AEONIAN by J. Alexander

The Wolf and the Heron Part 1

Year: 3011

“So, have you ever experienced anything paranormal?” says the sweet voice coming from the girl who’s atop the bed, and beneath the covers; she’s beside her companion within the dark bedroom.

“I was three when I saw my first ghost. It was early in the morning, and the sun hadn’t even rose, yet; just as I woke up, a translucent figure was smiling down at me. I could barely make out what he looked like; all I could see were antlers on what appeared as a man,” says Patrick, the protagonist, to his girlfriend, Gabby.

“That’s actually terrifying; honestly, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, now.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” he says as he giggles. “This was so long ago.”

“Was that the only time you saw something?”

“Can we just go to sleep?”

“No, I want to know; were there more times?”

“If you really want to know, there was another time that I remember seeing that thing; my mother and I were about to get robbed when I was nine, and when the man broke into our house, my mom jumped out in front of me, and started screaming at the top of her lungs. He pointed the gun to her head, forced her to shut up, and demanded us to get to our knees.

When I finally found the courage to look up at the robber, I noticed the tip of his gun melting apart. In that same moment, I saw that to the left of the thief, was the ghost from before; all he did was touch his finger to the tip of the weapon, and before we knew it, the criminal dropped it, and was booking out the door. When I asked my mom if she saw him, she denied it. When the cops showed up, I sounded like a lunatic trying to describe what happened.” A pause occurs. “Growing up, because of how I was looked at when I told them what I saw, I was always too ashamed to ever bring those instances up to anyone else; tonight was one of the first nights in a while that I even thought about any of that.”

Patrick Keaton (an African-American male who just turned nineteen) is wearing a green-hooded jacket and blue jeans, as he sits atop the closed toilet within the lavish bathroom; throughout the rest of the prestigious restaurant, are customers suited in different-colored suits and fine clothing. While sitting in the lonely stall, he’s peering down at the screen of the cellular device that he’s holding in his two hands, which is displaying a map of the immediate vicinity; a golden circle indicates that the car he’s after, the M.V.III, is near.

Two men suddenly enter. Using the x-ray lens that’s crafted into the camera on his phone, he holds it up to scan the gentlemen. If they were Patrick’s target, his phone would vibrate, indicating that the desired car key is attached to the scanned individuals, however this did not occur. He repositions his phone downward, and continues to stare in silence. Moments after the two leave, almost one after the other, another man enters. Patrick scans, and is able to identify that this individual is his target; his name is Aaron Avel, and he’s both the chief of the New Fair Police Force, and the most crooked cop in the entire state.

Patrick’s boss is Mr. G.; people with criminal ties either go to him for the best haircut in town, or an illegal pair of wheels, but most likely it’s both. As it turns out, Aaron only paid half of the amount he owes Giovanni for the car, with the promise that in two weeks he’d have the rest. Those two weeks passed two months ago, and Gio has decided to send his most reliable employee, Patrick, to retrieve what’s rightfully his. Just as Aaron takes his stance before the urinal, Patrick stands to his feet.

The automatic toilet flushes, and after exiting the stall, he casually walks over to the exit.

“Your mother ever teach you to wash your hands, son?!” says Aaron, as he continues to face forward. His tone and expression indicates his intoxication.

Patrick waves his hand over the blue laser attached to the locking system. This action locks the door, without a sound. He then retrieves the tranquilizer pistol that was hidden in his pants, and releases a round into Aaron, who has just finished zipping up his bottoms. The dart enters his back, and Patrick catches his falling body from behind. While dragging him into the open stall, he steals the (small, white, squarely-shaped) key, from his blazer. He places him on the toilet, and positions Aaron so that he doesn’t topple over. Patrick closes the stall, washes and dries his hands, and proceeds out of the unlocked-automatic door.

He pushes a button on the key device, and the (sleek) yellow, red, and orange, sports car, which is parked across the street, flashes its bright-green head and tail lights, revealing to the holder of the key that it’s now unlocked. Patrick enters the (completely) tinted car, and maneuvers onto the busy streets within the incandescent city. He takes a right at the end of the block, continues downward, and makes a left at the next light.

He briefly advances before being halted by a red indicator, which he abides. From the right side, an all-black police officer’s car pulls up, and stops beside him. Patrick breaks a sweat. “Chief! It’s Rodge, roll down the window!” says a voice that expels from the radio that’s built into the middle compartment. Before this moment, Patrick hadn’t seen this object. He remains motionless. “Hey! You in there?!”

Just as these words are spoken, he aims his tranquilizer at the man whose eager head sticks out of his car. Patrick lowers the passenger window with his (left) index finger on the indicator, as his right hand holds the pistol at the cop. Just as the line of sight with the officer’s head is revealed, he lets off a round, which lands in his neck, instantly causing him to fall asleep; the man’s head hangs out of the craft. He uses this opportunity to escape, and zooms into the (horizontally) moving traffic; Patrick slips through the gap of two speeding vehicles.

“Twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five, forty grand; here you go, P.,” says Giovanni, as he places Patrick’s payment (in orange paper dollars) on the wooden-rectangular table; they’re within Gio’s hotel room, and seated in chairs that match the (dining) surface. The boss is wearing a white shirt, and black-basketball shorts. His hair is gray and slicked back, and his skin is white, but slightly tan. Two (suited) members of the Hax mob, which is an organization ran by top-notch launderers, who’ve managed to spread their influence and business across the entire planet, are standing at the entrance.

“Thank you, sir,” says Patrick. He stands to his feet, and after opening the door for himself, he exits the room. The chime of the oven indicates that his food is finished cooking. Mr. G. proceeds into the kitchen, and places the oven mittens on both of his hands; he removes the two paper plates, and brings them to the table. They’re holding lasagna.

“So how much longer until he arrives?” asks Mr. G..

“He should be here shortly,” responds one of the men. Just then, two knocks sound against the exterior of the entrance. The mobster opens the door, and at the other end, is Layon, who’s a (young) suited-black male. He’s the son of Tony Hax, who’s the man that’s actually in charge of the mob, however is now seventy-eight, and expecting to pass away from health issues sooner than later. He has entrusted Layon with the job of overseeing future operations, which is a known fact to anyone that’s involved with this infamous family.

“Mr. G., it’s nice to see you. You look well.” As these words are spoken, Gio is approaching his guest.

“Don’t take a step closer,” sternly says the guard.

“This food is for me?” Layon asks.

“Sure is, I made it myself. It’s delicious, I promise. Please, take a seat.” The two seat themselves across each other. Layon continues to scan the food.

“It’s safe sir, we watched him make it,” says the other guard.

Gio places a napkin in his lap, and Layon follows suit. They both briefly bow their heads, and whisper prayers over their food. With the silver utensils that have been neatly placed by Mr. G. beforehand, they begin eating. Gio asks, “So, what do I owe this occasion?” and takes another bite.

Once he swallows his food, Layon says, “My father has sent me. As you know, he has lots of love for you, however, as of recently, we’ve entered quite the predicament. It turns out that he trusted the wrong people in one of his business dealings, and long story short, he lost money, lots of it; so much so, that he has asked me to personally express to all of his associates, that if he doesn’t collect double the amount that you pay for his services and protection, then he’ll have no choice but to cut you off.”

“How does he expect me to collect an extra million every other month?”

“Are you telling me it’s impossible?”

“It’s not impossible, I just feel like-”

“Good, then you have exactly one month before I swing through again.” Layon places his utensils down at the right side of his plate. “Do you mind if I take this with me? I’m in quite the rush.”

“Not at all,” Gio replies, as he cleans his fingers on the paper towel; he stands to his feet, and fetches the aluminum that’s in one of the drawers within the kitchen. He returns with a sheet, and hands it to the new boss.

“You weren’t lying when you said this was delicious,” says Layon, while wiping his hands. He takes the aluminum, and wraps up his plate.

“Thank you, I made the recipe myself.” While holding the food in his left hand, Layon extends his right one, to shake. Their hands briefly and firmly interlock. Layon heads for the door, which has been opened by one of his guards.

Just before leaving, Layon says, “By the way, would it be too much to ask if when I make my visit, I can get a cut? I imagine I’ll need one by then.”

“Of course not; I’ll hook you up, anytime.”

“Much appreciated.” He exits along with the guards. Gio, using the (black) rectangular-cellular device, which he removed from his right-pant pocket, types into the screen.

The person whom he dialed on his phone, picks up, and Mr. G. shouts, “Terra, I need you to come by the hotel, pronto. Make sure that she’s charged up enough to reach the hangar.” From out of the bedroom, which was accessed after Patrick climbed up to the roof, and down to the (open) banister that’s connected to Gio’s room (on the highest floor), exits the young criminal, with a semi-automatic weapon strapped across his shoulder.

“Is everything all right?” he asks.

“I’ll be fine, kid; thanks for the help.”

“No problem.” Patrick tosses the gun onto Gio’s couch, and proceeds out.