Now a bullet sleeps between Malcolm's eyes
'Cause he couldn't stop tonguing sips
Between butter creamy thighs;
Gripping hips to keep from slips
Tossing to the starry skies.
The irony of zero gravity --
Falling in love means floating above.
 
Fool to his root
Always avoiding the boot
From a seaside castle
Princess minding the hassle
Thinking girlish veils will prevail:
He may drift, but intends to sail
Back to arms always open
Welcome in from the ocean
Where's he caught every fish in the sea
"But he only loves me."
So that's what used to be.
Until the thrall twists a blade
Making love songs fade.
One long lonely night
The record skips, and the needle bite
Reminds of forgotten fangs,
Then we hear the gun bangs.
 
Jail bars seem a sin,
Sentencing to hell
Who's already been.
But blood drunk from a poison well
Angel in need of a win
Smiled as she fell
Remembering the murder scene
That made her a headline queen.
 

​At the heart of the North Pole there's a skyscraper.  City ordinance makes it illegal to build anything higher, so it towers over the metropolis.  That's why the North Pole is such a sprawl.  The city can only grow out not up. 
 
I remember being a kid, looking up at that mile high spire thinking, "Someday I'll fly off that roof.  Then they'll respect me."
 
When that dream died it went hard, and took the kid inside with it.  Yet even now lights at the top are blinking red and green, promising anyone looking up he's in there.  A part of me wishes to be that kid again, though I know it's better not to be.  What's coming isn't for children. 
 
The pieces are falling into place.  I don't like the picture, but that doesn't change the view.  In a way, I almost knew from the start.  Still, I keep hoping I'm not smart enough to see what's really happening.  I want to be wrong.
 
Speeding through streets on my bike the snow whips my face.  I take a route through the industrial part of town.  There's less chance of being seen.  However, I forgot the time of year.
 
The factories are in full swing.  Black smoke chugs into the sky hiding the moon.  Low level elves loiter by doors.  Chugging on cinnamon sticks they hope to burn out the part of their brain that knows the future is a dead end. 
 
Down an alley snowmen chase a group of frightened toys.  Looks like panicked deliveries that've probably heard not everyone gets into the arms of children.  Busted out of their packaging, they're making a run for it, though they've yet to realize there's nowhere to go. 
 
I catch a few glances.  However, no one's concern is me.  Making holiday quotas is the real focus here.  Those who don't disappear. 
 
It isn't long before I'm on the main stretch cruising my way into Claus Concourse.  The front of the building is lined by Tin Soldiers, and there's a hundred more inside.  Granted, there's no one stupid enough to go after Big Red, but there's plenty crazy enough to try. 
 
One of the first things we're taught as kids is Santa can't ever die.  If he does, everything his magic created goes with him; the North Pole dies.  Some folks think it's just propaganda to prevent an assassination attempt, though it's only the crazies who're willing to risk finding out.  Me, I've got a sick suspicion it's true.  One more way for Big Red to lord it over us -- we owe him our very existence.
 
I stop a good distance from the entrance.  Tin Soldiers are already taking aim.  I get off the bike.  Hands in the air I approach slowly.  The Tins radio in, reporting my arrival. 
 
Soon enough a Tin Captain comes marching out of the building.  Decked out in dark red and green, the uniform marks her as Big Red's private guard.  A simple gesture, and the other Tins surround me.
 
"We're going to frisk you," she says. 
 
I shrug, "Figured as much."
 
Another gesture.  Two Tins approach me.  One points a rifle, the other goes to work patting me down.  I make no moves, sarcastic or otherwise.  There's a good chance these Tins are just looking for an excuse to fire. 
 
When it's announced I'm clean she says, "I'm Captain Andersen." 
 
"Got a feeling you already know me."
 
She says, "We've actually been expecting you."
 
Her hand signals get me cuffed, and hustled inside.  We board an elevator, jammed in shoulder to shoulder.  Captain Andersen uses a key, and the elevator starts heading to the top.
 
She glances over her shoulder, "I don't normally doubt him, but when he said you were coming here..."
 
I chuckle, "Ya know there is a limit to that trick."
 
"How's that?" she asks.
 
"He knows what we're doing, but never what we're thinking."
 
She replies, "Whatever you're thinking keep this in mind."  She turns, "You do anything I don't like, I will kill you."
 
I smile, "Fair enough."
 
Driving here I figured on one of two outcomes.  Since the Tins didn't shoot me on sight that leaves the second of my guesses still in play.  Call it a reckless gamble, but when the only cards in hand are good for a bluff, everything is a risk.  If I ever want some semblance of peace with Cari Bou in the Outskirts I have to go all in. 
 
The elevator pings.  The Tins march off, and I go as they prod, no resistance.  A black marble hallway stretches on towards towering art deco doors.  Few ever get to see this place.  So few in fact, that as the doors part the bulk of the Tins stay behind.  Only the four in colors matching Captain Andersen may enter.
 
Captain Andersen pulls out a pistol.  Keeping a smart distance -- close enough to eye any subtle movements, but not close enough for me to grab her gun -- she gestures for me to go in.  I take a step.
 
She says, "Remember what I said."
 
"I already feel the bullet."
 
Darkness fills the grand office.  Along one wall is a fireplace large enough to throw a full grown body.  On the mantle above it is the horned skull of a giant goat.  Enormous leather chairs stand in front of the fire, their backs to the room.  Bookshelves ring most of the interior from floor to ceiling.  The secrets in those books are priceless.  A glass trophy case fills one corner.  Its contents seem to dance in the fire light:  the relics of past victories; pieces of defeated foes; mystical awards from other legends.  One wall, though, is just a great glass doorway leading out onto a snow covered balcony. 
 
In front of it is a mammoth desk.  A lamp casts a low light across papers of all sorts.  There are modern pages scattered among ancient scrolls.  In a crystal ashtray overflowing with cigar butts smolders another coal.  It rises, floating in the dark, and as my eyes adjust I see him sitting behind the desk.  Puffing fires that burning cherry, briefly illuminating Big Red's face.  Smoke and his beard mingle, ringing his head in a white wreath. 
 
He speaks softly, yet his voice carries across the room, "How're you doing Rudy?  It's been a long time."
 
"Not long enough."
 
Big Red chews the cigar, a strange sort of grin on his face. 
 
Getting up he comes around the desk saying, "You always were a smart ass.  I kind of liked that about you."
 
"Glad to know someone appreciated it," I say. 
 
There's a scent in the air.  I can't quite place it, the aroma of Big Red's cigar is masking it.
 
Chugging away he saunters towards the fireplace.  I see the familiar crimson suit, shiny boots, and fur trimming. 
 
Staring into the fire he says, "I'm curious what brings you here."
 
The whole ride over I wondered the same thing.  Figuring out the code words, King Crimson, made things a little too certain.  A part of me tried to ignore how some of the pieces fit.  Hell, it's possible I could've spared myself a lot of trouble if I listened to my gut, but some facts a fellow doesn't want to see.  Knowing I don't have all the time in the world, I decide to lay it out plain and simple.
 
I say, "Look, here's the deal.  Someone is planning to make a move on you, and they're going to hit soon.  I don't know who all's involved, but it's some heavy hitters.  They're using the Krampus name to get people onboard."
 
Big Red looks up at the goat skull.  For the first time I notice a bullet hole in it. 
 
Pointing at the skull Big Red says, "He would be happy to know, all these years later, people still fear him."
 
Hints of perfume, baked apple and cinnamon -- I take a step forward.  The click of a hammer tells me to stop.  I freeze.
 
Big Red says, "You haven't told me anything I don't already know."
 
Snorting I say, "Because you always know everything."
 
"Almost."  

​He winks at me. 
 
Then he glances at one of the leather chairs.  A figure rises, wrapped in a red dress.  For a moment I don't recognize the face, then I realize it's Vixen.
 
She says, "Hello Rudy."
 
Big Red chuckles, his belly jiggling.  He says, "Don't look so surprised Rudy.  What'd you think was going on?"
 
I'm still thinking it, though I'm glad to have my doubts. 
 
I say, "Vixen, what the fuck is going on?"
 
She says, "I'm sorry.  I couldn't tell you everything.  Santa thought it was better that way."
 
That doesn't sound like Vixen, but I keep listening.  She tells me she found out about the Krampus cult, and told Big Red.  The two hatched a plot for her to join the group.
 
I cut in, "So he risks your ass to find out who's against him."
 
"And you wonder why you were never a flier?" Big Red says.
 
I reply, "No one should die for you."
 
Vixen comes near me.  She puts a hand on my arm.  Knowing she's fine calms me down, however, there's a look in her eye I can't decipher.  The closer she gets to me the more I notice a figure lurking in the shadows.  It doesn't take a genius to guess it's her bodyguard, Roy Glitterspark.  He's inching closer in case I do something he doesn't like.   
 
Vixen says, "It was my choice.  They wanted to kill him because of the Shortage.  There's a lot of people who think it could've been avoided."
 
I ask sarcastically, "How does a place made of magic run out of food?"
 
Big Red glares at me.  Flicking ash in the fire he thumps back to his desk.  No response is response enough. 
 
Vixen goes on, "I joined the Krampus cause, but they never really trusted me.  That's why I sent you my letter."
 
"Against my instructions," Big Red says.
 
Vixen grabs my hands.  There's something weird about the way she fondles my wrists.  My cuffs feel loose.
 
She says, "But you're here now Rudy.  That's all that matters."
 
She smiles, and I smile back. 
 
"Lot of good sending for you did," Big Red says. 
 
Vixen steps away from me, heading over to Big Red's desk. 
 
Getting a cigarette from an ivory case she remarks, "The snow looks so beautiful tonight."
 
I glance out the window.  She's not lying.  Even knowing what the city is like, from up here it looks beautiful.  I turn to get a better look, and my cuffs fall away.
 
Glitterspark shouts, "He's loose!"
 
A soft thwip sounds followed by the thunk of tin getting struck.  The sound repeats.  Half recognizing it -- a silenced pistol -- I get low.  Sure enough, I barely duck a bullet from Captain Andersen.  Next thing I know shots are going off all around the room.  Tins are dropping, and out the corner of my eye I see Glitterspark firing at them. 
 
My immediate instinct is to run to Vixen.  Hurrying toward her I see Vixen reach up her dress.  She pulls a small caliber automatic out of a holster strapped to her thigh.  She shoots Big Red in the knee then the belly.  He collapses in a quivering pile, blood spurting out his stomach.  Then Vixen starts firing on the Tins.  They're mostly focused on Glitterspark, who's already taken out the majority with those first surprise head shots.  It doesn't take long for the rest to fall. 
 
"The door!"  Vixen calls out, but Glitterspark is already on the move.  He drops the empty pistol.  From under his trench coat he produces a submachine gun.  The door opens letting in a stream of Tins coming to check on the noise.  Without mercy the nutcracker mows them down. 
 
My brain is spinning, trying to get away from the facts, but they're a black hole sucking me in.  Knowing what probably comes next, I spin around.  Charging at Glitterspark I scoop up a dead Tin's rifle on the run.  My eyes still aren't top notch after Kung Fu Karl's beating, so instead of aiming I spray and pray at Glitterspark.  I can't tell if I hit him, but it doesn't stop me from charging forward.
 
The rifle clicks -- empty.  Glitterspark turns, raising his machine gun.  I knock it out of his hands using the empty rifle as a club.  In one smooth move Glitterspark disarms me, almost snapping wrist in the process. 
 
Next thing I know he's battering me with precise blows.  Each strike is a surgical sledge tearing me down.  I've been in a few one sided fights over the years.  I get some solid punches in, but it's painfully obvious I'm on the losing end side.  Even if I were a hundred percent, whatever I've got going for me as a brawler is no match for Glitterspark.  He's a trained killer, blood drunk and thirsty for more. 
 
Then luck shines on me.  I notice him favoring one side.  Whether me, or a Tin, someone managed to plug a bullet in Glitterspark's flank.  Fainting a series of jabs I get him to expose the wound, and deliver a set of vicious hooks to the body. 
 
The fight took us all over Big Red's office, and where we're at gives me a chance.  With Glitterspark off balance, clutching at his wound, I grab him by the shoulders.  We spin, and it dawns on him too late what I'm planning.  Stopping short I plant a foot, tripping the nutcracker as we twirl, and he tumbles into the roaring fireplace. 
 
He rolls out in flames.  He looks like a Yule log scrambling to escape the fireplace -- screaming.  Then Vixen floats by me.  She points her gun, and puts one right in Glitterspark's head.  Seeing her there, standing in the firelight, I don't recognize her.
 
She sighs, "I assume you have questions."
 
Panting I reply, "Sadly, I don't."
 
She smirks, "You were always smarter than people gave you credit."
 
Big Red moans.  Vixen struts back to him.  She glares down at the fat bastard.  Coughing up blood, Big Red grits his teeth.  He starts chuckling, though it clearly hurts.  She puts her cigarette out on his desk. 
 
Clenching his jaw Big Red says, "You stupid bitch.  You can't do anything to me."
 
Vixen nods, "You keep thinking you know what's going on."
 
She fires another round into his belly.
 
She says, "Don't worry.  Remember that practice run, when you fell out of the sleigh drunk."  Shaking her head she says to me, "He lands on concrete two hundred feet below, and was fine in twenty minutes."
 
My head is swimming.  Glitterspark tore me apart, refreshed all the wreckage from earlier.  I'm bleeding from old wounds and new.  However, what's got me spinning is the truth. 
 
I need some air.  What's coming -- what I think is coming -- I head out onto the balcony.  Everything is happening so fast I can feel it slipping out of hand.   
 
Outside, the city sleeps below.  Yet, there are flashing sirens filling the streets.  The glittering gumballs atop squad cars pulse as they hurry towards Big Red's tower.  Snow is falling, but it won't be enough to cover what's going on here. 
 
The pieces started falling into place almost from the get-go.  The odds of someone assaulting Vixen made little sense.  Besides her bodyguard, the seemingly unstoppable Glitterspark, the whole scene at her place felt off.  Those posters backing Papa Nash for re-election stuck out sorely. 
 
Then that whole Krampus cult raised more red flags.  Big Red can keep an eye on anyone in the city, hell, the world.  He just needs to think about them.  However, he didn't seem to have any idea who ran the cult.  Besides Black Jack, only fliers are blessed with Big Red's blindness.  It's one of the perks; they're among the privileged few with privacy.
 
A lot of other bits kept hinting in ways I just didn't want to notice.  Seeing Vixen in Big Red's office, I hoped... that's the mistake I made.  Detective Elfberg said a lot of things changed because of the Shortage, that a lot of people changed as well.  It sounds like a warning now.  Hope died during the Shortage, and that left people desperate enough to do anything.  So now I can't help feeling like I've been a pawn, not making my own choices.   
 
The soft crunch of snow under dainty hooves.
 
I sigh.
 
Vixen says, "I'm not going to kill him."
 
"Not because you don't want to."
 
"You know what happens if he dies.  Everything he creates disappears.  The toys stop being alive, the city vanishes..."
 
"We turn into ordinary reindeer."
 
I turn.  She nods. 
 
Vixen says, "But I can keep him in a coma, pumped full of drugs.  He'll be alive, and we'll be able to live without being under his thumb."
 
Her dress billows a bit in the wind.  It wraps around her like a river of red paint.  She looks amazing, beautiful beyond compare, but I don't recognize her. 
 
Our eyes meet.
 
She turns away saying, "He did it on purpose, the Shortage.  He said it was population control, but it was more than that."  She shakes her head, "We're his playthings.  I mean, he's got all the power, but not anymore.  Things are about to change for the better."
 
I don't who she's trying to convince.  The truth is I think she's right for the most part.  Things in this city definitely need to change.  How that's happening is what's got me worried. 
 
I say, "I've been thinking Big Red tipped off the cops to me being in town, but lately, I've been thinking it was you."
 
A tear in her eye Vixen says, "It was."
 
"Part of the plan?" I ask, though I think I know.
 
She wipes the tear away.  I notice the gun is still in her hand.
 
She says, "It depends what you think the plan is."
 
"I think someone's got to go down for all this.  You can't take credit for axing Big Red.  Some folks, call 'em foolish, they won't appreciate it.  But me."  I start toward her, "Or that Krampus cult, that takes the eyes off you."
 
She backs away.  Raising the gun her hand shakes.  I keep walking toward her. 
 
"Don't worry," I say, "I know ol' Roy was supposed to do me in."
 
I don't hear the gunshot.  I just feel the hot punch in my gut.  Staggering backwards, I lock eyes with a stranger, but I can't look at her for long. 
 
Blue and red police lights ring the building below.  Even if I walk out there's no getting away.  This ends badly for me.  That's for sure.  Though if I've got to be the fall guy I'm going out on my terms. 
 
Turning I stumble towards the end of the balcony.  No railing at all, it tappers out to a narrow point. 
 
I say, "I came back to help because I love you, and you used that love to do something twisted.  Someone like that... how're you gonna make this a better place?"
 
At the edge of the balcony I look back. 
 
Vixen says, "Don't..." -- but I'm already falling backwards. 
 
When the only cards in a hand are terrible it takes a serious bluff to win.  About half way down the spire I start thinking she called mine.  Then I see a flowing stream of red sail off the balcony.  It hovers in the air a moment before plunging towards me.  Her hooves glow gold, a shower of sparks spitting out her hands. 
 
She slams into me.  It's like getting hit by a baseball bat.  It's certainly better than hitting pavement. 
 
We twist up through the air, rocketing across the city.  I don't know what's going to happen when we land, but I'm hoping for something good.  Right now, I just want to enjoy flying.

Spotting a dark dive I duck inside.  Being on the street is a bad idea.  There's no telling who may've followed me from the Krampus building.

​The place is called Persiflage 130.  Candles are the only light inside save for a few low lamps on a tiny stage.  Sitting in a corner where I can watch the door, I wait to see if anyone seems to follow me inside. 

Though the place is on the verge of vacant the band on stage is giving it their all.  The donkey on an upright bass thumps a steady rhythm.  My heart slows.  The rooster on a keyboard plays a mellow neo-soul tune.  Crackling nerves cease spitting sparks.  The cat on a saxophone grooves to the beat.  The tension melts out of my muscles.  An old dog on a trumpet fuses some urban jazz into the mix.  I'm not at peace, but fear isn't in control.

A clockwork doll tick-tocks her way over.  She asks what I want to drink.

I tell her, "Three fingers of something strong."

"Coming r-r-r-ight up."  Her eye clicks shut in a slow wink.  Even in the dark I can spot the rust on her body.  She's an old doll.  Odds are she's older than this building. 

When she returns I'm delivered a glass brimming with red liquid.  It tastes sweet, but the kick soon threatens to punt my brain out of my head.

She twitches into a palsied sexy pose, "How's that sh-sh-sh-sugar?"

I nod, "Just what I needed."

On stage the old dog howls, "Anywhere we can find something better than death... together you see, you and me got no fear of our last breath."

He blows the trumpet.  The saxophone orbits the melody, while the bass bumps in the background.  It's a bittersweet tune.  Hearing it I can't help thinking about being resigned to fate.  Now that Elfonso's dead perhaps I'm destined to take his seat in that chair.  The ghost-odor of blood and sweat conjures a vivid scene of me getting sliced up in that grim basement. 

There's a dark tide rising at the North Pole.  The only way to keep from going under is to get ahead of it.  Rummaging in my pocket I pull out the pages I swiped from the Krampus building.  The writing, something about it strikes me as familiar. 

I've never been one for codes.  Vixen tried to teach me ciphers when we were kids.  That way we could communicate in secret.  Thick fool that I am I never could do anything complicated.  So Vixen kept it simple.  Unfortunately, it's been too many years for me to recall.  Looking at the pages, it feels like the message is at the edge of my mind; the tip of my tongue.  I should know this.

We used to pass each other notes all the time.  Little bits arranging rendezvous where the other reindeer wouldn't find us; sweet words her parents couldn't realize were mine.  Granted, it didn't work forever.  Her parents didn't care about the words only their origin, and the other reindeer, well, they learned the hard way Vixen wasn't soft.  When they got mean they got cut. 

Part of me thinks it was always only a matter of time.  Two people on parallel roads can only walk together until a fork arrives.  We went our separate ways, but we left a mark on one another. 

Signaling the clockwork waitress I watch her clitter over. 

"An-nuh-nuh-nother?" she asks.

I shake my head, "Nope." 

A fat tip goes her way, courtesy of the late Black Jack.  At this rate the cash'll be gone soon.  I don't mind.  He doesn't need it anymore, and I'm pretty sure I can't buy my way out of what's coming. 

I ask the doll, "Is there a backdoor?"

Pocketing the tip she points the way.  I thank her.  The band flourishes.  She tick-tocks away.  I finish my drink, and dive back into the night.  Maybe it's just the drink, however, though I'm still in over my head, I'm ready to go down swinging. 

#

The upside to having one lead is that there's only one place to go.  After sneaking back to my bike I ride to a westside borough.  There's a pool hall there called Jamaica Greene's. 

Tobacco smoke fogs the joint.  Pool balls clatter constantly.  Occasionally low claps and intense murmurs tell of miraculous shots. 

It's a mixed bag inside.  Some folks here are just looking for a game.  Others are killing time between running numbers, or robbing the next liquor store.  That said, everyone here is a hustler. 

Those aspiring to be pool sharks cut their teeth at Jamaica Greene's.  The only rule, besides pay what you owe, is no falsehood.  There's no attempt to down play one's ability, though more than a few folks have overestimated their skills. 

I can feel eyes clocking me the minute I enter.  Whispers kick up all over.  It's a safe bet some here recognize me from news reports, and no doubt somebody is thinking about grabbing me.  Civic duty isn't the motivation.  Cops are on the hunt.  If they show up here, Jamaica Greene's doesn't want them thinking I'm the kind of person frequenting this place.  Tossing me out is the safe play, though calling the cops might also pay off.  Grateful police are never a bad thing.  The point being, I'm on borrowed time every second I'm in here. 

Over in one shadowy corner I spot a pool table surrounded by a tiny catwalk.  Scurrying along it is a mouse.  He lines up a shot, and sends the cue ball bouncing off three rails, ricocheting its way between obstacles until it softly kisses the nine into a corner pocket.  There's no whispered exclamations.  For him, the shot is almost guaranteed. 

Clapping as I approach I say, "Not bad Mortimer.  Looks like you're still good for one thing."

Glancing my way the mouse, Mortimer Read, shakes his head.  Hurrying down the catwalk he heads towards me.  Along the way he pulls out a flick knife.

Brandishing the blade Mortimer says, "You owe me some money motherfucker with years of interest."

Backing away I say, "Chill Morty.  I sent you that cash."  Pointing to a nearby sparrow I add, "I gave it to Andy to give to you."

Mortimer pauses.  He glares in Andy's direction. 

Mortimer says, "Rudy's a lot of things, but one thing he ain't never been is a liar."

The sparrow starts to stammer out a response then bolts for the nearest window.  An otter slams it shut.  Mortimer nods, and Andy the sparrow gets dragged into the alley out back.  He'll be seen again.  Mortimer is severe, but no monster.  However, Andy won't ever be pretty again.  Twenty grand buys a lot of wreckage.

Putting the knife away Mortimer says, "Now that that's out of the way, it's good to see you."

"Good to see you too.  Look, I need some help."

"Then here's some free advice."  Mortimer goes back up onto the catwalk, "Why ever you're killing those reindeer -- I don't care -- but it's time for you to get out of town."

Part of me doesn't disagree.  There's only one problem.  I don't mind going down for something I did.  However, I'm not about to be the fall guy in this situation, and though Big Red tends to leave the Outskirts alone, I get the feeling killing his fliers is exactly the kind of thing he'll chase someone to the ends of the Earth over.  I need to clear my name if I want to be left alone. 

So I pull out the pages saying, "My hoof's out the door.  There's just one, or two things I need to know before I go."

Mortimer hops the cue over a line of balls.  It clips a stripe into the side pocket.  He orbits the table, walking slowly to his next shot. 

He says, "It's been a while Rudy.  I'm not as well connected as I used to be.  The Shortage."  He shakes his head, "Things got desperate.  That strained a lot of relationships, ya follow?"

Everything down to the bare minimum.  People starving in the streets.  No amount of money able to buy a crust of bread.  I can imagine everyone going at each other's throats.  On the Outskirts we did okay, though not much better.  Even good friends ate one another, some literally.

Flashing the pages at him I say, "I'm not here for your connections.  I'm here for you."

I toss the pages on the table.  Mortimer glances at them.  He gestures, and a cat clears the pages off the table.  After his shot Mortimer motions.  The cat holds the pages closer to him. 

He nods, "It's a pigpen cipher."

Hearing it out loud connects all the dots.  Suddenly I remember the code.  Vixen loved to use it because the pigpen felt like alien writing -- "Something from another world," she used to say. 

I ask if Mortimer can read it.  He snorts.  He knows all the codes, invented a few of his own. 
 
So he says, "That's almost insulting."

I smirk, "Then what's it say?"

He reads, "'King Crimson is on the menu.  Three days.  Be ready to devour.'"

A coded phrase in a coded message.  It makes sense.  Using a simple cipher made it easy to encrypt any messages, but also left it likely those letters, if intercepted, might get decoded.  An extra layer made the details a bit harder to figure. 

The rest of the pages are pretty much the same.  The only consistent bit is they all mention King Crimson.  It's a safe bet those three days are up, or damn close to being.  Something is about to happen if it hasn't already.

Mortimer nudges the cue ball into the eight.  The black ball rolls along a rail until it stops just short of a pocket.  Sighing, Mortimer shakes his head.

He says, "What've you gotten into Rudy?"

I tell him, "Honestly, I don't know."

A gesture from Mortimer, and the cat hands me back the pages. 

Mortimer comes around on the catwalk.  Looking over at me he seems to be considering something.

He says, "You were never really a bad guy Rudy.  Trouble, yeah, but not bad.  Do yourself a favor, okay?  Just disappear."

I say, "Would if I could, but you know the old saying.  'He sees you if you're sleeping,' and such."  A dim bulb brightens, "Of course."

"What is it?" Mortimer asks.

"I gotta go.  Thanks Morty."  Running out I shout back, "I owe you one."

He hollers, "Where're you going?"

"To see King Crimson."

I'm on my way to Big Red's.