PAINTING BY JOHN JOLLY

Stonecipher is walking along a path on the sprawling Navassa Campus, passing white buildings. Some with windows. The path glows, eery-blue, shining up at him. He is alone. He is talking,

“Anything about Sibyl, our Pearl-X Prototype?”

The Voice speaks,

“We spun the news. Pushed the story that the truck exploded due to a software issue. Battery pack imploded. Greylines backing us up, that its cargo was saved. Bearer bonds.”

“Nothing about a lost mermaid?”

“Not yet. No demands. No ransoms. No group claiming.”

“Get her back, get her back, Guano.”

Stonecipher arrives at Building 14. Opens an airlock, and steps inside. As he closes the door, across town a pick-up truck joins the flow of vehicles on the highway, moving lanes of traffic heading for the airport. Then taking the exit for Route 4-44, heading for the hills and the desert beyond.

Tommy switches out of auto and enjoys driving himself for awhile. Traffic decisions demanding his attention, feels therapeutic. Allowing his other self to think.

He can’t help glancing to see his feet working the pedals. Green boots. Pointed, polished, toothsome.

In Beach Town a little bird of paranoia circles in Zip’s sky. Looking for the most vulnerable branch, in the tree of his mind. Zip thinks,

“Looking to build a fucking nest, man.”

He is strolling along the promenade, watching the calm ocean. It waves back. He looks like a man without a care in the world.

The promenade has its assortment of delights. A strolling procession of people, living out their personal movies. Beach Town’s now famous tolerance, its taste for the exotic. On display on a fine day.

Zip is grateful to be there, grooving all the non-judgement going down. Upholding the vibe, man. Staying with the gratitude, keeping that bird at bay. He so very nearly didn’t make it this far.

After the long fall, after his affair with his nemesis, Zip fell from his high-life. Pushed over the cliff of sorrow, plunging into abyss, falling.

Frank found him. Let him use the office sofa. Doing odd jobs in return. Zip has been working for Frank ever since. Learning the business. He has yet to fully figure-out what business that really is, what Frank’s realm encompasses.

The office has a large, gilt-framed, reproduction of Botticelli’s ‘Birth of Venus’ on one wall.

Botticelli’s vision of the goddess is demure and sexy. She looks directly at Zip, whenever he is on the couch. Approaching on her half-shell. Being blown, toward the shore, pushed by Zephyr’s breeze.

One day, Frank showed Zip the hidden switch that lets him slide the painting aside. Behind her, the office safe.

Frank dialled the combination and opened its heavy door. Inside, a short-wave transmitter, filling most of the centre shelf. Frank showed Zip how to hook-up the aerial.

Looking toward the ocean again, Zip sees something new. A guy standing on the beach, where the tattooed tai’chi lady often does her thing. He is practising with a bull-whip. Crack. Crack. Over and over.

Smoothly moving the whip from hand to hand, he is good. Fast and faultless. The whip is alive. Undulating with wild energy. Cycling, smooth movements down its long, tapering, serpentine body.

Practising for what? A Wild-West show? Powerful teams of horses pull wagons across Zip’s imagination. Or an ostentatious weapon? The guy a teacher of rodeo-style martial arts? Accurately focused, whip-guy is not paying any attention, to the attention he is getting. Everyone looks at him as they pass.

Zip watches, fascinated. Puffs of sand kick off, with each stinging impact of the whip’s tip. There, at the water’s edge. Crack. Crack. Some new form of self-development meditation, perhaps? Zip decides this is the happier thought.

The little bird of paranoia, lifts higher on a thermal of positive thinking, only to swoop down, as Zip spots Sid.

Sid is, sauntering, eating an ice-cream. Whipped-up into a cone. He walks straight up to Zip, and says,

“It’s a peach.”

Sid somehow manages to convey this as a soft threat, smiling, his eyes looking straight-through Zip.

Baldy is right there with him. This time dressed for the sun. Pressed and neat, he announces,

“We spoke to him.”

Zip, thinking about not being able to reach Frank himself,

“Good, that’s cool.”

Baldy and Sid break into matched step. One to each side of Zip. The three of them together, promenading on a beautiful day. Sid nudges Zip with an elbow as he takes another lick of the cone in his fist,

“It’s my day off.”

Baldy chips in, “Frank said, to put it on you.”

Sid throws his ice-cream. The distance to the bin is considerable.

The cone and its contents, separate in flight. Side-by-side they arc. Hitting home simultaneously, to disappear into the garbage.

Baldy laughs, “Sid is the luckiest shot I know.”

Sid takes a tissue out of his pocket, looking down at his hands as he carefully wipes them. Baldy turns his attention back to Zip,

“Frank owes me a favour, and I need to help a certain someone, find a certain something, know what I mean?”

Zip smiles, “Sounds like one of those, chain-reaction, kind of things.”

Sid and Baldy both look at Zip, thoughtful. The three of them walk on, then Baldy weighs in,

“I could almost like you”.

“Really?”

“Yea. I don’t mean I like you. I like very few people. But I could almost like you.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Because, you’re a fucking idiot.”, says Baldy.

Sid laughs, looks up at the sky, and says,

“We just can’t see them, when the sun is out, but they are up there, all the time, watching over us.”

Zip can only see, little, fluffy clouds, and says,

“What? Drones?”

Sid looks at Zip, sincere,

“Nah, the stars.”

Baldy continues, “Frank said to get you on it, see what you can turn up, before he gets back.”

Zip asks, “What’s it all about?”

Baldy thinks, nods, and answers, “Let’s just say - it’s a lost luggage case.”

Baldy puts a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a card. He gives it to Zip,

“To get you started.”

Zip is holding a one-day, introductory, gift voucher. Your Heavenly Desire Variety Spa. A fancy address, in uptown. Baldy tells Zip,

“Ask for Femme, she is the manager there. Tell her we sent you.”

As he and Baldy leave, Sid says,

“When you wish upon a lucky star, doesn’t matter who you are.”

SCENE

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