10-28-2013, 05:26 AM
Continued from Kings of the Castle
Jon had his concerns the driver of the sedan would pick up on the obvious signs he was being followed by a marked taxi cab. Jon had a feeling the cab driver wouldn't be too keen on trying to tail a suspected government vehicle, so he had to keep the driver in the dark. Fortunately for him, it seemed the sedan was taking the most direct route to wherever its destination was, on busy streets where numerous cabs darted back and forth. In fact, Jon's own driver wasn't even the only one who was taking a passenger straight from Kallisti's to the agents' final destination.
The sedan pulled up to a club in the Tagansky District east of Zamoskvorechye. A clear lit sign hung from the exterior: "Kistyami." Jon snapped a picture of it and his Wallet translated the sign for him. Tassels. How classy.
Jon paid the cab driver and stepped onto the curb. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the suits exit the sedan and enter the club. The bouncer outside took one look at something the man presented -- maybe a badge? -- and opened the door. The other agent apparently stayed in the sedan this time.
Jon kept hold of the power as he approached the bouncer. The man, a big guy dressed in a blue blazer, with thick forearms that looked more like massive calves attached to fists that looked strong enough to crush rock, cocked an eyebrow at Jon. "One hundred to get in, two drink minimum. Don't touch the girls." The or else was implied in the man's flat tone.
Jon shrugged and offered his Wallet to complete the transaction. Once done, the guy opened the door for him.
Music -- modern dance music with its synthetic rhythmic pulsing -- assaulted Jon as he entered. Truthfully it wasn't all that loud, but with his senses enhanced Jon felt the full force of it. The atmosphere was much, much different than Kallisti's. There, the mood was relaxed and sensual -- warm and welcome, even. Here -- well, what Kallisti's hinted at, Kistyami reached out and slapped you with. Certainly not Jon's cup of coffee. Up on the stage a tall blonde beauty was doing some very naughty things to a pole. Interesting, as she was the one wearing the uniform hat and from the looks of it had at one time been dressed in a Custodian jacket, which now was tossed off to one side along with the rest of the uniform. Jon had hardly walked ten feet toward a booth before he was approached by a short woman with auburn hair, a serving tray with drinks in one hand and absolutely no clothes on.
"Drink? Dance?" she asked. She looked ... well, cold. Certain parts of her anatomy were perkier than Jon would think normal -- almost painfully so, he'd think. Jon hoped she was well paid, or at least well tipped.
"I'll take a..."
Great Spirit, the mere thought of more alcohol right now made his stomach churn..."One of those, if I may."
He grabbed the drink and found some cash in his pocket -- enough to cover about five drinks and then some. "Keep the change -- oh, and have you seen my friend about?"
He gave the nude waitress a brief and somewhat vague description of Nick's appearance. She took the money with a smile -- Jon had no idea where she was going to put it -- and rolled her eyes at the question. "You're looking for him too? No, I haven't seen him here. Just like I told the other guy. Twice."
Jon glanced around. Yeah, there -- over at the bar -- was the other suit, all right, speaking quietly with the bartender. "Thanks,"
he said. He left the serving girl where she was and crossed the club floor to the far end of the bar. There he took a seat and set his drink down without taking so much as a sip. He was about thirty feet away from the suspected agent who was looking for Nick.
The suit broke off his conversation with the bartender and stepped back from the bar. He appeared to start having a conversation with himself. Probably talking to his supervisor or the agent sitting outside in the sedan over some sort of communications link. The bartender came over to Jon to ask if he needed anything, but he waved the man off without a word. Instead he spun the same sound enhancing weaves he'd performed earlier. This was getting easier. Yes, he was definitely getting stronger, more adept at harnessing the power of the Great Spirit. Additionally, the more power he used over time the easier it got to maintain control and expand his abilities. He wondered just how strong he'd become and what he could do with this power -- what were the limitations, exactly?
It sounded like the guy was having an argument with whoever was on the other end of the transmission. And he sounded frustrated. "...The same story. No one's seen him. That must mean our trace got messed with, right?.....Well, that is a good question! Who's got the capability to do that? Who's Trano running with?...Well, if I can't find one person who's seen him, what's that tell you?"
Jon let the weave vanish. Whatever Nick Trano had managed to get himself caught up in -- it just sat at the bottom of Jon's stomach like he'd swallowed a lump of charcoal. These guys were bad news. They'd traced his signal from Jon's phone call to this place, but Nick wasn't here. There must have been something done to Nick's Wallet signal to mask his real whereabouts. So if these guys were expecting to find Nick here and didn't -- that didn't sound like it would bode well for Nick's future. At the very least it would expose the ruse that had masked Nick's movements.
Should he interfere? He could, certainly. Just tell the suit that he'd seen Nick here earlier. That would be the friendly thing to do. Was Nick Trano a friend? A professional acquaintance, maybe. Their relationship to date had been brief -- some of their political interests aligned, of course, and Nick Trano had been more than happy to give Jon the publicity he needed -- practically an open microphone. That had been a friendly thing to do. And now he was the one in need. But was it enough to risk getting into the middle of whatever potentially dangerous situation was developing around him?
The man put his Wallet away and started back toward the front door, passing behind Jon's stool. Great skunk's piss, in a few moments Jon wouldn't have a choice any longer to do anything -- the man would be off in his sedan with the other agent and the opportunity to act would be gone.
Screw it. He lashed out with a thread of air, made solid, and snagged the very tip of the man's shoe as he stepped. The man tripped and lost his balance, falling forward. Jon turned and grabbed the man's arm before the man hit the floor.
"Are you all right? You almost took a bad spill, there,"
Jon said to the man. "Who knows what's been on that floor."
The man regained his footing and pulled his arm back, a scowl forming on his face as he brushed off his suit jacket. In a moment, the man's angular face turned back to stone as if the fall had never happened. "I'm looking for a friend, have you seen him?" The man gave Jon a much more detailed description of Nick Trano than Jon had given the waitress -- so thorough Jon could have drawn a sketch on the spot even had he never seen Nick's image.
Jon chuckled. "Yeah, I did, he was just up here a minute ago. He's probably in the bathroom."
The man blinked. "Really?" His eyes narrowed. Jon returned the stare with an impassive, unconcerned look. Honestly, if the guy wanted to catch his reflection in Jon's spectacles he could just ask to borrow them.
"Wait," the man said. He pulled out his Wallet again and glanced at it. "You're..."
Uh oh. This guy had Jon's photograph and was expecting Jon to be miles away instead of at the same club where he'd supposedly called Nick Trano.
The weaves formed almost before Jon realized what he was doing. Thoughts of Anatoly Kant's suicide spun through Jon's consciousness, splitting open scars of guilt Jon had thought he'd cauterized. Indecision gripped him -- was it really right for him to mess with another person's mind after what he'd done to Kant? How could he bear to do such a thing to another? The mind medicine was too powerful a thing to just fling about at his convenience.
Another thing caught his attention then, overriding his internal monologue, that being the bulge under the man's jacket and the hand that was moving for it. That made the situation more severe -- warranting drastic measures. So he let loose.
"You don't look recovered from that fall, let me help you get your feet,"
Jon said, and reached out to steady the man's arm again. He sent the weaves into the man's mind. He could feel the weaves touching the man's brain, firing into synapses and creating false impulses. Not too much -- Jon feared that it might just break the man's mind, if it was too heavy. He was starting to get a better understanding how it worked, and what it was capable of doing. All he needed to do was create a false memory and wipe out an existing one -- a very, very short term memory. It would be as innocuous as him forgetting that he'd checked the time on his Wallet five minutes ago.
"You will not remember this conversation and you won't remember seeing me here,"
Jon spoke to him in a whisper, even though no one was close enough to hear over the music. "Nick Trano was in the bathroom. You and your partner can leave and there's no need to come back, or keep looking for him. And any lapses you might notice later in your memories of being here you will dismiss as unimportant."
Jon released the man and completed the weave. There was no recognition of Jon in the man's eyes, but apart from that he didn't seem any different. Temperament and personality all seemed unchanged. In fact the guy jerked his arm back again just as he'd done before.
Jon gave the man his best smile. "All right, you better now? Better check your shoelaces, wouldn't want to fall again."
Jon turned away from the man and back to the bar, hearing the man mutter "fucking tourist" under his breath. He heard the man retreat toward the front door and start talking again on his Wallet: "...whole thing was a waste of time -- he was in the fucking bathroom! ... yeah, it checks out, let's get the fuck out of here and go get some chow...nah, Thai food gives me heartburn..."
Jon chuckled to himself, and stood, sliding the untouched drink over to the far side of the bar. He released his hold on the power altogether. He was starting to get a headache -- perhaps he'd been holding it, or doing too much with it, for too long. That apparent symptom was something to keep in mind.
Well, one crisis was taken care of. Now he had to figure some way to contact Nick that couldn't be traced. He needed to know he was in danger -- and it obviously wasn't safe to call him again. Problem was he had no idea where to find him.
The bartender came over. "Everything okay with that guy?" He cocked his head in the direction the agent had gone.
Jon nodded. "I think he just had a rough night."
He tipped the bartender even though the guy hadn't even served him anything and left the club. The sedan was gone from the street.
He hailed another cab and this time gave the driver the actual address of his university apartments. As the driver sped away from Club Kistyami, he turned the problem over in his mind: how to warn Nick when he had no idea where to find him and no secure way to reach him?
Then Jon's eyes widened as the obvious solution struck him. Of course. Jon knew exactly where to find Nick Trano.
Edited by Jon Little Bird, Oct 28 2013, 05:35 AM.
Jon had his concerns the driver of the sedan would pick up on the obvious signs he was being followed by a marked taxi cab. Jon had a feeling the cab driver wouldn't be too keen on trying to tail a suspected government vehicle, so he had to keep the driver in the dark. Fortunately for him, it seemed the sedan was taking the most direct route to wherever its destination was, on busy streets where numerous cabs darted back and forth. In fact, Jon's own driver wasn't even the only one who was taking a passenger straight from Kallisti's to the agents' final destination.
The sedan pulled up to a club in the Tagansky District east of Zamoskvorechye. A clear lit sign hung from the exterior: "Kistyami." Jon snapped a picture of it and his Wallet translated the sign for him. Tassels. How classy.
Jon paid the cab driver and stepped onto the curb. From the corner of his eye he saw one of the suits exit the sedan and enter the club. The bouncer outside took one look at something the man presented -- maybe a badge? -- and opened the door. The other agent apparently stayed in the sedan this time.
Jon kept hold of the power as he approached the bouncer. The man, a big guy dressed in a blue blazer, with thick forearms that looked more like massive calves attached to fists that looked strong enough to crush rock, cocked an eyebrow at Jon. "One hundred to get in, two drink minimum. Don't touch the girls." The or else was implied in the man's flat tone.
Jon shrugged and offered his Wallet to complete the transaction. Once done, the guy opened the door for him.
Music -- modern dance music with its synthetic rhythmic pulsing -- assaulted Jon as he entered. Truthfully it wasn't all that loud, but with his senses enhanced Jon felt the full force of it. The atmosphere was much, much different than Kallisti's. There, the mood was relaxed and sensual -- warm and welcome, even. Here -- well, what Kallisti's hinted at, Kistyami reached out and slapped you with. Certainly not Jon's cup of coffee. Up on the stage a tall blonde beauty was doing some very naughty things to a pole. Interesting, as she was the one wearing the uniform hat and from the looks of it had at one time been dressed in a Custodian jacket, which now was tossed off to one side along with the rest of the uniform. Jon had hardly walked ten feet toward a booth before he was approached by a short woman with auburn hair, a serving tray with drinks in one hand and absolutely no clothes on.
"Drink? Dance?" she asked. She looked ... well, cold. Certain parts of her anatomy were perkier than Jon would think normal -- almost painfully so, he'd think. Jon hoped she was well paid, or at least well tipped.
"I'll take a..."
Great Spirit, the mere thought of more alcohol right now made his stomach churn..."One of those, if I may."
He grabbed the drink and found some cash in his pocket -- enough to cover about five drinks and then some. "Keep the change -- oh, and have you seen my friend about?"
He gave the nude waitress a brief and somewhat vague description of Nick's appearance. She took the money with a smile -- Jon had no idea where she was going to put it -- and rolled her eyes at the question. "You're looking for him too? No, I haven't seen him here. Just like I told the other guy. Twice."
Jon glanced around. Yeah, there -- over at the bar -- was the other suit, all right, speaking quietly with the bartender. "Thanks,"
he said. He left the serving girl where she was and crossed the club floor to the far end of the bar. There he took a seat and set his drink down without taking so much as a sip. He was about thirty feet away from the suspected agent who was looking for Nick.
The suit broke off his conversation with the bartender and stepped back from the bar. He appeared to start having a conversation with himself. Probably talking to his supervisor or the agent sitting outside in the sedan over some sort of communications link. The bartender came over to Jon to ask if he needed anything, but he waved the man off without a word. Instead he spun the same sound enhancing weaves he'd performed earlier. This was getting easier. Yes, he was definitely getting stronger, more adept at harnessing the power of the Great Spirit. Additionally, the more power he used over time the easier it got to maintain control and expand his abilities. He wondered just how strong he'd become and what he could do with this power -- what were the limitations, exactly?
It sounded like the guy was having an argument with whoever was on the other end of the transmission. And he sounded frustrated. "...The same story. No one's seen him. That must mean our trace got messed with, right?.....Well, that is a good question! Who's got the capability to do that? Who's Trano running with?...Well, if I can't find one person who's seen him, what's that tell you?"
Jon let the weave vanish. Whatever Nick Trano had managed to get himself caught up in -- it just sat at the bottom of Jon's stomach like he'd swallowed a lump of charcoal. These guys were bad news. They'd traced his signal from Jon's phone call to this place, but Nick wasn't here. There must have been something done to Nick's Wallet signal to mask his real whereabouts. So if these guys were expecting to find Nick here and didn't -- that didn't sound like it would bode well for Nick's future. At the very least it would expose the ruse that had masked Nick's movements.
Should he interfere? He could, certainly. Just tell the suit that he'd seen Nick here earlier. That would be the friendly thing to do. Was Nick Trano a friend? A professional acquaintance, maybe. Their relationship to date had been brief -- some of their political interests aligned, of course, and Nick Trano had been more than happy to give Jon the publicity he needed -- practically an open microphone. That had been a friendly thing to do. And now he was the one in need. But was it enough to risk getting into the middle of whatever potentially dangerous situation was developing around him?
The man put his Wallet away and started back toward the front door, passing behind Jon's stool. Great skunk's piss, in a few moments Jon wouldn't have a choice any longer to do anything -- the man would be off in his sedan with the other agent and the opportunity to act would be gone.
Screw it. He lashed out with a thread of air, made solid, and snagged the very tip of the man's shoe as he stepped. The man tripped and lost his balance, falling forward. Jon turned and grabbed the man's arm before the man hit the floor.
"Are you all right? You almost took a bad spill, there,"
Jon said to the man. "Who knows what's been on that floor."
The man regained his footing and pulled his arm back, a scowl forming on his face as he brushed off his suit jacket. In a moment, the man's angular face turned back to stone as if the fall had never happened. "I'm looking for a friend, have you seen him?" The man gave Jon a much more detailed description of Nick Trano than Jon had given the waitress -- so thorough Jon could have drawn a sketch on the spot even had he never seen Nick's image.
Jon chuckled. "Yeah, I did, he was just up here a minute ago. He's probably in the bathroom."
The man blinked. "Really?" His eyes narrowed. Jon returned the stare with an impassive, unconcerned look. Honestly, if the guy wanted to catch his reflection in Jon's spectacles he could just ask to borrow them.
"Wait," the man said. He pulled out his Wallet again and glanced at it. "You're..."
Uh oh. This guy had Jon's photograph and was expecting Jon to be miles away instead of at the same club where he'd supposedly called Nick Trano.
The weaves formed almost before Jon realized what he was doing. Thoughts of Anatoly Kant's suicide spun through Jon's consciousness, splitting open scars of guilt Jon had thought he'd cauterized. Indecision gripped him -- was it really right for him to mess with another person's mind after what he'd done to Kant? How could he bear to do such a thing to another? The mind medicine was too powerful a thing to just fling about at his convenience.
Another thing caught his attention then, overriding his internal monologue, that being the bulge under the man's jacket and the hand that was moving for it. That made the situation more severe -- warranting drastic measures. So he let loose.
"You don't look recovered from that fall, let me help you get your feet,"
Jon said, and reached out to steady the man's arm again. He sent the weaves into the man's mind. He could feel the weaves touching the man's brain, firing into synapses and creating false impulses. Not too much -- Jon feared that it might just break the man's mind, if it was too heavy. He was starting to get a better understanding how it worked, and what it was capable of doing. All he needed to do was create a false memory and wipe out an existing one -- a very, very short term memory. It would be as innocuous as him forgetting that he'd checked the time on his Wallet five minutes ago.
"You will not remember this conversation and you won't remember seeing me here,"
Jon spoke to him in a whisper, even though no one was close enough to hear over the music. "Nick Trano was in the bathroom. You and your partner can leave and there's no need to come back, or keep looking for him. And any lapses you might notice later in your memories of being here you will dismiss as unimportant."
Jon released the man and completed the weave. There was no recognition of Jon in the man's eyes, but apart from that he didn't seem any different. Temperament and personality all seemed unchanged. In fact the guy jerked his arm back again just as he'd done before.
Jon gave the man his best smile. "All right, you better now? Better check your shoelaces, wouldn't want to fall again."
Jon turned away from the man and back to the bar, hearing the man mutter "fucking tourist" under his breath. He heard the man retreat toward the front door and start talking again on his Wallet: "...whole thing was a waste of time -- he was in the fucking bathroom! ... yeah, it checks out, let's get the fuck out of here and go get some chow...nah, Thai food gives me heartburn..."
Jon chuckled to himself, and stood, sliding the untouched drink over to the far side of the bar. He released his hold on the power altogether. He was starting to get a headache -- perhaps he'd been holding it, or doing too much with it, for too long. That apparent symptom was something to keep in mind.
Well, one crisis was taken care of. Now he had to figure some way to contact Nick that couldn't be traced. He needed to know he was in danger -- and it obviously wasn't safe to call him again. Problem was he had no idea where to find him.
The bartender came over. "Everything okay with that guy?" He cocked his head in the direction the agent had gone.
Jon nodded. "I think he just had a rough night."
He tipped the bartender even though the guy hadn't even served him anything and left the club. The sedan was gone from the street.
He hailed another cab and this time gave the driver the actual address of his university apartments. As the driver sped away from Club Kistyami, he turned the problem over in his mind: how to warn Nick when he had no idea where to find him and no secure way to reach him?
Then Jon's eyes widened as the obvious solution struck him. Of course. Jon knew exactly where to find Nick Trano.
Edited by Jon Little Bird, Oct 28 2013, 05:35 AM.