Yeah, it's been a while. Ennui sucks. At any rate.
So I got a copy of the Unknown Armies RPG by Greg Stolze. Now there's a guy that can write. Anyways. I got inspired by a little bit in the book to write a quick story. Evidently my brain still occasionally works, so here ya go.
PHONE
The break-in was easy, but it was supposed to be easy. That's why the whole job made me nervous. It was too simple to be believed.
I'd been hired by one Roger Bekledge of the law firm Bekledge, Bekledge, Wilson, and Winston two days ago. A cake job, he'd told me. Asset recovery. Seemed a woman named Margot Pennie had up and disappeared some indeterminate time ago, and now they were totaling up everything they could find because she owed someone some money. He wasn't real specific about the why, and that was fine by me. All I wanted to know was what he wanted done, and how public he needed it done, and if it was legal.
Sure, sure, was his reply. Totally legal, they had a signed contract and legal affidavits. I checked anyways. I didn't feel like doing another stretch for empty promises. Finally, we got to the gig: All they wanted was to find all the places she had in her name, and a particular piece of artwork, some statue. They had her voting address and such, but they were having trouble pinning down anyplace else, and her house had been a complete zero for information, they told me. They weren't expecting me to find anything, but I'd come recommended, and they were willing to burn a little bit more of the client's money, so there I was.
Thirty six hours, later, I came round to the back door of her undeclared hidey hole. I'm good at following nested purchases, if I do say so myself. Evidently, a hell of a lot better than Bekledge, Bekledge, Wilson and Winston and their paralegals, at any rate.
It was a quiet, little, run down two bedroom on the border between the bad part of this midsized little town and the subdivisions that walled in the undesirables. It was midway down a tiny, cracked strip of tarmac with a dozen lots in it. Some were bare, a couple had empty houses. Lights showed a couple of them still burning the midnight oil. Margot's house sat dark, a lumpy thing with peeling white paint and dirty yellow window frames.
Around the back was the porch, with steps that looked unsafe at any speed and a couple of holes knocked out of the thatched patterned wood that screened the underneath. There wasn't a basement, of course - those aren't common around here. No tornadoes.
I tried peeking in a couple of windows, but they were guarded by some heavy brown curtains with a layer of dust on them. A smell from the porch area told me there was old garbage inside. Good. Evidently she wasn't hiding out here. I wondered idly where she'd run off to.
The door was easy, no deadbolt. Fifteen leisurely seconds and the smell came to me strong as I opened the door slowly and eased in to the kitchen. The trashcan had it's lid down, but it wasn't airtight. I pulled my T-shirt up over my nose and closed my eyes so they could adjust to the dark. A few minutes later, I felt able to move around without breaking an ankle or slamming into furniture.
I started in the kitchen. There was a plate in the sink, but clean. Everything else was put away. What food there was in the cupboards was out of date, but not outrageously so. There was no refrigerator. I moved into the living room.
The single couch against the wall was a 50's floral print and way too padded, like all that old stuff was. Wear holes and stains, cigarette burns. No TV. A coffee table with some bills on it, a couple of lamps still plugged in. No statue, no sign of life. Then I dropped to the floor as something hit my peripheral vision. My gun was out before my brain caught up with what I'd seen out of the corner of my eye: A faint red glow from the small hallway leading to the bedrooms and the bathroom.
It wasn't even really a glow, to look at it, it was just the reflection of some tiny tiny red light from one of the bedrooms. Picking myself up off the dusty carpet, I crouch-walked forward, gun in the trusty Weaver position, one hand wrapped over the other, finger OFF the trigger until it was go time. I headed toward the glow, giving a quick check to the other bedroom and the bathroom in case someone was holed up and ready to rumble.
Empty. Unremarkable. Finally, I came to the half opened door and slowly moved myself to see through the small opening what was causing the glow.
There was a gray cordless phone sitting in the carrier. The light came from the small 02 that burned on the tiny digital display. Nothing else moved. I checked it anyways. Clean. A rumpled, lumpy double bed, made months ago and hadn't been slept in for most of that time. A yellow blanket laid on it, oddly lumped where it had been pushed to one side and not made after. The mattress cover had little blue flowers on it.
Finally, I came to the the phone. Odd that the power was still on here; Margot had been reported missing about three months ago, in January, and this place hadn't been lived in for about that long. I made a mental note to check with PG&E to see who was keeping the bill paid. I hadn't found the statue, but maybe a lead would show up from that or the phone.
I put my gun away, sat on the bed, and picked up the phone. Placed it to my ear and pressed the MESSAGE button on the carrier. A brief hum, a tone, and then a soothing female voice. "You have two saved messages. First message. December. Sixteen. Nine forty seven P.M."
And then I heard my own voice and dropped the damn phone in shock. I looked quickly around the room, my free hand back on my gun butt. What the fuck kind of sick joke was this? Was I on camera? Where was it? I quickly checked again. No, there was no place to hide a camera, no vents, no holes. Whatever this was, it wasn't an obvious setup.
My hand shook as I picked up the phone again. Both messages had already played. The tone was all I had. With that shaking hand, I pressed the button again. And then I heard that voice, and it was all I could do not to throw the damn phone when I heard the first message play.
"Hey, pal. You know who this is." My mind raced back to Christmastime. I damn sure hadn't called any strange numbers and left a message like this, I know that much. What the fuck was going on? I focused again. "Two quick things. First, you're gonna get another real quick shock in about a minute. Second, when you get done, get the hell out of here and head for Encino. You hear me? Encino. And go deep." Click.
What the fuck? This was beyond bizarre. Either I'd made a sleep call to a phone number I didn't know four months ago, or. Or. The little voice in my mind said that the phone didn't list a year, but you can't call yourself from the future. Can you?
That female voice came on again. "Second message. December. Twenty four. 7:34 P.M." And then I heard my voice again, and I could feel my heart rate go up another gear as the words poured out of the phone.
"Hey, Margot. I'm sorry you're not in right now. I was going to call earlier, but the flight got diverted. I just wanted to let you know I'm at LAX now, and I'll be headed home soon."
"I love you. Bye."
