The Day Sub Took me to Dinner (part I)

I'm going to start narrating two curious facts. First, the first of them:

I went to see Wilkinson that day.

That old man with the face of a retired tourist.

I disguised myself as Barbarah (i.e. I remained normal) and went to meet him, in order to talk about the tasks of the other day, which was hella boring, because everything I had to report I had already reported to Greta, that zorse.

He wouldn't be in Bodongo this time. He'd be in port. The harbor was on the west side of town, which is obvious, because the west side is the side of the lake. Wilkinson called me on my disposable cellphone.

Setting the boring bus rides on the side, I'll just describe what I saw there: an old man with a large round smilish face, round and tan, wearing a Hawaiian T-shirt and sandals. He even had a little hat of those which are almost triangular.

From the shape of his face, I call him the old-cookie-face.

It didn't even look like Wilkinson. Something really good should have happened that day, because he didn't curse in the very first five seconds... Usually he'd say 'hell in heaven' or something.

"You're here..." Although mild, the tone was still a little cranky, "come in. Let's not stay out here."

I walked to his boat. It was a little dark... But not dark of the level of the Dragon's hideout. It was a dark 'Craig's room'.

"This lamp of shits... It keeps failing. I've had it fixed five hundred times..." He pointed to it. "Sit down. Everything sucks, I know. But it's because I never come here. Only when I have to do those..."

He couldn't find a word. He finished a sentence with a gesture pointing his hand up in the air with his palm up.

(Of all the people, 'you' explaining yourself to me Wilkinson? How cute...)

"So? What happened last week?"

I figured he'd ask that. But why doesn't he get that information with Greta?

"I did what was asked... The DEA fell on the fake clue I put in the zombie's house. Greta must have told you..."

"She told me about it." Wilkinson responded in a categorical tone as he sat on a chair next to the table. I, in my usual way, sprawled out on the couch without thinking, as if it were Craig's room. I hope it didn't seem as if I was too comfortable.

"It was a small blood sample from Greta's lab that I put in a tiny piece of iron which then ended up serving as a clue. Whoever found it was a journalist who delivered the lead to a member of the DEA, a man Greta later identified as being linked to the SAD or something."

Wilkinson huffed.

"So that means the SAD oprobians are aware of the lead." He rolleed their eyes, "how long will it take them to find out it was fake?"

"I believe they must have found it out the moment they were told about the clue, sir..."

"It was a rhetorical question, Barbarah! So be it... The SAD has been putting their noses everywhere since the very beginning anyway. The point is, that damned DEA's out."

"Heh heh..."

Heh heh was the laugh he let out. It was acute and typical of a seventy-year-old cormodgeon. I'd never heard the laughter of that grumpy old man... He only let out two puffs of laughter: "heh" and "heh", and he stirred his chest by pronouncing each one.

First I hear from the Dragon and now from him. All that's left is Greta to surprise me with a laugh.

And what did the DEA end up concludig of the second attack? The one with the werewolf?

I thought before answering.

"The DEA... As everything points out... Bought, or at least pretended to buy, what the SAD cops sold them: the running-over serial killer. But the SAD themselves must not think that same way."

"Of course they don't Barbarah! They're not a bunch of idiots! And what do they think? What does the SAD think? That's what I want to know. Do they really believe this was a werewolf job?"

I made an 'I dunno' face.

"That only Greta can find out, sir. If you stop to..."

Wilkinson started saying a sentence on top of mine so I stopped to listen.

"Say it." He told me to continue mine.

"...If you stop to think about it... If I was an SAD cop, I wouldn't believe the werewolf tale. The intensity of the two attacks, which were separated by a week, was very similar. Three weeks ago when Gerald McMiller died, they must have considered zombie bites, but after Sprohic was arrested and the other death happened they must have analyzed the body bites more thoroughly. 'I' would have done a more thorough analysis at least... And since the paranormal being who carried out the attacks did not lose strength in a week's time, it would be strange to identify them as werewolves, as it would indicate that the werewolf has the same intensity of strength in different weeks of the cycle, while we know that their strength actually varies according to the peak...

Wilkinson stared at the ceiling.

"Good point. If it was really a werewolf he would have had more trouble getting that much of Jim's flesh out, although he wouldn't have had much trouble. Hence the inspection would have detected more clues in the body. It wouldn't have been done with one bite only like the previous attack.

"Isn't it?"

(So even the faustuous Wilkinson regards highly Bubble's careful analysis of details...) Though he does not speak with those words...)

"And if not a werewolf, what do you suppose it was?"

"I'd guess a vampire. But I'm not sure if that makes any sense."

"So you agree with Greta..."

Wilkinson stood a few moments talking to his brain and left me hanging.

(Do I pick the phone and start playing? What do I do?) I thought to myself, but suddenly he broke the distressful silence:

"And how was Jim's case solved? The DEA's gone."

"Ah, that? I just spread a rumor" Actually it was Craig who spread it, but obviously I didn't say it... "that they'd seen a suspicious figure around there. I talked to the gossips spreaders everywhere... And then the police started following... And now they're looking for a human serial killer on an independent investigation and they've untied it from the SAD police case."

"That was quite a move! We ended up losing the damn DEA for longer than I expected. I even had a chance to put Jim's shit back together. Though he's a scumbag who demands a lot more money. He just joined the customs: Parker... Hell in heaven! How awful it was to start making contact! And how I struggled to find a way not to arouse suspicion... I'm glad it's all over!"

(This is the kind of thing that doesn't concern me, Mr. Wilkinson...)

"Great job, Barbarah."

(I'm gonna get misused to you making compliments instead of criticism like that).

"...Yes. Great job what you've been doing so far, and that's why" Wilkinson pushed the chair in the direction of the sofa and bent over, using a more delicate tone, "...That's why I wanted to invite you to do one more job? You know... in your area of expertise..."

(Ah. Now it all makes sense. You just wanted to ask me a favor.)

"If you pay well..."

"Of course! Of course, we'll discuss the price next... What happens is Greta found the location of the invitation."

I got flabbergasted.

"Cooper's!?"

I thought we of the Dragon were closer to getting our hands on the invitation. I didn't even know they knew whether the invitation was with the Dragon or Verde... I thought it was just me and Craig! How did they know?

"Yes! The nefarious Verde team is going to be carrying illegal cargo later today." Wilkinson was referring to the heavy drugs Deluxes, which he himself sells by the way "and you need to intercept it. The invitation will be there! We heard from a reliable source."

"Well, if you sir are giving a work order I don't see any problem, but... I hope this really is a reliable source."

"It's been checked, Barbarah! Your only target is the invitation, understand? Put your hands on it and screw everything else! Do and get your ass back here!"

In an almost provocative gesture I shook my head up and down.

I love to provoke the grumpy old timer.

There was more small talk, but it's not as interesting."

After I got off the boat I went to Craig's, who as you know is the one I report my actions to as an informant of the Dragon's gang.

Which brings to the second curious fact: I met another unusual person that day: when I arrived in front of Craig's house, instead of seeing his relaxed figure in shorts, slippers and biceps on display, I came across a slender, white being, with wrinkled skin, ugly, young and old. New in age and old in appearance. A being with a disgusting aura around himself.

It was Sub-Zero. I haven't seen him in months.

"You here?"

"I direct that back to you." I said, "what are you doing at Craig's house?"

He looked back and around.

"Business... he's inside." He pointed with the thumb. "What about you? What're you going to do today?"

"Work! Which one of us two hasn't been doing lately. Turns out they found Cooper's invitation... So I'm gonna go down there, knock some figures and retrieve it."

"Oh, expected from the young Bubble. Do you think it's safe to let 'Cooper's invitation' out in the middle of the street like that?" He gazed at me with his unfounded disdain, which he directed at all his co-workers.

"No neighbor knows what Cooper about. And why not go further: ordinary humans are so covered up that they don't know what 'invitation' means, and I risk saying: they don't even know what the ' 's' mean."

"I just hope you don't end up falling victim to anyone's finesse. See you around."

Sub-Zero headed off Craig's property. I had already entered (the gate was open) so he passed me and turned his back on me.

"Sub..."

He stopped

"Are you back to be part of the Dragon's active group again?"

"Yes... And you... Are you gonna take that invitation and come back here?"

"Maybe."

"Where are you going to?"

"Former Dalilah. It's at the transportation agency. It's in South Gorem."

He reached for the cell phone in his pocket to write down the location.

"Very well... later I ask how it went. Let's see if we can end this Cooper invitation saga once and for all."

And he snuck out.

Weirdo.

(You've had no part in the whole saga and now you want to get bossy, Sub-Zero.)

I went into Craig's house, like usual, since I already somewhat belonged there anyway. Who I saw first was Marcelle, who didn't see me, but heard me:

"Hi. Welcome back." She was wearing a hanging apron, dirty with paint. "Oh, that? I was working. Then I heard the steps..."

(How did she know I was looking at her apron and wondering why it was all dirty like that? Did she happen to pick up Craig's finesse by osmosis?)

"Craig's in 'there'. Make yourself at home."

"Er.. Thanks."

I cleaned the snickers in the lobby cloth and did as she asked. I threw myself on the couch in the living room. By the way, the 'there' Marcelle was referring to was the bathroom.

To my despair she remained in her chair in the living room instead of returning to hers.

" Er... Don't mind me. You can get back to your work if you want to."

"No way!. It's no bother at all..."

Uncomfortable silence. And she smiled with her smugly face as she stared into the middle of the room. Well... Staring wasn't the right term. She was facing the middle of the room. That's it.

She jumped over her upper body suddenly, exclaiming from her wheelchair:

"I know! I'm going to show you what I'm working on!"

She went and came back with a small painting of hers.

I hate that kind of thing. What am I supposed to say? "Uh, good job?"

As you know, Marcelle is a professional. And her work makes money, but I don't have a clue about modern art so I wouldn't know how to differentiate between gold and garbage.

I thought it best to omit my opinion and leave it with the narrative:

"Oh..! What's it about?"

(Was it about randomly scratching the screen?)

Marcelle got excited and started talking about philosophies of authors from the 1600s and something like that. I didn't understand much. And to make it worse Craig seemed to have merged the bathroom. Was he having dysentery?

The torture took more or less half an hour. More like less. But if I had half an hour to live and I could choose where to spend it, I would spend it there. Because time was passing so slow that seemed like an eternity. I could turn half an hour into eternity in this way, living then forever.

After all, she got tired and went back to her room and do her job. And Craig, the sadist, came out of the bathroom only after.