The jaded mind of Lester Phfister was irrefutably blown. For every one of Mr. Face’s revelations, Lester had a dozen more questions. As he walked down the slowly brightening tree-lined road, Lester couldn’t help but wonder if what just transpired was Mr. Face’s strange idea of interdepartmental bonding. Lester was aware that certain entities observed the work he and his colleagues performed. He didn’t expect those entities to be so dramatically gonzo. The after-hours surveillance was worrisome. If they were investigating him or vetting him for some promotion, Mr. Face made no effort to reveal such details. And leaving a caduceus unattended in a disco era automobile—talk about careless. This Mr. Face was sending Lester a message. Lester spoiled Face’s attempt at micromanaged subtlety.
Lester was already making plans to corroborate Face’s bullshit with management. And he definitely needed some concrete answers on the caduceus. But Lester had to overcome one major problem—the lines of communication between he and management were compartmentalized and extremely focused. Any attempt to find out information on other agents or missions would be stonewalled. More than once Lester had inquired about the outcome of major sporting events and stock tips. The closest thing he ever got to a response was a hearty guffaw. At least they would get an earful on Mr. Face’s slip up. Most likely though management wouldn’t even know who Mr. Face was.
The thought of someone else driving his Nova truly disturbed Lester. She was a bit temperamental, but not nearly to the degree of irrationality as the former Mrs. Phfister was. “If you love the car so much, why don’t you marry it?” she used to say, thinking herself very clever while using such a juvenile colloquialism. What little time Lester’s job allowed him to spend with Mrs. Phfister, she always made a point to fill it with the never-ending discussion about what little time his job allowed him to spend with her. It didn’t take long for both of them to grow weary of the conversation and the catch 22 they were in. The hours weren’t going to change, and Mrs. Phfister was never going to be happy about it even when Lester was around. The Nova was thankfully an inanimate object. The Nova didn’t mind Lester’s music, she was always ready for a ride, and if Lester wanted to walk, the Nova wouldn’t complain.
“There better not be a scratch on her, or I’ll drive her straight up Mr. Face’s ass. Mr. Face. Ha! He must have some ugly mug to be covering it up like that.” Lester always had to say something to fill the silence.
The sight of the Nova put a little spring in Lester’s step. He jogged the remainder of the distance to the car. So far Mr. Face was following through on his promises. In the Nova, the caduceus sat politely sheathed on the passenger’s seat. Lester’s reservations about Mr. Face were beginning to melt away. Mr. Face was starting to look like the red tape cutter of the year by handing over a lost piece of equipment in such an informal way. Lester picked the caduceus up to dutifully conceal it and was amazed at how light it actually was.
“Hold on now.” Lester’s eyebrows raised a fraction.
Without a CTU Lester was taking a huge risk by uncapping the narrow container. He was absolutely certain though and quickly found out that the sheath was in fact empty.
“Mutha… Do not tell me he was bluffing.”
The car started after a few cranks. Lester put it in gear and fish-tailed 180 degrees. The V8 roared. The solemn trees from a few minutes earlier became a wall of green. The uncannily cool Lester Phfister was uncharacteristically steaming. Lester quickly arrived at the dam only to find no evidence of the autoerotic party. Sheets of rain began to pour from the sky. Mr. Face and his associates were gone. The more Lester thought about it, the more unbelievable it seemed that someone could have delivered the caduceus to Lester’s Nova before he got to it. Maybe the mysterious Mr. Face could teleport. Or maybe he wasn’t bluffing. The caduceus in Mr. Face’s possession and the object Lester found were not one in the same. Harry! Lester didn’t have and never kept any company goodies or intelligence in his car. They could have been stalling him to get to Harry. The V8 roared again.
“Pam, do you believe everything Dave talks about? I mean we all know the government is pulling some super scary stunts, but when he gets going about all the inter-dimensional angels and demons stuff, I mean, come on.”
Pam gently caressed Missy’s smooth nakedness while the rain caressed their ears with white noise.
“I’ll have to claim agnosticism when it comes to that stuff. Dave has been right on with most of the topics he talks about. I can’t write off the other apparently dubious stuff. He seems pretty convinced it’s real.”
“Maybe they’re like really advanced metaphors. The images he uses to tell his stories are pretty evocative. I love the story about the first angel that crossed over to intervene in our development and how overwhelmed he was by the beauty of our world. The way Dave tells it, it really makes you appreciate everything around us. ‘And Sibr inhaled, and he tasted hyacinth. And then he fell in love with tangerine.’”
“And then he smelled shit. Did you fart?”
“Sorry.”
“Dang, Missy!”
“I guess I’ve gotten a little too comfortable.”
“Come here.”
Pam pulled Missy close, cradling Missy’s head on her breasts. She planted a fervent kiss on Missy’s forehead. Missy looked up with glistening eyes and brought her lips to Pam’s. The two were the definition of bliss. Only two other relationships had lasted longer than the one Pam now had with Missy. Pam was always chasing the high of her next infatuation. Missy’s innate youthful outlook and devotion to Pam and Dave’s vision definitely was keeping Pam engaged at the moment. When Missy came on the show as a PA intern it was instant attraction. There were times when the idea of monogamy filled Pam’s heart to the top. This was almost one of those times. However, there was the image of a raven-haired woman that just couldn’t be scraped out of the folds of Pam’s mind.
Lester tried Harry’s mobile phone three times, and three times he reached Harry’s voicemail greeting. As he blazed up Issaquah Hobart Road, Lester was anticipating morning traffic on I-90. Any heads up he could give to his partner would be crucial if in fact Mr. Face’s team was after data. A message would have to do.
“Turquoise, I just remembered we’re having a breakfast meeting, and you’re supposed to be in charge of the donuts. Can you bring a couple dozen? Also, make sure you include a few bear claws for me. Thanks.”
Any random food request message was a warning to the recipient to be on high alert and get moving. Lester could only hope Harry would get the message and call back. But by the time Lester made it to Beacon Hill, he still had not heard from Harry. Lester’s cool had returned, but the worried older brother sensation was starting to bubble back up. Harry, when it came to handling himself in a violent situation, was also, like Lester, a certified badass. But Lester knew Harry was more of a trusting “ask questions first” kind of guy-- a trait of Harry’s that bugged Lester constantly. In spite of this, Lester had over time grown to appreciate Harry’s unique perspective on the world and enjoyed the bits of trivia they traded back and forth. As much shit as they gave each other, what they didn’t share in personal history, they shared in mutual respect. If anyone messed with the Turq, they were going to get it back tenfold from the Phfist.
Lester took the stairs up to Harry’s floor. He approached the door to Harry’s loft cautiously. Lester hit the doorbell a few times, knocked a few times, and hit the doorbell a few times more. No one was coming to the door. Lester tried the door knob. It was locked. It was department protocol for a partner to have access to the other’s pad. Lester had it easy; he only had to carry around two extra keys. Harry had to memorize a sixteen digit security code for Lester’s heavily fortified lair. After figuring out which key worked which lock, Lester slowly cracked the door open. His quick surveillance of the room showed no signs of ransacking or blood spatter. Lester walked into the main living area and immediately noticed Harry’s limp body sprawled across the couch.
“Turquoise, wake up.”
Harry didn’t stir.
“Come on, Sunshine. You’re going to be late for work.”
Lester made his way to Harry’s sound system. He turned it on and tuned in to Seattle’s only classic rock station. He made sure Harry’s active subwoofer had power and he cranked the volume knob until the decibel meter on the display stopped moving upward. Harry fell off the couch.
“Lester, what the fuck?!”
“Grand Funk Railroad, baby!”
“You’re going to blow my fucking speakers, dickhead.”
Harry stumbled groggily to the stereo and Lester to turn down the cacophony.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“You are a seriously heavy sleeper, you know. I called a bunch of times. I was banging on the door.”
“I turned the ringer off. I was up all night studying the red folder and putting a plan together. I just fell asleep a couple hours ago.”
“Well, I didn’t sleep a wink. I had an unexpected encounter last night that led me to believe that someone might be coming for you. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way to the office. I think we should take the Geo since the Nova might be damaged goods. Someone else was taking her for a joyride last night. Until I’ve checked her to see if she’s been bugged or LoJacked, I don’t feel right with her, poor baby.”
“Jeez. Now that I think about it, that tie does look familiar. Just give me a sec to shake out the cobwebs.”
Harry brushed his teeth and gave his head a bath while Lester gave himself a tour of Harry’s relatively Spartan quarters. The décor was decidedly modern with the main room’s foci on a vast wall of books and the glorious sound system. It actually surprised Lester that Harry’s sound system was so extravagant. Lester always thought he was more of the music enthusiast. The only photograph on display in the loft was in the kitchen. It was of an older a woman holding a little red-headed boy in her lap. It wasn’t hard to figure out the little boy in the picture was Harry. He was wearing a green checkered leisure suit, and must have been around three years old. Lester guessed the woman was Harry’s grandmother. Harry walked into the kitchen dressed and ready to go to find Lester studying the picture.
“It’s me and my Nana.”
“Yeah, that little suit is pimperiffic.”
Harry chuckled a little and smiled.
“It’s definitely the coolest suit I’ve ever owned.”
Harry grabbed his briefcase on the way out, and he and Lester took the elevator down to the garage where the Geo was parked. So far it was looking like, out of the two of them, Lester was the only person of interest for Mr. Face. Lester had Harry take the long way, so they would have more time to discuss everything that had happened. When Lester showed Harry the empty caduceus sheath, Harry made a confession.
“You know when I recovered Ahern’s caduceus, I never found the sheath.”
“They could have found her. Maybe they’re holding her. Maybe they took care of her. You don’t just buy these things at the supermarket. This has to be hers.”
“You said he called himself Mr. Face.”
“Yeah, no face, but he went by Mr. Face.”
“This is crazy. In the intel on our latest subject, Mr. Face is a name that popped up. Apparently in our subject’s mythology he has created, there are seventeen so-called angels that jump back and forth between their world slash dimension and ours. There is a segment in his show where he spotlights a different angel. They all have weird names, but they also have aliases they go by when they operate in our world. I’ve seen a couple of these names before as assets on our intel. One called Vros goes by Molar. One called Ciri goes by Miss Ojo. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen those names. Molar and Miss Ojo are always tipping us off on serious risks.”
“It gets weirder. There’s some cosmic war happening. These angels are protecting us from invading demons at the edge of the galaxy. In this other dimension, Vros slash Molar has like over 300 demon kills. Mr. Face was one of the aliases. His shortened angel name is Hrel. He’s also some sort of uber-angel. He’s a top weapons engineer for the angel side or something.”
“Well, he seemed like more of a douche than an angel when I met him.”
“The alarming thing is while half of what our subject is saying is some fantasy, the other half links to reality in some way. He knows things no one outside of our department should know. But he makes it sound like these angels or demons are responsible for a lot of the things we make happen. He can’t be just throwing random darts; he’s hitting too many bull’s eyes. It’s amazing it took us so long to catch on to this guy. His show is pretty mesmerizing. I watched a couple of episodes.”
“Damn. So this red folder and my rendezvous with Mr. Face can’t be isolated events. They could; but probably not.”
“I don’t know. Here’s another trippy tidbit. The subject, David Bullock, is the grandson of Lloyd Bullock. Lloyd Bullock disappeared near the Cumberland River in Kentucky in the early 1950’s as part of an incident our department was called in to cover up.”
“That’s right. They covered it up with a whole lake.”
“Yes, you know about this. I guess we’ve already dispatched a team from the Chicago office to interrogate Bullock’s parents who still live near Lake Cumberland. Lloyd’s son, David’s dad, never knew what really happened to his father. It seems David knows more than his dad.”
Lester was already making plans to corroborate Face’s bullshit with management. And he definitely needed some concrete answers on the caduceus. But Lester had to overcome one major problem—the lines of communication between he and management were compartmentalized and extremely focused. Any attempt to find out information on other agents or missions would be stonewalled. More than once Lester had inquired about the outcome of major sporting events and stock tips. The closest thing he ever got to a response was a hearty guffaw. At least they would get an earful on Mr. Face’s slip up. Most likely though management wouldn’t even know who Mr. Face was.
The thought of someone else driving his Nova truly disturbed Lester. She was a bit temperamental, but not nearly to the degree of irrationality as the former Mrs. Phfister was. “If you love the car so much, why don’t you marry it?” she used to say, thinking herself very clever while using such a juvenile colloquialism. What little time Lester’s job allowed him to spend with Mrs. Phfister, she always made a point to fill it with the never-ending discussion about what little time his job allowed him to spend with her. It didn’t take long for both of them to grow weary of the conversation and the catch 22 they were in. The hours weren’t going to change, and Mrs. Phfister was never going to be happy about it even when Lester was around. The Nova was thankfully an inanimate object. The Nova didn’t mind Lester’s music, she was always ready for a ride, and if Lester wanted to walk, the Nova wouldn’t complain.
“There better not be a scratch on her, or I’ll drive her straight up Mr. Face’s ass. Mr. Face. Ha! He must have some ugly mug to be covering it up like that.” Lester always had to say something to fill the silence.
The sight of the Nova put a little spring in Lester’s step. He jogged the remainder of the distance to the car. So far Mr. Face was following through on his promises. In the Nova, the caduceus sat politely sheathed on the passenger’s seat. Lester’s reservations about Mr. Face were beginning to melt away. Mr. Face was starting to look like the red tape cutter of the year by handing over a lost piece of equipment in such an informal way. Lester picked the caduceus up to dutifully conceal it and was amazed at how light it actually was.
“Hold on now.” Lester’s eyebrows raised a fraction.
Without a CTU Lester was taking a huge risk by uncapping the narrow container. He was absolutely certain though and quickly found out that the sheath was in fact empty.
“Mutha… Do not tell me he was bluffing.”
The car started after a few cranks. Lester put it in gear and fish-tailed 180 degrees. The V8 roared. The solemn trees from a few minutes earlier became a wall of green. The uncannily cool Lester Phfister was uncharacteristically steaming. Lester quickly arrived at the dam only to find no evidence of the autoerotic party. Sheets of rain began to pour from the sky. Mr. Face and his associates were gone. The more Lester thought about it, the more unbelievable it seemed that someone could have delivered the caduceus to Lester’s Nova before he got to it. Maybe the mysterious Mr. Face could teleport. Or maybe he wasn’t bluffing. The caduceus in Mr. Face’s possession and the object Lester found were not one in the same. Harry! Lester didn’t have and never kept any company goodies or intelligence in his car. They could have been stalling him to get to Harry. The V8 roared again.
---
“Pam, do you believe everything Dave talks about? I mean we all know the government is pulling some super scary stunts, but when he gets going about all the inter-dimensional angels and demons stuff, I mean, come on.”
Pam gently caressed Missy’s smooth nakedness while the rain caressed their ears with white noise.
“I’ll have to claim agnosticism when it comes to that stuff. Dave has been right on with most of the topics he talks about. I can’t write off the other apparently dubious stuff. He seems pretty convinced it’s real.”
“Maybe they’re like really advanced metaphors. The images he uses to tell his stories are pretty evocative. I love the story about the first angel that crossed over to intervene in our development and how overwhelmed he was by the beauty of our world. The way Dave tells it, it really makes you appreciate everything around us. ‘And Sibr inhaled, and he tasted hyacinth. And then he fell in love with tangerine.’”
“And then he smelled shit. Did you fart?”
“Sorry.”
“Dang, Missy!”
“I guess I’ve gotten a little too comfortable.”
“Come here.”
Pam pulled Missy close, cradling Missy’s head on her breasts. She planted a fervent kiss on Missy’s forehead. Missy looked up with glistening eyes and brought her lips to Pam’s. The two were the definition of bliss. Only two other relationships had lasted longer than the one Pam now had with Missy. Pam was always chasing the high of her next infatuation. Missy’s innate youthful outlook and devotion to Pam and Dave’s vision definitely was keeping Pam engaged at the moment. When Missy came on the show as a PA intern it was instant attraction. There were times when the idea of monogamy filled Pam’s heart to the top. This was almost one of those times. However, there was the image of a raven-haired woman that just couldn’t be scraped out of the folds of Pam’s mind.
---
Lester tried Harry’s mobile phone three times, and three times he reached Harry’s voicemail greeting. As he blazed up Issaquah Hobart Road, Lester was anticipating morning traffic on I-90. Any heads up he could give to his partner would be crucial if in fact Mr. Face’s team was after data. A message would have to do.
“Turquoise, I just remembered we’re having a breakfast meeting, and you’re supposed to be in charge of the donuts. Can you bring a couple dozen? Also, make sure you include a few bear claws for me. Thanks.”
Any random food request message was a warning to the recipient to be on high alert and get moving. Lester could only hope Harry would get the message and call back. But by the time Lester made it to Beacon Hill, he still had not heard from Harry. Lester’s cool had returned, but the worried older brother sensation was starting to bubble back up. Harry, when it came to handling himself in a violent situation, was also, like Lester, a certified badass. But Lester knew Harry was more of a trusting “ask questions first” kind of guy-- a trait of Harry’s that bugged Lester constantly. In spite of this, Lester had over time grown to appreciate Harry’s unique perspective on the world and enjoyed the bits of trivia they traded back and forth. As much shit as they gave each other, what they didn’t share in personal history, they shared in mutual respect. If anyone messed with the Turq, they were going to get it back tenfold from the Phfist.
Lester took the stairs up to Harry’s floor. He approached the door to Harry’s loft cautiously. Lester hit the doorbell a few times, knocked a few times, and hit the doorbell a few times more. No one was coming to the door. Lester tried the door knob. It was locked. It was department protocol for a partner to have access to the other’s pad. Lester had it easy; he only had to carry around two extra keys. Harry had to memorize a sixteen digit security code for Lester’s heavily fortified lair. After figuring out which key worked which lock, Lester slowly cracked the door open. His quick surveillance of the room showed no signs of ransacking or blood spatter. Lester walked into the main living area and immediately noticed Harry’s limp body sprawled across the couch.
“Turquoise, wake up.”
Harry didn’t stir.
“Come on, Sunshine. You’re going to be late for work.”
Lester made his way to Harry’s sound system. He turned it on and tuned in to Seattle’s only classic rock station. He made sure Harry’s active subwoofer had power and he cranked the volume knob until the decibel meter on the display stopped moving upward. Harry fell off the couch.
“Lester, what the fuck?!”
“Grand Funk Railroad, baby!”
“You’re going to blow my fucking speakers, dickhead.”
Harry stumbled groggily to the stereo and Lester to turn down the cacophony.
“What’s going on? What are you doing here?”
“You are a seriously heavy sleeper, you know. I called a bunch of times. I was banging on the door.”
“I turned the ringer off. I was up all night studying the red folder and putting a plan together. I just fell asleep a couple hours ago.”
“Well, I didn’t sleep a wink. I had an unexpected encounter last night that led me to believe that someone might be coming for you. It’s a long story. I’ll tell you on the way to the office. I think we should take the Geo since the Nova might be damaged goods. Someone else was taking her for a joyride last night. Until I’ve checked her to see if she’s been bugged or LoJacked, I don’t feel right with her, poor baby.”
“Jeez. Now that I think about it, that tie does look familiar. Just give me a sec to shake out the cobwebs.”
Harry brushed his teeth and gave his head a bath while Lester gave himself a tour of Harry’s relatively Spartan quarters. The décor was decidedly modern with the main room’s foci on a vast wall of books and the glorious sound system. It actually surprised Lester that Harry’s sound system was so extravagant. Lester always thought he was more of the music enthusiast. The only photograph on display in the loft was in the kitchen. It was of an older a woman holding a little red-headed boy in her lap. It wasn’t hard to figure out the little boy in the picture was Harry. He was wearing a green checkered leisure suit, and must have been around three years old. Lester guessed the woman was Harry’s grandmother. Harry walked into the kitchen dressed and ready to go to find Lester studying the picture.
“It’s me and my Nana.”
“Yeah, that little suit is pimperiffic.”
Harry chuckled a little and smiled.
“It’s definitely the coolest suit I’ve ever owned.”
Harry grabbed his briefcase on the way out, and he and Lester took the elevator down to the garage where the Geo was parked. So far it was looking like, out of the two of them, Lester was the only person of interest for Mr. Face. Lester had Harry take the long way, so they would have more time to discuss everything that had happened. When Lester showed Harry the empty caduceus sheath, Harry made a confession.
“You know when I recovered Ahern’s caduceus, I never found the sheath.”
“They could have found her. Maybe they’re holding her. Maybe they took care of her. You don’t just buy these things at the supermarket. This has to be hers.”
“You said he called himself Mr. Face.”
“Yeah, no face, but he went by Mr. Face.”
“This is crazy. In the intel on our latest subject, Mr. Face is a name that popped up. Apparently in our subject’s mythology he has created, there are seventeen so-called angels that jump back and forth between their world slash dimension and ours. There is a segment in his show where he spotlights a different angel. They all have weird names, but they also have aliases they go by when they operate in our world. I’ve seen a couple of these names before as assets on our intel. One called Vros goes by Molar. One called Ciri goes by Miss Ojo. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Yeah, I’ve seen those names. Molar and Miss Ojo are always tipping us off on serious risks.”
“It gets weirder. There’s some cosmic war happening. These angels are protecting us from invading demons at the edge of the galaxy. In this other dimension, Vros slash Molar has like over 300 demon kills. Mr. Face was one of the aliases. His shortened angel name is Hrel. He’s also some sort of uber-angel. He’s a top weapons engineer for the angel side or something.”
“Well, he seemed like more of a douche than an angel when I met him.”
“The alarming thing is while half of what our subject is saying is some fantasy, the other half links to reality in some way. He knows things no one outside of our department should know. But he makes it sound like these angels or demons are responsible for a lot of the things we make happen. He can’t be just throwing random darts; he’s hitting too many bull’s eyes. It’s amazing it took us so long to catch on to this guy. His show is pretty mesmerizing. I watched a couple of episodes.”
“Damn. So this red folder and my rendezvous with Mr. Face can’t be isolated events. They could; but probably not.”
“I don’t know. Here’s another trippy tidbit. The subject, David Bullock, is the grandson of Lloyd Bullock. Lloyd Bullock disappeared near the Cumberland River in Kentucky in the early 1950’s as part of an incident our department was called in to cover up.”
“That’s right. They covered it up with a whole lake.”
“Yes, you know about this. I guess we’ve already dispatched a team from the Chicago office to interrogate Bullock’s parents who still live near Lake Cumberland. Lloyd’s son, David’s dad, never knew what really happened to his father. It seems David knows more than his dad.”
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