Post by jackalope on Feb 27, 2013 6:27:32 GMT -5
Ultimate Ex Machina #5: Sail Away
February
The reflected predawn light colours the sea red. Early morning fishermen are preparing for the day. A huge white luxury ship sits docked, busy with white uniformed staff moving amongst the its three floors, worker ants. Black suited bodyguards stand on the edges, arms folded, feigning importance. After a moment scanning the area, he pulls in, stopping by the suited man checking traffic.
The car door squeaks as he winds its down. “Eh, pretty cold one huh?” He can see his breath.
The guard looks over the grey van with a serious silent poker face. “Metropolis winter,” he replies as if explaining.
The driver pulls out an I.D and waves it at the guard. “We're with catering.”
The bald guard looks over the card, clicking on a small torch, waving it at the driver's face and then back at the I.D. He nods and hands it back. Pointing the torch at the slumbering giant sitting next to the driver, cap pulled down low over his face. “What's with him?”
“Hugo?” The driver laughs, “Bachelor party last night. Woke up tied to a lamp-post. Said he could sleep for the drive.”
The guard's face finally relaxes into a smile. “Alright, well take it easy.” He hands the card back, “The loading deck is around back.”
“Thanks man.” He winds the window up and drives on. He can see the large ramp around the side of the ship, near the engines. It's mostly abandoned except for the occasional white suited staff member hurrying about. “Ok Hugo, we're on.” The driver gets out and walks around the back of the van. Hugo follows sleepily, swinging himself out of the vehicle and shutting the door behind him. Pushing himself up off his knuckles he scratches his arse and sniffs the air.
“Stop standing about.” The driver heaves pulling the machine from the front. He looks back at Hugo. “Don't give me that look.”
Hugo narrows his eyes.
Looking over the huge gorilla standing in an oversized blue sweat suit, who is now giving him the stink-eye, Jack Pherson sighs.
"HELP ME CARRY THIS."
* * *
“The mayor has been blatantly using the media to push forward his socialist agenda without due process!” Councilman O'Donnell pushes the tone of righteousness as he talks to the cameras. “I won’t allow this to go unnoticed, his little publicity stunts in order to get the residents onside by pandering to a single poorer neighbourhood. Has anybody asked about the jobs that are being lost because of these untested and unnecessary technologies? What he knows and what I know is that he does not have the majority of the council behind him. They won’t push anything that will drive up rates for residents who are already struggling due to the crisis.”
“Do you have any words to say on the latest pet micro chipping effort push that has recently been passed through the Metropolis City Council?” The reporter pushes her microphone under the Councilman's beard.
“I'm glad you brought it up, the thing's a smoke screen. The truth is it's a stop gap for Mayor Hundred as he tries save face after an incident which is obviously a result of his previous lifestyle, and now he's trying to shift focus from his new energy policy, which is obviously going to fail.”
“Are you saying that you believe it's the Mayor's fault that people died in Southside Park that day?”
Councilman O'Donnell shakes his head non-commitally as he gazes into the camera. “What I'm saying is that if anyone else had been the Mayor, the incident wouldn't have happened.”
“OFF.”
Hundred rubs his eyes.
“O'Donnell's an ass...”
“He's right.” Hundred looks up at Wylie, who is leaning on his desk wearing his classic reassuring look, and grey suit.
“About the numbers? Look the council is split pretty evenly on the funding and with the pressure from the residents, as well as how cost effective it's...”
“Not that...” Mitchell interrupts. “If I hadn't... if I wasn't...” He clears his throat, looking down at his hands.
“Jesus Mitch. Come on, you can't think like that. O'Donnell is a tool. If you hadn't been there, look you don't know what would have happened, I mean what would have happened if you hadn't been there when there was the Brainiac invasion?” Wylie points to the famous photo of the Great Machine. “We might all have been dead.” The Deputy Mayor grins and Hundred finds himself smiling slightly also.
The phone rings and Mitchell picks up. “Suzanne Padilla on line one.” Hundred's eyes flick to Dave.
Taking the hint, his deputy stands and starts to leave, raising his hands like a man showing he's unarmed. “Hey, ok, Mr Mayor. I'm going. I'll let you talk to your secret girlfriend. And for the record I'm for any plan that involves you getting some.” Mitchell rolls his eyes and waves Dave out. Wylie opens the door. “And just remember to tell her that anything said in the throes of passion is off the record...”
Hundred flips Wylie the bird as, he shuts the door. “Alright Journal, put her through.”
“Hello Mayor Hundred,” the voice of the new editor of Newstime magazine says in a husky tone.
“Hey Ms Padilla; editor extraordinaire, you ready for this afternoon?”
* * *
Detective Turpin pushes himself out of the car with a grunt. He liked to think of himself as solid, rather than heavy, but the car lifted a few inches as he left it. Grabbing his hat from the dash board, the red headed kid in the driver’s seat unbuckled. “Nope,” Turpin shakes his head. “Rookies wait in the car.” The kid sighs, looking glum.
Turpin walks up the steps of the large suburban house. He takes a moment to admire before ringing the doorbell. It's one of the few suburban areas on Metropolis Island, the old money neighbourhood of New Troy. Beautiful gardens, view of the harbour.
“Hello?”
He turns to see an attractive mid-30s woman. Blond, tanned, and toned; he would guess trophy wife. Trying to make his least threatening face, he speaks. “Hi, I'm from the Metropolis P.D. - I'm investigating the sighting of a big cat in the area...”
“About fucking time, I called you a month ago when Howard Hugs went missing. How long does it take for the police to do their actual job around here?!” Almost shouting, she looks around only to see a middle aged redhead woman across the road looking at her through a window. She smiles and waves back, while muttering, “Nosey bitch.”
“Howard Hugs?”
“My pure breed miniature poodle,” the woman says with a touch of grief in her voice. “He went missing last month. Then a few nights later I thought I saw some sort of giant cat running through the street, like at around one thirty in the morning.” She shook her head. “I thought somebody probably bought it from Las Vegas or something. There are all types of eccentric weirdoes out here, ex rockers, sports stars, tycoons, as well as the old money...”
Turpin nods. He shuffled through the questions that floated in his mind. What kind of work her husband did; he guessed car dealer, from the fact she stood posed like a model, and the two Porsches parked in the long driveway. What she was doing up at 1.30 in the morning; probably drinking, he could smell it on her even now at 2 in the afternoon, besides he had a knack for recognising alcoholism in others. He saw it most mornings in the mirror. What was she doing looking out the window at that time; likely waiting for someone. Her husband was late or someone else? Didn't matter. “Anybody new on the street lately?”
“No,” the woman shakes her head, “well I think Miss Morton moved out last month, but she hasn't put the house on sale yet. Maybe she's doing it privately. I'm guessing she finally went into a retirement home. She didn't have anybody, and it's a giant house for such an old lady.”
Turpin lifts his hat to scratch his head. “Did she actually stop by to say goodbye.”
“Hell no, she was a mean old bitch. Never talked to anyone.” The woman points to a big old house at the end of the road. “I only new because she had a furniture removal van outside her place for almost a week. Must've had a lot of shit to move.”
“Thank you mam.” He starts to walk back to the car,
“What about my fucking dog?” the housewife yells, stamping her foot with a huff.
Turpin looks out at the old house that was pointed out. One look and he can tell it's going to ruin. Over-grown lawn, cracked paint, half the windows are blacked out. The information swirls in his head. He feels the strange twinge in his stomach which he has learnt to trust over his career. He looks to the rookie, “Get the commissioner on the line. Tell her we need to get a warrant to search a property.”
* * *
The sea is calm, the sky surprisingly clear, especially for February. The large white sea-craft floats slowly across the harbour water, its decks filled with staff and guests. Celebrities, business men and politicians mingle, sipping white wine and filling up on appetizers.
“Is this a boat or a ship?” Mitchell sips his wine, smiling and nodding at the guests.
“It's a yacht,” Susan Padilla replies. “Now, I guess the question is, is this a work function or is it a date?” She looks at the mayor with a raised eyebrow.
“It's a fundraiser.” He smiles. Seeing her cool gaze, he takes another sip of his wine. “I didn't invite you here for work, I asked you here because it's for a good cause that I believe in and I wanted you to be here.”
Susan smiles, lifting her glass. “Spoken like a true politician.”
He turns to her, speaking quietly, “And I don't know if it's a good idea we call it a date. I'm not exactly in the safest position at the moment and it's probably best I'm not officially with anyone.”
“Spoken like a true man.” She takes a gulp of her wine. “I guess I won’t be able to confirm whether the rumour you're gay is true or not.”
“Shit,” Mitch says turning casually away from the crowd and looking out to the harbour.
“What?” Susan looks around out into the crowd.
“O'Donnell, I didn't think he'd be here,” Mitch whispers.
“He's coming right over.”
“Mayor Hundred!”
“Councilman O'Donnell,” Hundred says turning to face the inevitable. He takes the initiative grabbing his opponents hand in a firm shake. “Who let you on board? Ha ha.”
“Oh, you know, I was able to swing a couple of tickets. Thought I'd come see how the fundraising's going, see if I might be able to dissuade a few people from wasting their money on such a pipe-dream,” the grey haired councilman says lightly, as if he might be joking. “But really, I just came over to see who this lovely lady was. Are you going to introduce me?”
“Councilman O'Donnell, this is Susan Padilla, new editor at Newstime magazine.”
The councilman takes Padilla's hand, quickly kissing it. “So you're the famous Ms Padilla. I hear the Mayor here owes you for getting him back in office with such a glowing article.”
“I'm sure the Mayor didn't need my help to get back in,” Susan says blushing slightly.
“Maybe I should have a talk with you next Mayoral race.” The older councilman looks into Susan's eyes smiling.
“Isn't that your wife?” the Mayor asks, snapping the two out of their moment. As his opponent turns, Mitchell quickly whisks Susan into staff area, closing the door behind them.
“I thought you said this wasn't a date?” she says coyly.
“I never said it was a chance for you to start working for my opponent either.”
Susan drops her composure, frowning. “You're such a dick. You bring me on a boat, which turns out not to be a date, then as soon as I start talking to anyone else you get all...” She's interrupted as he kisses her. Afterwards she steps back, looking up at him. “...Ok.”
“I like you Susan, I really do, but I have... responsibilities.” Their eyes remain locked until his cell vibrates. “It's Journal. I have to go make a speech.” He starts to leave but she grabs his arm. He turns back around.
She smiles, “You've got lipstick on you.”
*
“I want to thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules today to be here in support of this project.” The sky is growing dark now and glowing lamps placed around the yacht light the deck. “You know it's an A-list event when even you're bitter rival sneaks aboard.” There's a wave of laughter as he raises a glass to Councilman O'Donnell. “But seriously, I'm here and you're here because of one thing. The future. We talk about Metropolis as the City of Tomorrow, but without projects we're trying to make happen, like this energy network, that's all it is, talk. I truly believe that all of Metropolis will benefit from the Aether towers, the rich and the needy and eventually Metropolis will stand as a model for the rest of America. With you help, we can lead the w...” The yacht lurches, causing the Mayor and half the guests to almost fall. “Shit.” The deck rocks again, a scream calls out as someone falls over the edge.
Mitchell grabs a nearby door and stumbles to the staircase. He pulls himself up onto the captain's deck. The captain stands braced against the large metal wheel, furiously trying to turn it against the way they are rocking. The ship is rammed again. “What the hell is going on? Is it a storm?”
“This isn't the sea that's doing this!” the captain shouts. “We're being rammed.”
Hundred looks over the side of the yacht to see large black shapes in the water. Water shoots into the air from one of them. Whales. About half a dozen on them. The boat was starting to tilt. More screams ring out as people start to slide to the other side of the yacht and more fall into the water. There's a frenzy of movement in the water where people are falling. He sees fins.
“Fuck.” He swallows his fear to think. Pherson. He's on the ship. He runs down the stairs, holding tightly to the rails. At the bottom Bradbury stands, looking relieved to find him. “He's on the ship! Come with me.”
They run to the staff quarters. The caterers are panicking. Mitchell scans them quickly, pulling around a long haired guy to check his face. It's not Pherson. “Where's the engine room?” he shouts.
The points to a back door. “Through there, go down.”
Hundred and Bradbury race through. There's another jolt as the yacht tilts again. Ray catches Mitch's arm before he falls. The Mayor looks back at his bodyguard. “I can hear him!” They continue down to see the double doors to the engine room. Locked. Ray instinctively pulls out his gun, but Hundred pushes it away.
“OPEN!”
The doors click. He pulls it open. The engine is loud. Like a small factory. Mitchell covers his ears. Ray steps ahead, gun pointed at the ground as he looks around. A maze of pipes and control boxes stretch out around. A few feet into the main corridor the open paths split off. Hundred grits his teeth at the noise. “I can hear him!” He looks at Ray angrily, “Don't you?” The bodyguard shakes his head.
The ship tilts again, this time the fall becomes steeper and steeper. Hundred grabs a pipe to hold onto and snatches Bradbury’s arm. The sounds of the machines are yelling around him.
WORK. PUMP. COOL. POWER. TURN. ATTACK. GLOW.
The yacht tilts further. Becoming perilously close to tipping completely. He tries to pull his bodyguard up to the pipes he's holding onto but he's too heavy. The engine keeps shouting.
PUMP. ATTACK. PUSH. CIRCULATE. FUEL. ATTACK. COOL. WORK.
“SHUT UP!”
The engine stops. The lights turn off. Suddenly the ship is silent. Slowly the ships starts to right itself. Panting, he stands back up.
“ENGINE ON. LIGHTS ON.”
As the lights flicker back on, Ray quickly runs through the corridor, sweeping to for anyone. “Mayor Hundred,” he calls, “you probably want to see this.”
Hundred walks down to where his bodyguard stands. A large white box sits on the floor of the ship, its huge speakers facing directly down. “He was broadcasting his message into the sea.”
On the top of the box a message is written in black marker.
“3rd time’s the charm. Next time we'll talk. Your friend, Jack.”
*.* *
The crime scene investigators moved through the house, covered in white disposable clothing, complete with rubber gloves and hair nets. People from the neighbourhood are standing across the road, watching like it's a reality TV. shows. Turpin stands outside, smoking. A cop car parks and Commissioner Angotti gets out. She points at the nearest cop. “You, go clear the away the locals.” Walking up the pathway to the house she glares at the detective. “So you're big cat angle paid off.”
Turpin drops the cigarette and stubs it out. “Whole neighbourhood hadn't noticed that she'd been dead for over a month. Truth be told, there wasn't a lot of her to find. Place still stunk of shit though.”
“Tiger?”
“As well as others, they're having it analysed, but he was here.”
“Well it does us fuck all good for us doesn't it?” Angotti says bitterly.
Turpin's stomach drops. “What happened?”
“The Mayor was attacked again. This time at sea. From the sounds of it, he was nearly eaten by sharks.” Balling her hands into fists, she sighs. “This fucker is making us look like amateurs.”
Turpin instinctively reaches for another cigarette. The commissioner grabs the box from his hand and takes one for herself. “When you're down comparing the taste of different shits, get yourself down to the harbour.” She tosses the box back to him and turns back to the car. “Do your job better.”