Prologue: In Which We Meet Our Focus, Eoin Emmerson

      Eoin noticed the man for the first time on a Monday. It was

only a brief, curious glance but the man's image stuck in his head for
the rest of the day. He pushed it out of his mind and continued on
with his week. It was a Wednesday when they met. The meeting occurred
by accident, at least on Eoin's part it did. He had been walking home
from a dinner meeting when he heard a voice call out to him. The voice
didn't use his name, but he knew that it was addressing him. He had
never heard the voice before, but he knew it belonged to the man he
had seen on Monday.
      "...And you, young man; do you know where the king of swords is
hiding?" Eoin turned to see the man sitting behind a makeshift table
at the edge of a small alley. The table consisted of a discarded plank
of plywood set on a few trash bins, covering the wood was a slightly
grungy sheet with a floral pattern that slyly nudged your mind towards
thoughts of the Baltic. On the table, or more accurately, sliding
across the table, were three red party cups which had evidently evaded
the bin at more than a few parties. Eoin was impressed, he thought
tricks like this were reserved for trashy novels and television shows.
He allowed the man a brief smile and began to turn away, but as he did
he suddenly knew exactly where the card was, it was in the man's hat.
This was the second time on that Wednesday that Eoin experienced the
strange feeling of knowing something which he couldn't possibly know.
As he paused, mid-turn, he looked at the crowd gathered around the man,
some had lost their money, some were about to lose their money; he
looked at them and decided to oust the con man before he took anyone
else's money.
      "It's in your hat," he said in the direction of the man. The man
looked back to Eoin, for his attention had already wandered to other
victims.
      "Did you say something, young man?" He asked with a curious half smile
which looked both predatory and ridiculously friendly.
      "The card, the king of swords, it's in your hat." Eoin repeated. The
man's smile broadened and a look of extreme pleasure seemed to radiate
into his face.
      "Very impressive, young man, very impressive indeed," The man said in
a voice which seemed to be meant only for Eoin to hear, and then, in a
louder voice obviously meant for the crowd, "A crafty guess, my young
friend, a crafty, yet anatomically incorrect guess. The card in
question is, in fact, in my left waistcoat pocket!" And with that, a
very small and old looking card flew out of his left waistcoat
pocket (the higher of the two) and fluttered onto the makeshift table
where it landed facedown. "Oh, do be my guest, dear boy, please!" The
man flamboyantly bowed toward the card with his hands and, with his
eyebrows, motioned for Eoin to flip the card over. Eoin walked toward the table
and knew he had been tricked; the card he flipped over would be the
king of swords which he thought was in the man's hat. But the man had
cheated, Eoin didn't know how it was possible but he knew that the
card had been in the man's hat and somehow made its way into the
waistcoat pocket. He flipped the card over and as he knew it would be,
it was the king of swords.
      "But he still cheated!" Eoin yelled to the crowd, "The card wasn't
under any of the cups, so you had no chance of winning the bet!" He
was starting to get truly angry. The crowd looked from Eoin to the
man, not appearing to fully understand that they had been conned.
      "What my good friend fails to comprehend is that it would make no
better sense to have the king of swords under the cup than it would to
have the queen of cups in my knife pocket!" He exclaimed as he drew a
small knife from the same left waistcoat pocket (the higher of the two) and
unsheathed it. "Behold my friends, the answer to your temporary mental
discomfort!" The man then stabbed the center cup, waved it above his
head and, by some sleight of hand, made both knife and cup seem to
disappear. Sitting on the part of the table which had been covered by
the cup only a moment before, was the queen of cups. The crowd was
silent for a moment and then burst out with wild applause; Eoin
couldn't believe his eyes, the man had conned these people with
nonsensical magic tricks and they were applauding him. 

      He turned to leave and once more was stopped mid-turn; the man was using the same
voice he had used earlier, the one which was just for Eoin. "Very
impressive work today Mr. Emmerson, meet me tonight for a drink? We
could discuss whether it was the consistency of the card or of
myself that allowed you to be fooled. What do you say to the Monkey
Bar? The ninth minute of the ninth hour?" And before Eoin could
respond, the man had grabbed the sheet covering the wood by its edges,
pulled it up in the air and vanished down the dimly lit alley.

Chapter One: In Which We Meet The Mysterious Mr. Smythe

Eoin had never actually been in the Monkey Bar,
he had seen it dozens of times and had always been slightly curious,
not curious enough to venture in, mind you, but curious nonetheless.
He had decided to walk that night and was already starting to regret
it; the walk so far had been fine, but it was the trek home that he
wasn't looking forward to. Eoin lived on the east side of town, past
the University and by the old cemetery. At least it was a nice night,
he thought as he trudged up Liberty; not too hot but hot enough. He
noticed that the abandoned building across from the post office had
been leased and wandered closer to read the sign. The print was
stubbornly small and Eoin squinted as he tried to read it. He had
neglected to put in his contact this morning but that was nothing new,
the damn thing was more trouble than it was worth. Eventually he made
out what the sign said, it was just a new ‘for lease’ sign. Eoin sighed
at his wasted effort and continued on. It was already 9:05 and he felt
that getting to the bar by 9:09 was very important for some reason. He
absentmindedly tossed some change to the street musician busking in
front of the abandoned building and continued on to Main Street, where he saw
the bright red sign for the Monkey Bar. It was hard to miss, a big
brown monkey hanging off the side of the red vertical MONKEY BAR
lettering. He would have rather turned left onto Main and continued on
to Conor O'Neils where he could sit in the corner, have a few pints
and forget the oddities of the day. But he needed to at least find out
how this strange hustler had discovered his name. He promised himself
that he wouldn't fall for any con, he would lend no money and above
all, he would not go anywhere with the stranger. After silently making
the pact with himself, he took a deep breath, checked his watch and
pushed open the door to the Monkey Bar.

Eoin thought that the interior of the bar would be the first thing
that he noticed; after all, he had always fostered that slight
curiosity. But he didn't take in a single detail about the place, for
simultaneous to his entry; the man stood, tucked a pocket watch into
his right waistcoat pocket (the lower of the two) and smiled. The man was wearing the
same outfit that he had been earlier, an off white dress shirt with a
red and gold striped tie under an herringbone tweed gray waistcoat
with matching trousers and covered by a brown leather jacket, crowning it
all was a tweed walking cap pushed back on his head.
      "Right on time, Mr. Emmerson."  The man gave an infectious grin and
extended his hand, "Luke Lee Smith, with a Y," Smyth, "and an E,"
Smythe, "thank you kindly." Eoin frowned at this curious set of
introductions but like so many oddities this Wednesday, he pushed it
out of his mind and shook the man's hand.
      "I'd introduce myself, but you seem to know who I am already." Eoin's
antibodies of cynicism fought the infectious nature of Luke's smile
and he continued to frown suspiciously.
      "I apologize for the mysterious show but I just couldn't help myself
and besides, it did get you to come meet with me, didn't it?" Luke
seemed to take Eoin's unchanging frown as a positive affirmation. "I
knew it would! But enough mystery, I am a family friend." To another
young man, this may have been a reassuring statement, unfortunately
for simplicity's sake, Eoin was not another young man, he was Eoin and
Eoin didn't have a family. His frown deepened, no longer tempted by
Luke's smile.
      "I don't have a family, Mr. Smythe. It was a nice try but you just
picked the wrong mark. I don't know how you got my name but I'm
leaving now, see if you can find out more about your next target
before you try to hook him." And with that Eoin started to turn and
leave the bar. He felt a profound disappointment, he had really felt
as if there could have been mystery and adventure in the meeting with
the strange Mr. Smythe, and despite himself, he had been secretly
excited about the prospect. But Luke Lee Smythe was just another con
man, no mystery there. Eoin was jarred out of his self-pitying
thoughts and stopped mid-turn for the third time that day.
      "You don't think of the nuns as your family?" Now three is quite the
holy number but Eoin felt anything but holy about how much information
Luke had about him.
      "You know the sisters at the orphanage?" Eoin couldn't understand how
these women of God could associate with a degenerate grifter.
      "I know of them and their great deeds for the almighty 'I am' but I've
never met them personally, it was your biological family to whom I was
referring, I know them very well.
      "My mother and father? You know them?"
      "I believe I may have met your father once when I was very young, but
it's your extended family who I know so well that I sometimes feel
as if I am a part of it."
      "I have a large family?" Eoin didn't know why he asked the question;
his superego was screaming that he didn't believe a word that the con
man said and his ego had stripped off the neutral white to agree with
the superego. Sadly for those two temporary allies, it seemed as if the
id had a bit more power than usual on that Wednesday, and managed to put
forth the question.
      "Why, you have an incredibly large family!" Luke responded cheerfully,
seemingly unaware of the Freudian feud occurring in Eoin's mind. "They
bred like Catholics, well, backwoods Catholics, I suppose hamsters
would be a better analogy, less offensive as well, you're Catholic
aren't you, Eoin?" Eoin's mind was so busy with its internal Jihad
that he nearly failed to follow the roller coaster ride that was
Luke's previous sentence.
      "What? Yes, no, well I was raised... wait, what do my theological
leanings have to do with anything, what of my family?"
      "Large family, I get along with almost all of them, for the most part,
the majority of them are located up north. Both the Emmerson and the
VanKneer side in fact."
      "Vankneer? Was that my mother's last name? Are the families close? Do
you have any contact information?" Eoin frantically attempted to grasp
at roots and branches whose absence had kept him from growing to his full
potential.
      "Slow down boy, one question at a time. The families always were and
still remain very close, as far as anyone can remember. Of course the
spellings and pronunciations have been bastardized by more than just
your nun friends when they found you."
      "They actually changed the spelling of my first name on purpose, they
were Irish Catholic you know." Eoin had always been a bit defensive
about the odd spelling of his name.
      "I know, I know, Owen wasn't Irish enough and as everyone knows, Jesus
was Irish. But that wasn't the name to which I was referring, Emmerson was
not the spelling used on your little name tag."
      "They already told me all of this, apparently, it was so blurred that
they could barely make out the Owen and Emmerson was their best guess
as to my last name. And if you know so much about me, what is the
proper spelling of my last name?"
      "As I said before, it has been changed time and time again, the
original spelling wouldn't fit with Times New Roman, so Emmerson is
fine, just fine." Luke winked at us slyly before pulling out a roll of
twenties and setting one on the bar. "Now, I imagine you're not a
Monkey Bar type of guy, shall we proceed to something more suited to
your upbringing, Conor O'Neil's perhaps?" Eoin didn't even stop to
consider how Luke seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, this
day had been too strange for him to pause over everything out of the
ordinary. Instead he glanced at the twenty sitting on the table next
to an empty rocks glass.
      "You're sure you haven't had enough already?" He assumed that whatever
Luke was drinking, he was drinking it straight.
      "My dear boy, I've only had one drink, on the house, the twenty is
just a tip for the lovely young creature behind the bar." Luke slid a
napkin across the bar and into his pocket, slowly enough for Eoin to
notice the name Emily written in a feminine hand followed by a
telephone number. He shuddered involuntarily, not simply for the girl,
who would no doubt regret handing out her number before too long, but
also because he could not, for the life of him, figure out how old
Luke was. When Eoin first ran into him, he seemed to be teetering at
the top edge of middle age and now, leering at the young girl, he
certainly looked very old and lecherous. But at other times he seemed
to have aged no more than his mid thirties. He watched Luke pull himself away from the bar, still giving the girl a Jack Nicholson leer, his pointed eyebrows doing acrobatics that Eoin couldn't even attempt to follow.
       

      Conner O'Neil's was Eoin's escape from the world; the dark, smoky, atmosphere always seemed to absorb his troubles and lazily float them into the rafters and out of his mind. He had always imagined this as being as close to Ireland that he could get. Sure, he had no idea of his actual heritage, but the sisters were so devoted to Ireland, he sometimes thought as much as they were to God, that he couldn't help but feel a tug of Nationalistic pride. As he walked in with Luke, he gazed at the murals and football jerseys lining the walls, he felt at home. The bartender, a sulky man from County Cork, nodded to Eoin,
      "Awright lads? Whadya be havin?" Eoin ordered a Magner's Cider and looked expectantly at Luke; he had no idea what to expect from the strange man but he hoped that Luke wouldn't embarrass him at his favorite bar. He was in luck, Luke distractedly ordered a pint of Strongbow, apparently absorbed in the Hurling match on the television. Eoin wouldn't consider himself an actual fan of the game but if it was on, he would watch. He recognized the jerseys of Cork and Kerry,

      "Who's winning?" he asked Luke for lack of anything else to say.
      "I haven't the slightest idea who's playing." Luke responded without removing his gaze from the television.
      "You've been watching the match ever since we walked through the door, I know the score is posted every few minutes."
      "I'm merely impressed that this sport is featured on television, I had no idea that it was still played after all these years." Eoin's surge of possibly misplaced Nationalistic pride swelled once more.
      "Well the English tried to suppress it and everything else culturally Irish but they managed to hang on to it in the face of incredible opposition and tyranny!" Eoin was becoming flustered, his face reddened as Luke looked away from the television for the first time. Looking bemused at Eoin's sudden outburst, he scanned the bar around them to see if they were causing a scene.
      "What the hell are you talking about? Look, here come our drinks, cider from the finest apples, it's what keeps us young, you know?" Eoin seemed to calm and realize that he was on the verge of throwing a tantrum, he thanked the barman and poured his cider into the waiting pint glass. He thought about how nice it was that he no longer had to remind the bartenders not to put ice in his cider glass, he was close to becoming a local. “So now, onto our business!" Eoin was started out of his pondering to see Luke observing him from behind his pint of Stronbow.
      "Business? What kind of business, I thought you were going to tell me about my family."
      "All in good time, lad, all in good time. First, though, I would like you to come work for me." Luke reached in his coat and produced a pack of Dunhill cigarettes. After carefully selecting one, he proceeded to light it with what looked to be the palm of his hand; another one of his magic tricks, Eoin thought almost bitterly as he wondered if he had heard Luke correctly.

      “Work for you? I have a well paying job, no, I have a good career; I don’t have the time or the need to work for a two bit conman like you.” Eoin was slightly surprised by his own animosity. Sure, he had a decent job, well paid and with plenty of room for advancement; but it was nothing that he loved. Oddly enough, he had recently been contemplating the lack of passion in his career; he knew that few people truly loved their jobs but he couldn’t help it, he wanted more.

      “Now are you distraught due to the fact that I brought your lack of passion to the front of your mind or are you still on about that silly Skraeling sport on the television?” Eoin had no idea what a Skraeling Sport was but he assumed that he was being insulted. “Besides,” Luke continued, ignoring Eoin’s reddening face, “Your job is not quite as secure as it seemed.” As Eoin puzzled out what Luke was telling him and prepared a stinging rebuttal, Luke began to count backwards from nine. “Nine, eight, seven,”

      “What the hell are you…”

      “Five, please don’t interrupt, two, one,”

      Buzz, buzz, buzz, Eoin’s mobile phone began to vibrate on top of the bar. He eyed Luke suspiciously, “Better get that, I have a feeling it’s important.” Luke smiled pleasantly as Eoin slowly picked up the phone.

      “Eoin Emmerson…hey Dawn, I didn’t recognize the number, how are…what? Slow down, I can’t, what? He’s dead? Shit..no that’s all right…no, I can manage, I’ll take care of it, you just relax, thanks Dawn, talk to you later, take care.” Eoin hung up the phone, a shocked expression on his face. He glared at Luke.

      “Is there an unusually high casualty rate in the ad industry?” Luke asked congenially as he calmly sipped his cider.

      “What the goddamned hell is going on? How did you know about Mr. Kramer?” Eoin wanted the slap the pint glass and the smug grin off of Luke’s face.

      “Slow down a second, dear boy, no need to cause another scene.” Luke managed to calmly steer Eoin out the back door of the pub and leave a ridiculously large tip on the bar, all without drawing any undue attention. “I have my sources and heard about it earlier today, before we met for drinks, I’m sorry, I should have said something.”

      “Your sources? What the fuc…how did you know about the phone call then? With the counting backwards and all that goddamn horseshit?” Eoin seemed on the brink of tears, he snatched the pack of cigarettes with a deftness that seemed to impress even Luke. “Give me your fucking flammable, gypsy sonofabitch magic thumb!” He yelled incoherently as he searched his pockets for matches or a lighter; he came up empty and Luke, seemingly taking pity on him, handed him a good honest to God(s), non-magical lighter.

      “I do apologize about the show, as you may have deduced, I am a bit of a showman. It was simply a lucky cast that allowed for the accuracy. That’s it, breathe, well inhale, something to calm yourself. I know Mr. Kramer was a decent man and I’m sorry about your feelings of guilt but we really must be gett…”

      “My feelings of guilt?” Eoin interrupted, already halfway through his(well, Luke’s) cigarette and preparing to pull another out of the pack. “What do you know about my feelings of guilt?” Luke paused and then gave a slightly charming, slightly guilty grin.

      “Why else would I have convinced you to come out tonight? We couldn’t have your would be killers finding you now, could we? I am sorry that Mr. Kramer had to be the one who was killed but, as they say, ‘it’s rather uncomfortable to die.’” Eoin didn’t know who the hell said that but he didn’t really care at the moment. “See? I saved your skins, now let’s go wrap this mess up with the constabulary so I can explain some things to you, huh?” Eoin was too exhausted to put up a fight, he let Luke help him into a black Land Rover parked in a metered parking lot and laid his head against the window as Luke drove away.

Chapter Two: What Dreams May Come

      Eoin started as the car pulled to a stop outside of his apartment, he had been waltzing in and out of that magical place in between sleep and consciousness.

      “Out you go, dear boy,” Luke smiled at him, “I’ll be back to pick you up at 9 minutes after nine in the a.m.” Eoin was too tired to contemplate how Luke had managed to locate his apartment.

      “Why are you picking me up?” Eoin managed to ask through his haze of grogginess.

      “The police need to ask you some questions about the late Mr. Kramer, we’re meeting them at your office at ten. Now put it out of your mind and get some sleep.” Eoin nodded and slowly walked up the sidewalk to his apartment. “And Eoin,” he looked back as Luke rolled down the passenger side window, “Whatever you do, don’t fall asleep on your back.” And with that, Luke pulled away.

It took Eoin a surprisingly long time to fall asleep, considering how tired he was. He had checked his email, received all of the concerned and confused queries from his coworkers; checked his answering machine, sure enough, there was a message from the police asking to meet him at ten; and, for the first time living there, checked all of his window locks. When he finally did get to sleep, it was anything but pleasant. In his dreams, a beautiful woman was calling to him. She was standing so that he could only make out her profile, alabaster skin with delicate features and long silky black hair. She was entrancing but Eoin felt an overwhelming fear of her. Evil seemed to radiate from her as she coaxed him toward her bed.

He awoke with a start and realized that his chattering teeth were the culprits. The apartment was freezing. Eoin went to check the thermostat but it was set at a nice 73 degrees Fahrenheit. He made a mental note to call the landlord about the heater as he pulled extra blankets from his hall closet. He checked the clock; it was just before three a.m. After he concluded the pre-sleep shuffle, displacing any cold spots in the sheets with his feet, he fell asleep...on his back.

The woman was back, but this time he was in her bed, lying on his back. She slowly crept toward him, staying in profile. As he watched in a mix between horror and longing, she slid out of the robe she was wearing. Her body was whiter than anyone he had ever seen, with a small, pink nipple just within view. She climbed on top of him, sidesaddle and began to make love to him. It seemed to go on for hours; eventually, Eoin mustered up the courage to ask her what her name was. Nothing came out, he couldn’t speak. He tried to sit up and throw her off, but he couldn’t move, he was completely paralyzed. It was than that he realized he was in a dream, and he needed to get out! He told his mind to snap out of it, that he needed to be up and ready when Luke came to pick him up. As if she read his mind, the woman laughed,

      “Don’t worry, you’ll be reunited with the old fox soon enough.” She whispered in a voice which could only be described as equal parts musical sensuality and a rasping death cry. Eoin felt the waking world receding as he was drawn deeper and deeper into the dream. He knew with complete certainty that he needed to escape, or he would never wake up. “Time for a kiss, great one,” The woman crooned as she began to turn toward him and lower her head. There was a red flash in the corner of his vision and the woman was swept off of him. But not before he saw the other half of her face, it was the face of a woman long dead.

Chapter Three: In Which We Discover Luke's Advocatorial Skills

“By the living gods! I told you not to sleep on your back!” Luke was on top of Eoin in the bed. Eoin shook his head, the realization that he was no longer in the dream slowly dawning upon him. Sunlight was streaming into the room, he looked at his clock, it was just after six in the morning.

“What the hell just happened?” he was cold, colder than earlier in the night, colder than he had ever been.

“Well without stealing any of your l’s, I would say sleep paralysis. It only occurs when you fall asleep on your back. After the whole ordeal with poor Mr. Kramer, I figured you might be at risk.” Luke seemed to have regained his composure and was back to his normal indecipherable manner of speech.

“Aren’t you a little early?” Eoin did his best to give Luke the ‘I’m not too worried about anything’ face.

“Yes, well, regardless; you need to take an incredibly hot shower, I’m not sure if you’re covered in sweat or dew, but it is most certainly unpleasant.” Eoin glared at Luke and shuffled off to the shower.

After he had shaved and dressed, he followed his nose into the kitchen to find Luke setting the table with what looked to be an incredibly large breakfast.

“I thought the Full Irish might be in order, considering you throw your lot in with the Irish-Americans, I figured your usual breakfast consisted of Bushmill's poured over Lucky Charms.” Luke grinned at him from the stove. Eoin was so glad to be out of that awful dream, he wasn’t going to let anything annoy today.

“It’d have to be Jameson for me to eat it.” He corrected Luke with an equal grin.

“Oh God yes, so sorry to have forgotten, wouldn’t want your blood to turn orange. Now shut up and eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”

“So what took you so long in the bathroom after breakfast? Shooting off a quick one to relieve the stress of the day?” Luke grinned from the driver’s seat of his Land Rover.

“You really are a foul human being.” Eoin replied as they weaved their way through campus, Luke’s ‘short cut’. “And if you must know, I was putting in my contact; I haven’t been wearing it for the past few days and I know I’m going to catch hell from the ophthalmologist on my next appointment.

“Forgive me for my density, but I do pride myself at being quite observant, and I couldn’t help but notice that you have two eyes.” Luke slammed on his brakes as a Northface clad, peroxide blonde, student walked out in front of him. As he honked his horn, she yelled something about not being able to afford her. “Bloody children these days!” Luke muttered. Eoin smiled appreciatively before replying.

“Actually, I have amblyopia.”

“Oh, I see. That’s the sexually transmitted disease you get from making love to Greeks, yes? I knew that there were rumors about the connection between the plumbing and the vision but limiting your number of contacts? I fail to comprehend.”

“It means that my brain refuses to acknowledge one of my eyes. In my left eye, I have perfect vision, but my right eye can barely see at all. When I was younger, I had to put a patch over my left eye to strengthen my right one but now I just wear a contact in my right eye.”

“Now that makes perfect sense. I always say, ‘when one leg is injured, mangle the other one!’” Eoin laughed but quickly sobered, they were approaching his office building.

“Good thing we got an early start.” Eoin muttered lightheartedly as they circled the block for the seventh time. Luke seemed to have lost his jovial nature and was beginning to appear very nervous and stressed.

“We’re obviously not meant to be here today.” Eoin looked over at Luke.

“Why’s that?”

“If you find a perfect parking spot, you’re meant to be in that place at that time. Invert that, add the twenty minutes that we’ve been circling the block, and x equals us being fucked with our clothes on. Don’t you have some kind of employee parking ramp?”

“I usually walk or ride my bike to work, the ramp is this one on the left, but I haven’t renewed my pass in a little over a year.” Luke muttered something about godforsaken hippies and pulled into the ramp.

“Do you still have the expired pass?” Luke seemed to be cheering up a bit.

“Yeah, it’s right here but I’m telling you, it’s not going to work. Ever since Google came to town, parking’s been ridiculously tight.” Eoin handed the expired pass over to Luke. The pass reading mechanism beeped at Luke expectantly.

“Please be patient with me, you demanding hunk of metal, I have the pass right here.” He slipped the pass into the waiting slot. Almost immediately the pass was spat back into Luke’s open hand.

“I told you it wouldn’t work.” Eoin said in his most unhelpful manner. Luke ignored him completely and continued to slide the pass into the unyielding machine over and over. A car behind them began to honk. Luke calmly turned to Eoin.

“My dear boy, would you be kind enough to let the gentleman in the car behind us know that if he would be interested in fixing this machine, I would be more than happy to continue honking the horn for him?” Eoin laughed.

“Yeah, really.”

“I’m completely serious, off you go.” And with that, he leaned over and opened Eoin’s door. Eoin hesitantly got out and walked to the car behind them. He leaned over and talked with the driver as Luke continued to feed the pass into the slot. A moment later, Eoin got back into the car.

“The gentleman in the car behind us says that he has a meeting, and we two queers can go fuck ourselves if we’re too dumb to figure out the parking machine.” Luke muttered something about an insolent little shit as he undid his seatbelt and opened his door. Eoin saw him draw a knife from between the seats as he stormed out of the car. Luckily for everyone involved, the security guard from the ramp chose that moment to make his entrance.

“Hey what the hell’s going on here?” He demanded, failing to notice the knife before it disappeared in one of Luke’s signature sleights.

“It’s about time you got here!” Luke chastised the guard before he was through with his punctuation. “As I was attempting to relay to your cohort here,” he motioned to the machine, “My client works in this building and has a very important meeting to attend. Are you this machine’s superior? Because let me tell you, I have more than a few complaints to launch against its attempt at customer service. Beep beep beep, that’s all I could get out of…” Luke was interrupted by the guard clearing his throat.

“Sir, this ramp is for employees only, I’m going to have to ask you to remove your car immediately.”

“Are you daft? Have you not been listening? Mr. Emmerson here is one of the top employees in this advertisement firm! Please show him your identification, Mr. Emmerson.” Eoin got out of the car, embarrassed and feeling slightly sorry for the guard who was, after all, only trying to do his job.

“Well it looks like you do work in the building, I’m sorry about that sir, but your parking pass is expired and I can’t allow you into the ramp.” The guard sighed, not looking forward to where this was heading.

“Do you know how long it’s been expired?” Eoin wondered where Luke was going with this.

“Well no, you would have to check at the parking department on the third floor to find that out.”

“And since this expired yesterday, can we give you or your beeping assistant over there the payment to renew this pass?”

“Actually, you would have to do that at the parking department as well.” The guard was frowning, he was clever enough to know what the next question would be.

“So how exactly are we supposed to get to the third floor if we have nowhere to park?” It was obvious that Luke was starting to enjoy himself.

“Sir, I really am not the person to be talking to about this, maybe you should have taken care of this before the pass expired.” Eoin had to give the guard some credit, he was holding his own against Luke.

“Perhaps Mr. Emmerson was distracted by his boss being murdered.” The guard was unprepared for that one. He had seen the police cars that morning but had just written them off as some white collar scandal that he wouldn’t care to understand even if he could.

“I didn’t hear anything about a murder.”

“I have the investigating officer’s number right here,” Luke took out his phone, “Perhaps we can call him and he’ll clear things right up for you. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking time out of his murder investigation to explain to you why Mr. Emmerson has to be at his meeting at ten o’clock. I have heard that they’re schedules’ aren’t really as busy as the television would have you believe.”

“You know what, I’m just going to let you through, here’s a note to give to the parking department when you get a chance to take care of that pass.” The guard briefly scribbled an illegible note on his pad of paper and handed it to Eoin. “You gentlemen take care now, I’m sorry to hear about your boss, Mr. Emmerson. Luke stretched out his hand to the guard.

“Mr. Yates, you have been extremely helpful, thank you kindly.” The gate lifted and the drove through.

“That poor guard is going to be in a bit of trouble when his superiors find out about this.” Eoin shook his head. “Did you have to be so harsh with him?”

“Oh I think Mr. Yates has less to worry about than you might imagine.” Eoin watched the guard walk out of view. The guard was watching them as well. He muttered something about goddamn rich folk and shoved his hands in his pockets preparing to walk back to the guard station. When he pulled his hands out, there were three, crisp, hundred dollar bills in each hand. He gave a whoop of joy and then noticed that his inner pockets on his jacket felt heavier than usual. In one pocket were three Cuban cigars, in the other was a pint of Remy Martin cognac.

On their way to the elevator, Luke paused, looked down a row of cars, and began to walk away from Eoin.

“What are you doing? We don’t have much time to get inside.” Eoin followed after him for lack of anything better to do.

“We’ve plenty of time, this won’t take a second.” Luke replied as his knife appeared back in his hand. He found the Lexxus that had been behind them in the line earlier. With several quick motions, he slashed all four tires and carved symbols which appeared to be complete gibberish to Eoin. “Dodgy fuckin' cunt.” Luke said with a grin and started back towards the elevator.

“Well shit!” Eoin was taken aback by the sudden act of vandalism. “Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Luke laughed a maniacal laugh and put his arm around Eoin.

             “Eventually you will see the humor, Mr. Emmerson.”

             A large man in a poorly tailored suit was standing in the lobby staring at the elevators, tapping his foot with little sense of rhythm. “And you must be officer Jeffreys, odd word rhythm, isn’t it? Have you any idea as to the etymology of it?” Luke extended his hand to the bemused looking man.

            “This is a crime scene, no civilians are allowed on this floor; I’m going to have to ask you gentlemen to leave.” The officer ignored Luke’s outstretched hand and crossed his arms. Luke opened his mouth and grinned at the same time. But before he had a chance to burden the life of the officer, Eoin spoke up.

           "I'm Eoin Emmerson, sir, you left a message on my answering machine indicating that you wanted to speak to me this morning." He gave the man the self-deprecating grin that was expected of him.

            "Ah, alright, thank you for getting here on time, I know it's a zoo out there today." The officer's friendly tone clashed with his body language in an incredibly palpable manner. "I'm sorry but your friend will have to wait out here in the lobby while we talk." Eoin was almost grateful, Luke was starting to grow on him but Eoin wasn't yet sure that he wanted him involved in such tragic business. He turned to Luke and started to ask if he minded waiting but Luke wasn't behind him any more.

         "His friend and many other things I may be, but in this instance I am Mr. Emmerson's attorney, Luke Lee Smythe." Eoin looked back to see Luke presenting a card to Officer Jeffreys.

        "Mr. Emmerson doesn't need a Lawyer, he's not a suspect, we just want to ask him about Mr. Kramer. We're talking to everyone in the office." The large man's glare gave a clear indication as to his opinion of Lawyers.

       "Quite reasonable," Luke replied in a way that conveyed how unreasonable he found the request. "But I am a family friend who just happened to be with Mr. Emmerson when he heard the terrible news. I came as a friend but if you force my hand, I would be happy to be a Lawyer instead; I'm sure you're aware as to the legality of my presence." He finished his attack with a ridiculously friendly and reassuring smile.

       "Um, sure, that'll be just fine, please follow me, Mr. Emmerson, Mr. Smythe." The man's face was turning a very bright shade of red.

     The room was cold, colder than Eoin's apartment had been that morning. Eoin knew the room well, he had been there many times, chatting with Mr. Kramer about anything that he could. A large window looked over the downtown area. Famous ad posters hung along the walls. The desk was fairly clutter free, a few papers and a picture of Mr. Kramer's late wife sat on the corner near a glowing computer screen. A plain office chair was behind the desk. It was the chair which caught Eoin's breath in his throat. The chair was covered in what appeared to be frost and a dark stain which could only be blood. Eoin felt sick.

     "He was found in the chair, frozen and covered in blood. Cause of death is yet to be determined but foul play is suspected." He looked smugly at Luke as if his recitation of the ME's report radiated with intellect. "I guess you're wondering why we brought you in today, Mr. Emmerson."

      "Not really," Eoin replied, "I worked directly under Mr. Kramer and knew him better than most everyone but Dawn, it's only natural that you ask me a few routine questions." The officer looked dejected at Eoin's reasonable response.

       "Precisely." He replied, the multisyllabic word sounding awkward on his tongue. "So, we might as well start; first off, where were you at nine thirteen last night?"

       "He was with me, at the Monkey Bar," Luke interjected, "I assume that a close friend's testimony is less than adequate but I do possess the name and telephone number of the lovely barmaid who served us...along with security tapes from the exterior and interior of the bar." Luke smiled congenially at the police officer.

       "I'll have to check these." Jeffreys muttered as Luke produced a piece of paper and a small disc from within his coat and passed them to him. He looked for somewhere to put the evidence and eventually set it down on a nearby coffee table. "Now, can you think of any enemies that Mr. Kramer had?" Eoin thought hard for a moment.

      "I honestly can't think of anyone who would want to do him any harm. He was a fairly plain man in terms of personality. Not close to anyone, nowhere near friendly but decent and never rude. Even the competition treated him with respect." Eoin reflected on how sad it would be to lead such an unremarkable life. Mr. Kramer may have created some wonderful ad campaigns but he really accomplished nothing.  

     "Well, I think I have enough information from you for today. I'm pretty sure I don't need to tell you stay where we can reach you; no leaving the country or the state." The officer got up to show them the way out but Eoin surprised even himself by replying,

      "I can't promise that I won't leave the state, or even the country for that matter; I'm going on a trip." Jeffreys glared at him.

      "Where were you planning to go?"

      "North." Eoin replied, not fully comprehending where that answer had come from. Luke gave him a grin full of a feeling that could have been pleased surprise.

      "Mr. Emmerson, you are part of a murder investigation! I'm going to have to insist that you stay in town until the investigation is over!" Jeffreys was red in the face and seemed to be spluttering a bit.

      "Mr., excuse me, officer, Jeffreys; this investigation is obviously not going to be solved any time soon and my client has important family matters to deal with. I'm sure my mobile telephone number combined with our sincere promises to stay in touch will suffice?" Luke's audacity had obviously recovered from his momentary surprise.

     "No, Mr. um Smythe, that will not suffice;" the last word was filled with accusation of pretension, "I'm afraid that I don't know you well enough to trust your sincere promise." More accusation with sincere. Luke smiled and without missing a beat, his phone was in his hand, dialed and proffered to the sweaty officer. "What the hell is...hello?... Who is this?... What?.. No, no, I'm really sorry sir, I didn't know who it was... Yes, this is Mr. Smythe's cellphone, how do you know...no, you're right..I'm sorry...Sure, yes sir...I understand...but...yeah, um yes, that's what I was gonna ask. He's got a friend that's part of a murder investigation...no, not really a suspect...no, no record. He wants to leave the state...yes, family emergency or something...yes, with Mr. Smythe... Really, but sir...no, I understand, thank you." Jeffreys had a queer look on his face as he handed the phone back to Luke. "Thank you Mr. Emmerson, Mr. Smythe, I hope you have a good trip." His voice lacked any emotion.

           "Allow me to offer you my telephone number." Luke said kindly, seeming to take sympathy on the officer.

          "That's alright, I guess the chief already has it, you two gentlemen have a good day."

Chapter Four: In Which Our Journey Begins

      Eoin looked up from his suitcase as the horn blasted outside. He knew he had packed; he didn't know precisely what he had packed but he was reasonably sure that he had the basic essentials. The horn blew again...and again. Eoin sighed heavily, grabbed his suitcase, locked the door, and ran down the stairs to meet Luke.

      Luke's black trailblazer was double parked in front of Eoin's apartment building causing traffic to swerve around it; thus explaining the blaring horns. Eoin waited for a lull in traffic, ran to the side of the car, and hopped in. Luke was twirling a handgun around, absentmindedly eying the traffic driving by. He grinned and pointed the gun at Eoin.

     "Look what I found!" His eyes held the gleam of a child with a new toy. "Walther PPK, Bond's gun! .380 and small enough to hide in my nether bits!"

      "Put that down! Do you even have a license for it?" Eoin wore a horrified look, more for the simple fact that Luke had a gun than for any actual fear for his own safety.

       "A license? Have you not read the constitution of this sovereign state, dear boy? It indicates that individuals are encouraged to carry all manner of weaponry and do great bodily harm to whomever has a distasteful air about them." Luke held the gun by the barrel and hammered each point as if pistol-whipping the steering wheel.

      "I actually have read our state constitution; it says that every individual has the right to keep and bear arms for the defense of himself and the state." Luke grinned and looked at me.

       "Word for word, very impressive, did you have to look that one up?"

        "Of course I had to look it up," Eoin replied with a flustered look, "how else would you expect me to know it?" Luke glanced over at Eoin.

         "I wasn't speaking to you dear boy, don't be absurd. But yes, everything is fine, don't you worry about licensing." With that, he slid the gun into some hidden pocket of his coat and started the car.

       The sound of some horrid rap-punk "music" filled the car as Luke pulled into traffic.

       "...and I don't give a fuck, not a single, solitary fuck 'cause I don't give a fuck, motherfucker!"

       "What the hell are you listening to?" Eoin asked, attempting to cover his ears.

       "OPM, clever name, wouldn't you say? And I do resent the smarmy quotations around the word music." Luke skipped to the next track and began singing along to "Heaven is a Halfpipe" in a beautiful, operatic, baritone. "If I die before I wake, At least in heaven I can skate, 'Cause right now on earth I can't do shit, Without the man fucking with it..." Eoin did his best to fight back his growing migraine and leaned his head against the window.

       He awoke to a peaceful voice narrating some unclassifiable fantasy novel. Confused, he looked around and recognized the bus station. Luke was calmly organizing a bag full of various knives and guns. He smiled at Eoin, “I didn’t want to wake you so I put on the Belgariad as inspiration for our journey.” Eoin wasn’t sure what the Belgariad was or how it was inspirational but he had learned better than to question the oddities of the strange Mr. Smythe.

      “Why are we at the bus station?” he asked groggily. Luke smiled and zipped up his bag of weaponry,

      “To ride the bus, dear boy, to ride the bus.” And with that he was out of the car and unloading bags and suitcases, including Eoin’s, in front of the station.

      “But where are we going and why can’t we take your car?” Eoin did his best to assist Luke but only managed to hoist one small bag before the pile was complete.

      “You said it yourself, Mr. Emmerson… North.”

      Their destination was Lansing, Michigan; Eoin deduced this by the sign on the bus, which was, at the moment, being loaded by a very angry bus driver.

      “I don’t now how you managed to get permission to bring all of this baggage and if anyone else on the bus needs more luggage space, we’re leaving yours behind!” He shouted at Luke who was busy grinning and tossing their bags up from the pile they had made earlier.

      The bus ride was mostly uneventful; Luke spent the time chatting with various passengers and seemed quite pleased with himself. Eoin sat in a window seat and continued to listen to the audio book of the Belgariad that Luke had on his ipod. He never considered himself a fan of fantasy but the book was starting to grow on him.

Eventually the bus pulled up to a ratty bus station located in what seemed to be the worst part of Lansing. The platform was full of people loitering around and giving Eoin and Luke stares that seemed to say, “Wait ‘til there’s no one around.” Luke was distractedly counting an assortment of cash, jewelry, and watches which he had apparently collected from the passengers on the bus. “Why don’t you call your friend?” He muttered in Eoin’s direction as he started sorting his new collection into various pockets.

      “And what friend would that be?” Eoin asked, not sure how Luke would know any of his friends.

      “That layabout musician friend of yours, what’s his name, Peter MacDonald I think.” Eoin stopped walking and looked at Luke.

      “How do you know Pete?” Luke continued walking for a few feet before he noticed that Eoin had stopped. He turned to him with an impatient look.

      “I don’t know him at all, I simply am aware that he is your friend and he lives in Lansing. Now do hurry along so we can remove ourselves from this neighborhood; it seems as if the natives are getting restless.” Eoin looked back towards the bus station and saw several large and unfriendly looking men motioning at them in a less than cordial manner. “Perhaps they noticed my newfound property. Whatever they want, it is a bit too late to walk away from it now.” Luke grinned and started walking back toward the men who were now leaning in the window of an old Cadillac, speaking with the driver. One of them looked up from the car and signaled the rest of them. “Please do remain back, dear boy; if it would make you feel safer, the blue bag contains the guns. I’ll be right back.” He leapt up onto the curb and smiled down at the men around the car. “Hello gentlemen! A word that I do use in it’s modern and meaningless form, how are you today?”

      “Tha fuck you want?” A large man in the center of the group swaggered up to Luke.

      “Well, I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed to be eyejobbing both myself and my young assistant over there.” Luke motioned at Eoin and smiled yet again. “Now I’m okay with the coloreds, being a progressive thinking man myself. But my assistant is from Ann Arbor and I’m sure you’re well aware of how ‘help at a distance’ those young liberals tend to be.” The large man’s face scrunched up and he seemed ready to say something but Luke calmly continued. “To sum up, if you’re going to attempt to separate me from my newfound property, please get it over with. We’re on our way to visit friends and we don’t want to have scum like yourselves following us in that pimp mobile or whatever the kids are calling them these days.”

      The big man grabbed Luke by the collar and pinned him up against the Cadillac. Eoin, in a moment of panic, began to reach for the blue bag. He paused, thought again and brought out his mobile phone, preparing to call the police. As he dialed, he saw Luke grinning as the men hit him over and over again. Eventually he got through to the local dispatch and gave them a brief summary of what was happening. He was told to calm down and that an officer was on the way.

      Meanwhile, the gang of men was rifling through Luke’s pockets and, amazingly, coming up empty handed. They were obviously becoming more and more frustrated as they discovered more and more empty pockets. Luke was still grinning maniacally, blood streaming down his face. He was no longer looking at Eoin though. Instead he was staring at a man standing off to the side. The man was black, in his early thirties, and either homeless or at the extremes of poverty. The man wore a pained expression and seemed to be waiting or listening for something.

       Eoin put the man out of his mind and scanned the street for police, nothing yet, where were they? He looked back at Luke, still grinning and now beginning to lap up the blood as it poured down his face. He whispered something to the large man in the center.

      “You got a secret? The fuck you talkin bout?” He looked at the rest of his crew as if for support, shrugged, and leaned down. A reasonable man would see no danger in this action; Luke was beaten to the point where he shouldn’t even be conscious and he had been checked for weapons. Unfortunately for our nameless villain, these were not normal circumstances. As the man leaned down, Luke bit his eyeball and reached up with both hands. In one hand he had a knife, which he quickly plunged into the side of the man’s neck; with the other hand, he lit the man’s dreadlocks on fire. Still biting onto the man’s eyeball, he let out a bloodcurdling scream of joy and wrenched his head back, tearing the eyeball from the socket. While this was happening, the homeless man came running up and started fighting two of the other men that had been beating Luke.

      Eoin had no idea what to do. The large man was screaming as his friends attempting to put out the fire now consuming his hair, Luke was literally howling and spraying blood out of his mouth at the driver of the Cadillac, and the homeless man was taking on three young gang members by himself. He felt like he should do something to help but he knew next to nothing about fighting and he certainly didn’t want to be holding an unlicensed gun when the police finally showed up. Luckily the decision was soon taken out of his hands as the group of men pulled their injured leader into the Cadillac and drove away.

Chapter Five: In Which We Familiarize Ourselves With The Peculiarities Of The Capital City

      Luke didn’t look like a man who had just been beaten. He looked like an escaped mental patient hopped up on cocaine and covered in blood (not that the author has any experience with that sort of thing). Luke spit out a bit of blood, grinned at me and muttered, “Sure you haven’t.”

      “We need to get you to a hospital!” Eoin shouted as he ran across the street, abandoning the luggage. “I’ve called the police, they should be here shortly!” He kneeled down where Luke was leaning back with his arms behind his head. Luke jumped up from his relaxed position.

      “You did what?”

      “I called the police, you were getting beaten by at least six guys, what was I supposed to do?”

      “Watch, get the guns out, smoke a cigarette, not call the police.” Luke was now walking across the street towards the luggage with Eoin and the homeless man in tow. He spoke over his shoulder, “I assume James is at the park?”

      “Yes sir,” the homeless man spoke up, “he wants me to ask you over for a drink.” Eoin looked confused but followed Luke as he fell into step with the homeless man.

      “I don’t believe we have had the pleasure of meeting yet, I am Luke Lee Smythe and this troublesome whistle blower is Eoin Emmerson.” Luke held out one hand as he picked up luggage with the other.

      “Frank’s the name, like the hotsauce.” Eoin and Luke both gave him blank looks as they loaded themselves down with the bags. “Here, let me take some of them bags,” Frank reached over and slung a bag Eoin was struggling with over his shoulder and hefted two more under his arms. “Black folk like hotsauce on everything and if you ask any black folk about hotsauce, they’ll tell ya; only one kinda hotsauce, Frank’s!” He gave them a self-satisfied grin along with a bit of a mad cackle and led the way. Eoin shook his head and followed.

      

      James turned out to be an elderly black gentleman —in this instance we do mean a noble, honorable, and kind man—who was sitting at a picnic table by the Grand River. “Mr. Smythe, it has been some time since we last met.” He rose from the table to shake hands with Luke, offering him a friendly yet wary smile. Eoin was introduced to James and invited to sit down at the table. Luke provided cigarettes for everyone and James had a woman, who could only be described as a runner, go to the store to get everyone a half pint of cognac. When Eoin attempted to offer money James quickly waved his wallet away, “It’s our culture, just take the drink.” Eoin took the drink and thanked James for his hospitality.

      “Thank you for sending Frank to meet us at the bus station, I do so appreciate the gesture.” Luke said while wiping blood onto a towel the runner had proffered. “I do apologize that he was forced to intervene in that nasty business back there, I hope it causes no trouble for all of you.”

      “Don’t you worry about that, Luke, we would have come to a head with the no-gooders eventually. We’re doing what we can to clean up this neighborhood, no more drug dealers!” Eoin found it amusing that several of James’ men were openly smoking joints, but he assumed that pot wasn’t considered that nasty of a drug, if it was considered a drug at all. From the continued conversation, Eoin gleamed that James had come back from Vietnam to find his old neighborhood taken over by gangs and drug dealers. Instead of moving on or lying low, he had gathered together a band of merry men to take on the hooligans, slowly but surely.

      As James and Luke discussed old times and counter gang strategy, Eoin wandered off to explore the park. He was reading about Ransom Eli Olds when Frank wandered up next to him and began to read the sign as well.

      “Looks like the police finally got to the bus station.” Frank awkwardly broke the silence.

      “Really? Just now? It’s been over a half hour.” Eoin was shocked considering how far downtown they were.

      “Yeah, they’re driving by right now.”

      “That’s only about a block away, should we go warn Luke and James?” Eoin turned to go back to the picnic table. Frank gently grabbed his arm.

      “Don’t worry, they’ll drive by, see that everything’s done and get back to the station. They won’t come down River Street, we’re at a dead end.” He smiled in a sad but accepting manner. “That’s just the way it is, people down here aren’t worth protecting ‘cause half of us have warrants and the other half don’t pay taxes.” He offered his joint to Eoin who politely declined but took another swig from his half-pint bottle.

      They ambled down to the river appreciating the mutual silence until Frank, once again, broke that silence. “So what’re you doin’ with that Mr. Smythe?” Eoin wasn’t sure how to answer this due to the fact that he didn’t truly know the answer himself.

      “He’s a friend of my family, I’m traveling with him to meet them.” It wasn’t a good answer but it was all that he had. Frank looked concerned,

      “Now, I don’t know him myself but James goes way back with him; he said that Luke Lee Smythe is some kind of mix between an angel and a devil. James owes his life to him but he wouldn’t trust him farther than he could toss him. Just be careful.” Eoin assured him that he would do just that and they started to walk back to James and Luke who seemed to be saying their goodbyes. He thanked James for his hospitality and hoisted a few of the bags. Luke began ambling across the park, following the river.

After a few minutes they came to a neglected boat launch with a sagging dock. Without pausing, Luke hopped onto the dock and walked over to a pontoon boat anchored at the far edge. Along the side of the boat was written, “Lansing Boat Tours” along with a telephone number. Luke tossed his bags into the boat and began to unclasp the vinyl seat covers. “I don’t know if this is the best idea, I mean the police probably have your description.” Eoin said as he looked up and down the abandoned street; already imagining people peering out from behind their blinds, phones in hand.

      “Nonsense, dear boy. The sign reads ‘Lansing Boat Tours’; we are tourists, we are in Lansing, this is a boat. Now toss me the blue bag.” Eoin obliged quickly, not realizing that he had been carrying the bag full of felonies. Luke quickly pulled out a set of chain cutters and went to work freeing the boat from the dock. As Eoin loaded the rest of the bags in the boat, Luke managed to start the engine through some unseen trickery. Realizing that there was very little he could do to dissuade Luke from his felonious pursuits, Eoin sat on one of the still covered seats and tried to enjoy the scenery. “There’s little to see here, dear boy. Why not pull out your phone and dial that friend of yours, I do believe we’re headed in his direction.” Luke looked like some sort of vagabond pirate lord standing behind the wheel, squinting into the sun. Eoin sighed and pulled out his phone to dial Peter.

      “Nigga please!” It was a typical Pete greeting.

      “Pete, it’s Eoin.”

      “So I deduced, I’m neither bold nor black enough to answer unknown calls that way. How’s life in pretentious hippy-town?”

      “It’s been interesting. Listen, are you at work?” Pete worked at one of the most renowned music stores in the world.

      “Right now I’m down by the river, eating some bacon and smoking a cigarette. Why do you ask?”

      “I’m riding in a stolen tour boat down the Grand River, heading toward the store.”

      “Bullshit.”

      “I’m not kidding, Pete. How much longer do you have on your lunch break?”

      “Well hot damn, our little Eoin is growing up! Give me a second to run inside and sign out and I’m all yours for an hour!”

      “You’re on the clock right now?” Eoin wondered why he was surprised by this revelation.

      “I’ll see you soon.” There was a scuffling sound along with a loud noise, a curse, and a click. Eoin put his phone away, chuckling. He looked around, taking in his surroundings. Eoin had been in Lansing before, several times in fact. But he had never seen the downtown area from the river, it was beautiful. Seeing the old, stately buildings, bridges and skywalks from this angle, he understood why so many people desperately held onto their loyalty for this decaying town. He was snapped out of his contemplative daydream by Luke flicking his cigarette into the river and striking a noble pose,

      “Hold onto your butts!” Eoin looked ahead and noticed several buoys and signs indicating that they were quickly approaching a dam. And to Eoin’s horror, Luke leapt up from the wheel, leaving the motor engaged, and started tying a lasso out of the rope.

      “What the hell are you doing, just steer us over to the dock!” Eoin shouted in a voice filled with a bit more panic than intended. Luke played a very convincing deaf as he started swinging the lasso above his head and making what could have been loosely identified as cowboy noises. Luckily for the progress of our plot, Luke managed to hook a post of the dock and hauled the boat towards the bank. Eoin quickly slipped the motor into neutral and raised it in time to keep it out of the weeds. The two of them managed to tie the boat more or less along the side of the dock and hopped out. An elderly black man sitting on the edge of the dock and fishing was looking at them with slightly indifferent bemusement. Luke tossed him the keys, which the man deftly caught, and the odd duo walked through the park, circumnavigating the dam.

      As they walked around the fishladder and into a parking lot, Eoin made a motion towards the nearest street. “We have to cross at the bridge in Old Town and then circle back to the store; it's right there across the river.” He trailed off as he noticed a commotion in the woods on the other side of the river. The trees shook and a man appeared out of the tall grass, dragging what looked like some sort of primitive canoe into the water. The man, who Eoin quickly identified as Pete, deftly hopped into the boat, producing a rough excuse for a paddle and began to make his way across the river. Eoin watched, transfixed, as his friend managed to battle the currents from the dam, nearly tipping several times. Eventually, Pete crashed into the bank and hauled the boat up into the weeds. He threw the paddle into the bottom of the boat and ran to grab Eoin up into a crushing embrace.

      “I'm so proud to see you under these majestic conditions, where's your pirate ship?” It came out in a rush while Pete struggled to catch his breath and gave Eoin a kiss on the neck.

      “Get of off me, you creepy bastard, it's good to see you too. The pontoon boat is at the dock but I'd rather keep away from it at the moment. What are you doing for...” Eoin stopped as he realized that Pete was no longer listening to him. Instead, he was staring, entranced at Luke. Eoin remembered his manner's, “I'm sorry, Pete, this is Luke Lee Smythe. Luke, this is my friend, Pete.” Eoin looked over at Pete, who seemed to be in the process of a bow, the amazed look still transfixed on his face.

      “It's a pleasure to meet you, young man. Eoin has told me wonderful things about you.” Luke walked forward, offering his hand to Pete.

      “But, how, how, what?” Pete absentmindedly took Luke's hand in a limp embrace, still staring incredulously at Eoin. He seemed to suddenly snap back to reality and took Luke's hand in a firmer grasp. “My apologies, I was taken off guard. It is an incredible honor to meet you sir, what was it you call yourself?” If Luke noticed the odd phrasing of the question, he did a masterful job of hiding it.

      “Luke Lee Smythe. And no apologies necessary, you remained incredibly composed, under the circumstances.” Pete seemed to giggle as Luke introduced himself.

      “Well,” He paused with his normal, amused grin back on his face, “Mr. Smythe, if there is anything that I can do for you; I am, as always, your humble servant.”

      “What the hell has gotten into you, Pete?” Eoin was completely taken aback by his friend's strange behavior. “Are you the same arrogant, displaced noble who I know and love? I didn't even know the word humble was in your vocabulary, at least not in a reflective sense.” Pete looked at Eoin, slightly confused but still grinning.

      “Even nobles have our superiors, if I refuse to acknowledge this, I am no better than some power hungry despot attempting to use my false ideals as a means to oppress people with no sense of order or dignity.”

      “Isn't that what you are?” Eoin loved mocking Pete's confusing and archaic politics. Pete wasn't bothered at all,

      “Come on, Robespierre; how do you gentlemen feel about Mexican people food?” Luke seemed incredibly amused as he followed Pete across the parking lot. Eoin couldn't tell if it was the rant or the slightly racist remark that delighted Luke so much but it was quite obvious that these two men approved of one another.

      The three companions ambled out of Pablo's Pandaria, full of food and carrying bags of leftovers. Pete managed to look debonair with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, talking nonstop, and taking wino style sips out of a bottle of Mexican soda.

      “You lads up for a ride in the currach? I'm sure it could hold three.”

      “Thank you for the kind offer, Peter, but after all of that fine food, I believe a knorr would be more appropriate. Perhaps Eoin and I shall take the bridge.” Luke cooly sidestepped the potential drowning with ease.

      “My next project is going to be a small river drakkr, I just need to find time and materia...” Pete's incessant chatter trailed off as he noticed flashing lights coming down the street. “It looks like the bridge may not be your best option, my friends; follow me.” He slyly veered their course back across the parking lot, walking quickly but not so fast as to attract attention. Eoin wore a worried expression,

      “I hate to be a burden, Pete, but isn't fleeing directly toward the crime scene a less than ideal plan?”

      “Trust me, I own this feckin town,” Pete gave a mad cackle, jumped, and clicked his heels together before leading them on. They arrived at a chain link fence and Pete casually pried apart a barely discernible break in the chain while ushering them through.

      They found themselves in a scraggly excuse for a woodlot behind four towering coal silos. Pete deftly led them through the tangle of underbrush and scattered debris, remnants from the city's industrial past.

      “Here we are.” He motioned to the second to last silo. Before Eoin could ask where exactly here was, Pete had scurried up the side of the silo and disappeared into a hole about ten feet off of the ground. Looking around, Eoin was able to deduce that the hole, from where Pete's beckoning face was now protruding, was originally the seat of a chute for loading coal into freight trains. He noticed old, worn railroad tracks covered in moss and garbage and located the chute as a twisted hunk of metal perched in the branches of a nearby tree. Luke grinned his usual grin and scampered up behind Pete. Eoin saw that their method of transport was a series of bolts securing the rebar supports of the structure, they stuck out just far enough to create tenuous hand and foot holds. He started up the same path as the others, albeit much slower and with a good deal more caution. Once he came on a level with the hole, he noticed that it was a good three feet over from their ascent path. As he considered how best to swing himself over and into the hole without crashing to his death, two arms emerged and dragged him into the silo.

      After recovering from his momentary panic, Eoin took in his surroundings. He was lying on his back on a floor of packed coal, the interior was somewhere around fifteen feet in diameter, above him was about forty feet of silo, open at the top with a long two by eight spanning all four silos, obviously the remnant of some sort of loading mechanism. Directly across from their makeshift entry was another opening with the chute still attached. The walls were covered with infantile graffiti, proclaiming that this was the territory of the Street Kings. Pete noticed Eoin's gaze,

      “Goddamn little shits put that up sometime last week. I really need to work on my extermination process.” He sprung up from his crouch above Eoin and walked over to the chute facing the river,   “Let's watch the resulting chaos from your little escapade.” Luke casually walked over to Pete's side and peered through the chute and Eoin scrambled up behind them. They were able to see the boat quite clearly, two police officers were walking up the dock. The first hopped on board the boat and began looking around, the second walked up to the old fisherman, still at the end of the dock, and began questioning him.

      “Shit, that old timer has the keys...” Eoin trailed off and looked at Luke, “When we got in the boat, you had hotwire it but at the dock, there were keys in the ignition; you tossed them to the fisherman. What the hell is going on?” Luke looked back at Eoin with a distracted gaze,

      “Hmmm? Is that so? Well I suppose you're right about that, how interesting. Now what do you think young Peter is getting up to?” Eoin started at this sudden change in topic and noticed that Pete was no longer in the silo with them; he was, in fact, darting across the lawn towards the boat. He ducked down and seemed to reach into some sort of grate and then glanced up at them. Eoin was sure he saw Luke give an imperceptible nod out of the corner of his eye but before he could turn, Pete was off again. He managed to get right next to the boat without attracting the attention of the police, pulled out a can of spray paint, and made a few swipes along the side of the boat. Luke looked up at us, “Well, hurry along now, better see what he's doing.” Eoin was about to jump through the chute before Luke grasped his shoulder firmly, “Not you, dear boy, not you.”

      Pete retreated from the boat, as quickly and silently as a Jackalope. He stowed the can in another storm drain and emerged onto the path. He arrived at the scene just as the elderly fisherman was proclaiming his innocence, “I was just sittin' here, mindin' my own when I hears the boat comin' up, real fast, too. And then they just jumped out and walked up the dock, two of 'em by the sounds of it.” The first police officer, a young black man with a friendly face, looked at the man skeptically,

      “How is it that you have the keys to the boat, sir?”

      “They gave 'em to me! Where d'ya think I'ma drive this boat to?” Pete noticed with a start that the man was blind with opaque, white eyeballs. He seemed to decide that this was a good time to step in. Breaking into a slight jog and taking on an halfway winded manner he called out to the policemen.

      “Excuse me officers, I assume you're here about the two men who stole the boat. I was eating lunch across the river and came over as soon as I saw you arrive.” Pete played the overly vigilant citizen perfectly, even going so far as to rest his hands on his knees while seeming to catch his breath.

      “Just who the hell are you?” The second police officer was your stereotypical cop, red faced, mustached, and slightly overweight.

      “Pete MacDonald, I work at the music store across the river. I was on my lunch break in the park when I saw the boat.” The officer's demeanor instantly became friendlier.

      “Alright, son, thanks for coming forward, what exactly did you see?”

      “Well, like I was said, I was eating my lunch across the river, halfheartedly watching this old timer fishing off the dock when all of a sudden, I heard a roaring. The boat came barreling down the river, straight toward the dam. Somehow they managed to hook a line to the dock and haul the boat in. There were two of them, they looked like they could have been teenagers, they were wearing clothes that were obviously expensive but intended to look 'street'; do you know what I mean?”

      The officers started to look almost dejected, “Sounds like a few kids that we're all too familiar with.” The first officer let out a tired sigh.

      “Would that be the Street Kings by any chance?” Pete's response evoked startled looks from both men.

      “How do you know about them?” The second officer asked suspiciously.

      “I don't really. I mean, I've seen their graffiti but I don't know them. It's just that their name is sprayed on the side of the boat.” Pete gestured at the barely dried paint. The policemen were muttering profanities, seemingly on the verge of beginning a round of the blame game.

      “When they got off the boat, they ran up the path towards campus. I wouldn't be surprised if they were still defacing the foot bridge; I know that's where a great deal of their 'work' is done.” Pete cut in quickly. All animosity seemed to flee from the two men as they decided that the younger cop would run up the path while the older man took the car to the other side of the foot bridge. They hastily thanked Pete and took off in their respective directions.

      “Hey!” The forgotten fisherman yelled to no one in particular, “Who's gonna help me back to my seat?” The officers looked imploringly at Pete. He smiled and motioned them to continue,

      “I would be happy to help you, sir.” The police thanked him again and were gone.

       As Pete held the man's arm, he quickly realized that no guidance was needed, the man was more capable of making his way down the dock than most people with two good eyes.

      “Thank you for intervening back there, m'boy.” All traces of street vernacular seemed to evaporate from the fisherman. “I assume you are with him?” Pete nodded. “And he is close by?”

      “In the coal silo behind us.”

      “Remember, young man, I cannot see, is he within earshot?” Pete smiled,

      “You may not have the use of your eyes, grandfather, but I highly doubt that impedes your vision. Why ask me questions to which you already know the answer?” The old man cackled, a dry, rasping sound,

      “I like you, to whom do you belong? You're not his, I think; similar traits but not as much malice. Who is it then? Is it Old Tree Fucker? I could see that.” Pete laughed and patted the old man on the back.

      “I do believe that may be the fairest translation I have heard to date, but alas, none have laid their claim on me.”

      “A pity, you are of the North so I have no rights. And one such as you would be wasted on such a minor being.” Pete smiled, he had no doubts that the old man knew every expression that crossed his face,

      “I am deeply honored, grandfather but tell me, who are you? I am not as familiar as I should be with the Southern ways and I fear that I do not know you.” A sad look crossed the old man's face,

      “Not many do these days, I am remembered only through the deeds of greater men. Mere mortals, but still greater men. But enough of reminiscing, I have a message for the little fox. Tell him that Tyrese says that the Road of the Fates is closed to him, he should take the Road of the Sun to see Hermes.” With that, the man, Tyrese, walked to the end of the dock, sat down, and cast his line into the water, muttering and laughing to himself. As Pete walked away from the dock, puzzling over Tyrese's riddle, he looked up at us,

      “Go on, now; although I am loathe to admit it, I am only a minor character in this story.”

      Standing in the coal silo, attempting to read Pete's lips, Eoin was growing increasingly frustrated with the self satisfied grin plastered on Luke's face.

      “What!? What do you know? Why are you smiling?” Luke gazed at Eoin, a distracted look on his face.

      “What's that, dear boy?”

      “What do you know that I don't know?” Luke seemed to slowly remember Eoin's presence as a look of slight bemusement replacing the distracted look of a moment before.

      “I...am not left handed!” A voice from above broke the awkward confusion. Luke erupted into a fit of laughter. Eoin looked up and saw Pete, forty feet up and precariously balanced on the two by eight.

      “Pete!” Eoin shouted in shock, “How the hell did you get up there?” Pete gave him a look of confused disdain.

      “Is that a trick question? I climbed. I have to be off, though; I can play about with the time clock but they're bound to notice my absence eventually. Come around to the store at closing, I have a message to deliver.” Luke nodded and smiled. Eoin interjected worriedly,

      “And the police? Are they coming back?” Pete raised himself from his squat and prepared to walk away.

      “Are you doubting my skills in the art of conversation? I sent them on a bit of an adventure, you should be fine for now.” Luke's voice stopped Pete just as he was beginning to depart.

      “Very impressive, are you one of mine?”

      “You know perfectly well that I am not.”
      “Tis a great shame.” Pete grinned at that and was off, running across the beam like a squirrel.

Chapter Six: The Last Homely House

      Eoin was still confused as to how the police neglected to search the under seat storage on the boat. Luke had attempted to explain that Pete had interrupted them before a proper search was done, but that didn't explain how their bags had sat in the storage, unmolested, for several hours. He looked around nervously as the three of them transferred the luggage from the boat into Pete's Blazer, idling in the large parking lot adjacent to the dock.

      “Why do those southerners feel the need to speak in such incomprehensible riddles?” Luke was saying to Pete as they worked.

      “He seemed to presume that you would work it out. And to be fair, when have you ever said anything directly?” Pete grinned playfully at Luke.

      “Oh come now, defending those degenerates? Would you prefer a goat or a young boy?”

      “I'm not quite sure. Will you be choosing a stonemason or a stallion?” Both men erupted into howls of laughter as Eoin confusedly brought the last bag to the car.

      “Hey Pete, are you sure that Wendy won't mind us stopping in?” A very troubled look crossed Pete's face but was quickly replaced by his usual manic grin.

      “Of course not! She'll be thrilled to see you, you're one of my only friends who she actually likes.” He started up the car and pulled away, music as strange and eclectic as Pete's personality blaring.

      Pete and Wendy, it turned out, lived quite close to the bus station where so much excitement had recently occurred. It was an older house, divided into apartments. There was a large red pickup truck parked in the driveway, they had to squeeze past it in order to get to the front door. Pete led the way, and just as he was about to walk past the truck, he unfolded a pocketknife and proceeded to run it along the side of the truck. “Don't mind your bags,” he grinned back at Eoin's horrified expression and Luke's amused chuckle. Eoin noticed several scratch marks lining the side of the truck as he carefully slid past.

      The best description of the interior was quaint; not the pejorative quaint, but the comfortable quaint which instantly makes you feel at home. The decorating was intriguingly archaic, almost a mix between a small European farmhouse and a university library. In the kitchen, drying herbs hung from a line running between cupboards, garlic hung from the window sills, and a small herb garden flourished above the sink. Cast iron cookware hung from a nifty pot holder and a pressure canner was neatly tucked in the corner of the stove. Maps, various coats of arms, and beautiful paintings lined the walls.           Walking into the living room, two things dominated your attention: books and instruments. Bookshelves lined every wall, a brief glance at the titles revealed a collection that would make any librarian drool. Every space not occupied by books was filled with a beautiful assortment of traditional instruments. There was no television to be found and the only sign of technology was a macbook resting on an end table and a stereo wedged between books on one of the shelves. Partially open sliding doors revealed a bedroom with a canopied bed, more bookshelves, and an easel with a partially painted canvass in the corner.

      “Did Wendy do these paintings?” Eoin asked in wonderment. He knew that Wendy was an artist but he had no idea how talented she was. Luke was examining the paintings with a studied eye.

“Perhaps young Wendy would be able to make sense of our mysterious message. She is obviously familiar with Southern nonsense in addition to our noble Northern ways.” Pete let out a laugh,

      “Xenophobe” he jovially accused.

      “And you aren't?” Luke smiled back, “now introduce us to your wife and allow her to serve us whatever is creating that wonderful smell.”

      They found Wendy in the yard, and what a yard it was. A large, wooden deck held several benches and a grill which obviously doubled as a fire pit, circumnavigating the city ordinance against bonfires. Against the deck was the first of the raised beds. Not your typical half foot flowerbeds, these were three foot deep, mini farm beds. Three quarters of the yard was taken up by these gigantic beds, separated into three gardens. All of the wonders of the yard were dwarfed, however, by the beautiful girl crawling through the garden and gathering salad mix in a bowl. Long, pale red hair outlined her porcelain skin and coordinated perfectly with her vibrant blue eyes. She smiled with a heart-stopping, innocent grin and stood up. If ever there was a woman who inspired ancient men to take up the brush, she was standing in front of the three men. The classic beauty, held so dear by the Greeks and Romans, was illustrated in each subtle movement of her near-perfect body.

      Before she could greet them, what looked like a gigantic black hellhound erupted from the edge of the yard. It briefly stopped at Pete's feet, sniffed him, and moved on to tackle Eoin to the ground. Eoin struggled with the great black beast, laughing and dodging dog kisses. “Cavall, get over here, you filthy hound!” Pete made a move to free Eoin from the giant dog. He needn't to have bothered, Cavall had already finished his greeting and was now carefully approaching Luke. “This is my child, Cavall.” Pete proudly introduced the dog to Luke. Luke smiled,

      “An apt name, he reminds me of someone I once knew.” Pete took Luke's hand and placed it in Cavall's grinning mouth. The dog looked confused for a moment, extracted his mouth from around the hand, and began to lick Luke's arm, gazing up at him with a friendly look. “I stand corrected.” Luke laughed good naturedly and scratched the happy creature behind the ears.

      As this exchange had been occurring, Wendy was approaching the three men. But before she came to the porch, she stopped in her tracks, staring at the man now petting her dog. Luke seemed to be the only person to notice her hesitation, he made eye contact with her and nodded in a most respectful manner. Eoin, oblivious to the strange interaction, walked up to her, giving her a warm hug and kissing her on the cheek. “Hey Wendy, sorry for barging in like this. How have you been?” Wendy managed to greet Eoin with heartfelt courtesy while delivering a glare to Pete that could only be described as a tolerant chide combined with an icy stare of death.

      “Don't worry about it, Pete; it's really great to see you. I've been great, how are you?”

      “Well it's been a wild few days but I'm actually doing quite well.” Luke had finished petting Cavall and was now standing next to Eoin. “Wendy, this is my...um...friend, Luke Lee Smythe; Luke, this is Pete's wife, Wendy.” Luke took Wendy's hesitantly outstretched hand in a grand yet delicate gesture, bowing and raising her upturned fingers within millimeters of his lips.

      “Madame, I am humbled and honored to make your acquaintance. Your home is charming to an level beyond categorization.” Pete ran up with Cavall close on his heels.

      “We're sheltering them on their journey, babes; I'm like Tom Bombadill!” She smiled tolerantly at him as he began to waltz along the porch with Cavall. Luke laughed,

      “I'm not sure about Tom Bombadill...” Pete stopped, mid waltz, “perhaps The Last Homely House might be a more apt comparison.” Pete's face lit up as he began discussing his elvish heritage with Cavall. Eoin had been listening to this interaction with a look of complete bemusement. Wendy noticed this and, knowing her husband would never explain an allusion, took pity on him.

      “It's from the Fellowship of the Rings,” blank stare, “Tolkien...”

      “Oh, I haven't read Tolkien.” Pete stared at him with a terrified expression,

      “I don't understand.”

      “I just never got around to reading him.”

      “I don't understand.” Pete repeated with a flat tone of absolute horror. Wendy glanced hopefully at Luke but he was watching with rapt amusement.

      “Come on, boys; I just gathered the salad and the pork roast is ready.”

      “I'm surprised you didn't figure it out, Mr. Smythe. It seems you may have spent too much time in retirement.” Wendy had warmed ever so slightly to Luke but she still maintained a wary suspicion, a somewhat palpable wary suspicion.

      Eoin had been studying the dining room. They were sitting around a large oak dining table which seemed to coin the style, Versailles-Farmhouse Chic. Surprisingly, this combination was more pleasing than most designs featured in catalogues. A Rembrandt etching hung beside victorian plant prints. An ornate wooden chest sat next to a homemade shelf holding grow lights and trays of seedlings—Pete had proudly declared that he had used his friend's sawmill to make the shelf “from a goddamn tree!”. Wendy's quick response when presented with their mysterious riddle brought him back from his mental meanderings.

      Pete looked at her in between devouring his third helping of perfectly prepared pork roast and root vegetables, “Tell us, darling; the suspense is killing us.” She shook her head at his almost-sarcastic dramaticism.

      “It's a reference to palm reading, the road of the fates is the fate line, right here—she indicated a line running up the center of her hand. And the road of the sun is right here—she indicated a line running up the edge of her hand, opposite her thumb.”

      “That's my wife, the witch; I'd burn her if she wasn't so good in bed. But what the shit is that supposed to mean?” Pete deftly dodged a playful blow from Wendy.

      “Ninety six.” The three of them looked at Eoin who had been sitting quietly through the entire exchange. Wendy smiled but the two men looked confused.

      “What did you count this time? See, I've always said he has some form of atypical autism.” Pete grinned playfully as he continued to bat back and forth with Wendy.

      “No, look where the lines are located. The palm represents Michigan, the fate line is roughly where 127 is and the sun line is...

      “Ninety six, well done, dear boy! I am surprised at myself. Thank you for your help, my dear; you are truly a gem.” This last comment earned Luke an appreciative smile from Wendy.