The Queen Song

4) Scenes 9-10

Mike W McCoy

10/09/2019

Version 5.0

<>9<> Arriving at the gates.

The growling audio track followed the slow moving visual of the long, dark car cresting the ridge line. The mysterious melody drifted sideways across the scene, trailing behind the dust that swirled across the narrow 2 lane highway.

The sunlight changed colors the farther the black limousine dove west.  A low cresting wave of dancing dust-devils effectively wiped out the back-stage angle.  At about an hour’s drive away, the landscape of rusted brown earth tones began to morph into the grays, silvers and whites of the Left Coast City’s outer edge.  And above it, a swift swirling chaos of movement hovered around like flies over a corpse.

A handful of taller skyscrapers rose above the low layer of smog.  They seemed to offer the hope of a brighter life by becoming beacons which mesmerized the wide mass of millions.  But mostly, those living in the adjoining suburban horror of the Sideways City.

There the earthquake leftovers from the Little Big One were still too dangerous to rebuild above, so only the lower economic casts of humanity - the dregs, the delinquents, and displaced denizens - dared to stay there.

Inside the slightly battle-damaged vehicle, the scene was of creepy contrasts.  Rook, the tall black man, drove professionally and proud in hopes of pleasing Mother by completing this task flawlessly, just like any good slave would do.

In back, the bald bodyguards murmured in a foreign tongue, interspaced with odd sign language hand gestures.  They never smiled, but an emotion of unquestionable loyalty oozed from their unwashed bodies like a bad odor.

Jax the Firstborn, sat across the aisle, and could feel them with his own extra sensory acuity.  His ability was a shadow of Mother’s strength, and he knew this on an unconscious instinctive level, but more important to him now, was the changing view beyond the limousine’s tinted windows.

As the car rolled through another vast Sideways City slum, low squat buildings held together by good luck and prayer, Jax became excited.  The city’s mix of wild warfare colors, had become more uniform and maintained.

“How far now?” he whispered.

But as the words left Jax’s mouth a vague fleeting tingle fluttered inside his head like a dying moth’s wings.

“Mother?”

“What’s ‘dat Jax?” the thin black man asked.  “We ‘ntering ‘da Core of  ‘da city now.  Won’t be long.” 

The young passenger only smiled back with his dark eyes.

“Soon we arrive ‘dat hotel,” Rook continued, driving them away from rows of built-up industrial buildings.  A long moment passed before he accelerated onto the sculptured avenues radiating from the city center.

“Depending on ‘da traffic, ‘course,” the tone he offered was a way of apology.

Jax tried to remain indifferent to the passing scenery.  Then the hotel came into full frame.  The visual vibe of the structure was a physical force.  The bright blue color and modern size was extravagant, but not ostentatious.  Its streamlined style demanded inspection, but not to close, as blood was figuratively on every corner. 

It presented an unfamiliar emotion to the Firstborn, but having no practical experience with ‘Greed’ it only confused him.  It didn’t call like Mother’s mental song, but he felt its pull.

Rook slowed the limousine to a crawl before turning into an underground claustrophobic cave of a parking garage.  The passengers exited and quickly assembled near the far-side service elevator.  Rook, and both bodyguards, maintained a loose diamond formation around Jax.

“Relax, every ’ting be fine,” Rook tried.  “I got ‘dis.” 

Jax nodded his understanding, feeling how he made everyone nervous.  The Firstborn casually adjusted his loose fitting gray Polo shirt and running shoes without laces.

“I hope so.” 

“My pal be waiting,” Rook said while pressing the elevator’s “up” button repeatedly.  “His name is Mahn.”

The elevator door slid open.  Jax immediately felt a strong sense of controlled emotions radiate from the lone short Chinese man inside.  He was broad shouldered and well dressed in a gold pinstriped suit with black accessories. 

“Greetings friends,” he stated after a formal bow.  “On behalf of the Yellow Hand
we are honored to great you all.”

The triad man’s smile was unstable and unfriendly, a look of warning that leaked from his narrow lips.  His gray, white tipped hair drew everyone’s attention upwards past eyes that were completely obscured by a pair of large black T-glass shades, which wrapped around from ear to ear. 

Rook grinned, remembering how the illegal high-tech device inputted massive amounts of raw data to the man’s brain.  Besides allowing him to see the infrared spectrum, it did probability breakdowns, target-acquisitions, and range of motion projections.  The black man knew the outlaw tech made the gangster a walking surveillance system with little left to chance.

“Um, thank you,” the return expression from Jax was frosty.  “Mother sent me.  Me, you understand?”

“Yes, all was explained.  My master awaits your arrival,” Mahn bowed again and indicated the open elevator car. “My leader, underboss Chan Xais is greatly pleased that you grace us with your time.”

“Yes,” the Firstborn replied with a neutral tone, wondering why master and leader were not same.  “I do.”

The elevator closed slowly and started for the top floors.  The older triad man remained quiet, and studied the others confined inside the metal box with him.  The professional criminal mused on how he now faced a serious problem, a 10-rice-bowl sized problem. 

Underboss Xais was the number 3 leader in the Yellow Hand triad hierarchy.  Mahn had known the young and arrogant leader for decades, and some even considered him as a step-uncle to the unpredictable underboss.  Others believed Xais was racing for a fall unless Mahn intervened.

When the henchman looked at Jax, a vibe of uncomfortable compassion radiated off the young man, except around the eyes.  There his comparison with human norms ended.  A fierce remorseless intensity glowed within those dark black orbs.

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<>10<>  Half a pack of cigarettes later.

“This is it then?” Special Agent Boris questioned with a dry voice.

Agent Yoshi drove past the same seagull-shit colored 5-story building for the 3rd time.  The inward slant of the precast-cement walls had carved rectangular inlays of contrasting stone.  The peculiar placement formed abstract patterns that seemed stolen from a confused nightmare.

“These are the coordinates, but no visible address,” the woman finally confirmed.

“Well,” pointing out the neon. “There is that sign though.”

“Club Uzi, cute.”

“Looks like a damn bank.”

“Yeah,” she agreed.  “And not a very friendly one.”

 After parking, with a good view of the fr0ont door, Yoshi gave Boris a hard stare.

"Ao, what's your playbook say now?"

“We wait,” he copied her tone.  “You said its tonight, after the VIP arrives.”

“That’s the plan then?  We wait?”

“It seems safer than your ideas have been.”

“Fine,” she reluctantly agreed.  “We will…wait.”

Adjusting the car seat, “Wake me when something happens.”

“Sure thing Boris.  Sure thing.”

Yoshi cracked the window and lit another smoke, and stayed only half concerned that the annoying man was slit-eye spying on her.  She couldn’t help it, thinking how those eyes hid a monster.

The Org-crime investigating agent believed the 57 year old man next to her was emotionally conflicted.  He acted tired of life, all life, as if he wanted it to end, everything, and everyone. 

Half a pack of cigarettes later, she spotted some action.  Caterers and costumed hostesses started to file past the main doors for the side entrance.  Several wide-shouldered security goons, in bright plaid patterned vests, set up a velvet purple rope, while more cleared the sidewalk of the few Hopeless extras who staggered about.

Watching Boris, Yoshi couldn’t help but feel repulsed, yet unable to look away from his grotesque face of madness.  Its visual power permeated the air with his each breath, and left an edgy unexplained vibe, which the woman refused to allow into her psyche.

Eventually, only the velvet rope and the security men remained.

An artificial glow now appeared to replace the natural order of day and night.  A red, scratched-grayness ran ahead of the stretching dark shadows.  The eerie shade lingered inside the foul air remaining above the closed factories and smelly slum.  In the near distance, the high-rise towers of the Core, strove for downtown dominance, and farther out, a silhouette of the Sideways City etched the horizon like mountains.

“I know this color,” Boris whispered as the haunted atmosphere settled.

Yoshi stubbed out her cigarette.  “What’s that?”

He opened the car door. “It’s nothing.”

“You say it’s nothing?” flashing an annoyed look, and stepping outside as well.  “What the kind of crap is that, partner?”

He didn’t answer. 

The moment stretched as both assumed a leaning pose against the car.  Unspeaking, they gave each other sideways glances.

Down the street, the guests to Club Uzi started to arrive.  The scene started with small fast moving cliques of the rich, all dressed similar, all trying to impress the same people who were trying to impress them.

“It will be soon,” Yoshi smiled to ease the tension.  “I can almost taste it.”

“Swell,” Boris laughed, but with little enthusiasm.  “It’s going to be a long night.” 

The low-tier entourage of Merchandise soon finished.  More expensive looking vehicles soon stopped curbside, but only long enough for the club’s alert security men to escort the guests inside.  Eventually only a single player lingered outside.  The lone man’s nervous actions alerted the both watchers.

“You see that?” Boris indicated with a nod.  “I think he’s are mark.”

“So, should I be worried?” Yoshi’s sarcasm responded. 

“No, it’s good.  I’m just going to say hello.”

“All alone?”

“Yeah, it’s about time for me to roll the dice.”

“You sure you got this?” 

“Well, I could use something more, um, handheld,” he stated while holding up Mr. 12, and flashing that grotesque smirk of his.

“Take your pick,” she replied, unlocking the trunk without bothering to look back.  “You think they will just let you walk in?”

The street sounds stretched his pause.  “Yeah, I do,” picking a different gun.

Yoshi discreetly smiled, and thought of her other priorities; the complex plans, and bigger ideals, that required her brother’s assistance against the triad thugs of the Yellow Hand.  She had promised that in exchange for his testimony, Mahn would get witness protection off-world, and Special Agent Boris was her key to getting it.

“I hear Mars is good this time of year.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, a little private joke,” Yoshi answered, without thinking.  “With my brother.”

He nodded as though understanding, closed the trunk, and wedged the big frame revolver behind his belt. 

“Give me an hour, then come find me.”

Yoshi copied his nod, then watched him walk across the street. 

Boris approached the security thugs as though expected.  He paused just long enough to flip out a bronze badge, and show Yoshi another grotesque smirk.  She waved back, then opened her own vidfone.

“Good, good.  Just keep on walking,” watching him stride inside before pressing the redial.

“Ninja Team Six, what’s your status?” she made it sound like a command not a question.

The vidfone’s small screen clearly showed a Japanese man’s eye’s between two strips of black cloth. 

“The performers are in the Green Room,” a thick voice said back.

“Good, show time is soon,” she agreed, glancing up.  “The stage is almost set.”

“Understood, ETA is ten minutes out.  A full spectrum A.I. sat-feed is tracking.”

“Excellent,” relief was in her voice.  “My situation is fluid and advancing.  I will advise.  Follow protocol for the backstage extraction.”

“Understood.”

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