Series: Entropy Short

This is an evolving fantasy piece set in a contemporary setting.

Markus Two Coats took a pause from peering through his telephoto lens, to contemplate the life choices that brought him to this dubious point. It was not something he preferred to be doing: If truth were to be faced, it was not the image of himself that he wanted to believe in. But it was a job, and one that he desperately needed to keep himself off the sun baked streets and capable of enjoying some of the few perks of being alive, one of which was kept lovingly in a small flask at his hip pocket.

She wasn’t home, had not been for days, which was just fine by Markus for the sake of his conscience, but not exactly promising in terms of the job. But so far, the client had not offered a single complaint or critique of his progress.

Watch her apartment, if anything happens get me evidence.

Vague, more than slightly ominous, and one hundred percent stalker.

I really need to examine my life choices, Markus nursed a little from the bottle, trying to keep himself back from what he really wanted to do. At least the night is looking to be beautiful.

And it was. A casual observer might forgive him his camera, and suspect in him the romance of the photographer, seeking to capture the soul of a singular moment of darkness stung with light. Below him ran a long canal into a distant sea, over which slowly dipped a waxing red moon, pureness cut by the haze of water vapor and ambient city smog from the hot day now thankfully cooling into night.

The apartment attached to the balcony where he now both worked and lived was more extravagant than his want, but paid for by the client, and afforded the most excellent view into the 3rd floor suite of his target. Behind and surrounding the apartment was a dark stucco building with obvious Spanish influence in its lofty windows and open plazas overfull with tropical plants and cooling pools. He had seen almost none of it in the week since he moved in, having ordered in for nearly every meal, only pausing in his surveillance to run to the corner store for snacks and overpriced whisky.

Markus scratched at his neck, needing a shave and a shower to cleanse himself of the day.

And this job. If only hot water and soap could do that. No way she will be back tonight anyway, a beautiful woman in such a stunning evening has better things to do than sit around her apartment drinking alone. Still, better set the camera to record.

It was by this means that he did not miss her arrival, though he failed to witness it in person. On his return to the balcony, refreshed and once more clean shaven, he was surprised and chagrined to see the lights on and the apartment occupied and quickly works the camera back to make sure that after all of this, he managed to not botch the job. He cannot tell if his luck has changed for the better or worse, as the the 5 minutes footage reveals a strange shift as if the camera shutter faulted, before a darkly handsome woman in a green dress steps into the apartment, as if from the thinnest of air.

Camera’s broken? Never seen anything like that happen before.

The curtains, left open while she was away, were now drawn so he continued to review the footage more carefully, checking the time code against his watch. There were no discrepancies or errors, the evidence of the camera clear and indisputable, accept for the tiny issue with it being against all common sense and the accepted nature of reality. There must be something I am missing. I have had reality hand me my own ass often enough that I know: when things don’t make sense, it’s usually me that is in error.

Markus Two Coats sighed and let some tension go. The job was still a job, and he had gotten the footage, that was what would pay the bills and keep the client happy. Taking another nip, he settled into the old lawn chair he had brought with him as one of three furnishings in the apartment, matched with a blow up mattress and a small folding table.

Shadows danced on the faded red curtains, but Markus was experienced enough to identify that it was multiple sources of light and one person moving in them, and not multiple people. She was alone and actively moving about the space. Packing?

Back on the camera he zooms in on her face as she comes to the windows to draw the curtain. Yes, she is concerned and maybe frightened. Drawing the curtains was for privacy yes, but specifically because she thinks someone might be watching, and not just a natural propensity for it. The probability that she had made me approaches zero, so something else has got her spooked.

There is something about her eyes as she looks out and down that he cannot ignore. Not only does it tell him she is expecting an arrival, but it tears a little into his heart and makes him want to protect her. Dammit, I drank too much and am getting emotional. Despite this, he takes another nip at the whisky, to calm myself, he convinces no one.

It was, ostensibly, none of his business but perhaps because of his recent moral failures, he wanted to do something to prove himself. Last week, a little drunk, he had donated $50 to a duck preserve and that made him feel better for at least a day. Now, a little drunk, he considered giving his client the finger and helping this woman. It was not a sexual thing: though she was beautiful, his appreciation and concern were almost purely as one human in pain toward another in trouble. The slight impurity was more about who he was actually doing this for, and even he had doubts it was her.

There is only so goddam much I can do in this world

She was an amateur, closing the curtains just meant she could not mark the black Lincoln illegally parking at the entrance to her apartment.

Markus Two Coats fumbled with the double wafer lock, a simple enough design, but it was not turning out to be his best day and the thing was giving him more trouble than its complexity warranted.  

Losing my touch, hand is unsteady.

He took a sip from his hip flask to calm his nerves, but by then it’s half empty, and nothing seems to be cutting the edge off.  His hands felt clumsy and inefficient, the steel of the picks cold against his even colder hands refusing to give him the familiar feedback that guides such delicate operations. Could also be the smell of puke and piss that pervades the stoop that is throwing his game, this particular street being behind several clubs and art houses it came with a certain ambiance.   In the end it’s just persistence and a poor lock that gets him through the door and he pulls it open to reveal a small vestibule leading to stairs going up.   

The Woman in Green was here, of that he was sure of.  The black Lincoln was parked directly in front, tinted windows and vanity B-MAJIK plates, it screamed for attention.  Whoever these guys were, their game was intimidation and not subterfuge.   When she had gotten in the car they both got out to escort her, and both screamed high end thug with smart silk suits too tight over muscled figures.  Markus knew the best outcome of running into them square would be his ass thrown back into the pools of piss outside, and far worse outcomes were highly probable.  

Come on Markus, the client wasn’t even paying you for this.  What the hell are you doing?  

But there was something about that first look he had of her, face in the window, that told a story he could not let go of.  Pain there, and the kind of loss that triggered a part of himself that he sometimes thought gone forever.  For a moment, he actually gave a shit, and if he let that go then he might as well just keep drinking until he never woke up.  

Speaking of, he took another pull, just in case they do throw me down the stairs, being a little drunk will sure help.

Any excuse really would do, but in this case, he figured he might be on the mark.  To add to the picture he slipped a little of the whisky onto this shirt, and smeared it with his hand down the perpetual stubble of his chin.  

The stairs were an open affair, with intricately designed metal balusters supporting a smooth oak handrail that curved elegantly up into a darkness only cut by a single sconce near a red door on the level above.  Markus could hear soft music from the door as he ascended, a violin, or perhaps a viola as it did not cut, but rather gave the impression of flowers.

Yes, a viola, but I don’t recognize the song, Markus thought as he pulled the door lightly open to reveal a smokey private club; the kind he used to be welcomed to in nights gone by.  The set up here was typical, but well done:  center stage, long curved bar, tables near the dance floor for those who want to be seen, booths in the back for those who don’t.  It was too early for the place to be hopping, only a couple tables occupied, and none by who he was looking for.  These types don’t really get moving until after midnight and the sun had hit the sea less than an hour past.   

Explains the viola, it’s just a sound check.   

Markus gave the musician a nod like he knew him, he did not, and walked to the bar as naturally drawn as any fish to water.  Tender was still polishing but willing to serve.  

Maybe my luck is turning, it’s a whisky bar!  At least I know what to order. 

“Yamazaki, neat and a glass of ice water”, Markus leaned slightly on the bar.  Even if he was going a bit out of bounds, the client was paying him to keep an eye on her, and expenses were part of the game.  

“Tab?”

“Yes, please.”  It was the kind of place that did not take credit cards, nor ask how or if you could pay.   The way they operated, everyone would eventually pay, so why worry on the front end? “Hey, I am looking for a friend of mine: real looker said she’d be wearing green dress, answers to the name Cindy.”  

“Green dress? Black hair?”

“Yeah naturally, but she’s dyed it almost white.. Can’t miss her.” 

The tender places the whisky, neat, with a clean and precise movement with one hand, while pocketing the hundred dollar bill with his other.  

“Haven’t seen her.  It’s early, just wait around and enjoy.  The band starts the practice set in about twenty.” 

The tender rapped his hands three times on the bar and gave a nod toward the back.  Markus sipped his whisky, the single glass worth more than several bottles of his usual go-to, then used the cold water to clear his throat and mind.  Could be that she was just having a night out with some very intimidating friends, and him walking into that, was gonna get his cover blown for no gain whatsoever.  The job was to watch her, and gather evidence.  What evidence had not been discussed, as it’s always the same thing:  Who is she sleeping with?   But Markus was beginning to suspect this was something quite different.  

The first clue was how she had returned to her apartment earlier in the night, by seemingly stepping through a hole in the air.  He would not have believed even himself, if he had not caught it on camera and reviewed it now a dozen times.  

Which means I already have the evidence.  So what am I doing here?   Save the girl, become the Hero?  Hell, I have not been in shape for that sort of thing for years.  Just drink the damn whisky and get out of here.

Markus found himself walking toward the back of the joint, taking the whisky and leaving the water as he wove between the tables, swaying a bit to the groove of the music.  

Into the lion’s den with a whisky and a smile.  Not a bad epitaph.

Third booth, and was occupied, from the back he could just make out a black leather shoe, expensive and probably italian, extending into the isle.  Just enough for Markus to stumble over, catch himself clumsily, and then come down hard, grinding his boot into the other man’s toes. It should have worked so beautifully.  Another good epitaph, damn it!

Magic you see, was not a thing that Markus had taken into consideration, despite the evidence already gathered to that effect of its existence. Even then,  the application of it here seemed unnecessary to him, as both were young strong men, probably with weapons, and should not have had to resort to any extraordinary means to rid themselves of a whisky drinker pushing 50.  His miscalculation was in thinking that Magic was something to be held back in reserve.  But these two were driven by it, even obsessed with it, and would take any excuse to use it.

What happened went a bit like this:  Markus tripped over the foot, then came down with his healonly to see the thug’s foot fold away like a retracting origami snake.  

Impossible, his brain screamed.  

Behind him he heard the scraping of chairs as the club patrons rose from their tables.  Before him the two suited hard men rose in unison with the sound, sliding out of the booth with practiced ease. There was no Woman in Green. 

Set up, the whole place is a fly trap set with honey.  

Markus Two Coats was faced with the inevitable, like a plane falling to the sea, any and all action on his part would lead to the same conclusion. He could only hope it was just a beating, but his instincts were screaming that this was not a crash one survives.   So pray for a miracle?  Laugh and dance one last time?  Scream your defiance into the coming night?  

Markus raised his glass and drained the last of the Yamazaki.  It was the best last drink he could have asked for.  

……….

The Woman in Green dropped to her knees quick as a dancer and scooped up the very confused looking bird.  She loved it at first sight, with its gleaming feathers that caught the morning light, shimmering green to purple depending upon the angle of incidence.  

“Poor thing!  You can’t even fly yet… but you will.”  

She set the bird down softly on her lap as it cried in little gasps, holding it to calm its racing heart and murmuring, “It’s ok, it’s ok, rest now… it’s going to be just fine.”

I really do love how his plumage changes with the light, almost like he has two completely different coats.