From: friedman@news.cis.ohio-state.edu (Mark  Friedman, Crimson)
Subject: Three of a Perfect Pair [part 04/21]
Organization: The Ohio State University Department of Computer and Information Science
Date: Thu, 30 Jul 1992 05:58:47 GMT

	Crimson watched Kelly walk off and sighed.  He walked over to
a table near the wall and plopped himself down.  Turning on his PR-128
again he thought up some busy 5/4 minor pentatonics in a sawtooth
waveform.  Under this he added an analog sounding sustained synth
bass.  He leaned back in his chair and kept the bass even while
improvising the petatonics.

	Soon Kelly came back with her famous 'blacker than black'
coffee.  "Here ya go.  Drink up."

	He gulped down a swallow of the light-absorbing liquid.
"Mmmmm...  just like the grad lounge used to make."  He swore he could
feel it breaking through his buzz.  "How much blacker could it be?
None-black!"

	She smiled at him and listened to his music.  "Add some
drums," she suggested.  He did that, using electric kit sounds.
"That's nice.  And some flutes.  I like flutes."

	Freddy chuckled.  "I know, I know..."  He thought up some
three part flute harmonies to comp with.  He smiled and finished the
rest of his coffee.  "Thanks a lot Kelly, you saved me again."  He
stood up from the table and stretched.  "I gotta go back to the pad
and get my gear before I go to Evil Irving's.  See you there, eh?"

	"Right-o, Freddy.  I'm off in 20 minutes, so I'll be there.
Ciao."  She gave a short wave and walked off to finish her night's
business.

	Freddy grinned, watching Kelly's ass disappear into the crowd.
He laughed and proceded to clean himself up a bit.  After
straightening up his jacket and securing his electronic gadgets he
made his way to the door.  But before he got there he felt a hand on
his shoulder again.  He started to say, "Kelly, I really gotta...",
but was cut off when the hand strongly spinned him around.  The music
he was thinking hiccupped for a second, but it immediately became
steady again.  It wasn't Kelly that he had ended up facing...

	"Crimson, com'on man, this has to be *the* best offer any of
us has ever received.  Don't just walk out on it."  It was the man who
went by the name 'Howler'.  The samurai continued, seeing his words
were having no effect: "Look, we need you to make this operation
work!"  Howler fell silent, staring into Crimson's eyes, waiting,
expectantly, for a response.

	Crimson couldn't give him one.  He seemed to be frozen by
looking into Howler's eyes.  Or maybe it was the alcohol.  Most likely
it was his better judgement.  He mumbled, "But I have a gig
tonight..."  and gave his music a little boost in volume as a
demonstration of intent.

	Howler smirked and brought forth his fist.  He opened it up
and produced a small piece of metal and plastic.  It was Freddy's bug
from the "back room".  Crimson swallowed hard, perhaps a bit too
visibly for a so-called 'professional'.  Howler went on, "Let's just
go back in there, get the details, and start having some serious fun."
He straightened Freddy's collar, which he wrikled when he grabbed him.
He then walked towards the back room again, calling back over his
shoulder, "Besides, this crap they're passing off as music bites!"

	Freddy laughed: this piece of muscle certainly had a brain!
Howler knew *exactly* which buttons to push.  He shook his head and
took off after the samurai...

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Everything presented   here is Copyright by  Mark  Friedman  1991, all
rights reserved.  Well, that's  not entirely true!   Basic  story plot
and Matrix help was by Jerry Weiler, but he won't mind: I'm giving him
all the profits from the venture. Let's see, what's 100% of $0.00? :-)

Any questions, comments, requests, criticisms, and Chapman Sticks will
be accepted and appreciated at the address in the sig.

					- Mark "Crimson" Friedman

Mark "Klone Crimson" Friedman is friedman@cis.ohio-state.edu .................
"There is nothing former   "Beat poets,    "If you put a hungry ferret in your
 about King Crimson."       not children."  trousers, he'll run around..."
 - Robert Fripp, 5/11/90    - anonymous     - Nigel Tufnel (Spinal Tap)
Newsgroups: alt.cyberpunk.chatsubo