7
Whip flipped a cigarette at a Welcome to Texas! sign as they zoomed by somewhat slowly, given the bus’s max speed wasn’t what it used to be. The drive to the Supercomplex wasn’t a short one, and as typically happened on extended road trips, people were getting courageous with personal questions.
“Can I ask you something?” Barney said to Panzer, who was cleaning his revolver in the seat across the aisle.
“How many people have I killed?” Panzer replied without looking up from his task.
Barney blinked. “I was going to ask if you’d ever killed anyone!” He leaned in with morbid interest. “What happened?”
“Do you really want to know?”
“Everyone has an interesting story to tell. Tell me yours!”
“Well, there was something recently I’d never seen before.”
“Sure! What’s that?”
“Two associates of mine went missing. I found them in the trunk of a car, five days later.”
Barney’s eyes went wide. “Dead?”
“There were one and a half bodies in the trunk.”
Barney’s face turned light pink.
“Worse, one of them was still alive.”
Barney drained to eggshell white.
“Worst, it was the half body.”
The hitman spun the revolver’s oiled cylinder, unaware Barney was now full-on chalk white. This was watercooler chat in Panzer’s line of work. Barney thanked Panzer for sharing, changed seats, and never asked the hitman about his past again.
Jim and Zoë watched Buck practice her three-card Monte skills. The young girl’s appetite for mischief was different than the hyper-cruel teachings of Asphyxia House, but there were bits of crossover here and there Jim knew he’d have to keep an eye on.
A little red bird landed on a half-open window. It chirped and hopped across the seats.
“Hawk?” Jim said, tracking the bird as it bounced from perch to perch.
The bird twittered at hearing its name and came to rest on the back of Jim’s seat. Jim stroked the feathers under its busy head for a moment before it suddenly hopped to the back of the bus.
The cardinal produced a heavy retching sound accompanied by cute bubbles of regurgitation as a dark form began to collect on the floor.
It was a man’s shadow.
Hawk finished spitting out a left foot, and with an adorable avian cough, he fluttered to a high corner in the back of the bus.
The gibbon in the driver’s seat glanced back, tipped his sunglasses down, gave an uninterested humph, and turned his attention back to the road.
Jim moved to the back of the bus, pushing aside Panzer’s drawn revolver.
Mars sniffed at the shadow then jumped back as it shimmered with waves of distortion and was displaced by a man rising from the two-dimensional form.
Oz stood tall, naked except for his socks.
Zoë shielded Buck’s eyes. Buck returned the favor.
“Panzer, the jacket,” Jim said. Panzer pulled off his overcoat. Jim draped it over Oz and helped settle him into a seat, Oz's shadow now behaving in the standard shadow manner.
“Holy hell, I don’t do this one too much anymore. Impressive trick, but these days Pan Am will do just as well, and they serve drinks.”
“How did you do that?” Jim asked.
“I told you Hawk’s a useful little tramp. Mostly keeps me company, but this is one of our nice utilitarian arrangements. This shadow is my Asset. I can appear anywhere my shadow is, an especially useful skill at sunrise and sunset. Kind of a shit Asset ‘round noon though. Hawk can swallow the shadow whole. As the crow flies is the idea, although it’s just not entirely comfortable cramming into a cardinal’s gut for much longer than five minutes.” He pulled Panzer’s overcoat tighter around his shivering body.
“It’s great to see you,” Jim said.
“Good to see you as well, my boy. Well now, look at this fine Combination. Barney, good to see you.”
The Combo had all moved to the seats adjacent to Jim and Oz. Barney kneeled on the seat directly in front of them, peeking over the top like a first grader spying on a girl he totally absolutely does not like. Zoë and Buck sat in the seat across from them, and Panzer, cool as always but unable to hide his wonder at the cardinal-borne shadow man, was in front of the ladies.
“Zoë, good to see you as well. It’s been a long time.” Oz nodded cordially at the braided woman. “Name’s Oz, good to meet you,” he said to Buck in a collegial tone. They clasped hands.
“I’m Buck. Thanks for the firm handshake.”
“And you.”
“And this is Panzer,” Jim said, motioning to the stoic hit man.
“Panzer, a pleasure,” Oz said.
Panzer predictably nodded.
“I’ve no wish to be rude, but I must have a talk with Jim.” Oz got to his feet and pulled Jim to a seat at the back of the bus.
“Everything okay at St. Mili’s? Ada’s doing well? How’s Nurse Gail? The Asphyxia House kids?” Jim asked.
“What? Oh yes, everyone’s doing quite well. I haven’t been around much, but apparently Ada and Nurse Gail have struck up quite the passionate love affair. If all this blows over, I’m very much interested in attempting a ménage á trois with the two of them. I imagine it would be one for the ages . . .” Oz trailed off and gazed out the window, engrossed in his plus-size erotic fantasy.
Jim cleared his throat. “You had something to talk to me about?”
“Oh yes,” Oz said as he returned from the daydream. “Well, first, congrats on getting through the Abbey. I pray you’re not sore about the whole addiction thing, but I knew you’d push through. And a completed Combo—wonderful! How did you know it was Buck?”
“That one just kind of fell into place in my mind.”
“Good. Very good. Now, I can’t help but notice our dear school bus is pointed at Texas. Is that right?”
“It’s time we scored some points. Maybe take out Bo Peep.”
Oz raised an eyebrow. “You think she’s with Nero and Boyd, huh?”
“She’s got an axe to grind with me for saving Whip in the Pacific, but he suspects some kind of further collusion. You said it’s good to push back when you’re pushed.”
“It is, it is. But remember, you aren’t Certified yet. You still have one last task to complete.”
“What is it?”
“Well, you’ve had a bit of physical, and a bit of mental, meaning you wrap things up with a bit of spiritual.”
“Okay, but . . . what is it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Nope. I only organize the first two. The last one, you have to look for yourself. Introspection. A vision quest of sorts. Hey, like the one we made up for Nurse Gail!” Oz was busy lighting a cigar (El Salvadoran) he’d produced from one of his socks. “You should focus on that third task. Certification brings certain privileges. Retarded aging and additional resilience to physical harm, for you and your Combo of course. Plus you get some terrific Cryptofauna swag.”
“I just think it’s time to push back,” Jim said. “All I’ve done is get kidnapped, and hunted. Everyone’s talking about how great Boyd is all the time, I need to stand up for us.”
Oz puffed away. “I’m not your boss, or your father, and I’m sure as shit no micromanager. You’re calling the shots from here on out. You wanna go to Texas and butt heads with Boyd or Bo Peep, I’m not gonna stop you. But I strongly advise against it. You’re still galvanizing.” Oz pinched Jim’s arm.
“Ow!” Jim yelped an octave higher than he would’ve liked.
“See.”
“You think Boyd finished his tasks already?” Jim rubbed his arm.
“I don’t know, but I’m worried.”
“Why? What’s he been doing?”
“Don’t know, and that’s what’s disconcerting. Boyd’s disappeared. Not even the jinn know where he is. I haven’t been able to get in contact with Nero, and strange things have been happening near the Supercomplex. There’s been a rash of vehicle thefts. Automobiles, farming equipment, damn near anything with gears and a motor. Morgues, graveyards, and science classrooms got robbed too. Like someone’s got a real hard on for discarded body parts. Then just last week half the faculty was kidnapped from a nearby agricultural college. The local jinn, Earl the Frog for example, won’t even go near the property. That always tells you something.”
“I’m tired of pot shots from Bo Peep,” Jim said. “I have my Combo. We took down Asphyxia house. It’s time we got on the scoreboard within our own Rivalry. Maybe Boyd’s not home but maybe we can get some clues as to where he is and go from there. The best defense is a good offense right?”
“The best defense goes to the sea cucumber. Squeezes its own internal organs until they come out the anus, making the predator think they’re dead.”
“Yeah . . . there’s always that option. I appreciate your advice, Oz, but I need to do this.”
Oz leaned back in his seat and got comfortable. “Fair enough, I’ll come along for the ride then.”
“Oz?”
“Jim?”
“What do I do in Cryptofauna?”
The question had been waiting for a long time. Queer little rules and regulations were always good for adding some definition to the game, but the why of it all was the real meat.
Oz puffed his cigar for a long while before obliging the question. “Could be anything, joining one side of a war, and not always the side you’d think. Then there’s helping influence weather patterns in Northern Australia or Rhodesia and aiding seemingly unimportant individuals as they make monumentally important decisions from time to time.”
“Important how?”
“Important to them, important to the world, doesn’t make a huge difference in the end, and they often overlap anyway. The trick is to do it with an invisible hand. One of my all-time favorite resources is the wind.” Oz's eyes glowed with affection. “An old, old friend of mine. Study the way she works.”
“She?”
“Oh god, yes, she’s decidedly female. Always working but never seen—perpetually moving, touching everything, sometimes gently, sometimes with force. Get to know the wind, Jim. That’s my sage advice for the day.” Oz opened one eye and saw Jim waiting for more. He groaned. “I suppose you have been shortchanged with instruction. I can only tell you how I did it. There are boring things to tend to like ensuring certain trucks of munitions never reach their intended destinations while others do, or assassinating a lactose intolerant up and coming tribal leader with strategically placed ice cream. I’ve had to do that on two separate occasions—mint chocolate chip both times. Then there are the less quantitative but equally important tasks. Like a particular patch of bamboo I checked on in Southeast China for about thirty years. Never fully knew why, but I could feel it was important. Eventually, a nearby village was on the brink of collapse after a rash of attacks from roaming bandits. Under my care, the bamboo had grown into the strongest in all of China, and just imagine what a field of competition that is. Anyway, I helped the folks in town chop down the bamboo and fashion it into an impenetrable outer wall. I also pulled a few of the bandits’ heads off when they came back, but that wall stood for many years protecting those who needed it.”
“And you just . . . knew the bamboo would be important?”
Oz shook his head. “I knew tending the bamboo was important. The rest became clear later. There’s a subtle difference.”
“I saw Buck in a well and knew I had to rescue her. Is that Operator’s intuition or something?”
“Sure. I guess so,” Oz said, running his thick fingers over smooth rivets on the wall of the bus in boredom.
“So that village was really important, right? Like some kid there grew up to be the Pope?”
“Now really, Jim, a Chinese Pope? Don’t look so directly at things all the time. Perhaps some more examples . . . One rivalry in Europe had a particularly interesting time in the thirties and forties. Twentieth Century, I mean. Both of them whispering in that vile Hitler fellow’s ear, sending him this way and that like a runner caught between bases. Just look at what he did, marching those poor men into Russia, which was less than shrewd in the first place, and surrounding Leningrad. That’s it! They surrounded it instead of going in and taking over. He bungled a previously smooth-running campaign against the RAF and declared war on the Yanks. How could anyone be so stupid? Things were looking a little tampered with to anyone paying attention, but sometimes you don’t have a choice. Helping a little boy conquer his fear of heights, manufacturing a sugarcane shortage for a few years, keeping a suburban marriage together—you’ll come to know why certain things are important and deserving of your focus. The skill, once you have the means to change, is in identifying these brief tipping points and acting on them in time. Many are fleeting and irreversible after the fact. The right place at the right time is paramount, and that’s the currency in this game. Part of that, as I’ve said, is a network of informants. The other part is quieting yourself enough to hear. Use metempsychosis, Om, or just smoke a cigar and relax. Find your own way. Now if you’ll grant me some time to rest, travel in Hawk’s gut can be very taxing.”
“One last thing—I swear.” Jim faltered in trying to find the right words. “All of this rule breaking going on . . . You say it’s uncommon and new, right?”
Oz nodded.
“Well, am I special? Like some kind of chosen one?”
Oz yawned. “No, my boy, you aren’t the special one. Boyd is. You’re the one who has to stop him.” With that answer delivered, he curled up in the borrowed trenchcoat and fell asleep.
* * *
The digital display on Panzer’s wristwatch flashed midnight. Not with the standard twelve and two zeros, but with actual capital letters that spelled the word out. The watch was dark for twenty-three hours and fifty-nine minutes every day. But for one brief minute, it made damn sure you knew the time. As far as anyone could tell, it was his only possession aside from the revolver.
The hitman was fast asleep in his own seat. Nearby, Oz and Barney leaned against one another in slumber. Behind them, Buck and Mars snuggled for warmth.
Jim sat with Zoë in the front seat, their chemically altered bodies foregoing the need for slumber.
Whip was still driving, riding a wave of amphetamines he’d acquired at one of their gas station stops. The ash on each of the three cigarettes in his mouth was dangerously long, hanging over the steering wheel like demonic fingers.
“Do you miss sleep?” Jim asked Zoë.
“I did at first, but that was a long time ago. I’m used to it now. I guess I do miss dreaming if I think about it.”
She’d given up her robes for street clothes, an unremarkable outfit straight off the rack that had nonetheless stopped Jim’s heart. Panzer had administered CPR, skillfully reviving Jim without fracturing his sternum.
In Jim’s mind, Zoë didn’t wear clothes. Clothes clung to her for dear life as she moved with powerful elegance from one place to another, both of which were lucky to have her. Like all interesting people, she was full of contradictions, honest and open yet hard to read at the same time. The janitor tried not to lament and get morose about the whole thing, but there wasn’t exactly an easy answer, even with Zoë being as accommodating as she was. How was he supposed to impress a girl who’d seen the rise and fall of nations, who’d watched ideologies proposed, tested, and torched in revolution? She’d visited Siam when it was Siam, heard Beethoven live in concert, and remembered a world dark at night but for the light of candles and stars. She didn’t brag about this stuff, but it seemed difficult to make a genuine impression.
“Sleep is for sheep,” Whip said. “That’s what I’ve always said. Hey it rhymes too!”
Jim realized he’d never seen the jinn sleep, and, as always, asked what he hoped wasn’t a stupid question. “Do jinn sleep?”
“What a stupid question!” Whip shouted, causing Mars to groan and roll over somewhere near the back of the bus. “Of course we sleep. Not everyone is like your freaky French girl and her brothers. Now, James, early-man to man here a second—”
Jim interrupted. “Gibbons actually aren’t related to humans, not that closely I mean. The interesting thing is—”
Whip returned the interrupting favor. “Shove it! Nobody likes a know-it-all! Now, what I really want to know is if you’ve gotten into her ancient panties yet.”
Whip ducked his furry head just in time to avoid a swipe from a red-faced Jim. Zoë couldn’t help a shy smirk. The jinn had a way of broaching topics indelicately, things people frequently thought about but seldom talked about. This was definitely one of those topics because frankly, Jim didn’t know if Zoë liked him in that way. He’d half considered handing her a grade school note of “Do you like me (yes) (no) circle one.” Aside from about a million other complicating factors, they were in a Combo together. Was that like coworkers dating? Was Jim like her boss? He didn’t want to be a sleaze.
“Fine, skip it, ya prude!” Whip whined as Jim sat back down.
“I think Jim can do better than a centuries old French girl.” Zoë put her hand on Jim’s arm. The modest touch gave Jim immediate goosebumps, raised the hair on the back of his neck, and birthed a heart palpitation that lasted a week. But his mind got the worst of it. Did she really mean that? Was it a polite brush off? Was the touch just shoving it in Whip’s face, or was it meant to torture?
Jim realized he had to chill out.
For one thing, he’d literally die if he remained this open to the woman. The direct line to his soul she alone had access to was vulnerable to abuse, intentional or not. For another thing, playing at least a little hard to get was always part of the dance. His affection for her was already out in the open, but he could dial it back and try, for the first time in his life, to be cool. He’d tried to force a relationship at the Abbey. But that was no good. The best way to honor this woman was to just get to know her. No more attempts to manufacture her affection.
“Do you miss the Abbey?” he asked her.
“Yep, but I always do whenever I leave.”
During his withdrawal isolation, Zoë had been one of the many to keep Jim company from outside his room. She’d told Jim of all the places he’d go. He asked where she’d been. She said everywhere. When he called her bluff, she ran off, and returned with a map overrun by tiny white flags sticking out of every country. Each flag had a declaratory “Z” on it, indicating a visit from Zoë. These weren’t smug declarations on her part; Brother Graisse was the one who planted them. While the Brothers were content to spend their days sub-Boston, Zoë left the Abbey on a regular basis, each time facing an emotional firing squad of tearful holy men wishing her well, telling her to watch out for horse traffic (all the way up to the 1960’s, as the Brothers were sometimes slow to pick up on trends).
And off she would go, gallivanting around Monaco, begging in Calcutta, trying and failing to prevent the extinction of snipes in Siberia.
Zoë, always, was game for anything, anywhere, and it showed in her impressive travel log. On a trip to learn fencing in Australia, she’d actually helped inspire a popular country song. She’d sung the song for Jim as he detoxed, the whimsical tune helping keep him sane.
“Sing the song, will ya?” Jim asked as Whip steered the bus into some decent size pot holes, eliciting cranky groans from the sleeping passengers.
“Gimme a beat.”
Jim started tapping a rhythm on his jeans.
“Well, I was humpin’ my bluey on the dusty Oodnadatta road,
When along came a semi with a high and canvas covered load,
‘If you’re goin’ to Oodnadatta, mate, um, with me you can ride,’
So I climbed in the cabin, and I settled down inside,
He asked me if I’d seen a road with so much dust and sand, I said
Listen mate, I’ve traveled every road in this here land.”
Jim picked up the pace on his tapping.
“‘Cause I’ve been everywhere, man,
I’ve been everywhere, man.
‘Cross the deserts bare, man,
I’ve breathed the mountain air, man,
Of travel I’ve had my share man,
I’ve been ev’rywhere.”
Zoë took a deep breath and smiled.
“Tullamore, Seymour, Lismore, Mooloolaba, Nambour, Maroochydore, Kilmore, Murwillumbah, Birdsville, Emmaville, Wallaville, Cunnamulla, Condamine, Strathpine, Prosperpine, Ulladulla, Darwin, Gin Gin, Deniliquin, Muckadilla, Wallumbilla, Boggabilla, Kumbarilla.”
Jim listened to the children’s nonsense words that were Australian cities. He wanted to go to each of them, to every city in the world. Meet people. Help people. Fail. Learn. Try ten different kinds of strudel, send Oz beach babe postcards, and if possible, unearth some peace of mind. He wanted to do it with Zoë. With his Combo. For the first time, he wanted to play Cryptofauna.
Elsewhere in the bus, Mars’s nose was sent into overdrive as a fatty smell spilled through the window.
His red eyes lit up like a railroad crossing, and he hustled down the aisle toward his Companion.
“ . . . I’ve been here! There! I’ve been everywhere.” Zoë finished her song to applause from Jim.
A moment was threatening to develop between them. Jim’s brain panicked, and he gave her a high-five, regretting it before, during, and after. An awkward pause was largely avoided thanks to Mars’s timely arrival.
“What’s up, Mars?” Jim gratefully patted the dog’s head.
Mars looked at Jim with urgency. Then the smell hit Jim.
“Burgers!” Jim shouted. He searched for the source of the never-forgotten smell, then pointed to a burger stand on the side of the highway. “I haven’t had a non-carrot meal in months, and you probably haven’t had one in years!” Jim practically yelled at Zoë. “I loved Déjeuner’s cooking,” he added quickly, “but for the love of god, let’s stop.”
They did, and before long a burger eating contest unfolded. Zoë easily bested the competition with a hearty thirteen. Oz took second with ten, followed by Jim’s eight, Mars’s five, Barney’s two, Buck’s one and a half, and Panzer’s zero. Being a vegetarian, the hitman had to settle for a lettuce and tomato sandwich because, according to the owner, “We don’t go in for those kinds of veg-e-ta-ble only shenanigans around here.”
Whip elected to stay on the bus and do needlepoint. The troublemaker extraordinaire was quite skilled at the craft, and had no trouble knitting instructions on how to make a bomb using only colored pencil shavings and overcooked Brussels sprouts.
Jim smashed some Styrofoam cups together into a trophy for Zoë then excused himself to the restroom.
“Not much to see lately. Kind of . . . dullllll,” Max said, drifting above the urinal in which Jim relieved himself.
“Damn, Max, do we have to do this in here? I’ll give you your headline. Operator Pisses.”
“I’m bored! You’ve been giving me nothing. Ever since that plastic man killed the oaf it’s been like a TV tuned to static. Well, I suppose Asphyxia was . . . of interest, but I’ve found your Rival . . . much more interesting.”
“You found him, huh? What’s he up to?”
Max laughed lazily. “Nice try, James. You know very well I don’t go in for those kinds of shenanigans.”
Jim wasn’t sure if Max had overheard the vegetarian exchange, if that particular phrase was in style, or if it was just a factory-issue coincidence.
“Although . . .” Max’s little face scrunched in concentration.
“Although what?”
“A bit embarrassing, but I accidentally gave that Boyd boy some of your . . . information. Told him where you were going and put that oddity Bo Peep on you, didn’t I? Sorry about that.”
“Isn’t that against the rules?”
“He kindly gave me some exquisite heroin, and we got to talking. He knew just how I take it, too. Very considerate. It was . . . an honest mistake.”
“So give me a heads up about him. Even things out. Where is he?”
“Absolutely not! I’m embarrassed at the lapse in impartiality, but it was an accident. The path back to integrity does not lead through . . . additional disclosure. Still . . . it made for some interesting . . . developments. You’re still here, too, aren’t you? How is it put? No harm no . . . foul.” Max evaporated.
Jim zipped up and returned to his friends as Oz was wrapping up an affectionate tale about the well-loved man named Carmine Cibulkova, who had recently gone missing.
Jim didn’t listen, his mind elsewhere with worry. Seemed like he was the only one playing fair, and playing against a stacked deck rarely ended well for the gambler. He had the feeling that second place wouldn’t count for much against Boyd, and shenanigans were definitely afoot. Shenanigans aplenty.
* * *
Carmine Cibulkova, born Petter Ingbretson, was a legendary figure in Cryptofauna despite not being an Operator. He was a regular ol’ human with no special powers save for his heightened charisma and ability to overcome adversity, namely, being born in rural Norway during the early 20th Century just before the Great War, the poor son of a poor farmer.
His entire family: Mom, Dad, Aleksander, Johannes, Josef, Karl, Hans, Theo, Karl II, and little Eleanora were murdered when a very lost Mine-laying Cruiser of the German Imperial Navy passed by the coast near the Ingbretson’s farm. Some of the seamen, mad with scurvy, abandoned their posts and swam ashore, where they wasted no time in razing the farm, middle-ages style. Like a surprisingly high number of tragedies, the whole thing could’ve been prevented with a handful of common lemons.
Little Carmine hid in bovine excrement for two days while his home burned to the ground and the bones of his siblings were picked clean by scavenging birds. When he decided the Norwegian coast was clear, Carmine emerged from the literal ashes of his former life like a cow-shit phoenix and made his way to a nearby town, avoiding the citrus-starved Germans feverishly stumbling about the countryside.
In his twenties, Carmine became a Norwegian war hero, single handedly commandeering a U-boat with only the aid of a sharpened butter knife. The Norwegian government generously allowed him to keep the U-boat, though the butter knife was relegated to a military museum.
In his thirties, Carmine amassed a great deal of wealth through various industrial and manufacturing pursuits, and used his business savvy to bed both Ayn Rand and a good-not-great Coco Chanel impersonator in the same night.
Most impressive of all, in his forties, Carmine became acquainted with a clandestine group of worldwide meddlers who played a game called Cryptofauna, normally unknown and off-limits to average humans. Carmine was the rare man friend to both Nero and Oz (as well as both sides of many other Rivalries).
One particular weekend in the 1960’s saw Nero and Carmine on a jaunt to Thailand. Carmine liked to party as much as the next guy, who was Nero. So they partied together. After two days, they’d won a highly illegal William Tell competition, gotten two warring factions to settle their differences with a pillow fight, built a well for a waterless town on the brink of collapse, rolled and smoked the world’s longest cigarette (16 ft./4.9 m.), and saved the Chancellor of Germany (on vacation) from a rogue baboon that had escaped a poorly-secured zoo. Carmine didn’t hold a grudge against Germans even after all he’d been through—that’s just the kind of guy he was.
The German Chancellor rewarded them with a literal boatload of premium German chocolate. Carmine and Nero ate until they were sick, giving Nero a rare (albeit temporary) gut that hung over his athletic pants.
Their secular Rumspringa drawing to a close, Carmine stepped over the sugar-coma’d Nero and t