From: cffitzge@IASTATE.EDU (Charles F Fitzgerald)
Subject: jazz, part 2
Reply-To: cffitzge@IASTATE.EDU (Charles F Fitzgerald)
Organization: Iowa State University
Date: Mon, 23 Nov 1992 09:01:37 GMT

The way I figure, there's two ways to keep me from seein' a nice piece
of ass.  You can either poke my eyes out or kill me.  So far nobody's
been able to do either, so there was no way I was gonna miss the lady
who walked in about mid-way through the second set.  I say lady
'cause, although she was dressed like the usual street-slime, you
could tell she was from about 80 stories higher up.  Corporate from the
way she held her head to the way her ass jiggled.

She walked over to the bar and a penny-ante merc' stepped up and
approached her.  He led her to a booth to the right of the door and
they began to talk.  "Business or pleasure," I wondered, and then
forgot about them for a minute and concentrated on the solo I was
supposed to be playing.

Sandy was floating on a Blue Magic cloud when we started into her
theme song.  It was an oldie (but aren't all the good ones nowadays)
made in the late eighties, but it was her dream, her future life, set
to music.  She sang it that night like never before.

        Shootin' up junk in the bathroom,
        Makin' with punks on the floor.
        Livin' the scene out of her limosine,
        Little Miss S in a mini-dress
        Livin' it up to die

The old reflexes kicked in.  It's kinda refreshing to know after all
these years, I still got 'em; they were a bitch to get, though.  I was
on the floor, my axe thrown away, reaching to the back of my pants
where the Desert Eagle always stays, before the first shower of
bullets from their SMG's danced across the stage.

I threw a amp in front of me and surveyed the vicinity.

I saw Crazy twitching behind his keys, using his amps to lean against.

Bloody I couldn't see on the stage.  Figure he must of jumped off and
is hiding behind the bar.

I could see more blood around the drum set then I could see of the Ol'
Man who was the source of the blood.  Not good.

There was nowhere for her to go.  She lay in a puddle in middle of
the stage, twitching a little.  It shouldn't have been like this.  You
deserved better.

I hear the sound of the Uzis again and look up to see the backs of two
big men tearing into the booth to the right of the door.  Another
stands in his London trench (armoured I note) by the door, his
mirrored eyes slowly panning the Chat'.

His colleagues finish their clips and turn towards the door.  Ratz
pops up from behind the bar, his jar set, his nostrils flaring, the
shotgun steady in his hands.  Good ol' Ratz.

All three looked the same--the same haircut, the same trenches, even
the same, Goddam glasses, probably covering the same, Goddam
eyes--except one of 'em was maybe an inch shorter.  And this one looks
at Ratz, and kinda half smiles, and nods a little.  He walks up to the
bar, picks up a book of matches, lights a cigarette, takes a puff,
turns on his heel, and walks out the door.  The other two follow
cautiously, their leader's exit.

---

I don't think I had ever seen Ratz that pissed.  He insisted on paying
for the band's medical fees, so they actually got to go to the
hospital.  Well, three of 'em did anyway.  There was only one place
for Sandy now, and that just wasn't right.

I saw the rest of the guys to the hospital.  Bloody wasn't hit, but he
was suffering from a little shock.  Crazy took a shot in shoulder and
lost a lot of blood, but the docs said he'd live.  Ol' Man Rhythm was
shot three times in the chest and once in the head.  It didn't take an
Einstein to figure his fate, but the doctors gave it a go.  I left
Bloody to look after him as soon as he got over it all.  I went back
to the Chat'.

---

I got back just as the cops were pulling away.  Inside, Ratz was
surveying the rubble.  A guy in a brown leather jacket and camos was
busy scribbling in a notebook.

"I thought I saw the cops pull out a second ago," I said, walking up
to Ratz.  "Who's he?"  I jerked a thumb over at Mr. Notebook.

He got up and offered me a mitt.  "Archangel," he said.  "And you
are...?"

"A very good friend of mine," Ratz said.  "Call me Jazz," I added.  I
sized him up.  Six two, well built, probably knows Tai, seen some
action probably in the gulf.  No 'ware visible, but who can tell,
these days.  Twenty six or so, with a flat top and a ponytail.

"I hired Mr. Archangel to help me get to the bottom of this mess,"
Ratz explained.  "Good," I said, "I may need some help."

"You do not have to do this, my friend," Ratz said.  "This is not your
business."  "No," I said, and I looked over to the stage.  Her blood
was a dark pond in the middle of the stage.  "But she was my
business."

Ratz turned his head and followed my eyes and slowly nodded his head.
"Alright, I understand."  He didn't have to say any more.

"What did the cops have to say?" I asked after a moment.  "Not much,"
Archangel said.  "They think it was a coporate hit.  If that's the
case, there's a snowball's chance they could ever find who did it, and
if they did find them, there's no chance they'd ever stand trial."

"That sounds like experience talking," I said, and look at my new
associate a little more closely.  Yea, could be an ex-cop instead.
Wonder what put the X out front.  "Anyway," I say after another short
pause, "I really don't care if they can't do anything; I was just
curious if they knew who the dame was."

"No id on the body," Archangel said, as he flipped through his notes.
"Ratz says the guy was called Switchblade on the street.  New, just
back from someplace down south," he read.  "I believe he was involved
in the MicroTech incident," said Ratz.  "He had state-of-the-art
cyber-enhancements, from what I could tell," he added.

"Fat lot of good they did him," I said.  "Then I suppose there's not a
whole hell of a lot a guy can do when two goons go at him with
full-auto.  Any idea who he's been working for?"

"No, he is new, as I said."  Ratz again.  "I believe one of the small
bosses on the East Side hired him for a job several weeks, or maybe a
month, ago, but I have not heard of him doing anything since.  He used
to come in fairly often and ask if I had heard of anything."

"Well, it looks like we're shit out of luck," I said.  "Maybe not,"
Archangel said.  "I have a friend who, for the right inducement, might
be able to scrounge up a lead.  You're welcome to tag along if you
like."

"Lead away, Amigo."

---

Lyrics from "Little Miss S" by Edie Brickel and the New Bohemians, 
used without permission or knowledge.  Copyright by I'm not sure
whom or when.
Copyright 1992, by Charles F. FitzGerald.  Jazz and the Band, and
Archangel are mine.  Please confer with me before using.  Criticisms
welcome and encouraged.

--
Charles F. Fitzgerald | '....Life's but a walking shadow,
Iowa State University | a poor player, that struts, and frets
cffitzge@iastate.edu  | his hour upon the stage,
                      | and then is heard from no more....'
                      | _MacBeth_, by W. Shakespeare.
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