Category Archives: 02

“Seems like you’re off the cigs now,” I said as he got in the car. Which just reminded him of his habit.

“We’re still technically outside in here,” he said. “Mind if I light up?” and he did so before I could give him permission, which I was still debating about. I didn’t want this meeting to go like the last one. I needed answers. He puffed out, coughed, took a drag, puffed out, coughed some more. The meeting was over in 5. He managed to scribble down another address and throw it through the open window as he was leaving, almost doubled over by that time.

—–

It was the address to Meyers’ room further up into the bowels of the town, as it turned out, where she was imprisoned by a certain set of others. Let’s call them Jimmy and Nancy. He met me at the door, said he was tired of monkeying around and that we had to get to the heart of the problem. We were inside again so he couldn’t partake of his chief vice, which freed up his hands. But freeing Meyers was the main thing here, whose VIP plane crashed into this here Doggtown, scourge of Nightsity, day before yesterday’s yesterday, which drew me in in an unwitting way, being the veteraned, for-hire gunslinger I was. Once this was done and his responsibilities as a crack NUSA officer were over with the rescue, he said we could talk again, maybe take in a game at Andrew Johnson’s. He’d bet on me winning since he’d likely be out of breath again. Was this a date? Or just friendly banter to relax me before an armed confrontation? Turns out it was both.

“Knock on the door,” he commanded, becoming dead serious again. “Just do it.”

“Open up in there!” I said while knocking. Lucky for us, they were waiting for pizza. But Lemon knew this since he was playing the delivery person.

“*Here’s* your box,” he barked when the door opened, pointing his Pariah Tier 5+ Iconic Tech Pistol at Jimmy’s head, “and your face is about to be the pizza if you don’t fess up to what’s going on here. Where’s Roslyn… Bozo?,” he crowed, backing the wirey dude 1/2way across the room toward the far window.

Then Nancy appeared around the corner, saying to put our tools away like we were children playing with toys. I recognized her from her many photos and TV appearances. Nancy was Roslyn! Should’ve known with a name like that. And a Northern Exposure to this room too (!).

(to be continued)

He said to meet him at the Andrew Johnson Basketball Courts and that they had to talk about the worst president of our country ever. I thought I knew who he was referencing because of the courts’ name and all but the answer surprised me. Roslyn (sp?) Carter. Carter? No, Meyers. Got my presidents and their wives confused. Like thinking Roslyn C. was married to former president Ronald R. instead of her own man. Lavender got in my way. “Tailor,” he said about the president. Are we sure we’re not talking about the first guy I was thinking of? I thought. “(Tailor… ) *made* for the job,” he then finished his sentence, interrupted for a cough. Had a chance to smoke out here in the great outdoors, taking advantage of it. “Tailor… *made*?” I parroted, then waited for his reaction. He was coughing again. Between hacks, he managed to admit that he hadn’t smoked any cigs since last Thursday’s Tuesday and that it had been a long stretch of inside work since then. Nonstop. “Just like I use to smoke nonstop on my old job as an outdoor patrolman,” he wheezed. Then he squeezed out, “We have to get to Meyers,” which I took as: this has to be the focus of our conversation now. But he couldn’t stop coughing after this. Clearly we couldn’t talk here. He gave me an address for later.