The Biggest Waste of Time Spent in Bar

The Biggest Waste of Time Spent in a Bar

Kim stepped out into the alley behind the safe house, the South Carolina summer air seemed chillier than normal. She put the pistol in the pocket of her denim jacket next to her knife. She blew a huge bubble of gum until it popped before she spat it out. She took off one of her leather gloves to look at her watch. It read seven eleven p.m. Wednesday, July 18th 2134. The sun was still out, but the light barely breached the top of the buildings. She slipped on the glove as she walked out into the busy street, and tried to blend into the busy crowd. The traffic on the ground was held up, the cops arrived at the scene sooner than expected. The air traffic was unchanged, cars flying past at seventy, eighty miles per hour. Looking back, she noticed how small the safe house and the business firm above it were, the entire building was only ten stories. Balancing on the edge of the sidewalk, she began to walk along it as if she were on a tightrope. It was a ritual for her, as she’d much rather teeter on the brink of death by speeding Toyotas than become part of the mindless masses. To make it more difficult, Kim kept her eyes forward as she searched for a Big Screen TV.

She found one on the next block, sitting atop a Macy’s sign. This one was one of the biggest she’d ever seen, and she’s seen some big ones: at the roof of Starbucks at Greensboro, one at the Illinois Memorial, another at New Gettysburg in California. This screen was at least twenty feet tall and thirty feet wide. It rested on the block corner so it wrapped around the corner of the building. A Nike commercial was playing on it, but, as she expected, a news bulletin interrupted it. The reporter, who had olive skin and a toupee that was unbefitting of him, stood outside the safe house, next to a sign that read, “Holiday Inn Express.” He was inaudible, of course, so Kim accessed her Neuro-processor implant, or “Brain chip” as she called it, which opened up a window in her peripheral, where she selected Options, Bluetooth, Audio, Big Screen.

The reporter’s thick, Irish accent entered not into her ears, but directly into her head,“- sharing no details at the moment. According to reports, there are three dead but, again, the police haven’t confirmed anything with us. Back to-“

Aw shit. Probably not going get the details for days you stupid toupee guy. Everyone knows that the cops keep media control. Don’t you know that the time it takes for me to get my money depends on you guys? You suck. Times ten. Maybe a hundred.

The wind started to pick up, and deciding not to freeze her ass off, Kim stepped into the pub to her right, whose name she already had forgotten.  What sounded like a cowbell chimed above her head. The bar seemed old fashioned, kind of like the ones you would’ve seen back in 2095, before the Machines set off the EMP and threw half of America from supreme world power to third-world country. It had the old wooden counters, with nice barstools that you could spin all the way around on, and lamps that were dimly lit at all the tables. But to keep up with the times, the place was WiFi and Bluetooth accessible, the counters and tables were lined with touch screens, and five thirty-nine inch plasma HDTVs sat comfortably in the walls.

Shaking herself off as if she had mud all over her, the top of Kim’s spine tingled a bit, where her phoenix tattoo was. She got it after her fourth assignment. It was when she assassinated District Attorney Michael Dade in San Francisco. She happened upon a tattoo shop in a flea market. The Guild, basically her Foster family after the depression forced her parents to abandon her when she was six, did not teach them of such things. A phoenix drawing with flames surrounding it caught her eye. When she asked what it was, the shop owner told her of its eternal life, and how every six to eight hundred years it dies in a spectacular show of fire and from the ashes is reborn. She thought the rebirth crap was kind of dumb, but the idea of finishing with a bang was so appealing, and out of all the kids at the Guild, she loved bombs, even more than the Pyro-kinetics. Oh, I wish I could have set one off today. Explosions. She should have left a big one. She touched the scars that surrounded the Phoenix. Punishments. A waste of money they said. They warned about socialization, how society dictates who you are, and that it holds you back from doing great things.

This bar is one of a very select few of public places that she actually liked, partly because there were only a handful of people here and there, and partly because it seemed so low-key. It had a feel older, probable simpler times, and as such wasn’t a huge attraction to all those phonies in the world today. The only thing she really remembered about her parent’s house was that they collected old artifacts from before the war and that these things had some sort of aura about them, not unlike this particular place. She was wrapped up in a nostalgia that she’s feels she experienced but never really felt before because normally nostalgia meant blood and guns and training and contracts and hits and whatever other things assassins deal with.

“Would you like a table or the counter, Miss,” the voice came from a pretty blue hologram waitress and brought her back to reality.

What? I’m sorry for having my head up my butt, Kim thought.

“What? I’m sorry,” Kim replied, half-confused and half knowing the what going on from reading her mind, “head was in the clouds.”

“Would you like to sit at a table or the counter,” the waitress repeated.

Kim looked to her right. People were scattered among the tables. She looked to the counter. Empty. “The counter please.”

“Very well, please take a seat anywhere you like.” She disappeared.

Kim sat in one of those cushioned barstools. The cushion hugged her butt. The barkeep was a portly man who looked seventy and still had his natural black hair. He wore a white, collar shirt. Then again, he barely had wrinkles. Ah, the marvels of modern medicine, she thought, and to think some men used to lose their hair at forty. Gross.

“The name’s Richard but my friends call me Brick. I own the place. And how can I help this lovely lady today,” he said.

“Just milk please. Warm if you can.”

“Well look at that. Don’t get that much nowadays.”

“Builds strong bones.”

“That it does. One glass of milk, coming up.” He walked past the alcohol and reached under the counter for a glass and walked over to a dispenser that held all types of soda and juice. Kim activated the touch screen on the counter. After moving away various ads, she tapped the news window, which expanded. She reached behind her neck and flipped up the tiny USB cap, which is barely visible unless opened or if one was to look for it, pulled out her USB cable implant and inserted the cable into the counter’s router. She turned the sound to full volume.

“Police confirm that Senator Guy Romeo, has been assassinated by the mercenary KD,” she said, “KD left his calling card initials carved into Romeo’s hand. Also dead at the scene was Reverend Gabriel Diaz, and four bodyguards. This is brings the number of KD’s victims to twenty-three, and is his seventh known assassination. Romeo was known for his support of Psychic restriction and Anti-Clone Rights policies and-“ Kim shoved the window aside.

“Payday,” she said to no one. By this time two hundred thousand dollars were being wired to her account.

“What was that?” Brick pushed a glass of milk with a straw in front of her.

“Nothing.” She wanted to take off her glove and touch the glass to see if he cleaned it in the past twenty-four hours, but he didn’t leave and she did not want him to see her with a glazed look in her eyes. So she quickly read his mind and confirmed that he cleaned it right before getting the milk. How thoughtful.

Brick smiled, “Liar. You said ‘pay day’. That’s something. Unless they’re paying you in peanuts. By chance, are you being paid in peanuts?”

Kim couldn’t help but laugh. “No.”

“Well I’m not going to bite, I’m not the KD assassin.” He pretended to shoot her with his finger. “This world’s gone nuts when a guy can go willy-nilly killing celebrities. Even if their politics suck. On top of that, the police can’t catch him. You came from that direction didn’t you? Did you see anything?”

Kim heart rate started to pick up. She took a sip of milk. Can he read minds? Does he know? She focused on him and searched through his mind, his thoughts displaying themselves like a dozen windows in her mind. She could still hear people chattering behind her and could still see Brick, and his mind was an easy read, so she didn’t mind multitasking. She pulled up Brick’s immediate thoughts that were floating around in her head. Three of them were at his foremost attention. One was about his grandson who had just gotten married and he was thinking of how big a check he was going to send them. Another was about buying his wife Carmen a diamond necklace that he saw at the Kay’s on Inglewood Street that had exactly fifty links to celebrate their fifty-year anniversary on Saturday. The third was that Kim was really beautiful, and that she reminded him of his niece. He had no psychic ability whatsoever. Just an average Joe. But Brick was a little different; no one had ever called her beautiful, usually she was “hot” or “first priority bang-able” among other stupid things guys say.  When she became fully aware of her surroundings again she felt, for her the first time ever, her cheeks warm up. Barely three seconds had passed.

Kim said, “No, I actually came from Inglewood Street.”

“What a coincidence. I got to buy my wife’s anniversary gift on Inglewood Street. It’s our fifty year anniversary.”

“Cool.”

“Uh, thanks.”

She smiled. “Your welcome.”

“You’re a strange one. You know-,” he looked up, “oh, hold on I people are in need of my service.” Brick walked off to a table of four people in the back.

The cowbell chimed again, and a six foot three man with light brown skin stepped in, wearing black converse sneakers, navy cotton shorts, and a dark gray sweater. It was one of those pro-clone sweaters that had the fabric that displays moving images. On this particular one, an embryo is displayed when the sweater is zipped up, but as you pull the zipper down, the embryo begins to split into two identical embryos. The hologram waitress didn’t appear and he walked to the counter, took off the sweater, which did its splitting embryo thing, and sat next on the seat next to her. He had a white t-shirt that said, “I am Awesome.” He pulled out the new handheld Nintendo and started playing a game. He looks either half- black half-white or Hispanic. Maybe Dominican.

Brick came back to the counter.

“What’s up Greg?”

Her heart started up again. Holy shit. “The” Greg? She should’ve picked it up from the shoes. He looks so different without that stupid Afro. And here “It” comes. Her mind automatically sharpened her focus. She went over the immediate facts. His full name is Gregory Allen McMillan. Everyone refers to him as just Greg because his real name and real parents aren’t really known. He’s been through several foster parents, all of which are dead.  He was born November 10, 2108, five days before me. He’s rumored the most dangerous psychic alive, rumored to be more powerful than the Original Thirteen. Is one of the few with actual telekinesis. There are rumors that he’s connected to the Red Cross Massacre and its subsequent Haunting. Wanted in the Western American Empire dead or alive for a fat prize of twenty million dollars. Turns out he really pissed off some people over there. The only reason he’s protected here is due to public opinion because he’s part of the Omega Squadron, the supposed “Heroes of the East.” Whenever she spat out information on a target, Kim felt so much like a computer, so cold and metallic, no different from the Machines in the North. She despised comparing herself to the “Metalheads” but as it was ingrained into her life from years of training, she again and again came to the conclusion that that was the way things were and that there’s really no use wasting time thinking about it.

The Greg looked up. “I’m good Brick. Remind yourself to buy the wifey that necklace.”

“No need to try to live my life. I already remembered. What’ll it be today?”

“The usual.”

Brick sighed. “Alright, one Vanilla Coke coming up. You know, I can already see you kids making a good couple. Both of you come into a bar and order the wrong things.” He turned to Kim. “I’ll get you some more milk.”

Taking the next step per assassination procedure, Kim focused on Greg’s thoughts. She expected to see nothing at first because he was Greg after all, even though her telepathy was among the best. Surprisingly, his mind was wide open. Unfortunately, thousands of thoughts flooded her head. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was just bothersome. Deciding on the lazy route, Kim picked his foremost thoughts. In the first one, Greg was thinking, this girl is so pretty and I am such a loser, sitting here playing Pokemon, I should put it away. But not before I catch this one motherfucker. The heat in her cheeks rose again and she could swear that her tattoo was tingling once more. She disregarded it and continued to the next thought, in which he was thinking, oh great, the goddamn stripper is back.

A migraine hit the side of her brain. Confused and annoyed, Kim noticed a thick black liquid, like tar, creeping across the counter toward her milk. Without breaking her connection, she traced the ooze to what she thought was an empty seat next to her and her eyes widened as she stared into the white eyes of a naked corpse sprawled across the counter. It was a woman, about mid-thirties, with long curly red hair, with the tar stuff oozing out of her eyes and a bullet-hole in her forehead. Kim took out her pistol and was about to put another hole in the thing’s head when she felt a hand on her and the corpse and the tar stuff disappeared.

Greg’s voice spoke into her head, Brick frowns on people firing bullets into his walls.

Kim answered in turn, Did you kill her?

I’ve never killed anyone.

Then what the hell was that?

If you want to continue this discussion, I’d think you should put the gun away.

In her haste to put away the gun, Kim dropped it. The floor thudded. Kim ducked under the counter to get it as Brick came back with the drinks. “Here you go.”

Kim slowly got back up; her legs shaking a little as she let the seat hug her butt again. “Dropped my phone.” She pulled out her pink flip phone that had a panda sticker on it and waved it.

Greg laughed. “With the sound it made, I’d have thought you dropped a brick.”

Kim glared at Greg. He laughed.

Brick said, “Watch out, son. That’s the Evil Eye.”

Greg sipped his soda. “Be careful. People actually like me around here.” Kim turned back to her milk. Nobody said anything for about two minutes, but Kim could feel the boy’s eyes on her.

He said to Greg, “Don’t you hate that?” Kim looked up.

Greg smiled back at Brick. “What?”

“Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?”

Greg restrained a laugh. “I don't know. That's a good question.”

“That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.”

Greg started to crack up. He had quiet laugh, it really didn’t make a sound. Brick couldn’t keep a straight face and started to laugh.  He offered a high five. He said, “You know what I’m thinking right?”

Greg returned it. “Pulp Fiction!”

These guys are dorks, she thought. She said, “Never seen it.”

Brick turned to Kim. “The guy knows his culture. Knows pretty much anything from back then. He works as a precursor. Hold up, people in need.” He left them alone again. Greg winked at her.

Kim cocked her head. Keeping her eyes on him, she sipped out of the straw from the corner of her mouth. “So. You collect old junk? Heard it’s quite the living.”

“Pays the bills.”

“Aren’t you under employ of the army? I heard they pay the bills.”

“Rumors aren’t a reliable source of info.”

“My job relies on it.”

Greg’s voiced entered her head again. When I take thirty steps out the door, am I going to have to look back every five seconds to know that you’re not going to kill me?

         “KD’s in town. Don’t you have to worry about him?” she said.

         “Well, worrying about two killers is much more stressful than one.”

         Good, she thought to herself. As long as everyone thinks KD’s a man, I keep under the radar. She said, “Competition is stiff. I can’t promise anything.”

         “I run very fast. And I know great places to hide.”

         “Do you hide behind those dead people?”

         Greg’s voice entered her head now. He must be irritated. Only I can see them. Unless someone gets into my head.

         Them?

         You’d get nightmares.

         I ain’t scared of nothing.

Greg smiled. “All things feel fear. Only humans get scared. That’s just the way things are. Here look.” Kim could feel her gun slide out of her pocket. It pointed at her stomach. The safety switched off by itself.

Staring back at him, heat rushes to her face. Heart pumping blood at double, triple normal speed. A single bead of sweat dribbles down the side of her face. He said he’s no killer, but I hate having a gun pointed at me. “You won’t do it. You said you’re not a killer. Plus you don’t have the guts.”

“Who needs guts? All you need is a finger to pull the trigger. I don’t even need that. How can you disarm me? By breaking my hands?”

“So do it then.” She wanted to reach for her glass of milk.

Greg pretended to shoot her with his finger. “Defiance is a bluff to hide behind. But I’m not a killer. At least I don’t think so. Besides, I’m too nice.”

The gun disassembled itself into four pieces and each one slide itself back into one of her pockets. Her heart slowed, her face cooled down, she breathed out.

“You okay?” Brick’s voice startled her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine.” Kim took a big gulp of the milk.

Greg took out a twenty and slipped it to Brick. “I got to go. Happy Anniversary. Give my regards to the wifey.”

Brick pushed it back. “You know I can’t take this.”

“I accidentally left it.” Greg turned to Kim and bowed his head. “Ma’am, it’s been a pleasure.”

Kim waved, faking a smile. Brick and Greg shook hands and Greg said, “Always a pleasure to see a great man.” Brick went behind the counter to fix up some drinks for another table.

Greg’s voice resounded in her head. I would ask you your name but I figure anything you tell me would be a lie. You know, I have this weird habit where I think my whole life is a movie. If you had to give our meeting a title, what would you name it? Personally, I think its so cliché or stupid when someone says the title of the movie inside the movie. Like a traditional title of this scene would be something stupid like, “The Evil Eye” or something less subtle like “Uncomfortable Silences”.

How about “The Biggest Waste of Time Spent in a Bar”?. Kim went back to her milk.

That’s not bad. I would watch it. Anyways, happy hunting. He smiled, winked at her and made his way to the door.  He stopped with his hand on it for a few seconds, as if he was thinking about something, and then walked out. His sweater was still around his seat.

“Shit, it must be forty outside now,” Kim said. She ran out after him. “You left your-.” He was nowhere to be found. She went back to her seat and sank into it. Brick was at the counter holding the twenty with both hands like it was his first paycheck.

“You see that young lady? Respect for elders shows character.”

“I have character.”

“Just because you are a character doesn’t mean you have character.”

“Is that from another movie?”

He smiled. “The same one.”

Feeling stupid that she played his game, Kim finished her milk and said, “It’s time for me to leave.”

She took out some money from her breast pocket. “How much?”

“It’s on me.”

“Cool.” She put the money back and made her way to the door.

“Hey lady. I think you left something.”

She looked back at Brick. “Huh?”

Brick was pointing at the sweater.

“But-,” she stopped. She stared at the sweater for a couple seconds, walked over to the counter and took it. She slipped it on and zipped it up, watching the two embryo images on it become one. Her hands couldn’t make it out of the thing’s arms and it hung past her waist like a skirt. It was so warm she felt as if it still retained Greg’s body heat. She went back to the door and turned back. Brick nodded his head and she barely waved at him. She opened the door and stepped outside.

The sweater blocked off the wind, which made her eyes water a bit. The sidewalk had considerably less people than before, perhaps the cold forced them inside. She put the hood over her head and as soon as it touch her skin, her mind did what it always did when something touches her skin, it showed her the past twenty-four hours from the object’s point of view in fast-forward. The first twenty-two hours it lay hanging in Greg’s closet, so she had no idea what he did. Then, Greg opened the door took the sweater off the hanger and slung it over his shoulder. Kim slowed the images down, just enough to make out the details of things, which she saw as he walked around. He lived in a penthouse, she couldn’t tell where, but it overlooked the city. It must’ve been about six because the sun was still out, the light reflecting off the dozens of skyscrapers. The room was full of color; it had a red carpet, a plasma flat screen TV with a massive black shelf next to it that contained what she assumed must be cases of old movies, since new movies nowadays are downloaded. He had DVDs, Blu-rays, and even some cases that were twice as thick as the DVDs. Must be some really old technology. The walls were blue, and the paintings that lined them would change to another image every five seconds. He had an orange lava lamp on the top part of the shelf, and a purple one on a dresser in the next room, which must’ve been the bedroom.

He didn’t go in the bedroom, but instead went to the kitchen. He threw the sweater on the counter. He reached above the fridge for bread and pulled out four slices. He opened a cabinet and pulled out a jar of peanut butter and a jar of jelly and made two sandwiches, which he devoured in ten seconds. He then walked to the front door, but stopped and went to the counter to get his sweater. She skipped by him going thirty stories down the elevator. He left the place, only stopping to say “Hi” to some people. He walked down Iverson Avenue past the four story Starbucks and walked into a Burger King that rested under a McDonalds and a Taco Bell and ordered three whoppers. Goddamn he doesn’t stop eating. He devoured a whopper as he walked past a Malborro cigarette factory to a park and sat down on a wooden bench in front of a fountain in the middle lake. He just sat there, staring out into the water. In front of him were ducks. Next to the ducks was another corpse in UPS clothing that simply stood there with a massive gash across his chest, with the nasty tar stuff oozing out of the wound and all over his body. Greg wasn’t alarmed, he probably didn’t care, and as he ate his second whopper he tore off chunks of the bread and threw it at the corpse’s feet and watched the ducks gather around, greedily fighting over the meal. Greg then stood up and headed to Fleet and Kim fast-forwarded the rest of the images to bring herself back to the present.

The hood was large enough that it covered her eyes and she had to push it back some just to see. She turned to the window where the name of the place was painted over. It read, “Pub.” She smiled, committed it to memory, and headed for her hotel, still keeping to the edge of the empty sidewalk.



*          *          *



In the Red Roof-Hilton, Kim made her way to her room, zero one on the tenth floor. The Guild extorts the Red Roof-Hilton, basically owning them, so her stay here, under the name Mia Wallace, was free. The inside of the room was all white. White king-sized bed, white window curtains, white reclining seats, white linoleum floors with white carpets. Only in the bathroom was there another color, black marble bathtub, and shower. She didn’t mind the colors; in fact she never really cared what room she stayed at on assignments, as long as she doesn’t have to spend money. She took off the sweater and threw it towards the bed. She threw it too far and it fell on the floor in between the bed and the sliding door that led to the balcony. She pulled out the pieces of her gun and threw them one by one on the bed. She took off her jacket and hung it over a chair. She sat down on the side of the bed and looked at the TV, the box that she never used in her life. She thought about the remote and how similar it was to a gun. You hold it, point it, and press the trigger, and stuff happens. The Guild told not to watch TV because it has subliminal messages that warp your brain or something. It’s stupid anyways. Who wants to watch someone else’s work? Except for the news. It’s time to meditate anyways, which I don’t do anyways. She got on her hands and knees on the floor and reached under bed for her sniper case and pulled out the silver briefcase that held the parts to her rifle. She climbed on the bed and reached over the other side and picked up the jacket. She took it with her; picked up her rifle case, and left the room.



*          *          *

On the roof of the hotel she assembled the parts and took it to her balcony. She rested the rifle over the railing and peered through the scope to look at the ants walking the streets. It was too dark, so she switched the scope to night vision and looked at the now green city. She watched the busy people going about their ordinary lives from a hundred feet up. One lady in a red overcoat led her son by the hand up Inglewood Street a several hundred feet away. A man in a black sweater hid his face behind a newspaper as she past him. Another man sipped his coffee in his favorite mug, waiting for the traffic light. A drug dealer, she knew he was because he carried a Nike shoebox, which would have the drugs, was leaning against the light post. A woman in blue jeans, a brown leather jacket, and a scarf was holding one shoulder and moving her arm as if she was trying to control it. Must have gotten a new prosthetic. They’re supposed to be hard to use at first.

A group of friends were chatting and laughing as they jaywalked across the street to the Pub. The ground traffic was nonexistent. Curfew meant fewer cars were on the road. The air traffic closer to her was a bit slower than normal though.