a hand written letter is better any day, more personal and resonant by far. Taking a moment to admire his work he collected his thoughts. Once there was a time he wouldn’t have needed to do this. Any city he walked into would have welcomed him and rejoiced at his arrival but he’d spilled to much life into the gutters, sprayed too many alleys, living rooms, and offices with red. His was not a clean occupation. Regrets and missed opportunities badgered his presence. The cities, omniscient within their borders knew it and rejected him for it all. It was the ghosts that really messed things up. He was a rod to their lightening. They collected to him, waked his passage, and pooled the rooms he dwelled in for long. The ghosts scraped the spiritual flesh of the cities with their needy ways. So he cast them off time and again. They come back eventually dragging behind them the city’s denial.He couldn’t bring himself to blame the cities and liked the ironic twist that they asked for a blood sacrifice from him for having spilt too much blood on them.Warmth spread over him, a friendly envelopment. It was time to go his tithe had been accepted. Whipping clean his scalpel on Beth’s hair he prepared to leave. He didn’t bother to clean anything else up there was no point. Some government agency would do it for him. Most likely send some keen little university graduates dressed in cheap black suits with snazzy black shades to do the job. Best garbage collectors in the worlds, those squeaky fresh government types. Bet they spend hours using their tiny occult knowledge to run themselves in circles. He chuckled at his thoughts and headed for the door.
Norman rubbed up against his stiff dick. He paused and wondered. His eyes tracked back to Beth’s opened body. Her stocking legs dangled over the edge of the counter, one shoe was missing, and she had pink toenails. Her skirt was hiked up.
Norman gave his ripe hard on a tickle. He slipped a finger under the lower edge of her skirt and tugged it slowly higher, giving him a tease and peek at her white panties. His sliver of a smile returned. His hand slid along her smooth thigh to rub against the elastic band of her underwear. Her sex was there for the taking. Norman and his now straining member rubbed against her knee. He had a little time to spare. He did promise himself some satisfaction. Curling a finger under the leg band of her underwear he gave a tug and ripped them free. Her sex revealed he gave s sigh and smiled in anticipation. He stroked a finger through her pubic curls.“What the hell.” He was disgusted. All that foreplay and she wasn’t wet, not a hint of moisture. She didn’t want him; she didn’t want him at all. Well fine then. The man most knew as Zero threw her tattered underwear down and stocked off into the night.“Be that way bitch. See if I ever show you a good time again.” 

************Leading the way Kaplin slithered his head out of a service stairwell. Holding the metal door chest close while flipping up his pull over’s hood to conceal his untypical features he looked left, right then stepped into the concrete hallway. A roar of crowed echoed the hall welcoming him. He waved Lemon out of the stairwell.“Do you do this often?” Lemon tugged on his right ear lobe then resetting his fedora triggering off an audio spell searching for hidden people in the shadows of the hallway. Looking down he began to brush stray speaks of dirt left from his literal run in with a former student. She was soon forgotten like the card she’d handed him that now rested in his suit jackets outside breast pocket.Glancing over at Matthew as he readjusted the heavy military bag on his shoulder Kaplin whispered “Do what?”“Take back ways into buildings.” Lemon dropped the volume of his voice to match Kaplin’s as the half-breed laid a palm on the paint chipped door caressing its surface.“Thank you for delivering us safely.” The door bulged slightly under his touch. “The back was are the best ways.” Lemon could see a hint of smirk through the folds of Kaplin’s hoodie.“I’m assuming that was a statement of your travelling choices not an admittance of orientation.” Their foot falls echoed around them as they delved deeper into the stadium’s interiors.Giving Matthew a withering look Kapin Mumbled out, “whatever.” Not really wanting to further any sort of confrontation Lemon let his attempt at humour pass.“This bar, Tatterdowns is in the service tunnels of the

?” Glancing about in the light of a naked incandescent bulb Lemon could not help but think he might have been mistaken in taking the half demon with him.“No this is just a short cut to the Tatterbowns. We need to head to the cleaning staffs lockers down there.” Looking down the passage to where Kaplin was pointing Lemon gave a shrug.“”Lead on then I was never any good at finding lockers. Something about the shape I think. What sort of bar is it anyways? The drinks don’t come with fruit and umbrellas do they?Kaplin barked a laugh as he shuffled along the concrete floor. “Hardly. Gist is a respectable joint, no umbrellas served.”“Gist? I thought we were going to Tatterdowns?”“We are. I told you Tatterdowns is an addendum world. Gist is located there. Where do you normally drink? “ Kaplin rummaged around in his green hoodies front pocket with both hands then drew out some saltines to munch on. Lemon waved off an offer to have some. The Half-breeds visages morphed to his human side and looked in need of a shave.Lemon sighed thinking of a non-committal answer. “I drink in places no one would think to look for me at.”“Like?”“Kindergarten class rooms.”Kaplin blinked rapidly to a stop and turned back to look at his new boss. “That was a joke right?”Lemon shrugged. “Well it is now.” They resumed walking letting a few ticks of time pass. “Tell me of the Tatterdowns.”“It’s not so much a place as a concept. It’s where the Ministry relocates the bits and bobs of failed mentalscapes.” They turned a corner to be greeted by rows of lockers flanking the passage. Kapin reached out a hand to gently tap randomly on the doors.Lemon mulled over his next question not wanting to reveal too much about himself or that he’d been away from the Pinnacle for so long. In many ways he knew is was too late for second thoughts he’d made his choice and the consequences were his to bear. Well almost he could always kill his new helper at a latter date. Pushing his doubts away he opted to see what would come about. His inner monologue went “May as well trust him with a secret or two till then.” His outside voice said, “What’s a mentalscape?” “Wow, where have you been? It’s the latest creation craze from the valley. Its computer unreality made real, or as close as Pinnacle people can pull it off.” Kaplin gave his boss another sideways glance. As much as he was enjoying his freedom away from Yuri and that cursed logbook, something about Mathew Lemon bothered him.Seeming unaware of Kaplin’s glance Lemon continued the conversation, “And some of these fail?”“Not everyone is clever enough to pull the mathematics off. For that matter the look of them can be tricky as well.”Lemon looked puzzled. “And the Ministry keeps these failures?”“Sure, the Ministry keeps everything just like it always has.” Said Kaplin matter of factly.“Not always.”  Was Lemon’s reply.The two of them paused before the grey painted folded aluminium door of a locker named 482, she was wearing the colourful calligraphy of Skank on her torso. Kaplin studied the lock a moment then ground his crotch against the locker like a newborn whore vainly hoping to orgasm first. Lemon politely turned away. The locker groaned and popped her lock. Kaplin held the door open for Lemon to precede him. Lemon blew a quick exasperated breath out as he was greeted by a paint-splashed set of coveralls, an open box of condoms and an unused home pregnancy test. Sighing he muttered to himself “Delightful.” Clutching his fedora to his chest, with elbows tucked in close he stepped shoulder first into the locker and out its mates side unto a linoleum floored hallway painted a cheerless white. A muffled voice elsewhere informed shoppers of the need to buy toilet paper and bagels, or words to that effect. Kaplin gently shoved him further into the hallway as he emerged.  The locker door behind them slammed shut with a Puritan clang. Kaplin cooed at it. “Don’t be that way baby I still respect you.” The locker rattled in fury as the two of them walked off laughing. “So what do you mean not always?”Lemon answered while idly helping himself to some cans of warm Iced Tea. “Time was if there was a failure the Ministry would simply cut me a kill order.”Kaplin gave Lemon a startled look waving off an offered can,  “The Min can’t do that, people would know.”Lemon shrugged while tossing six packs into the depths of his hat, “Who would tell then?”“The Min… of Information…” Kaplin’s eyes narrowed as he thought deep thoughts.“Exactly.”  They stood there till Lemon began pointing about. “Which way?”Kaplin nodded in the direction of the loading dock. Lemons lead them, Kaplin lost in his realization. “The Factions! One of the Factions would.” A note of triumph rang through Kaplin’s voice.“Most Factions work for the Ministry as pressure valves for the masses.” Lemon’s deadpan delivery caused Kaplin’s face to fall. His new boss was speaking some heavy-duty heresy to his beliefs.“Bullshit.” Was his best quick rebuttal.“Sorry but its true. When the Pinnicle was formed as a holding pen for ideas after the last migration. The Ministry elected to muddy the waters by formulating revolt to give people something to do. Most of the founding factions came about because of that. I don’t think anyone expected things to get so out of hand so quickly. No one was expecting the war. Only historians and mad men really want there to be a war.” Lemon shrugged and turned to face Kaplin head on. “The fact of the matter is the war and most of the factions took on an independent existence, one that no one seems willing to stop. I suppose the war is too good for some peoples existence.”Kaplin looked hard at Lemon for longer then was comfortable then burst into rolling laughter. “That’s the silliest set of lies I’ve heard in a long time. You missed your calling Lemon you should be writing children’s books or creating space opera for
Hollywood.”“
Hollywood is crawling with too many demons for my liking.”“Hey, I resemble that remark.”“But only by half.” The shared a smile. “Which way now?”Shaking his head to clear Lemon’s foolish notions from his conscious mind Kaplin pointed to an electrical room door. “Even if your bull shit was true not all the factions could work for the Ministry.”“No, definitely not all. As time passed the factions fragmented, it was all rather inevitable and might have been part of the initial program but the war spread the process too quickly, now, who knows who works for whom.” Lemon quieted as Kaplin rummaged around the hallway looking for a loose floor tile that yielded up a frayed electrical cord. He plugged it in and gave the door they were standing before a few shocks till it swung open on its own accord. He secured the wiring and they walked through. Darkness waited for them on the other side.“Then one of them would have told.” Kaplin’s eyes naturally adjusted to the lack of light letting him see the dust and bone strewn catacomb they stood in. Lemon was fumbling about in the darkness till he pocked his eyes three stooges style and a soft children’s night light glow shown from them under the brim of his hat.You take me to all the nicest places.” Lemon whipped his hands clean and rubbed dust from his eyes. Kaplin turned left, stopped then turned about to head off down the right. “You’re not lost are you?”Kaplin frowned in the dark. “No, it’s just these catacombs are tricky. “That happens. Where was I?” Lemon pause, then with a snap of his fingers went back to the discussion. “Even if one of the factions was to try and tell I would simply get new kill orders.” They slowed their pace as the tunnel slopped drastically down, a pile of sharp bones and skulls grinned up at them from the bottom.“Are you saying you can kill an entire faction?” Lemon couldn’t see he facial expression but Kaplin’s lack of believing was apparent enough in his voice.“Why do you think I was locked away?” They entered a large domed chamber, tunnels spilling off it in the direction of the cardinal points. Taken aback Kaplin almost dropped the Dawn Package as he turned to regard Lemon in shock.“You were what?“Jailed. I’m dangerous but useful enough to keep around.” The two of them stood in the centre of the vast space, then Kaplin took a few sliding steps back.“Fuck. I’m not sure I want to know you now.”Lemon chuckled. “Yes well not to worry, I was released, time served and all.” Lemon stood still not wanting to twitch and scare his guide away. He had no idea where he was.“Yea still, it’s fucking not right to spring stuff like that on a guy. People can take it all the wrong way.” Gripping the black bag of the Dawn Package a little tighter Kaplin held his ground not wanting this to end in a fight but not wanting to look a coward either.“Fuck, forget about it, it’s in the past. You still want to be a field agent right?“Yea, but not if it gets me tossed in jail.”“Jay walking

on Tuesdays can get you jailed, why sweat this?” The stood waiting and calculating, little swirls of dust gathering at their shoes, clinging to their skin and gathering in their lungs. Lemon continued, “This place is disgusting can we continue please?” With a shrug Kaplin turned and waved for Lemon to walk beside him as they entered one of the tunnels. With a cough of bone dust the disappeared to reappear on an uncrowded medieval street. The suns light causesing their eyes to water and blink. “This place is no better, now my sense of taste in style is being assaulted. I hope this doesn’t take much longer I seriously need a drink now. When will we get to the Tatterdowns?”             “Um, we’re here.” Kaplin shrugged and indicated the dirt street with its wattle and dab buildings all leaning against each other, four teenagers in twisted wire chain mail and ill sewn tabards with make believe heraldries on the chests were chatting near by about tournaments, tavern nights, and cloven fruit.“This is a joke right? You’ve brought me to an outer plain of hell, right? You’re not going to make me wear garb are you?” Lemon looked suspiciously at Kaplin who was snickering to him self.“Only if you want to,” Seeing Lemon’s set face of refusal Kaplin let it drop. “Don’t worry Gist is just around the corner, it’s less… geeky in there. They walked off. “You never answered my question about being able to kill an entire faction by yourself.”Lemon nodded his head as he stepped around what looked to be a purpose built pothole. “You got sidetracked, and no, I couldn’t do it by myself, sometimes I need help.” “So you’re not all powerful.”“Nobody is all powerful, the place would be damn dull if we could.” They stopped before a burnt out husk of a building it was still smouldering. Kaplin’s shoulders slumped. “I take it this was where we were going?”“Yup, Kyla must have renewed her insurance finally. Don’t worry I know another bar.”“Spiffy, lay on Mac Duff.” Lemon scratched his forehead. Walking quickly to avoid a gathering gaggle of corseted woman insisting on critiquing their lack of period cloths the two of them passed deeper into the Tatterdowns.“Ask you something else?” At Lemons grunt of approval Kaplin proceeded, “Do you ever think about the war?”            With a sigh Lemon answered, “I’ve lived it every day of my life, how could I not?”“No I mean do you wonder about who started it?”Lemon’s memory flashed back to surf soaked beaches criss-crossed with diagrammed chains of command and palm tree trunks scared with lists of the various factions and who belonged to which. “I studied that subject for a very long time.”            “And?”“And I still don’t know.”“Maybe God started it.” Kaplin looked conspiratory at Lemon.“That answer is too convenient for my tastes.”“Any theories then?”“None I’m going to share right now.”“Okay I’ll wait.” The shadows of an ally swallowed them up. Soon Lemon hoped they would reach a bar. High over head a little Robin peeped at another. 

************            She danced lightly around the room. She danced for the personal joy of it. She danced because she loved the feel of it, the erotic pleasure of the act. The shake, the sway, gliding about the room, hips, legs, feet placed just so, her arms and head movements accompanying every step, every sexy pose. This was music and sculpture rendered and joined to form beauty of the body in movement.  A playful giggle of glee slipped out of her.There is an almost forgotten street just off the motorway nowhere near the harbour called Innocence. That was not its official name of course, the Ministry would never stoop so low as to name anything that clichéd. It was a tawdry little thing in every meaning of the word, all painted up garish in an effort to impress, but failing, all fast paced, but never going anywhere. A flashy dressed whore of a street trying with desperation seeping out of its ash fault to gain a tiny bit of headway, or a sliver of respect. He wasn’t going to give it any of that.Music washed over her, around her, through her, in her. For others hours had passed since she had begun, hours more would pass before she finished. For her time was now a concept set apart. She had at the stirring of the first lyrical sounds stepped onto the polished hard wood dance floor and would not depart until the last song had died, taking her joy of movement with her. Partners had come and gone. There were old partners, new faces and those that wanted a go around the floor with her just once to say that they had. She refused none. Some were good enough to keep up others tried and tried. She was generous and encouraging, show her you love to dance and she will give you her all.Outside and down the way stood an ally mouth darkened by the neglect of changing a defective street lamp bulb. The shadows deep in the ally sagged, ripped and withdrew to reveal a menace in turquoise coloured robes with stitched shut eyes. A frown deepened the wrinkles on his face. He was a head of schedule. A despicable fact cawed forth by the watch birds. Time was a valuable commodity not to be wasted, especially not when one is at war. He knew he wasn’t a general. That was not his lot in life, but a competent lieutenant should not be found wasting his time. He searched the nighttime skies again for the time, sighed and looked about for something to occupy his attention while he waited for his moment of entrance to arrive. Spying a discarded house cat gone feral he let a wisp of a smile crock his ruby lips as he advanced upon it. Trash, human, demon and all their by products flowed around him as he stood down the street in a swirl of robes, his hiding glyphs, wards of ignorance and spells of invisibility obliterating his presence from their minds. He licked his lips.“Here kitty, kitty, here.” He held out a scared and red stained hand.The ballroom of the Excelsior dance academy knew her presence well. She was a fixture here. Reputation and gossip had spread soon people would attend the weekly open house just to watch her elegant form, her passion play itself out. It was said that watching her was akin to watching love, not the act of sex, although sexy she was, but the emotion that drove so much of the universes mechanisms. They would stare amazed as she moved with practiced ease, lines would form for the moments time of sharing that floor with her, to have just a hint of her attention spent on you.Drips of cat graced the back wall of a defunct donut shop. Whistling almost silently to himself as he finished his deliberately grotesque work he dabbed on the last sigil with a sponge of brain on tail. A murmured invocation with a sneer and he was done. Secreting the deconstruction glyph behind a sugar and lard smelling trash bin he checked the time once more. He was back on schedule. He moved off with a lighter, happier gate in his step. Behind him wisps of Anarchy magic began to seep. A trifling matter, no more the a nuisance, Pinnacle police would find it eventually and wash it away, but before then anyone passing would find their thoughts collapse and shred to be lost forever. An act of intellectual terrorism, so much more satisfying and destructive the mere violence.The band was taking a much-needed rest. Many apologies were spoken and accepted. She was lounging quietly against a ballet bar stretching the length of one mirrored wall whipping sweat out of the corner of an eye. Near by a couple were having an animated discussion. The wife wanted to learn to dance as well as she did. The husband was trying desperately to not explain why his wife with her rubinesque physic would fail to achieve her goal. She was about to intervene and whisper a bit of marriage saving advice to the man when an almost inaudible clearing of a throat caught her attention. Puzzlement as to how she could miss his approach was brushed aside by the overwhelming handsomeness of him.He was tall, lean and built with the ropey muscled form of a dancer, blond, blue eyed, just as she was. One look was enough to confirm that he had every physical aspect she wanted in a dance partner, and the smile, oh the smile, how it glowed and shined even brighter then the white tux jacket he wore.“Excuse me. I hope I’m not bothering you?” His voice was a baritone of confidence and polite breeding.“Not at all, if anything I welcome the company.”  She couldn’t help it she smiled her most inviting smile.His smile widened. “Excellent, then I may join you?”“Of course.”He took a step closer. He smelt of a fragrance she could not place, but did not disapprove of. “My name is Bruce Bond. It is a pleasure to meet you.” His smile took on an expectant aspect, like he knew a punch line before the comic did.“That’s a loaded name. It’s not real is it?”            He gave an artful shrug. “Its real enough. Is Charming Bell your real name?”“It’s real enough, but most people call me Tabitha. A silly nickname but one I can’t seem to shake. Do you by any chance dance Mr. Bond?” she didn’t even trip a little over saying it.“No where near as well as you. In comparison I am a lead-footed amateur and please call me Bruce” He chuckled softly. “I have to confess I’ve been watching you dance and until just now didn’t have the courage to speak. You dance beautifully. The best I’ve ever seen, maybe the best anyone has ever seen.” He for just a flash of a blinks time looked shy and disarmed of his confidence when he said that. She found Her small desire for him increasing.“You’re being too kind. I’m good, but not the best… still I won’t argue the point to strongly or stop you from repeating it.” They shared a laugh. “Would you do me the pleasure of having the next dance with me?”“Now you’re the one who’s being kind.” He flashed a smile at her that lit the room. “I would be honoured to accept, but I warn you I wasn’t joking when I said I was an amateur.”She waved his slight protest aside. “I’m sure you have more talent then you give yourself credit for. You can’t be an armature all your life. Come let me give you a … hand.” She knew it was forward of her to flirt with this stranger but he had so much about him that she desired. He caught what she was saying, where she was going in her own mind. Like a good dance partner he followed along willingly.“Oh I am not an armature in everything, some things I’m a skilled master at.  If you want to give me a hand I would love to … show myself worthy. Lead me I will follow, take me … anywhere,”Yes indeed she could grow to enjoy Bruce very much. “Shall we dance?” At a look and quick gesture the academy orcastra struck up a slow, slinky waltz, perfect for lovers. She blew Joseph, the conductor, and long time friend a kiss. The two of them strode with dignity and purpose to the centre of the dance floor. There they touched for the first time. Pleasure from that contact flooded her. They smiled once again in understanding of each other’s enjoyment and realization that this was but a prelude to things more intimate tonight.In unison they began, her first love consumed her once more; she could not help but give into that passion. Round and round in lock-step unison they twirled, waltzed and sashayed. He had been lying to her he was no lead-footed armature. She barely noticed the gathering crowds applause when the music was done, instead concentrating on Bond holding fast to his hand in command that he stay and dance with her some more. His warm smile and inviting stance confirmed that he would stay as long as she wished. She couldn’t stop smiling. The orcastra struck up a jazzy little number perfect for hip play. Joseph was lending a hand.“Tell me Bruce is this your first night here?” She manuvered them around the floor spinning them about so she could catch glimpse of their beauty of movement in the mirrored far wall, she approved of everything she saw.“No this is my second. I came with a friend the first time. That was when I first caught a look at you and…” his statement was cut short by a miss step he made trying to keep up with her rapidly quickening gyrations.“And?” She prompted as she slowed her step so he would not fall on his face.“And… something for latter I think.” He flashed his increasingly addictive smile at her and double-stepped to sync up with her movements again. It was exactly the answer she wanted, a touch too concealed a statement, but that was acceptable. If he wanted to be mysterious, so be it, everyone had secrets, even her.The moved smoothly out of the faster jazz piece into a slower, almost sombre, modern bit, she could hear the strings of a massive back beat building. Joseph was leading up to tonight’s electronica selection. Soon the room would be a frenzy of a rave for the younger crowd. Never let it be said the Excelsior dance academy didn’t cater to everyone’s tastes. Time for conversation was growing short. It was make a move or hold her piece. “You said your first time here you came with someone else, who? Maybe I know them. We might have mutual friends.” It was as good an opening gambit as any. She was really enjoying herself with him. She could feel a heat building inside.He hesitated, looking uncertain as how to proceed. She found the moment of innocence intoxicating, like his smile. “I was temporarily on the arm Lady Jillian Blake…” he mumbled to a stop as she stiffened in his arms and faltered a half step, trodding on his right foot’s toes. A mask of unyielding ice froze her once warm smile in place. They recovered from the fault and continued to swirl around the floor, but something of beauty was missing from their movements now.“You don’t say.” A tone sharp as a razor’s edge had crept into her voice. A look of concern clouded Bruce’s eyes.“Have I said something wrong? Has my stale efforts at dancing insulted you? I meant no harm. “ He tried to smile once more. She turned away from it to look over her shoulder at the crowd watching.“No, no you have said nothing wrong and you are too humble about your dancing skills. It is just… just… that I wasn’t aware that Jill knew I came here.” At the pronouncement of the lady’s name Tabitha’s voice turned poisonous. She finished dancing and broke with him before the music had slowed even further then shifted into ecstatic high gear. The surrounding crowd erupted into exuberant, primal yells and thrashings prompted by the driving bass and beat of electric music thundering into the room. He lost her in the crowd. Dodging an elbow he gave chase to where he hoped she would be.He spotted her fluttering dress as she slipped through a rear service door into the darkness of the ally beyond. His cries for her to stop unheeded. Running after Tabitha out of the corner of his eye he witnessed Joseph stepping off the stage to slip into the shadows. Crashing through the doors Bond quickly glanced about while brushing blond locks from his eyes. Tabitha was running with sleek long strides down the alleyway away from the street innocence. He dashed after her.“Tabitha! Tabitha wait.” She stopped suddenly and turned to confront him, her face flush with anger. He skidded to a halt and admired the fighting stance she had assumed.“You’ve been lying to me Bruce. You are not an admirer, you’re here on her behalf aren’t you?” Tell me you rogue, tell me the truth.” Her voice was cold and steady; it would be beneath her to scream.“Truth is a very subjective art form.” He winced as he said that it was a statement he did believe in but now was not the time for those types of philosophical debates. She bridled at his words, taking them for a rebuke or evasion.“Damn you Bruce” She snapped he meticulously manicured fingers. The grime covered brick walls of the alley rippled like rain splattered water as four chrome and polished steel mechanical men stepped through them. He heaved a heavy sigh, these were once referred to as the Gizmos, but it was never a popular name. They were the finest of Swiss made death constructs, percussion instruments, and clockwork killers. He avoided thinking of the obvious puns as he watched them click and whirl around him.  Serrated saw blades extended from their right arms, they held their left hands up as shields and settled into en guard positions.  They were fascinatingly beautiful to watch.“Now Tabitha there really is no need for this.” Bond shifted his weight about and rested casually on the balls of his feet.“On the contrary I think there is very much a need for this.” He voice hinted a little tremble of raw hurt. Tonight had started out so well for her now thanks to this dapper dandy her life was in upheaval, she would be working months to repair all the damage his presence had done. “I’m still waiting for the truth.”He blew an exasperated breath out threw clenched teeth as he surveyed the area and his opponents. “Very well… very well indeed, Lady Jillian did not send me but the Estectics League…”“Attack.”The man called Bruce Bond held in his curses at her interruption. Prompted by command his metal assailants struck as one. A timely and forceful leap propelled him high into the air well clear of their arching blades. His attempt to land on the shoulders of the one with what appeared to be the weakest neck structure failed as it dodged. He back somersaulted clear of two thrusts from its closest brethren. His hope was to get them to strike at each other as a means of damage and poetic justice. Things weren’t going well.  “Tabitha must train with these. They are so graceful and quick, much too quick” His errant thoughts were shoved aside as the four clockwork soldiers pressed their attacks. He dodged, weaved, fainted and spun about to do his work. In maddening disgrace, success was eluding him. A smile touched his face. He may well die here but it was a delightfully pleasing battle. The stylized katas of the Gizmos was exquisite to behold. If she had programmed them her reputation was well deserved. If he had but the time to admire the fight he was sure his taste and appreciation of the combat arts would be well satisfied. This would be a masterpiece of a death worthy of a renaissance realist or if luck modern French impressionist. Then seconds after it was too late he realized his flaw. He’d been admiring the wrong opponent.Her right hands delicate fingers, so refined in their nature, so perfect for the delicate arts of accenting her dancing, holding things in a pleasing manner or as he’d hoped interplaying in sex collided sharply with the bridge of his nose. Blood flowed fast and freely. He staggered from the pain and cursed to himself, awaiting the slashes and blows from the four Gizmos.“Desist.” The Gizmos stood frozen, metal statuary encasing him. She was serine in her pose. “I have the field, yes?”He sighed, and sniffed trying to arrest the nosebleed that was dripping from his chin to stain his suit. “I could see it no other way. The field is yours. May I retreat?”“Not as yet Bruce” she thought a moment. “Is that your real name?”“We’ve covered that all ready. What good would another name for a defeated foe do you?” She smiled patiently, turning slightly to glance down the ally way. Joseph revealed himself from the shadows pocketing an absurdly overlarge revolver of etched nickel plate. He made no effort to come closer, content to watch.“The Aesthetic League is dead. It was a foolish reason to go to war. Beautiful people versus the ugly, style over substance, art for the sake of benefiting a universe in desperate need of a face lift. It was a silly thing to dedicate my time to. I am no longer a member. I quit. Go away Bond” she sniffed he had been dismissed. At a snap of her fingers the Gizmos pulled back and formed a line between him and her. He straightened and took the time to brush hair from his eyes and dab up blood from under his nose in a futile gesture of trying to regain his dignity.“Everything old will be new again. No trend ever dies, merely it is recycled and refined. What was once passé is reinvented, repackaged and resubmitted for approval.” He kept his voice as benign as possible, a difficult task with a broken nose. From behind her shield wall of mechanical minions Tabitha gave a very unladylike snort of disgust. “The war is over, the ugly won because the masses are ignorant and tasteless. The Ministry likes it that way.”“I am not here to restart a war. I’m here to extract a bit of revenge. A pound of flesh if you will?”“From me?”“For you.”  He could see her puzzlement play across her face. “Explain.” “Not all of the League gave up as you did…” He held up his hands in a surrender gesture as she shot a glare at him. “Merely one perspective on events nothing more.” She mulled that over but let him continue with a nod of her well-coifed head. “After the… skirmish… at the museum some went away as you did, others quit and have been seen since publicly, but a faction went underground. Of those the group I represent decided to before anything achieve one goal.” He paused to see if he had her complete attention, which he did. “We wish to kill the man who murdered our glorious leader.” She blinked shock from her face.“It is known who did it?” she sounded smaller then he hoped she would. Deep emotional pain did that to some people he decided.“Yes.”“Who?”“He is called Lemon, and we want you to kill him.” A grin, bloody and large spread across his face as she waved a hand dismissing the Gizmos back into the alleyway walls.“Go on I’m listening.” 

************The last of the heads went into the oven resting quietly on cookie sheets. He’d preheated it to 350 degrees; the timer was already set to three hours. He couldn’t stop humming to himself in contented happiness. Turning from the oven he surveyed the Mason jar strewn kitchen table. The Ridley family’s hearts neatly placed in a jar for each family member.“Well a good nights work and done cleanly. The city will be pleased.”A phone rang somewhere in the dinning room. Knowing that he’s hexed the house to stop outside interference that should not have happened. Withdrawing
Norman from the cooling warmth between Mrs. Ridley’s thighs he skulked to the double-hinged door leading out of the kitchen, the phone persisted in ringing.  Brushing light fingers against the wood of the door Zero painted himself a picture of the dinning room with touch and sound, the phone making the task tricky with its now piercing ring. Something was moving about, snake like, whipping its tail across the family table beyond the door. A whiff of ozone was in the air. Grumbling about interruption Zero pushed into the room to look down at the black Bakelite phone handle with its coaxial cable twitching around. Black burn marks showed where the electrical zaps from the end of the cable were striking the table.“Honestly can’t a man enjoy himself in privacy these nights?” Snatching up the phone he barked a “What the hell do you want?” into it.“Sorry to bother you sir, this is Walsiingham, we’ve been looking for you.”“You and my cheating slut of an ex-wife. Is there a reason for this call?”“Yes sir, we don’t look for people without a reason.”“Well?”“A client we respect is looking to know where you are.”“Who?”“We don’t provide that sort of information for nothing sir.”“I hate you and will one day wear you as a condom, now tell me who.” Silence waited for him on the other end of the line. The sparking tail of the phone had lit the varnish of the Ridley family table alight. “Fine, tell you’re client that I’ll meet him in the Nowhere.” He then took gleeful pleasure in smashing the phone to jigsaw pieces. 

************The cold night’s air played with his blond locks. Trying not to giggle the creature known as Bruce Bond strolled into a familiar alleyway. As he passed through shadows his looks melted away and the tuxedo dissolved into his customary turquoise coloured robes, his eyes stitched themselves shut. Pausing to spread a fresh coat of ruby to his lips he smiled.“Who says you can’t mix pleasure with business”