Dead Chicago- chapters 1 and 2

                        (Here it is world. I'd like to apologize for the many
                          errors contained in this draft. They will be dealt with
                          severely in my next re-write. Enjoy.)


CHAPTER 1

November 7th 2074, 10:00 P.M.

“Twisted back, delicate trail. Set back, Set back. Has the curse broken your soul?  Set back, Set back. Fate shall stall you unfortunate one. Set back, Set back. Your conscience is calling. Is any one home?”  Her gilded lips mouthed the words and painted eyes stared unblinking from her almond face.
 
  The woman's un-timely chant sent prickles of paranoia down Mortis Long's spine. Was she casting a hex on him? He had good reason to be superstitious and the stranger seemed to be directing the queer dictate specifically to him.  He looked for a sign she was massing spiritual energy but only found the mood tattoos, framing her face, reorganizing into the image of a rose vine blooming red blossoms.

  He almost laughed when he realized she was stoned and reciting lyrics to the song playing through the nightclub's sound system... something about an avocado rind... she didn't know the rest of the lyrics and started to hum along to what must have been a raging bass line.   

  Mortis stared through the curved wall of the Acropolis night club's sound dampening booth. The dance floors were dotted with them. Plexi-domed islands where friends gaggled, lovers played and an extortionist prepared to work.

  Inside the booth storming techno-funk was still audiable but Mortis was oblivious to the noise. He couldn't hear sound. What he heard were thoughts. Thoughts broadcast like radio waves from the minds of raving mod-dancers. A multitude of altered mental states clamored in his head like overlapping stations on the old AM dial.

  Tuning through the crowd  he searched for the mind of one particular man and found him. Tyrone Freely's thoughts were angry and shouted across the sea of gyrating bodies. They were the savage thoughts of a fighter preparing his psyche before stepping into the ring.

  Tyrone was one of Ultra-Boxing's rising stars. The sport had no restrictions on gene or hormone enhancements, making it's athletes paragons of human, physical potential. He was a titian amidst a crowd of mortals.

  Mortis listened closely as Tyrone wadded toward the booth. “Ah. There it is .” Behind the howling rage. It was there; self doubt, insecurity. “That's what I need to hear." Mortis hissed to himself.

  Mortis straightened his tie and tugged the expensive cufflinks out of the sleeves of his tailored gray silk suit. Unconsciously performing his own pre-fight ritual.

  The booth's door opened and the music hammered in making brandy dance in Mortis's glass. He watched the bass beat ripple the liquor. It was as close to feeling the music he could come. 

  The door slammed and the pounding became a distant mesh of thumping rythms. Tyrone slipped into the couch opposite Mortis. He met eyes with the older man. “Your Mr. Black.” It was an accusation, not a question.

  Mortis said nothing. He only tapped at the table between them and lifted the brandy to his lips. The table flickered with light and mirrored video images displayed on each side. Usually, these tables entertained patrons with social games, or facilitated internet tele-dating but Mortis was more interested in it's "play private video" function.

  The machine loaded from a data stick and twin images of Tyrone Freely ripping the blouse from a terrified young woman flickered across the screens. Tyrone's image grunted and threw the woman onto a bed.

  Mortis tapped the pause icon. Crystalline images of Tyrone holding the woman down by her throat and clawing at her panties glowed on the table."We can watch it all or just the highlight reel. You already know how the rest goes." Mortis's said in a matter of fact tone that was almost playful.

  Tyrone's nostrils flared with anger but fear iced in the man's veins. "This is bull." He spat hotly. "I didn't rape that girl. We met in the hotel bar. She's freaky. We where only playing out her fantasy."

  Mortis liked Tyrone's quick defense. The boxer thought he was dealing with an angry husband or maybe the police. It hadn't occurred to him the girl was not an amorous fan. This would hit hard. "Oh I know Mr. Freely. I hired Kelly to seduce you. She really was quite talented don't you think?" Mortis admired the images like a work of art. "She told me how you tried to resist her. Very noble. It might interest you to know she enjoyed the challenge."

  Tyrone rubbed his eyes, suddenly realizing why there was a video recording. "Just setting me up huh?"

  "I certainly am."  Mortis sat his glass back on the table. "It's really very simple. You loose tomorrow nights fight or I send copies of this to the press and the Las Vegas district attorney."

  Tyrone dropped his massive hand glaring hatefully at Mortis. "No. I wont throw the match. Besides, there's no such thing as bad publicity and when the D.A talks to this girl; this whole lie will unravel."

  "Actually when the Las Vegas D.A. tries to talk to this girl..." Mortis paused for maximum effect. "...She... will find how Kelly disappeared the same night she went to your hotel room. This will lead the prosecution to a carefully laid trail of evidence, designed to implicate you in homicide. I don't know how long this will interfere with your career but it will definitely effect your shot at the title." Mortis felt Tyrone's thoughts backpedal for a firm place to stand. "As far as publicity is concerned, your bluffing. You have a young daughter that means the world to you. I think you would do anything to protect her. I think it's worth this match to spare her the humiliation of being daughter to a famous murderer and rapist." 

  Mortis listened to Tyrone's thoughts . That last jab hit home. Now he would set up for the knock out "Just loose this one match. You'll get a rematch. I go away. Your life goes on. Think about it. I'm sure you'll realize it's the best thing to do."

  Tyrone bit his lip fuming but dropped his stare.

  Timing was critical to braking Tyron's will and Mortis recognized the moment. He stood and stepped onto the throbbing dance floor leaving Tyrone to contenplate his own image.

  A young man dressed in a chauffeurs uniform and small mask covering just around his eyes, fell in step with Mortis . Mortis didn't fully understand the costumes meaning but it brought smiles from young ladies as they passed. The mans name was Jimmy Chen and as the uniform implied, he was Mortis's driver. 

  "So boss? How did our friend take the news?" Jimmy asked without speaking a word.

  Mortis projected his thought-voice to Jimmy. "He's taking things just the way I hoped."

  "So he's ready to roll over?" 

  "No, not yet. Tyrone's a real fighter. He's examining his options and looking for an opening." 

  Some woman dancing on the floor made a mask shape on her face with her fingers and shouted something inaudible. Jimmy returned a smile and shot her, his "your the one" hand gesture.

  "Ever hear the word; unobtrusive?" Mortis suggested.

  "I'm hiding in plain sight boss. There's at least three other guys and a girl dressed just like me, here tonight."

  Mortis suffered from more than the usual generation gap. He probably wouldn't understand so he didn't ask. 

  "So what's Tyrone going to do now?" Jimmy asked.

  They reached the exit, where Jimmy stepped through and held the door. Mortis paused at the threshold and looked back to the booth with Tyrone Freely still sitting where he had left him. 

  "Right now" Mortis answered. "Mr. Freely is reviewing the voice recorder he used during our conversation."

  Mortis and Jimmy exited the club into an alley. They passed a couple of party go'ers talking with the door guard and smoking cigarettes. 

  "That's a bummer for him, considering you don't really have a voice. This telepathy thing of yours is going to be real frustrating for him. What do you think Tyrone would say if he knew you could read his mind?"

  "Let you in on little secret Jimmy. I can't read minds. I just hear peoples thoughts. There's a big difference."


  Tyrone Freely replayed his memo recorder for the second time. The one sided conversation twisted his face into a snarl and He smashed the useless box on the table.

  Snatching the data-stick, he leapt from the booth and scanned along in the direction "Mr. Black" had gone. He found the man mocking him from an exit door. Tyrone plunged through the crowd scattering bodies on his way. "I'm going to finishing this now." He decided and set to make good on his intention.


  Parked on a lonely stretch of alley a 2073 Rolls Royse, Phantom, Executive sedan, glimmered under the November moon. The car came in only one color, "Mercury Concerto" . A light bending chromium mixture that swirled in different shades as it passed by.

  Jimmy keyed the remote, unlocking the Phantom and wasted no time slipping behind the wheel.

  "Just stay there." said Mortis

  "Nooo problem." Jimmy replied looking back down the alley at Tyron's intimidating shape, closing on them like a bull dozer.

  Tyron's angry footfalls caught them.  "We're not through talking Mr. Black."

  Mortis turned to face the voice. Tyrone Freely was the up and coming Ultra-Boxer of his time. A sport that blended a dozen martial arts into the bloodiest spectacle ever broadcast on satellite. Against another fighter Tyrone was dangerous. Against anyone else he was deadly. In a different time Mortis would have been sure to avoid this confrontation but right now he needed it to happen. 

  Tyron's left eyebrow raised and his gaze fell squarely on Mortis. With a deep breath the prize fighter reared back his powerful arm and smashed his face into the smaller man's face.
 
  Mortis's head rocked back with a crack that should have broken the his jaw; but he bobbed forward again with a look of indifference.  A second fist crashed into the calm face and again the blackmailer rebounded unruffled.

  Mortis's hand snapped around the steroid rippled meat of the fighter's throat. He Tightened his grip and the frail, middle aged man hoisted three hundred pounds of Ultra-Boxer with unnatural ease.

  Tyrone struggled. Punches and kicks that had dropped bigger men blunted against this opponent who held him like a steel vise. His  breath steamed into the air for frantic seconds and was then cut off. His heartbeat pounded in his ears  and lack of oxygen began to fade his vision. Mortis held him a moment longer before letting him collapse to the ground. 

  Tyrone sat in the cold alleyway dizzy and coughing. His senses returned enough to realize the back door of the glittering car had opened and "Mr. Black" had stepped inside.

  Mortis gave Tyrone a unsympathetic stare. "Think about it. It's the best thing to do." and tossed a photograph at Tyron's feet. The door closed and the hydrogen burning twelve cylinder whooshed away.

  It took a minute for Tyrone's vision to clear. He found himself looking at a picture of his daughter. His gaze fixed on the youthful face. Staring into her eyes, Tyrone Freely lost the first fight of his career.


  A few blocks away Jimmy looked at Mortis in the rear view mirror. Mortis was taking a hand vacuum and a hose attachment from a console in front of him.

  Jimmy said aloud. "That really went to the plan. I wish everything went so smooth."

  Mortis fumbled with the vacuum, attaching the long skinny hose. "Come on Jimmy I know how you love to improvise." The dark slicked back hair of Mortis's head shrank and paled white. His rounded features morphed becoming angular and his brown eyes turned gray.

  "Do you think Tyrone is ready to throw the fight yet?"

  "Oh he'll throw it all right." Mortis's thought-voice rang with pride. “When we left he felt completely helpless. Without options and scared. He's so rattled he couldn't win if he wanted to. It's a good thing too."

  Mortis tipped back his head. Then like a sword swallower thrust the vacuum hose down his throat. He switched it on and began sucking out the brandy he'd drank earlier.

  The noise made Jimmy glances into the mirror. "I love working with you boss but sometimes you really creep me out."

CHAPTER 2

  Mortis stared passed his reflection in the car window. They sped away from the Acropolis and rounded the corner onto Central's main strip. A three story laser lit sign marched brilliant letters across a background of raining hundred dollar bills. "Try it. You'll like it." The billboard proclaimed and radiated in electric gold and red. "The Historic Sears Tower Casino " The logo faded away and was replaced with a beautiful man and woman, in skimpy swim wear, serving martinis. Just one of a hundred signs competing for attention on the strip. 

  Jimmy switched the Phantom from hydrogen to electric drive, picking up current from transmission rails imbedded in the street. Clean nuclear, provided cheap, efficient power for auto's on all the main streets and freeways. Mortis noticed the drive light flicker from red to green. H-E cars had replaced the gas guzzlers of his day. Petroleum was as dead as the dinosaur... as dead as himself.

  Mortis's contemplation was interrupted by an excited announcement from the front seat. "I'm going to buy the baddest Hi-Fi upgrade for my "screen"... Jimmy went on but Mortis tuned out Jimmy's prattle. They had placed bets all over town and now with the fight fixed, the young chauffeur was deciding how to spend his winnings. 

  Mortis turned his attention inward and allowed himself to gloat. Tyrone’s enhanced body had been no match for Mortis's guile. Guile. Mortis churned the word over in his mind. Insidious cunning in obtaining goals; artful in deception; knowing exactly which button to push. He gave himself a pat on the back. 

  Despite instructions, He had neither killed Kelly nor abducted Tyrone's daughter. He felt that sort of base thuggery beneath him. Trickery, on the other hand, had admirable qualities. His cleverness began to intoxicated him but was quickly pushed out. A dire compulsion replaced it and tugged sickly at his inner being. It bayed him -report to your master- in the way drug addiction called others to the bottle or crack pipe. He hadn't done exactly as told and if he wasn't careful there'd be hell to pay.

  The Phantom slipped down Franklin street to the expressway, turned west and pointed into the darkness across Interstate 90 were the metropolitan lights ended. 

  They had crossed into "Dead Chicago". Everything west of the I-90 for a thirty six mile from down town fell under that grim namesake. A void in the lamp lit tapestry of nighttime Illinois. Elevated freeway's sped over the ghost city and connected Central to the rest of the world but the expanse of streets and buildings inbetweeen was avoided because of the plauge. 

  The magnitude of the disaster was shocking. Back in 2031; something killed four million of Chicago's citizens in thirty hours. Some blamed a virus in the water. Others the new "Clean" nuclear power plants but no one knew for sure. The effected area had been in quarantine until just two years ago and there was still no explanation for what had happened. Evangelist claimed it was the end of the world but it wasn't. It was just the end of Chicago.

  Central's simulated neon drizzled across the Phantoms trunk while headlights cut into the darkness. The hydrogen motor leapt to life as they left the Eisenhower expressway and sped south on Ogden avenue, passing through an open gate and a covered quarantine sign. The Phantom cut diagonally through empty urban canyons strewn with abandoned automobiles half a century old. The infrastructure was still intact and occasional electric lights flickered from the windows of an intrepid homesteader. The sidewalks were always empty and traffic was all but non existent. Traffic signals hung dormant over the intersections, inanimate relics of a forgotten past.

  They pulled up to a red brick five story. An odd three sided building. The result of being crammed against Ogden's diagonal border. Years ago a concerned citizens group had forced the developer to include a bronze placard on the building. It memorializing the site as the last piece of Dougless Park to be paved over.

  Jimmy keyed his remote and a garage door lifted beside the bronze placard. “Home sweet home.” Jimmy said and the phantom rolled into it's garage. He popped out of the car and accessed the garage level thin-screen computer.

  Bars over the windows were only the first line of defense. The old building had been fit with electronic surveillance and active deterrents. Electrified floor tiles and tear gas canisters buried in the walls were the least exotic of it's defenses. It took more than a minute to unlock the house for safe entry. It was Jimmy's system. No one better than a thief to keep out thieves.
 
  The elevator reflected the triadic geometry of it's surroundings; ascended the center of the building in a three sided shaft. It stopped to let Jimmy on the third floor. "Get a good sleep. Tomorrows the big day." Mortis said as the elevators gate closed.
 
  He reached the top and pushed the emergency stop, effectively locking the elevator. The flat was an open floor divided only by the elevator shaft, sporadic structural bracing and sparse furnishings clustered in the corners.
 
  The wall clock read 11:57. The tugging persisted in his guts and beaconed him to a leather couch in one of the corners. He sank into the lush upholstery, balanced against an oak the coffee table. He laid down.
 
  He momentarily fixed on the crystal sphere centered on the table. The object was inherently fascinating. A quality derived from it's mystic nature. Mortis wished he could use it now but the tugging insisted upon a personal appearance.   
 
  He became as still and unmoving as a child's doll. His chest did not heave with breath nor eyes blink and the living glow drained from his body. His hair and skin seemed to evaporate and where once laid a man was a brown clay statue in Mortis's cloths. It's features impersonal as a store front mannequin and etched from head to toe with lines of tiny mystic symbol.   
 
  Mortis had transcended and his sole floated above his golem shell; the artificial bodie that alowed him to reside among the living and bound him to his master.
 
  The out of body experience was always confusing. Gravity disappeared and the physical world became blurry without eyes. It was like looking through a pool of murky water.
 
  He shook off his disorientation and sank invisibly through the floor. He passed through Jimmy's apartment where the young man glowed a vibrant blue like he'd been painted by one of Central's casino signs. His mortal aura danced around the blurry gray room.
 
  Mortis continued through the building. Passing the auras of nesting rats. He sank through the garage floor into a chamber buried beneath the Dougless park Building.
 
  Here an ominous aura hid from the mortal world. A idol twice the size of a man brazed with black fire. A sculpted  nude hell queen posed on a throne her legs spread wide. A voluptuous shape with a broad smiling face and Bull horns protruding from her forehead. Her throne a thing conjured from teeth, tentacle and smoke. 
 
  The tugging drew him between the hell queens knees to the lips of her birth canal and absorbed him into it's black flames. Momentarily Mortis felt the sensation of being a pinpoint. Then suddenly he was there. His surroundings no longer blurred. In contrast they were vivid and surreal.
 
  He was on the spirit plain. floating over an orchard of leafless apple trees. A hundred identical trees with identically placed red apples perfectly spaced in a field of tall apple red grass. The sky was simply black. no stars, no sun, but white wispy clouds floated above him, and everything was illuminated from every direction. Casting no shadows.
 
  The spirit plain can be like that. Mortis thought. It's appearance was the product of the combined perceptions and desires of the spirits present. So much of it was influenced by the subconscious that Mortis couldn't say what part he played in the scene.
 
  There was no up, down left or right, but the tugging gave a sense of direction. He followed it drifting toward the horizon. Flying over the orchard he saw a solitary entity. A man snoozing
against a tree in the middle of the orchard.
 
  He crossed the boundary of the black sky and became surrounded by it's ink. Faint stars appeared like June bugs floating around him. Definitely my influence He thought. This was indeed a lonely stretch of the spirit plain and that was no accident.
 
  Presently a dimly lit building with a marble dome and Greek columns came into view. It looked like a Athenian temple floating on a lake of black water.
 
  As Mortis touched down on it's steps, his misty presence solidified. He made his body from a blue business suit with black shoes and gloves that floated at the end of his sleeves without wrists. His head became an egg shaped opal with the pointed end for a chin and hovered above his shoulders. 
 
  Mortis stepped over protective glyphs and entered the temple. Inside was single room much larger than the exterior. It was dressed in the trappings of a modern executive board room. A long rectangular table at it's center.
 
  Three other specters wearing various guises sat about the table waiting. Mortis recognized two but the third was new. He took his seat. The other spirits paid him no attention but watched the elevated high back chair the head of the table.
 
  A clock mounted in the top of the chair ticked toward midnight. The clock started to chime and a mist formed about the head chair. As each bell rang the mist condensed. On the twelfth chime Sabatha solidified, a beautiful red skinned demoness.
 
  She did not wear the robust horns of her idol. Instead delicate appendages sprouted like small gazelle antlers swirling from her brow. Silky black curls framed her broad face and she wore a fantastic gown draping from her neck past her feet to the board room floor. Mortis and the others bowed to there master.
 
  A large very pleasant smile stretched across her face and a sickly sweet voice dripped from her lips. “Well gentle men. Thank you for coming. As you are well aware tomorrow is a big day for our organization, when many long laid plans will come to foal. But before we proceed I wish to introduce to you a member who has been on long term assignment for me.”  She gestured to the entity guised as an Arabic skeleton. "This is Mr. Bloodletter." Overlarge canine teeth flashed through her smile lending her a predatory aspect. “Mr. Bloodletter. Would you kindly appraise the board of your recent success?”
 
  The turban wrapped skeleton stood. “For one hundred seventy three years I have wander the earth at the behest of our master. I am most pleased to inform you that after a long search I have uncovered a priceless treasure of incalculable power and am now able to bring that power to the glory of our master." Then abruptly sat down.
 
  Mortis guarded his thoughts. As usual, any information at these meetings was ambiguous at best. Sabatha wouldn't allow them to be too specific at these meetings. He understood why there collaboration was so restricted of course. To give away information was to give away power. These meetings were to show how much power Sabatha had and they did not.
 
  Sabatha's grin momentarily stretched to the point of distorting her face. "That does please me MR. Bloodletter! Good job indeed. I shall have to buy you a present."
 
  Sabatha's sugary voice dripped onto the table as she addressed the board. “I won't bother you with the details of Mr. Bloodletter's find but I do want to exclaim the value of his accomplishment. He has recovered for us a weapon of great power it will be instrumental in meeting the goals of our organization.”
 
  By not boring us you mean: don't want us to know. Mortis thought quietly. and you've never revealed the goals of the organization.   
 
  Sabatha shifted her gesture to the red cloaked specter. "Mr. Sheldon?"
 
  Sheldon spieled on like a politician. "I have the blueprints ready and have found suppliers for the materials. I only await delivery for the construction to begin...." he made promises without loosing deniability and showered Sabatha with complements. These speeches bored Mortis and he tuned them out. The architect was continuously building one thing or another for his queen. Mortis suspected Mr. Sheldon had construction the Dougless Park building along with the hidden chamber and the Idol of Sabatha. Kiss ass. He thought.
 
  Sheldon finally concluded and Sabatha turned her gaze across the table to the silver headed ghost. "Mr. Sanchez, are you ready for tomorrows meeting? 
 
  "Yes mistress." The zombie reported. "I have assembled a fine team. Once provocation is given I'll be able to enact a swift coupe.
 
  Mr. Sanchez was always brief and Mortis was glad for it even though it would be his turn to report next. He needed to inform MR. Sanchez of what to expect without being too specific. Mortis knew a little more about Sanchez than Sheldon. It had been his job to support Mr. Sanchez's goals before. 
 
  "Good." Sabatha said. "I have given Mr. Bloodletter instructions. He will be joining your party." 
 
  Sabatha’s gaze fell on the opal headed spirit. "Mr. Long how does your department stand?"
 
  "Things are proceeding flawlessly. I have extorted our pawn and am ready to proceed with the incrimination plot against the primary target." This is like a bad spy movie. Mortis thought to himself. “The target will fall from trust during there monthly... ritual. A turn of bad luck will provide opportunity for Mr. Sanchez to move forward." 
 
  Sabatha seemed pleased enough. "Good Mr. Long. You know how I'm counting on you." The demoness vanished from her chair and instantly reappeared next to Mortis. "So you have the girl?"
 
  Mortis snapped to face her. She knows. Mortis rattled with fear but tried to projected confidence “After studying our...pawn... It became clear that abducting the girl would only provoke his instinct to fight back. That would make him unpredictable and a danger to our plan. It was necessary to apply alternate tactics to guarantee success."
 
  Sabatha grasped his chin and stared into the eyeless opal “So you where taking initiative to correct a problem. Not intentionally disobeying me?”
 
  Mortis knew she didn't believe him. “Of course. I would take any action necessary to see your will done.”
 
  Sabatha’s free hand poised above the place Mortis would have had an eye and soft human flesh grew there. A single, blinking, human eye. Mortis could only watch as her long finger nails dipped into the edge of his eye socket and cupped his eyeball. She pulled the organ slightly from away from it's intended place and intense pain shot along an optic nerve he didn't posses.
 
  Sabatha's tone never lost it's sugar coating. “Well. I'm glad to see your so dedicated MR. Long. It would be a very disappointing setback if any thing went wrong.” She released his eye but the pain persisted.
 
  “Well people.” Sabatha was suddenly seated back at the head of the table “I think that concludes our business for now. I'll be in contact with you individually. Meeting adjourned.”