I – Working Late at Night
At three am in the morning, I sat at my desk, massaging a nasty petabyte of data. Late at night because the NSLIC computer I had borrowed time from worked faster when sane people slept. The Democratic National Committee asked for a skew on existing statistics supporting their declaration: “The majority of Americans, regardless of political affiliation, approve the current administration.”
Freelance Data Analytics. Mine is not an admirable profession. It pays the electric bill. I contemplated yet another cup of coffee. I thought, for the hour, my task, and my sanity, a bolt of Bourbon would have been better.
Suddenly, I was no longer at my desk. Nor was I walking to the kitchen for coffee.
II – How the Hell?
Without benefit of fresh coffee, I found myself in a train station. DC? Baltimore? NYC? Grand Platte? It was deserted, unusual even at this hour. Except for maybe, Grand Platte. Platforms exposed to unfriendly weather looked out across tracks glistening silver for the oppressive dampness they’d scraped-off a slithering pre-dawn fog.
Normally, I’m not easily rattled. I’ll admit, in this case, I was. Rattled. A bolt of Bourbon would have been comforting. Hoping the damp I felt was only the thick fog, I looked around.
At the far end of the platform, a figure crouched close to the ground. For the distance, the dark, the fog, and my confusion as to why or how the hell I got there, I couldn’t say for sure if he, or it, was examining something or bent-over mid-retch, eliminating all-night bender residuals.
III – Rocks for Brains
Okay. Sometimes, I’ve the common sense of a Taylor Swift groupie. I walked across the platform toward the crouched figure.
Drawing near, I could see it was a man, not a lump. It was moving. Slowly, deliberately, but moving, arms and torso mostly. As I was within ten feet, it stood. It seemed a man, wearing a cowboy-style duster. Black, the duster, for either the dark of night, the damp of fog, or because it was in fact, black. Seeing neither Duster’s face nor hands, I couldn’t immediately make a prejudiced determination of Duster’s ethnicity. He, let’s call him “he,” had been examining two figures stretched-out on the platform deck. Lifeless figures, or two doing a damned good imitation of lifeless.
A station lamp at the end of the platform discovered it was dark and tried to flicker to life. It failed miserably, blinking twice, then giving up. Close enough then and for the miserable lamp’s effort, I saw the prone figures were prone for having lost a lot of blood. Or they’d slipped after stepping into a bloody pool already there and were waiting to be helped to their feet by the man in the duster.
IV – Not Getting Any Smarter
I cleared my throat. It was that or wet myself or run. Wet pants would have provided brief relief. I wasn’t sure my legs could manage a run. Or even a trot. Clearing my throat was meant to suggest I had no fear of the situation. That was a lie I did not subscribe to.
“Do you need help here?” I asked. Reflecting, that had to rank in the top five all-time stupid questions.
Facing away from me, still looking at the two actors, one face down, one supine half-lying across the other, Duster turned in my direction only slightly and swiveled his head to look at me.
If Duster was human, he was in dire need of cosmetic surgery. Most striking were his eyes, nickel-sized lumps of cherry red coal sunk into otherwise empty black sockets, splotchy grey skin streaked with rivulets of sweat, no nose that I remember, and a jolly roger smile baring nothing but canines, up and down.
“About time you got here,” reverberated a voice from the bottom of a deep well. As he spoke his features softened, became Mister Hohum Everyday, replete with Nordic nose. In a voice removed from the bottom of a well shaft, Duster added, “I sent for you ten minutes ago.”
Who Are You?
I took a step back. I think that understandable. “You sent for me?” I asked.
“How do you think you got here? You remember a cab? You drove? Your girlfriend dropped you off?”
“It’s been a long night. A lot of long nights.”
“Well, when you’re about the Devil’s work…”
“Democrats”.”
“Tomato, tomahto.”
“Okay. Neat trick. Drugs maybe. Who are you?”
“Who do you think?
“I’m hoping a damned good actor.”
“Not a chance. I am what you think. I am the Devil. That bother you?”
“Not much. I’ve been dealing with a lot lately. With impossibilities.”
“Oh. Good. But I assure you, I’m not impossible. Very real, indeed.”
“You killed these two?”
“Nah. And that’s the problem. More or less.”
“Howzzat?”
“These unfortunates were stolen from me.”
“What does that even mean?”
“They died before they were scheduled.”
The half-hearted lamp tried again. Its brief flicker showed both corpses complete only because intact neck bones and tattered neck muscles managed to keep heads attached to torsos. A thick pool of blood, black in the darkness, surrounded them.
VI – And Why Am I Here?
“Scheduled?”
“Sure. You’re a contractor. I’m a contractor. I buy the goods. When it’s time for delivery I show up. According to schedule.”
“These are the ‘goods’?”
“Exactly. Damaged in this case.”
“Obviously.”
“Not their souls, but as it is, technically too late for harvest.”
“Harvest?”
“Souls.”
“You harvest souls? Oh, the Devil. Yeah, that works. Um, what’s too late?”
“Very busy lately, Tight schedule. Drop a soul too soon, out of sequence, I can’t be there to close the deal. Soul goes off to arbitration. Costs me. Happening too often lately. Something’s up. I’m going to put a stop to it.”
“So, unh, why am I here?” I asked, which when you think on it, was a reasonable question.
“I want your help.”
“My help?”
“You analyze demographics, right?”
“Technically, just data. But yes. Working a contract now for the Democratic…”
“Yeah, yeah. I got that. If you can manufacture truth out of properly confused facts, given a chance to work honestly you should be able to do the job in a flash.”
“Job?”
“Right. Analyze where all these unfortunate breaches are taking place.”
“Breaches?”
“Premature deaths.”
“Wouldn’t call these premature. I mean losing that much blood, it is blood, right? Would pretty much say it’s time to die.”
“Not scheduled, these particular ones for three weeks.”
“There’s that scheduled thing again. I don’t follow.”
“Look, it’s all according to plan. A schedule. When. Not necessarily how, but when.”
“So, these two were, um, early?”
“Exactly.”
“And what’s he harm? I mean, if you’re not one who gets cheated out of three weeks?”
“Look. Time comes, I have to be right there to collect souls. I’m not, I lose them.”
VII – Where is the camera?
“Okay. Let’s go through this. You’re the Devil?”
“Right.”
“I don’t smell any sulfur. No horns. No tail.”
“Stupid characterizations. Tail is for formal affairs. I’m working.”
“I’m a disbeliever.”
“Haven’t you seen enough?”
“Probably a bad dream. I’m probably in the office asleep at my desk.”
“Odd. You believe in Democrats and Republicans.”
“Oh, they’re real enough. Scary enough, too.”
“You want scary? How’s this for real?” With that, Duster Devil stepped away from the two unfortunates. The one rolled off the other, both sat up, placed their arms on the platform and pushed as if to stand up, their nearly unattached heads banging against their chests.
“Okay! Enough.”
The unfortunates collapsed onto the platform. “So. You ready to deal?”
“Deal?”
“You scratch me, I scratch you.”
“That’s not the whole of it, I don’t think.”
“Must be something you need. Or want.”
“All right. Where are the cameras hidden?”
“No joke. Pardon the pun, but deadly serious here.”
“You’re with the RNC to put me off my current project?
“Nope.”
“You want to make a deal with me? You want me to deal with the Devil?”
“Not, despite all bad press, not always a bad thing.”
VIII – Party of the First Part
Best, I thought, to humor this apparition, this nightmare or reaction to something I snorted ten years ago returning in my run-down condition to haunt.
“So, you need to know who is dying, when?” I asked.
“Pay attention, Dummy. I know who and I know all the supposed to be whens.”
“The missing piece, then?”
“I need to find out who is behind this. They’re messing with my schedule. Throwing-off my quotas.”
“You piss someone off?”
“Yes.”
“Who? Um, no, never mind. Okay, tell me.”
Despite the every Tom, Dick, and Harry-ness of his features Duster managed a bone-chilling sinister grin and matter-of-factly said, “Everyone.”
“Of course. But I have no idea who…”
“No, no, no. ‘Who’ won’t be obvious.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“This has been going on for about a year. Getting worse. Break down mortality rates for this year compared to last year. See what pops up. Find me changes in mortality patterns. What’s all-of-a-sudden not normal. You find something, let me know. Knowing who is being targeted, I can put my finger on who is behind it all.”
With the word ‘finger’, a slender index finger aimed at my nose. I expected that finger to be skeletal given past SFX, but it was from what I saw in the dark, quite normal.
“You think it’s socio-ethnic?” I asked.
“That or a demographic beyond the obvious – religion, politics, shoe size, gender, book club membership, mortal proclivity – is being singled-out for vulnerability or availability.”
“Two years huh? What would I be looking for?”
“You’re the data miner. You find the anomaly.”
“And if I can’t find anything?”
“Then it’s back to me and I’m dealing with supernaturals.”
“Supernaturals?”
“Demigods, demons, like that.”
“Suspect that’s who you’re looking for anyway.”
“Suspect you’re right.”
“I’ll need reliable data. Two stiffs don’t constitute a demographic sample. Certainly not for two years.”
“Got it covered. Not to worry.”
IX – Party of the Second Part
I was ready for an alarm clock or a full bladder to wake me from that dream. Nothing happened. I ventured to ask, “Um. I see what you’re after.”
“Good.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Eh?”
“Deal with the Devil. What do I get?”
“If you’re successful, whatever you believe your heart desires.”
“And if I’m not?”
“Focus on the positive. Thinking otherwise destroys your incentive.”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really. What do you want?”
“Dunno. Not at the moment.”
“Don’t be coy. Success with an old flame? Opportunity to play with a lot of flames? Fame? Fortune?”
“Just don’t know now.”
“Oh. Altruism, eh? So many have convinced themselves that’s who they…”
“Just don’t know. Does it really make any difference?”
“Does in your case, I guess.”
“Why?”
“One. I came to you. Two. You don’t covet anything enough to cross from innocent desire to mortal sin. Not yet.” Duster snickered. “Three, if you don’t petition for something, you’re not accountable later.”
“Oh. That’s cheery. Like we’re all doomed.”
“Mortals? Facts are facts. As you well know. Bend them. Hide them. Ignore them. They’re still facts.”
“No deal then?”
“No. We have a deal. I need this.”
“I can ask later?”
“No. That’s blackmail. You cannot blackmail me. Notables have tried.”
“Like who?”
“Irrelevant. Trust me.”
“Trust the Devil?”
“No choice in the matter really. I’ll surprise you. We’ll work with reason number three. Minimum culpability.”
X – Striking a Deal
“We have a deal then?” Duster grinned. I would like to admit it was a decidedly sinister smile. It’s my mortality speaking but I sensed resignation.
“Against better judgement, yes. Not like I have a choice?”
“You’ve a choice, so to speak, but your options are none at all good.”
“That’s swell.” Stupidly, I stuck out my hand to shake.
“Can’t do that,” said Duster, shaking his head. A bead of sweat trickled off the tip of his nose. His jaw was set as if grinding his teeth.
“Why not?”
“Further obligates you. In ways you’ve not agreed. ‘Shook hands with the Devil.’ Damns your soul.”
“It’s not already damned? I mean, I’ve committed.”
“You have an arguable defense.”
“Defense?”
“Backed into a corner. Were left no good choice. As is, damned, but for there being only bad choices, not damned. An eternal conundrum. Left to be argued at judgement.” Duster smiled. Not a grin. Not a smirk. Almost a polite smile.
“Lesser of two evils?”
“Dealing with me, everything is lesser.” Duster’s smile became a wincing moue. “If, while you research, you need me, just ask.”
“Ask? Ask how?”
“Just ask.”
I blinked. The sun was shining. The two unfortunates were gone. As was Duster.
XI – All a Bad Dream?
I was back at my desk. I was tired. I consulted with the fifth of bourbon in my desk drawer. It had difficulty understanding what I asked of it. A second pour was necessary before I got the answer I needed. I fell soundly asleep.
It was again dark when I woke. Bad dreams aside, it was time to put a wrapper on bogus “facts” for the DNC. After I logged into NSLIC, and after umpteen levels of security, my low-level database login was interrupted by notification that a new database was ready for interrogation. No pseudonyms of any sort, simply ‘New Database – access expires in twenty-three hours and sixteen minutes.’”
No additional password? Apparently not. I explored underlying metadata. Found it surprisingly like that the Census Bureau used. Archaic, clunky, but flexible. Open to deep drills. NSLIC access gave me freedom to extract to new databases, enabling faster, more specific query unencumbered by unrelated bureaucratic bullshit. Mortality data. No brainer.
Patterns began to emerge. One or two false starts. A few hours later, on the verge of an “Oho!” I caught a glimpse of movement through my office window, in the street outside. Ignoring that, I continued.
Moments later, the office became suddenly cold. I looked out the office window. I could see two shadowy shapes moving toward my office door. Something felt wrong. Something felt dangerous. There was no knock at the office door. It flew open and a black cloud rolled in. Simply out of reflex, I yelled “Help!”
XII – Can You Not See Them?
I found myself standing in a ditch. Several police cars were parked either side of the adjoining road, red and blue wonderbars flashing. Ambulances scattered in the midst. An officer in brown uniform approached and stepped into the ditch. When he looked up at me, I recognized the face. Duster.
“Are they, it, here?” I asked, knowing the answer I wanted to hear.
“They were.”
“You can see them? Broke into my…”
“You touched a nerve. They found you as you found their targets. They came after you. They knew better. They work for me. Or they worked for me. Trying to go independent. This is their latest broach. A massive accident here on this Texas backroad.”
“What will they do? I mean, am I…”
“Already too late for them. They showed. I’ve dealt with them.”
“What do you want…”
“Nothing. We’re done.”
XIII – Awaiting Delivery
I was back at my desk.
There was another, long consult with Bourbon. After Bourbon retired, so did I.
Three days later, the DNC statistics delivered, I thought a break in order. To see if I could afford it or would just pick up a couple bottles of Bourbon and go into deep consult, I checked my bank balance. The DNC had transferred twice the agreed amount to my account. I was not going to offer to correct their generosity. In league with the Devil, I mused.
I was not prepared for the next statement entry, from Diablo Enterprises, Ltd. I’d be comfortable for a while.
Returning from the liquor store with two new consulting partners, to satisfy my curiosity, I reexamined my bank account. Not a dream. Or a protracted one, anyway.
Duster was good on his word. I tossed through all the trite expressions – “Deal with the devil”, “the devil is in the details”, “speak of the devil”, “the devil within us”, “there’ll be the devil to pay”, and could not find one that fit. I accepted there will be a reckoning. Um, for what? What did I do? I went over the contract. Not sure I was looking for a loophole or assurances. I didn’t know where all this left me. Still don’t.
As I prepared to start my vacation on Bourbon Beach, my phone chirped.
“Magnum Analytics. I’m sorry, we’ll not be accepting any new contracts for the rest of the month…”
“Stan? Stan Kyzyrnsky?”
“Um, yes?”
“Susan Binghampton.”
“Of the Binghampton twins?”
“The very same.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Too long, Stan. Sarah and I were wondering. We’re in town, see, and, I mean, if you’re still single…”
The rest of that conversation would probably bore you.
I’ve been busy. Not working, but busy. And still puzzled. Don’t know if I’m waiting on the devil to collect his due. Or if he has anything to collect. I mean, right now. Not much I can do about it anyway.
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© spwilcenski 2023
spwilcenwrites exposed by “Contractor Episode I” thru “Contractor Episode XIII” October 18, 2023 through October30, 2023
Ramblings 