HOPE EXITED THE main entrance of Oceana Towers with its Gothic spires, flying buttresses and sandstone staircase flanked by gruesomely-fanged and clawed gargoyles. She was enraged by the inquisition to which agents Honor and Karzoff had subjected her. Questions remained in her mind about why her brother had signed the edict without discussing it with her, and what Honor had been about to say concerning Black Alice. What could possibly be such a big deal that it forced Karzoff, her junior, to cut her off so abruptly?
Lightning cracked and thunder rumbled, confirming a storm was upon her, literally as well as figuratively. In a hurry to catch the streetlights in time to cross, she was stopped by a pre-recorded voice loudly broadcasting the warning: Acid rain! Acid rain! Acid rain!
She glanced up through a gap in the skyscrapers at the ominous clouds swirling in the night sky. Heeding the warning, she withdrew a credit card-sized device from her inside coat pocket and punched in a code. A glowing force field surrounded her, protecting her from the acid rain. She knew the rain would only last a few minutes, but she still needed to protect herself against the corrosive crystalline sulphuric acid.
It fell as hail from the heavily polluted clouds, leaving thin columns of smoke rising from sizzling scorch-marks on the pavement.
The increasing ambient temperatures from carbon omissions had accelerated the impact of climate change, and triggered the massive atmospheric increase in sulphur dioxide and nitrogen oxide gases, which react with water molecules to form acids. Even though the scientific community had warned Oceana to reduce emissions or suffer the consequences, the caution had been mostly ignored. As a result, acid rain had become a serious health issue.
The crossing light blinked red at Hope and monotonously repeated: Don’t walk – Seek Cover. The device had her protected, so she ignored the warning and stepped onto the crossing, only to be immediately stopped in her tracks by the loud screech of skidding tyres. The sound snapped her out of her torpor, and she saw a Harley Davidson skidding to a halt, with its bulky rider battling to avoid hitting her. It stopped only a metre away. She looked up at the big, hairy, tattooed and muscular biker, totally embarrassed, and smiled apologetically.
He glared menacingly at her over his wrap-around sunglasses. The smoke rising from his leather jacket and headgear from the burning acid rain made him look demonic.
“I’m sorry mister … I ... I … wasn’t thinking,” she pleaded.
His formidable bearded face softened as he realised she had been spooked by the incident.
A car stopped behind the biker, and the driver impatiently sat on his horn. A broad smirk of distaste broke across the biker’s battle-scarred face, and he flipped the driver the bird. That irritated the man even more, and he stayed sitting on the horn, to the irritation of both Hope and the biker.
Finally the driver angrily swerved his car out to draw up beside the bike. Without even looking at him, the biker unsheathed a blade from his belt, and stabbed it into the front fender of the car.
The driver lowered his window and yelled angrily: “Hey, who the hell do you think you are, punk?”
The biker simply revved his engine, drowning out the irate driver, saluted Hope, and rode off.
She watched him ride away, relieved that there were still decent people left in what she felt was an unforgiving world. She hurried across the road, leaving the irritated driver yelling abuse after her.
Having avoided the acid rain Alice was strolling the empty city street activating his cell phone for the first time in over a week, when a loud roar distracted him. He looked up at the Harley Heritage Softail speeding past and grinned. He could relate to the biker’s freedom. How he would love to drop everything, jump on a Harley and ride off into the sunset.
“All right!” he exclaimed, under his breath.
The pedestrian light he’d stopped at had turned green, so he stepped off the kerb. After a few steps, he looked up sharply — there was an EV silently hurtling towards him. He stood his ground in the middle of the road and, like a bullfighter dodging a marauding bull, calmly stepped aside to let the car pass. Dirty on the careless driver, he yelled at the top of his voice: “Arsehole!” His heart was pumping to the max, his blood pressure was skyrocketing — he felt another red mist coming on. Everything around him wavered. An ugly, high-pitched whistle started in his ears. He took deep breaths and shut his eyes, trying to regain equilibrium. Suddenly the tinnitus stopped and his balance returned. He opened his eyes and was shocked to find he had adopted a ‘Dirty Harry’ stance, holding a .44 Magnum revolver in both hands, aimed at the car that had almost hit him. He fired off four shots, and each bullet found its target. The car exploded into flames and, with a screech of smoking tyres, broadsided to a halt. The driver’s side door flew open and the driver dived out onto the road. Alice took aim. His target was only fifteen metres away. Boom — he fired. The recoil threw his extended arms upward.
The driver’s head exploded with a spray of blood and brain matter. He collapsed onto the road, dead as a doornail. Alice was bumped from behind, and flinched. It was a protestor in a hurry to catch up with the rally. The knock snapped Alice out of his reverie. There was no .44 Magnum in his grip, only an extended index finger and a raised thumb, like a kid playing cowboys and Indians. There was no car on fire or blown-away driver in a pool of blood. It had been another hallucination, like the one he’d experienced at the hospital the night of Stain’s death. He wondered if he was losing his mind, then recalled the words of one of his songs: Organic Panic. He continued his journey, singing the words quietly to himself.
“Your sanity’s threatened by a world
That’s sinking around your feet
You got to drag yourself up
After being sucked down
But the water’s too deep
You’re only a pawn in a game
But you try to stay free
Someone turn on the light
To make tomorrow bright
For you and me”
The one toke of dope he’d had at the party had all but worn off, as had the Bliss. Suddenly he became aware of a presence nearby and took a furtive glance over his shoulder. A dude had stopped a short distance from him and was gazing innocently up at a small patch of sky wedged between the surrounding dark shadowy skyscrapers. He was being tailed again.
“That cop looks more like a cop than a cop does,” Alice snarled to himself, and continued walking. When he rounded a corner, a hobo stepped out from a dark alcove, holding out a dirty hand and saying: “Give us ten dollars for a sandwich mate?”
“Depends what’s in it!” Alice laughed, but flipped the old boy a ten dollar coin.
Continuing along the otherwise empty street, he saw a holographic news readout displayed on the awning of a nearby building, which read: Illegal demonstration against US nuke sub expected. Citizens advised to stay clear. Government issues arrest warning to demonstrators. Alice snarled at the news.
He was outside his destination — not Oceana SSD Headquarters, but the Octagon Jungle Bar. Just as he was about to enter, his cell phone rang. He checked the ID before answering. It was his manager, Wilson Stanley.
“Yeah Wilson, what do you want?” said Alice, derisively.
“Alice, I haven’t heard from you since Stain…”
Alice cut him off unceremoniously: “Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m alright, so?”
About thirty metres behind, Alice caught a glance of the guy tailing him. He watched him quickly slip into an alcove between two buildings, stupidly assuming he was out of sight.
“I just got a call from Oceana SSD,” Wilson said. “They’re nervous you won’t make it to your appointment with Senior Inspector Honor.”
“Stuff ’em, and stuff you too, what are you, their patsy or something?” Alice was growling into the phone. “Last time I heard from you it was to tell me to shut my mouth about the Octagon.”
“But Alice … I…”
“Now you shut your mouth … Imagine you telling me, the mug who pays your wages, to shut my mouth,” Alice thundered.
“Alice, they threatened me!” Wilson said nervously.
“They threatened you? Well, let me tell you, dude, someone threatened me that night too. I got a text telling me, just like you did, to stop fronting for the Octagon. Seems a bit coincidental, two people in the one night — and then what happens? Stain dies!”
“She died from an overdose of smack, Alice, you know that.”
“No way, pal. She was murdered.”
“You’re crazy,” wavered Stanley. “The government wouldn’t have anything to do with something that!”
“Am I? Am I? Then why were you threatened? Why was I threatened? Why am I being summoned to a meeting with bloody Nazi agents? You tell me!”
“Because the President doesn’t want to risk international embarrassment by massive protests against the Yank submarine, so he’s set the dogs on you,” cried the manager’s voice. “There are riots starting everywhere Alice, suicide bombers, they think you’re behind it all!”
“Yeah, and just how do you know that?”
“Because as far as the government is concerned you’re public enemy number one and they don’t know how to deal with you!”
“Speaks volumes about your loyalty … Alright, cop this: numero uno here says stuff them!”
“Don’t be stupid Alice. Look, just drop the ferry protest tonight, it’s just not worth it, take my advice. There’s no use bucking the system, the government is bigger than you. You’ve got a hit record … you want to jeopardise your career?”
“There’s only one answer to that … stuff you too!”
“Alice, this isn’t like you … you’re not yourself, you’ve got PTSD or something. I’m giving you what you pay me for, career advice.”
“Yeah, well not any more you ain’t. Goodbye, Wilson.”
“Alice, it’s a warning you can’t ignore … you…”
“Good bye!” screamed Alice, terminating the call. He was over taking crap from people who thought they knew better than him. Never again was he going to be railroaded by anyone, and that included his manager, the President of Oceana and this Senior Inspector Honor.
As Alice stalked like an angry lion into the mall corridor leading to the club, his phone rang again. The ID showed his manager ringing back. Spotting a bin, he went over to it, flipped open his phone, pulled out the sim and tossed the phone in the bin. It was an act of defiance, symbolizing his desire to break free from his previous existence and start anew. He was on a mission to clean up his life and rid it of wankers. Wilson was a wimp as well as a wanker, so he was the first to go.
Feeling relieved, Alice made his way to a door marked ‘Jungle Bar’. Plastered on the wall beside it was a poster of the featured band that night: Units. He turned his head sharply and caught his tail ducking out of sight at the club entrance. It was a fairly amateurish attempt to shadow him. He gave the secret knock. After a moment the door opened to reveal a bouncer built like a brick shit-house. Big Joe immediately recognised Alice, stepped aside and ushered him into the club.
“Thanks Joe. Packed house, eh?”
“Yeah, they'll all be on the ferry protest later tonight,” said Joe, gruffly.