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Crown Vic to a Parallel World: From Whence I Came The second installment of the ongoing adventures of Church Philips
1
NO!
I was asleep. I was peacefully and blissfully asleep when a loud, repetitive guitar riff and pounding percussion jolted me awake. My former doctor, Calidi Altrix, was singing AC/DC's hit, `Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap' at the top of his voice while my former teammate, Neb, accompanied him on a wailing electric guitar. I opened my eyes to see what was going on. I couldn't remember where I was and what I saw didn't help me much.
The room had lavender walls, white bedroom furniture, and a huge bed with a lavender cover. The windows were dark, no light shown around the closed curtains. I checked the blue dial of the nightstand clock. It was just before six in the morning.
Shawn sat up next to me. He seemed to share my confusion. The trouble we were both having was the result of an odd trait of Solum hotels. Most of them are built to a pattern. A suite in one of them is likely to be very similar, if not exactly the same, as a suite in any of them, regardless of location or ownership. Anyone who traveled, especially as much as Shawn and I did, would have to think carefully about where they were unless they looked outside.
Shawn scooted to his side of the bed and snatched his telephone from the nightstand. That's where the music was coming from. I'm not much of an AC/DC fan, but `Dirty Deeds' seemed an appropriate ringtone for Shawn's Uncle Ars, at least that's what I thought when I programmed it. "Good morning, Uncle." Shawn muttered into the phone.
Bright red anger erupted inside me and drove the remaining sleep fog from my brain. I leapt from the bed, gesturing and shouting. I pointed at Shawn. "NO! YOU TELL HIM NO! NO MORE OF THIS NONSENSE! IF HE WANTS AN ANCIENT EVIL DESTROYED OR A FUCKING LOST CAT FOUND HE'S ON HIS OWN!"
Shawn covered the telephone mic with his hand and glared at me. "Shush."
I threw my arms up in frustration and let them drop to my sides. I couldn't bear to listen to the conversation. I busied myself pacing the room, muttering obscenities. "Shush me will you...fuck...fucking Ars and his fucking horseshit...NO MORE...enough is too goddamned much."
In spite of my grumbling, I managed to hear Shawn sign off. "Yes, uncle...yes, we'll see you later."
"NO, WE FUCKING WON'T!" I shouted as Shawn ended the call.
Shawn rubbed his eyes, yawned, and stretched his arms above his head. He arched his back like a cat to maximize the stretch. "What is wrong with you?" He asked as he resumed his normal posture.
I lost it. I folded my arms over my chest and ranted. "ME? What's wrong with you? What have we been talking about? We AGREED this had to end. For FOUR FUCKING YEARS we've been on this asinine honeymoon tour of Solum. FOUR YEARS! We were supposed to be gone a year, but NOOOOO, your uncle keeps sending us to intervene in every goddamned thing in the whole fucking world."
I summarized for Shawn's benefit. "We've been on four fact-finding missions, five corruption investigations, three hostage situations, one hijacking, I don't know how many banquets, galas, and fuck-knows events that he was supposed to attend, and we had to stand in as the consolation guests. Jesus FUCK Shawn, I've been beat up, shot, zapped, compelled, stabbed, thrown in jail, almost drowned, blown up, run over, and bored damn near to death. I gave at the FUCKING office. I'M DONE!"
Shawn's eyes, that had glazed over during my shouting, left my face to trail down my body. They stopped about halfway to the floor. He smirked. It was then I realized the `good morning' tent in my sleep shorts probably sapped much of the gravity from my rant. Shawn crossed the floor to me.
"Uncle needs us to go to Earth." He explained from well inside my personal space.
My brain locked up and needed a second to restart. "Earth?" I asked.
"Yes, that place you're from." Shawn started teasing his fingers along my crossed arms in erotic little caresses as he spoke. "We have to do something about his investments."
"We have to go to Earth?" I asked again in the hope that the answer would change.
Shawn dug my hands out of the crooks of my elbows and pulled my arms uncrossed. He held my hands and backed toward the bathroom, pulling me with him as he went. "Come on. Let's get under the hot water and see if we can reduce the swelling you're experiencing. I'll tell you as much as I know afterward."
There was no seduction in his voice or his actions, just the simple promise of pleasure. We'd been together long enough that seduction wasn't always required. I'd come to enjoy the invigorating morning sessions. They woke me up better than strong coffee and left no bitter aftertaste. I followed where Shawn led. I always did.
After some great shower sex, we dried each other off. Shawn stood in front of me while I rubbed his hair dry with one of the hotel's big, fluffy towels. When I was done, I tossed the towel over my shoulder. I moved Shawn's hair aside to unshroud his neck, and kissed my way from his hairline at the base of his skull, around to the side of his throat under his jaw. I rested my chin on his shoulder and wrapped my arms around him to pull his back against my front. "I love you; you know that?" I asked him.
"I do."
"And...and I'm sorry I yelled."
"You're a passionate person." Shawn said to excuse my shouting from earlier.
"Yeah," I agreed, "but...but that wasn't the time for passion. I just...I want the time we promised each other. I want the time for us."
Shawn leaned his head back and met my eyes out of the edge of his vision. "I want that to."
"I know you do. I just...you know what? Never mind." I was planning to go into the matter, to rehash a discussion he and I had already had, but I decided not to. Naked in the bathroom right after shower sex didn't seem the right place or time. I turned Shawn to face me and kissed his mouth. He still tasted like me. I wondered if I tasted like him. "I don't deserve you." I said to my husband.
"Yes, you do." He argued and kissed the end of my nose.
I smiled at his sweetness and stepped away from him. "You better put some clothes on or we'll miss check out time."
Shawn left the bathroom to get dressed while I stayed to see about my hair. I wrapped the towel from my shoulder around my waist and wiped a hole in the steam on one of the mirrored walls. My time on Solum had been very good for me physically. As a sober non-smoker, I felt better. The work I put in to rebuild my body from the destruction it suffered at the end of the first mission had given me an appreciation for exercise that I maintained. I didn't love it like Shawn did, but I didn't hate it, and I liked that it helped me look good for my husband.
I flexed my body in the mirror. My arms were a little bigger than when I was an industrial welder, but the lack of excess weight meant the muscles were defined instead of being masked by flab. My torso was built, almost like a meathead on a bulk cycle, but not as big. My chest had gotten broader and deeper looking. I had pecs instead of man boobs and a flat stomach with the hint of abs. Below my narrow waist were legs that were muscled to match my upper body and a meaty ass. My butt was full and round, but it wasn't a square `gym ass' as Bem would say.
My skin was tan from spending time in the sun, but it was an even, healthy tan instead of the weld-flash burn that I wore in the past. My brown eyes were clear and bright without even a hint of being bloodshot. Even my facial features benefited from my new form. They were sharpened from not carrying excess weight and I actually had a jawline, instead of fat cheeks that sloped to a double-chin and a fat neck like before.
Since Shawn had repressed my body hair, I was mostly smooth. Once my muscle development was complete (as much as something like that is ever complete) Shawn and I had decided to add some hair back in strategic locations. Now I had a smattering of hair in the center of my chest that tapered to an arrow-straight treasure trail that pointed down my flat stomach to a neat bush over my cock. I also had a mat of hair under my arms. The rest of my body was hairless, including my arms, legs, and face.
Clean living, exercise, and magic had served to push the clock back on my appearance. Instead of the forty-five, almost forty-six, that I was, I didn't look a day over my middle thirties. I showed off for my reflection a little more. Even though I knew the body was mine, and that I'd built it out of hard work, my brain struggled to believe it. It still expected to see the bloated wreck that I was before. I hoped that would change in time, but it had been several years, and I was still waiting.
I stopped showing off to deal with my shoulder-length brown hair. I wore it brushed straight back in the same style the Vis-Vit barbers had given me when I first arrived on Solum. I brushed the tangles out of it and worked some stuff into it to make it shine. The mirror fogged over again just as I finished. I played with the golden bracelet on my left wrist and didn't bother to wipe the mirror off. I shrugged at the image that I could no longer see. Fat or thin, muscled or soft, the image in the mirror was still me.
As it happened, Shawn and I weren't that far away from Epistylium. We'd been ten days at a resort to the southeast of the city. The Ferias Hotel and Casino was a renowned escape for the rich and famous. It was on the banks of the Ingens Mare, a vast inland sea near Solum's equator. Shawn and I were welcomed because, in the five and a half years since the mission to `destroy the ancient evil,' we'd been paid half of our reward, five hundred million credits each, or a billion credits jointly. We had more money than that, much more. Our financial manager was making it for us hand-over-fist, so much that I'd lost track of how quickly it was piling up. That meant that Shawn and I were well known as a billionaire couple and firmly in the public eye as wealthy jetsetters.
On the surface, we were at the Ferias as just another stop on our continued world tour. That was only a cover story though. We were really there to neutralize a threat to the digital global currency. A terrorist group had been attempting to seize control of the monetary system. The casino, being linked to so many accounts of the wealthiest one percent of Solum, was an attractive operating base and direct connection to enough credits to cause hyperinflation if released into the economy all at once.
Shawn and I had no part in the actual mission. Our task was to be the `front' for the team sent to capture the terrorists. They acted as our entourage and operated out of our fourteen-room suite. The mission had ended the previous day, rather anti-climactically. The terrorists were exposed and captured, their equipment and assets seized, and Ars' people escorted five individuals onto our private plane, bound for interrogation and imprisonment at the capital.
During the mission, we'd tried to enjoy the resort and treat it like a real vacation, but the schedule of the team dictated our every movement and gave us very little time to ourselves. As soon as the plane took off from the casino roof, I grabbed Shawn for a serious talk about refusing any more requests from his uncle. He'd agreed easily. With that settled, the serious conversation devolved into us fucking all over the suite.
I think the fact that my agreement with Shawn was so fresh is why I was so angry when Ars called the very next morning and Shawn agreed with him as easily as he'd agreed with me. `Fuck him.' I thought, referring to Ars as I tossed our suitcases into the hatchback of our custom vehicle.
I'd insisted on the car when I got out of the hospital. "I'm not folding myself into any more of these toys." I'd said on the way to Shawn's apartment. He agreed provided I didn't try to replicate the Vic. He didn't want to stand out that much. What we'd settled on, was a larger version of the standard egg vehicle.
I'd wanted something sporty, something with some horsepower, but driving on Solum is not like driving on Earth. Speeding, tailgating, driving aggressively; basically, every trait displayed by most New Jersey drivers, were strictly frowned upon. Therefore, we had no reason to have something fast, or something that could handle, because we'd never be able to use it. We got a four-door egg, and upsized it to fit us comfortably in the front or back seats. We also added a cargo compartment about the same size as if we'd added two more seats. When the car was parked, it was clearly larger than everything around it, but not to the point of drawing unwanted attention. When it was moving, it blended into all the other traffic on the road.
Shawn and I loaded the car, ate breakfast, paid off, and left. I drove every minute of the seven hours it took us to get from the resort, to The HALL. For most of that time, I grumbled about Ars, grouched at the traffic, and loaded my mental guns to go up against the small man. I didn't give a shit about his investments on Earth, and I had no intentions of returning to the world of my birth; not for him or anyone else.
When I pulled into The HALL compound, a little less than twelve hours since Ars woke Shawn and me with his unwelcome phone call, I felt ready. In my mind, I'd built an angry brick wall of flat refusal. I'd eliminated the word yes' from my vocabulary. I stopped outside the door to Ars' office to give Shawn a quick pep-talk. "No matter what he asks, the answer is no.' Got it?"
"Got it." He agreed.
Reassured by his tone, and his emotion of firm resolve, I steeled myself and knocked on the door. It swung open like Ars had his hand on the knob, waiting for us to knock. "Ah, Mister Summas and Mister Summas, so happy to see you, yes, thrilled to have you back. I do so enjoy referring to you both as Mister Summas. Warms my heart young man that you elected to take on Shawn's fine name. Not that it would have made much sense to do anything else. Your own name, after all, an alias. Indeed, you did the sensible thing. My, my, my, my, my, where have my manners gone? Nephew, how could you allow me to chatter away at you with all of us standing in the doorway like you are unwelcome salesman or something of the like? Shameful behavior on my part, shameful. Come in, please come in and rest yourselves."
Ars' act was flawless as usual, the chattering, the smile, the small, meaningless gestures. I had to remind myself that, while he appeared harmless, this was the ruthless son of a bitch that had sent a squad of men to Earth to physically menace his nephew in order to attract the sympathy of a powerful and compassionate man.
He was dressed in his normal `uniform,' a road-crew-orange long-cut jacket over a neon-green shirt and a pair of maroon slacks with yellow heels. Ars' shining black hair stood up on his head like he'd spent all day tugging at it with nervous fingers. He sat us down and made us wait while he powered off his television.
The mahogany box in the corner of his office, that I had taken for a liquor cabinet on my first visit, was actually a console television. Ars had been watching a rerun of The Rockford Files.' Somehow, he was getting a cable signal from Earth and not only had a DVR with seemingly endless capacity, but also an extensive on-demand menu. The man loved police procedurals and detective shows from the 1970s and 80s. The Rockford Files' was one of his favorites with `Hill Street Blues' not far behind.
Ars settled in his swivel chair with his hands palm down on his cluttered desktop. "Yes, yes, yes...so very good to have you both here." Ars split the comment and a smile between Shawn and me. "How, if I may ask, is your honeymoon tour progressing? Such a wonderful idea to travel the world. Why not, I might add. To be young and free and well off, to have the means and the inclination, because what is one without the other? Yes, to have the means and the inclination to travel the whole wide world must be lovely."
I bit my tongue and rubbed some frustration across my face. I didn't want to start yelling right out of the gate. I needed to be reasonable, to at least seem in control. Only then could I do what I needed to do. Deep breath, Church.' I thought. Don't let him get to you. Just breathe and state your case.'
"It's not progressing, Ars." I said and tried hard to keep the growl out of my voice. "We keep getting sidetracked on missions for you. We've been on the road too long. I'm tired. Shawn is tired. We're done. No more. Sorry to disappoint you but this is the end of the line."
My refusal changed nothing in Ars' posture or expression. It was like I hadn't spoken. "Certainly," he said brightly, "I certainly understand that travel, even travel for pleasure can be tiring. Going home as it were, seeing familiar places and faces, comforting, comforting indeed. It is that very reason I called you back for this mission." Ars balked at his own word choice. He corrected himself with a quick shake of his head. "Not a mission at all, really. No, a quick trip and some paperwork. You will hardly know you went anywhere."
I involuntarily clenched my fists at Ars' continued insistence that we were going to undertake his `not a mission at all.' I forced my fists open and tried to settle down before I spoke again. Shawn hadn't said a word. He was too busy watching the battle of wills unfold between his uncle and me. He'd seen us face-off before and learned that it was best not to get between us. "You're right about us not knowing we went anywhere." I countered. "That's because we won't be going anywhere except home."
A grin spread across Ars' face. It was such a wide grin, it threatened to split his face in half. I didn't know what I'd said to encourage Ars, but the grin made me nervous. "That is correct. You will be going home. So glad you understand, young man, so very glad. You must be part empath to understand so well. The task I need you and Shawn to complete will take you home. The brokerage house that has been handling my investments is headquartered in Philadelphia, on Market Street, adjacent to City Hall. You will be right in your own back yard."
I stared at Ars. I was stunned that he could be so obtuse. Except he wasn't obtuse. I was witnessing his best negotiating technique. He could just sit there and chatter, slowly wearing down my resolve until I agreed to do what he wanted out of sheer frustration. I rubbed my face savagely. I purposely inflicted pain to focus my thoughts. `Don't let him get away with it.' I coached myself.
Shawn tried to interject. "Church, why don't we..."
"NO!" I barked into my palms. "No. I'm doing this."
I uncovered my face, stood from my chair, and faced the small man from my full height. "Ars, Shawn and I are done. We decided, together. We came here today to tell you we're done. A little less than six years ago, you hijacked my life. OK, wasn't much of a life so no real loss. You brought me here and asked for my help. I gave it to you. Mission accomplished...yay. Then I spent a fucking year recovering. Then when I think I'm done with you, you hijack my honeymoon for four fucking years. Now, I'm telling you, NOT ONE MORE MINUTE!" I tapped the desk with the first two fingers of my right hand to emphasize the last four words I'd said.
The grin faded from Ars' face; his enthusiasm dimmed. He leaned back. He steepled his fingers and raised his eyes to the light panel ceiling. His body language told me he was gearing up for a fight and I steeled myself again to face it.
"Do you feel yourself ill-used, young man?" His rarely-used deeper voice asked me. "Have you not been well-compensated for your efforts? Is your current life not vastly superior to your previous one? Has my hijacking, to use your term, not given you the opportunity to find love and happiness? Perhaps instead of bemoaning what you see as my meddling in your life and affairs, you should embrace the influence that has brought so much sunshine into your bleak existence." Ars' eyes crawled around in his head to meet mine in a direct challenge.
Wow,' I thought, guilt trip. Didn't expect that. He's really pulling out the big guns. What does he need us to do that's this important?'
I looked over at Shawn. His feelings were getting muddled with anxiety and frustration. I assumed that his love for his uncle was getting in the way of his need to stick by his husband. He felt like I was asking him to make a choice. I kind of was. "Fuck it." I said aloud. I sat down and felt very defeated. "Tell us what you want. I'm not agreeing to do a fucking thing except listen to you talk."
Ars' old manner returned like the flip of a switch, and his normal staccato launched into explanation. He addressed himself to me and seemed to ignore Shawn. "The Securities and Exchange Commission is changing its rules about investments held and administered remotely. As part of the new law, scheduled to come into effect some four months hence, in order to retain my investments, made when I was on Earth, now a rather sizable portfolio I might add, I have to present myself in person to prove my identity. I have maintained a presence on Earth, on paper that is, since I returned here in 1963."
"That said, my records indicate that I am over ninety years old. No one, no one on Earth that is, would believe that I was ninety if I attempted to present myself to prove my identity. Even without the new law, I cannot continue to direct my affairs in my own name for many more years. Soon, my Earth identity will be far older than the maximum life span on your former world. I want you and Shawn to go to Philadelphia, hire an accountant and an attorney, and transfer control of the funds into Shawn's name. A simple task that should not take you more than a week, two at the absolute outside. In return for your service in this matter, I promise not to ask you so much as the time of day for the next ten years."
The talk of Earth and Philly made me nervous. I shoved my left hand into my pocket and felt around until my fingers closed around my old digital watch. I closed the thing in my hand and took some comfort in the familiar action. The routine with the watch gave me a second to digest what Ars had said. I saw the glimmer of an opportunity hiding in Shawn's uncle's promise and jumped at it. "A hundred years." I countered.
"Twenty." He replied.
"One hundred." I insisted.
"Twenty-five."
"One hundred and an extra decade per child if we decide to have them."
"Thirty and an extra twenty per child." Ars countered.
"Fifty and thirty per child."
"Sixty years and fifteen for each child, no matter when you have them and how far apart their births." Ars offered in a voice that made it sound like it was the best deal I was likely to get.
I stood and took my left hand from my pocket as I rose. I offered my hand across the desk. Ars shook it. I sat back down. "Alright, Ars, you get your way. What are the details?"
Shawn's anxiety, an anxiety that had been building as I negotiated with his uncle, broke like a wave cresting on the beach and rolled back. He seemed completely content, like we'd had a breakthrough or something. I was more cynical about the arrangement. I knew that I hadn't really won anything. The next time Ars needed something from us, he'd ask. If we refused, he'd apply all the pressure he had at his disposal. The only thing I had achieved was footing. I now had Ars' handshake and his word to use against him. It wasn't a foolproof thing for a man as ruthless as he, but more than I'd had and better than nothing.
Ars explained his investments in general terms, provided us with a sheaf of well-ordered paperwork that included his power of attorney signed over to Shawn, and a USB flash drive with duplicate records. Ars said that he wanted us on our way in three days or less. The last items he drew from the drawers of his desk were perhaps the most impressive.
"You will need this, young man." He handed me a plain, white envelope.
I tore it open. Inside was a Pennsylvania driver's license, proof of insurance, a social security card, a check book, a health care coverage card, an ATM card, and a major credit card, all in the name of Church P. Summas, and all up to date. He gave Shawn a similar envelope but told him that his license and bank account from his last visit were still the same and current.
"How..." I started to ask, then I pushed my mouth shut with the heel of my hand. Ars wouldn't tell me how he acquired the documents or the accounts behind them, and it really didn't matter.
The last parting gift from Ars to Shawn was a small black disc. It looked like a hockey puck shrunk to the size of a pocket watch. One side was plain black while the other was inlaid with clear glass. In the center of the glass, was a pink diamond. "What's that?" I asked.
Shawn explained. "It's the interdimensional travel catalyst. This is what allows us to move between worlds."
I considered asking how the thing worked, but realized that even if Shawn or Ars explained, it was likely that I wouldn't understand. I skipped the futile question and stood up. "Guess that's it. Nice doing business with you Ars. As usual, we'll report-in when we get back." We shook hands all around and left.