Post by jackalope on Mar 17, 2013 1:56:13 GMT -5
Ultimate Ex Machina #6
The Ides of March pt 1
The Ides of March pt 1
March
The door creaks open. A wrinkled old woman starts to shuffle out of her apartment, one hand gripping a cane, the other a large handbag. Looking up, her eyes widen as three heavily armed policemen silently move past her. A forth, slightly heavier man wearing a police vest, stops in front of her. “I'm sorry Ma'am, I'm going to have to ask you to go back into you apartment, and keep the door closed until we can assure you it's safe,” Detective Turpin says quietly. “Do you understand?”
The old lady nods, turning and shuffling back into her place. He hears a male voice inside as the door shuts. “Who was that?”
“Just the goddamn five-oh,” the old woman replies. “Probably busting Rodney again. Don't know why the Po-Po can't leave the poor kid alone.”
Turpin shakes his head. Looking around, he sees his partner. “I thought I told you to warn the residents!” he half shouts in a harsh whisper.
“I did, it's not my fault if they're old and can't remember,” the kid replies defensively. The redhead rookie still looks so fucking young- Turpin can't figure out how he's already made detective. It makes him feel old.
“Well, is everyone in position?” The rookie nods, pointing past him. Three teams of three, one covering the exits. “OK.” Pulling out his side arm, he cocks the weapon. He lifts the radio on his shoulder, “We ready?”
“Roger, we're all go out here. On your sign.”
Turpin silently walks to the surrounded doorway, giving a nod to the SWAT captain. The captain nods back and gives two short hand signals to the men in his team. 3, 2, the police pull back the small ram for a final swing.
BANG.
As the door flies inwards, two canisters follow. Hitting the ground they fill the room will tear-gas. SWAT charges in, sweeping the room and then quickly moving through the rest of the apartment. Turpin pulls on his gas mask and enters the room, gun held downwards but ready for any tigers that may attack. As the gas starts to dissipate the features of the room become more apparent. TV, sofas, coffee table, all pretty normal. Opening the door to the bathroom he sees a huge pile of fertiliser in the corner. Bomb or tiger-sized kitty litter? He moves back in and through to the kitchen. The sink is covered in plates, dried blood is visible. In the fridge, more blood, bags of meat, and fruit. Either one of those raw food dieters, or feeding some large animals. So far nothing showed he'd found the right place. Another fuck-up and Angotti would have him off the case.
“CLEAR.”
“CLEAR.”
Turpin pulls off his gas mask and walks back into the lounge where the SWAT captain is waiting. The detective narrows his eyes. “Is he here? Or the animals? I didn't hear gunfire.”
The captain shakes his head. “No Pherson. No animals.”
“Fuck!” Turpin kicks the coffee table. “Was there anything?”
“Here.” Turpin looks over to the Rookie who is standing by a bedroom door. Turpin and the captain walk through into the room. The Rookie points to the girl who is now wrapped in a blanket. “Found her hiding under the bed.”
Turpin gives a short nod to his partner; “Good job.” Looking at the girl, he feels uneasy, she looks physically unharmed but there is something broken in the way she stares at the ground ahead of her. “She saying anything?” The rookie shakes his head.
Turpin turns on the wall light. “Holy.... shit.” The walls are covered with pictures; paintings of animals, all shapes and sizes. They look hand painted - or more accurately finger painted, like ancient cave art. In the middle of the wall a figure is painted holding a staff. He looks down at the girl's paint covered hands.
* * *
The council doors swing open and Mitchell walks out. Journal is waiting with a cup of coffee. Hundred takes it, swapping the takeaway cup for a file. As other councilmen leave behind him, the Mayor slows for a moment, taking a sip of the coffee.
A grey haired woman walks but and smiles at Hundred. He returns the smile, “Councilwoman Jennings, hope we can count on your support in the coming vote.” She nods non-commitally, walking off.
“How'd it go?” Journal's voice has its usual optimistic tone. Turning back to her, the mayor's face is grim.
“Neither side is willing to take the initiative. O'Donnell seems to have made it a rates issue. No one wants to commit to it until they see others doing the same.” Walking to the elevator, he continues, “At this rate it doesn't look good.”
“Well we have some good news,” Journal says, smiling, “everything is organised for the award ceremony. The media has been contacted, so in a couple of days you'll be handing the firefighter captain Adam Hunt his very own key to the city.”
“Well after the serving the city like he has, it only seems fitting.” The elevator door opens and they enter. Mitchell sighs, “It'll be nice to give one to someone who actually deserves it for once.”
The doors close.
* * *
“Mr Delago can see you now.” The secretary points to the door and then continues answering phone calls.
Matty looks around to make sure she was talking to him, with no one else there he suspects so. Standing, he turns off his mp3 player, switching the smart phone to record mode. He walks to the wooden door and tentatively pushes through. On the other side of the room sits a man, African American and Hispanic descent, moustached, and wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit. His face is open and friendly but Matty can tell by the eyes, this man knows how things work.
“Matty Roth.” Parco Delago stands to shake his hand.
Matty takes the hand of the Borough President of Southside and shakes. He tries to hide the momentary intimidation he feels. “Thanks for agreeing to see me Mr Delago...”
“Parco,” Parco says, waving his hand as it was nothing. “Please.”
As they both sit Matty continues. “... Well, Parco, I know you have a busy job, so thanks again.”
“Not a problem, Matty.” Delago sits back, relaxed. “It's cool if I call you that?” Matty nods, unsure if he really has a say. “So, what can I help you with today? Hopefully you're not here to unmask me as Superman...” Roth's eyebrow twitches. The line sits between them a moment before Parco cracks a smile. Roth returns his own half smile. The Councilman laughs and points at the reporter. “Had you going for a moment eh? But seriously kid.”
Roth sighs, relaxing slightly. He actually likes this guy. “I wanted to get your opinion for a story I'm writing, on your district, Southside.”
“I thought it might be something like that,” Parco says, leaning forward to rest his hands on the desk. “What would you like to know?”
“The Aether tower...” Matty tries to figure out how to word it in his head. “You agreed to allow your district to be used as a test bed to an experimental power source, which supposedly produces as much energy as a quarter of a nuclear power plant.” Parco Delago's brown square face looks at Roth's long pale face with a simple neutrality. “Why?”
Delago's eyes remain on Matty for a moment before he slowly blinks, letting his breath escape his nose. “You know what the ol' name for Southside is?” The councilman's deep voice is tinged with a slight street accent that which he is trying to mask with a professional tone, but Matty can hear it there, hiding.
“Suicide slum.” On reflection he realises that it is the exact opposite of his own, an upper-middle class kid, trying to sound like he comes from the streets.
“Suicide slum,” Parco repeats. “You know why? You know the joke: 'Because it's so shit that you'd rather kill yourself than live there.'” The councilman laughs grimly at his own impression of a kid. His face drops back to its regular somewhat intimidating gaze. “Up until the 40's it was its actual name on the map – you can look it up. During the depression over 550 people killed themselves there; they had to hire people to dispose of all the corpses that would wash up along the shore.” Parco pauses, looking out the window to the side of them. “During the 80's when the factory shut down there, the same thing happened.” His eyes turned back to Matty. “I grew up in the Slums.”
“All the more reason that it should be teste...”
“Are you really telling me how I should run my district?!” The Borough President's voice almost turns into a growl before he stops, unclenching his fists. Parco smiles. “Sorry kid. Didn't mean to go off like that.”
Matty nods, slightly red faced. “No, you're right. I've only been living there for the last couple of years, I'm still an outsider.”
Parco sighs. “Look, I can show you the information I was given on the towers. S.T.A.R. Labs tested the shit out of them and they got in outsiders to make sure they're safe. I agreed to set it up in Southside because it will make power free and reliable in my district. There's no evil plan here. It's one of the few examples politicians actually getting shit done.” When he finishes his small speech, the councilman sounds almost proud.
Matty has to hand it to him; he can see why he was elected in as representative of the district. “Can I ask you about something else?”
Parco nods.
“Have you ever heard of Bruno Mannheim?” Matty watches carefully for any reaction.
“Everybody in Southside has heard of Mannheim.” Parco's face is unreadable.
“Do you know that Mannheim collects protection money in your district?”
The councilman's face looks almost amused. “Crime is down over 70% in my district.”
“Normal crime is down but super crime is up...” The phone rings. Matty wonders whether Parco somehow signalled his secretary to interrupt them. The classic date-breaker.
“Sorry I have to get this, do you mind if we reschedule the second half of this?”
Matty stands and nods. No point in continuing now, he'd obviously crossed some line. Crime is a touchy subject? Maybe Mannheim? He wonders whether Parco was in a gang growing up, he did grow up in Southside. Suddenly he feels guilty for stereotyping the man. Yet the thought was there. Walking to the door, he finds a simple questions come to his mind. “How did the city get the land to build the tower?”
Parco picks up the phone, covering the receiver mic. “It was donated to the city.” He starts talking to whoever was there. Matty shuts the door behind him.
* * *
“Get anything from her?” Turpin looks at the girl, huddled in a blanket and surrounded by two trauma specialists. She seems broken, Turpin thinks. Her eyes stare at the ground ahead of her while her hands twitch.
The rookie shakes his head. “Just incoherent babble. Pherson really did a number on her.”
Turpin nods, looking around at the walls. The pictures have an eerie realness to them. Cats, dogs, lizards, snakes, birds, tigers, gorillas... “What do you make of this?”
“Old McDonald's farm?”
“Or Noah's ark,” Turpin says looking at one wall with a boat, with fish diving towards it. He looks at the wall before it. The whole thing looks like a depiction of a hunting party, except the animals are the ones doing the hunting. Squinting, he steps closer to the paintings. He points at one of the animals. “Does that look like a dog to you?”
“A poodle I'd guess,” his rookie replies.
Turpin steps back. Looking at the image as a whole, it looked like a bunch of dogs chasing down a crowd of people. A pack of dogs, his brain corrects. Turning to the next wall, he looks again at the boat. The fish, or sharks and whales are heading to the boat. The park attack, the boat attack...the paintings were records.
He glares back at the girl. “What was she saying?”
His partner raises an eyebrow. “Just some religious stuff, the Lord is my shepherd. Something like that.”
“The shepherd returns,” the girl calls out, capturing everyone's attention. “The shepherd returns from across the waters. All beasts kneel before him. He gathers his flock to him. First he calls to those who run on four legs on the lands, and they follow his commands.” Turpin looks at the picture of the dogs attacking the people. The girl's voice cracks as she continues. “Then he calls to those who swim in the ocean, and they follow his commands.” His eyes follow on to the next wall to see the boat. “Then he calls to those whose wings carry them in the air.” Turpin looks at the next wall; birds fill the sky and surround the skyscrapers in the background. Turpin's eyes widen. People are falling to their deaths, others are being attacked. In the background he spots a human in a cloak carrying a staff. “And they follow his commands.”
“Shit.” The detective grabs his radio. “Get the Commissioner on the line. Major threat.”
The girl's gaze moves upward. “The shepherd returns. All beasts kneel before him. He is the first of the four before which all shall kneel.”
On the roof above them three beings, in purple, red and green are painted around a forth, who is in pure white.
* * *
The Mayor walks through the corridor to his team's office. The last few hours had been spent visiting local schools in the district, touching base with principals and teachers, trying to get a handle on the problems facing schools in the city. Education was something he ran on; it was something that all the candidates ran on. Unlike some of the other candidates, it was something he believed in. Unfortunately the city was budgeting already, and with the energy initiative any push in the education sector would have to be pushed until next year. He found this depressing deep within him; it gave him a sense of helplessness, which was his least favourite feeling. Spending the day trying to reassure schools that things would get better had drained him. All he wanted now was to go home.
Journal is waiting at the door to his office. She hands him a cup of coffee as he opens the door. “The Governor is on his way up. You're scheduled for a meeting on the city budget.”
Mitchell yawns and nods, “Give me 5 minutes before you let him in.”
His blond assistant gifts him with one of her optimistic smiles. “How did it go with the final school?” Hundred shrugs. As he steps through, she calls out behind. “Oh and Susan rang.”
“Thanks.” He let the door shut behind him. Removing his suit jacket, he throws it on his chair. Another door in the room leads to a small closet space containing a couple of fresh shirts.
“PHONE, SPEAKER ON. CALL SUSAN PADILLA.”
He hears the phone dial. He quickly takes off his shirt and drops it in the closet, then grabs another off a hanger.
“Hello Mr Mayor.”
“Ms Padilla. How is your day going?” He does up his buttons and walks to his desk.
“Pretty shitty.” He loved her honesty. “How about you? School visits go well?”
“Blagh...” He takes a quit sip of his coffee. “Felt like telling kids that Christmas has been cancelled this year.” Moving back to the closet, he takes a tie. Green. “You still on for tomorrow night?”
There's a thud sound on the other end. “Shit!”
He turns back to the phone, eyebrow raised. “What happened?”
“Sorry, a bloody bird just flew into the window. Yes tomorrow's a go. I expect no expense to be spared.”
He smiles. “Pizza and a DVD it is.” He wraps the tie around his neck. “Sorry Suze, I have to go. Meeting the Delaware Governor.”
“OK darling. Don't budge on the budget, remember he's just all bluster.”
He clicks his fingers and the call ends. Right then the phone rings. He presses the answer button. “Yes?”
“The Governor's here,” his secretary says.
“Send him through.” He shuts the closet door and takes a final mouthful of coffee. The door opens and the Governor walks in. Grey haired and sharp featured; the man gave him a slight smirk. “Hello Harry,” Mitchell says walking towards him.
“Hello Mitch.” The older man puts out his hand. As they shake, there's a sudden thud. They both look to the large window that takes up much of the back wall. A large crack can be seen above a bird falling away. “Let's not hope that's a bad omen.” As they both start to laugh it off, there's a smash. A sparrow lies on the carpet a few feet from them in a scattering of glass. Blood slowly starts to spill out under it.
Gears turn in Hundred's mind. A silence sits for a few seconds.
Smashing glass and screaming is heard from outside the office. A raven flies into the room straight at him, followed by a dozen other birds.