Zinc Radius & Farberman’s Big Night

There was a constant flurry of activity in the neighborhood when the high rise buildings started going up. We watched them climb through the clouds almost up to heaven, certain that if we stood on top, we’d be able to kiss the sky. It wasn’t the only time we’d be that high, but I suppose it was the first, I mean one day we’d understand that it was possible to live in the world of make believe if we could just stay eight miles high. That’s how it was back then though, I mean we were pretty sure that everything was possible. Alexi Markov lived on the twenty-third floor with his sister and mother. I’d hang out in their apartment every now and again, and watch the world scurry around below us. Sometimes we’d go up to the roof where Alexi was sure that if it was quiet enough, he’d be able to speak with God, or at least one of his angels. His mother would usually shout at us to get down from there, but it really didn’t matter, I mean Alexi was sure that God would still be there when he came back.   

Alexi had been the man of the house ever since his father was found with a dozen blini or so crammed down his throat in the storage room in the back of Boris Badenov’s Borscht and Blini Bistro. There was some suspicion that it might have been a homicide, but the authorities said that there just wasn’t enough evidence, even though the family was pretty sure that the moose and squirrel in a Lada seen leaving the scene was enough to warrant some kind of an investigation. Anyway, the responsibilities he inherited made him grow up pretty fast, I mean he was only thirteen and he was already taking care of his mother and his sister. It had to take some kind of a toll on him, I mean he didn’t really get to be a kid or anything. I suppose he had no choice, I mean his sister was very young, and his mother didn’t seem to have any interest in being the adult. Irina Markov spent most of her time crawling in and out of bed with anyone who had the time and the fifty dollars. We were sure that it was all going to come crashing down on him soon particularly with his mother parading around the front porch all day in her lingerie, revealing enough of her goodies to entice the paying customers and the neighborhood kids. Tate and Farberman and I would spend a lot of time hanging around the front of her house. When she knew we were there, she’d do all kinds of things just to tease us. “Do you have fifty dollars?” I asked. I knew they didn’t, I mean if any of us had that kind of money, one of us would have been all up in her stuff by then. By the time we finished high school though, the combination of Purple Haze and Blue Meanies had sent Alexi over the edge of reason to believe that he was Zinc Radius, a fifty year old pharmaceutical sales rep from Triton, near the Kuiper Belt. It happened sometimes, I mean some people just react like that. And while Zinc Radius wandered around the tunnels connecting the caves and caverns that housed Triton’s civilization, Irina Markov, who was desperate to have a man in her house made the mistake of inviting Farberman to spend the night.

It was hard to believe that she picked Farberman, I mean it wasn’t that there was something wrong with him or anything, but he was dull. Even his family thought he was boring, and I suppose we were a bit jealous and everything, I mean we were pretty sure that Irina Markov knew what to do once she closed her bedroom door. Farberman though, had no idea what the hell he was supposed to do, I mean maybe she knew and maybe she didn’t, but Farberman had never really been with a woman before. Oh, there had been the usual begging and pleading that almost always occurred while parked on Melanie Holt’s driveway some Saturday night, and the tittie touching that accompanied the French kissing on the couch in her parent’s basement, but Farberman had only got any more at his own hands. And while he was excited to lay with Irina Markov, he was scared to death, I mean he really had no idea about what was supposed to happen, exactly.  Tate and I would have given anything to be able to listen to the maiden voyage of the S.S. Farberman, but we were pretty sure we’d hear about it later, I mean we figured that Irina would let everyone know what a complete and utter failure he was in bed. We were wrong though, I mean she never said a thing, not one single word but by the look on Farberman’s face, we knew what really happened anyway. It was about time too, I mean Farberman really needed to get laid if he was ever going to learn to relax.

Back in a cave tucked away somewhere on Triton, Zinc Radius sat down to write the science fiction story he believed needed to be told. He huddled over an old Smith-Corona and banged away at the keys, hoping to pound out prose as quickly as Balzac. He knew that the truth had to be told, and he just needed to figure out how to tell it so that others would want to hear what needed to be said. It was always the same across the cosmos, I mean writers fill time and space with the truth only to find that most creatures would rather live a lie than face the truth. Its always been like that. The responsibility for delivering the truth was one he took seriously, I mean he was sure that it was his duty. Iridium Nixx believed that she too could be a part of the solution. The sister of Aragon Nixx knew that excitement and desire to change that was found in marches and demonstrations didn’t last very long, so she used her brother’s notoriety as a Sci-Fi Private Eye and front man for Aragon Nixx And The Pirate Satellites to spread the word about the writers’ collective and the movement to expose the truth. Zinc found her strong and powerful, and wonderfully brilliant, and he wanted her naked in his bed.

Farberman left Irina Markov’s house different than when he went in. He said that he had seen things he never knew where there, and he was pretty sure that she had shown him the meaning of life. “You just got laid.” Tate said.

“I suppose so.” Farberman said. “But it was more than that. I think I’ve been released.” I had no idea what went on in that house, but it was quite possible that Farberman saw something laying there between the sheets, I mean I was pretty sure that being with Irina Markov was very likely some kind of religious experience. I don’t suppose it really mattered much though, I mean there was always a chance that Irina Markov simply fucked Farberman’s brains out and turned him into an idiot. Whatever she did to him, Farberman didn’t seem to get enough. He talked about her constantly, and he would sit across the road and wait for her, hoping that she would ask him in just one more time. He knew he’d never be satisfied with just one more time, but he kept telling himself he would. It made no difference really, I mean Irina Markov let him know it would never happen again. She apologized for all sorts of things, but Tate and I both knew that she was really only sorry for ever inviting him into her house. Farberman took it hard, blaming himself and trying to figure out what went wrong.

Zinc Radius stood at the side of the bed and tried to get dressed without waking Iridium Nixx. She was beautiful and she was insane in bed, but she was also incredibly boring. All he wanted to do was to get the hell out of there without waking her, I mean he didn’t think he could stand another second of her inane musings or humorless anecdotes. He was sure that there was something wrong with her, I mean it just didn’t seem possible to him that someone could be that fucking dull without having something seriously wrong with them. He thought that she was quite possibly even more boring than Farberman. As he stepped out of her room, and hopefully her life, he felt the universe shudder as it jumped to the left, and stepped to the right, and sent him catapulting across the stars and through the galaxies. At the same time, in another galaxy, Farberman felt the same jump and step and stood there with his hands on his hips and his knees brought in tight. As Alexi Markov landed on the roof we finally managed to kiss the sky. When the dust cleared, Farberman was no longer on the roof with the rest of us. We thought he might have tried to sneak into Irina Markov’s house, but he didn’t, I mean he found himself on the other side of space and time, standing at the side of a bed getting dressed, as an insanely beautiful woman laying between the sheets called him Zinc, and invited him to come back to bed and take her just one more time. Farberman had a taste of a woman, and he wasn’t about to let this pass by, I mean shit like this never happened to him. It didn’t matter. In the end everyone was happy, and we all got exactly what we thought we wanted, I mean Alexi got a break from the shit that was killing him, Tate and I kissed the sky, and Irina Markov found some guy with a truckload of money who wanted to marry her. Farberman had gotten laid time and time again, but on the nightstand beside the bed in Iridium Nixx’s room was a copy of ‘Notches On The Kuiper Belt’, by Zinc Radius which Farberman read, but just didn’t understand. I don’t suppose it really mattered, I mean from what I’ve heard, very few people do.

https://youtu.be/0BoR0BAhLmk?list=RD0BoR0BAhLmk&t=4

Axial Tilt & The Aardvark Astrologers

There was something going on with Axial Tilt, and even his therapist was having difficulty identifying exactly what it was. He worried about everything, and he couldn’t seem to find a quiet corner of his mind where he could just not think about anything. “How long does it take to forget?” he asked

“About what” the therapist responded.

“Everything.”

“Not very long.” the therapist said. “Usually right after you stop thinking about it.”

“About what?” he asked.

“Everything.” And that was the way it had been for as long as he could remember. He always felt like everything was always going around in circles, I mean no matter how far he went, he just never seemed to move any further than where he began. It had impacted his work as well, I mean there was a time when Axial Tilt had been one of the top sci-fi private eyes alongside the infamous Aragon Nixx. He just couldn’t seem to stop the years from crashing in like the tide and flooding all of his thoughts. So he was in his fifth year of therapy, not that it was helping or anything, but he’d been holding on to a minute speck of hope that it was all going to get better for so long, that he just didn’t think it made any sense to give up now.

It was Nixx who suggested that he get some help, just about the same time that Tilt began going out to the nudie bar with the aardvark astrologers who had recently moved into his garden shed. He said that they provided him with the map to happiness, but the truth was they weren’t really there, I mean the whole thing was just in his head. Nixx had seen this before, although it was usually at some party on Earth where flying monkeys and iguanas performed show tunes from The Music Man, while a couple of penguins were out looking for the seventy-six trombones that had gone missing after the two dragons in the kitchen passed around a baggie filled with peyote buttons. Nixx knew that there was almost always some kind of hallucinogen involved, but he also knew that life on Earth was like that a lot of the time. It always seemed difficult to get along without them, I mean it had been a long time since the reality down there was even palpable.

“And when the aardvarks moved in” Tilt said, “it was almost impossible to solve anything, except of course what I should wear, I mean after all they are astrologers.”

“The aardvarks?” the therapist asked.

“Ya, for the past couple of months they’ve living in my shed.” It was a lot longer than that, but I suppose it didn’t really make much difference, I mean even Tilt knew that he should have asked them to leave. It wasn’t that he never thought about it, I mean it had played out in his head in a million different ways, and not one of them ended well. No matter what he said, or how he said it, it always ended up with someone being hurt. Sometimes it was him, and sometimes it was the aardvarks, but it was enough to make someone suggest that Axial Tilt probably needed some other kind of  help. Nixx could only think of one thing to do, so he took Tilt  back to 1976 and landing somewhere between Thin Lizzy and the Electric Light Orchestra, he found Farberman and his friends exactly where he left them, at a bar on the campus of York University.

“Are you serious.” Tate asked.

“One hundred percent.” Nixx said. “We know they’re not real, but he says they help him live a more fulfilling life.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“I just told you, they’re not real.” Nixx said. “Its all in his head.”

“I don’t see how that matters.” Tate said. “Its wonderful that he feels more fulfilled. Does fulfillment really need to be born out of some pre-fabricated reality?” Nixx had never been able to understand the shit that regularly fell out of Tate’s mouth, I mean he knew it was just the drugs playing around with the buttons and levers in his brain, but it was almost like dealing with one of the East Side Kids. It didn’t really matter though, I mean Farberman said that he was sure he could come up with a plan to rid Axial Tilt of the aardvarks, even though there weren’t really any aardvarks at all.

“Does any of this sound plausible to you?” the therapist asked.

“Not really” Tilt said, “but what do I know. I’m the guy who everyone thinks has an aardvark problem.”

“You do.” the therapist said.

“Do what?”

“Have an aardvark problem.”

“I don’t know, I mean the more I think about it, the more I’m not so sure that I’m the one with the problem.” Tilt said. And there it was really, I mean whose damn problem is it, anyway? I suppose its human nature though, I mean we have this innate need to have everything behave the way we think it should, and not the way it does. And that, in a nutshell is what’s really crazy. As he thought through the problem, Farberman too understood that the problem was likely not with Axial Tilt, but rather with those around him. He was used to it, I mean most of the people he knew were kind of messed up, starting with Tate, and Asher Wilde and Maddie Grant, and all the way to Strange Jane and Arlo Cool, they all saw things that weren’t really there, but they were far from crazy. They just imagined that things could be better for everyone, even though they were all told that imagination was child’s play. He wasn’t sure if anyone else out there would get it, but he was pretty sure he could get Nixx to understand, and Axial Tilt to give up the weekly therapy sessions, I mean its not like they were helping with anything, anyway.

No one could say for sure exactly what happened that afternoon, but the story that’s still being told is that Axial Tilt stopped imagining, just for a moment and the cosmos simply turned off and on again, like the blink of an eye. In the ensuing complete and total emptiness that swallowed everything he knew, he saw himself standing among the constellations watching flying monkeys and iguanas perform show tunes from The Music Man, while a couple of penguins were still trying to find the seventy-six trombones that had gone missing after the two dragons in the kitchen passed around a baggie filled with peyote buttons. Nothing seemed matter much. It really didn’t have to, I mean there was nothing left to forget.

The Truth Can’t Set You Free

They used to line up in front of the red brick house on Renoak Avenue, patiently waiting their turn with Alisa Bobick’s mouth. She was, without a doubt, the neighborhood mouth that everyone of us wanted to slip into, primarily because she’d let us. One after another, she kept the line moving until all those who had been waiting were satisfied. It wasn’t much of a challenge really, but it was what it was. The problem with growing up in Bathurst Village back then was that everyone was pretty much the same. It was hard to tell the neighborhood girls apart, I mean they all looked and acted the same. The constant giggle that emanated from the couches in the corners of the basements at every house party held in the neighborhood was almost enough to make us think that those girls, and possibly us as well, would remain virgins until the end of time. Alisa Bobick stood out from the crowd even while kneeling, always eager and willing to offer her services to those of us who had been frustrated by her friends who giggled, and then screamed at the thought of even catching a glimpse of what lay inside a pair of Levi’s. By the time we entered junior year in high school though, most of the neighborhood girls were willing to open their minds and their legs, which worked out just fine, as Alisa Bobick met a rock star who made her think that it may be time to get up off of  her knees.

None of us really knew much about Daz Larkin other than he had spent the last few years keeping time across galaxies as the drummer for the coolest psychedelic jam band this side of the Gamma Quadrant, Aragon Nixx and The Pirate Satellites. Afraid to lose him to her reputation, Alisa was determined to keep her past a secret. We thought they might actually be able to make it work, I mean despite the fact that Daz was about to boldly go where so many others had gone before. And as they grew closer, it became more and more difficult for her to keep her secret from him, I mean there were all sorts of hormonally impaired boys inquiring if she would, or if she  could, and she was running out of places to hide them. We all believed that it was only a matter of time before Daz found out. It just seemed that it would have been so much easier to just tell him the truth, but she had no idea how he’d  react. Its always the uncertainty really, I mean no matter how well you think you know someone, you never can tell how they’ll react to that kind of news.

It wouldn’t really have made any difference anyway, I mean Daz had his own closet where he was hiding a skeleton or two that he’d collected over the years. It was hard to say if anyone knew exactly what was in there, but we were pretty sure that Nixx knew, I mean he almost always did. He was after all,  a Sci-Fi Private Eye. It wouldn’t have mattered much though, I mean we all have things we desperately want to hide, and so we spend an enormous amount of energy trying to make sure no one finds out what they are. The truth, which is always important although often not believable, was that the reports of the real Daz Larkin having died several years ago in a truffle foraging mishap were in fact true. The drummer for Aragon Nixx and The Pirate Satellites was nothing more than a look alike. He was, in reality Regis Sealy, an imposter and unsuccessful waterbed salesman from Mario’s Mattress Maniacs, in Hoboken, New Jersey.  Farberman said that he had heard about this kind of thing happening before. I suppose it didn’t really matter much in the general scheme of things, but man, some of us just hated being lied to like that.

Just before the Gamma Gamma Haze Festival, the shit finally hit the fan and everything began to unravel. Alisa wound up involved in a sex scandal with some keyboard player from Enid, Oklahoma and the sound girl for a progressive punk band, that lasted for almost two days. I suppose she just couldn’t help herself, I mean its really not that easy to stop being what we really are.  As for Daz Larkin, well he found himself curled up with Madame Sonya, the psychic fortune teller and part time pyrotechnic engineer who was able to extract his secret, and was only willing to keep it to herself in exchange for a large cash   and several passes to the festival. Daz was unable to provide either and so he disappeared into the darkness of the night sky. No one knew where he went, and none of us ever heard from him again. Rumors circulated for years that he was seen in a Jack In The Box in Boise, Idaho, or at a Chipotle’s on one of Saturn’s moons, but none of the sightings were ever verified. Daz Larkin vanished without a trace, and he took Regis Sealy with him. Alisa finally came to terms with who she really was, and headed off into the world of rock ‘n’ roll as a  groupie named Honey Divine. Every so often we’d hear that she was back in town with some over the hill metal band trying to salvage a career with one more mediocre album release. Farberman said that he heard there were numerous songs written about her and her exploits between the sheets in numerous hotel rooms, although we never really sure which ones. After the smoke cleared, Nixx and the Pirate Satellites were able to entice a drummer from the remnants of the Spiders From Mars, and headed off on an galactic tour. Following the first few performances, several reviews were very clear to note that the new guy sounded a hell of a lot like Daz Larkin. I suppose it was possible, I mean Nixx could find anything, but we just didn’t know. We were certain though that even if we knew the truth, it would almost be impossible to know if  it was really the truth. It wouldn’t really have mattered anyway, I mean it rarely does.

A Petroff In A Pear Tree

Nobody cried when Daniel Petroff passed away, I mean hell, there wasn’t even a memorial service for him. It was sad really, I mean even though he was pretty fucked up, he still deserved to have someone love him enough to cry when he was gone. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor bastard, I mean sometimes the choices we make in life really aren’t our choices at all. I was pretty sure that Daniel Petroff never planned to spend his life drifting through space believing that he was God. There was a time when his life was filled with as much hope and promise as any other. When we were in college there was a girl, although Monica Vibrato was no ordinary girl, I mean she was the stuff that wet dreams were made of. There were stories written on bathroom walls at The Rolling Hills Golf And Country Club that spelled out in iambic pentameter exactly what she was willing to do. Petroff would stand quietly nearby and watch her sitting by the pool as she soaked up the sun and about half a dozen Whiskey Sours, while beads of sweat danced down her chest and came to rest in her cleavage. He was head over heels, and after a couple of weeks of innocuous flirtation and fantasy, he was sure that she felt the same. She didn’t, and I’m not even sure she knew he was alive, but during the Canada Day weekend that summer Daniel Petroff’s life changed.

A bunch of us spent the weekend at someone’s cottage on Lake Simcoe where we wandered around the far reaches of our minds, wired on peyote and psilocybin as Spirit and The 13th Floor Elevators carried us through the darkness and delivered us into the light on the other side. Somewhere along the way Petroff got lost, I mean he stepped into the darkness but never came out. Not that anyone really cared, but he simply disappeared. When the smoke cleared, and the winged horses flew off, he stepped out of a brilliant, white light in calm confusion. It happened sometimes, I mean Aragon Nixx, who always seemed to be around whenever we ventured into time and space, said that it was almost inevitable that someone wouldn’t be able to find his way back from the hallucination he had disappeared in. Petroff was completely unaware that something may have been wrong, as he reached for Monica Vibrato with an outstretched hand and a solemn promise to give her the light he was certain was his very essence. She didn’t hear a word though, I mean she busy doing Nixx in the back seat of the Chevy Vega her father bought her as a graduation present. It didn’t really matter anyway, I mean she would never have believed that Petroff was who he thought he was.

The auditions for the background Apostle positions were completed and the heavenly chorus that was to be an integral part of the upcoming tour was assembled. Monica Vibrato had thought about giving it a try, but there just wasn’t enough room in the back seat of her Chevy Vega to set up a microphone for an audition. That was the last time Petroff saw Monica, I mean he hovered inches above the lake to rousing choruses of ‘hallelujah’ and ‘amen’ as he headed out on the road with the Apostles. When I think about it, it always reminds me that there are more times than we care to remember when life just doesn’t work out the way we want it to, I mean you can’t always be lucky enough to dodge the bird shit if you want to feel the sun on your face. I heard Petroff on the radio several times over the years as he spoke about how to save your soul on his syndicated radio show ‘Salvation Showdown’, or some other bullshit that sounded like that, and I saw him on the news a few times as he was being carted off to Queen Street Mental Health for insisting that he was God. I never really understood it, I mean it was weird, but he was completely harmless. All he really wanted was to spread love and peace. I just couldn’t understand why people were so afraid of  him, I mean it was the same thing over two thousand years ago.

Monica Vibrato, a little upset that she never got the chance to at least try out for the travelling Apostles, drove off into the sunset with Aragon Nixx, but he eventually abandoned her somewhere in Algonquin Park where she was rescued  by Tobias Tremolo, and got to know him the way David knew Bathsheba. They stayed together for almost two years, until Tobias was killed by police while attempting to shoot a guy who was trying to pass himself off as God. Nixx was always Nixx, When he’d had enough of the idiocy and short sightedness that we continuously display, he headed back across time and space and settled down with some female he found on Sherman’s Planet. It always seemed to work out for Nixx, I mean he never had any   expectations or preconceived notions to fuck anything up. The rest of us, well, we could stand to learn a thing or two from the Sci-Fi Private Eye, I mean we’re just so damn confused, and lost, and unhappy, that I suppose we just never seem to find a way out of it all, unless of course we fill our minds with peyote, or psilocybin. I’m not sure what the answer is, but I don’t believe for a minute that Nixx or for that matter, Petroff were wrong, I mean I don’t think that there were very many choices available to us, although spending the rest of my life in a hotel room with Franny Glass would have done me as much good as it did Salinger. As for Petroff, he died of natural causes, quite prematurely really, I mean his heart simply stopped. And while there is no medical evidence to confirm the theory, most of us believed that died from a broken heart when he learned that he had been betrayed. Everything else was just icing on the cake, I mean he was dead long before he was crucified on a pear tree.

A Night At The St. Regis Hotel

Nobody would have believed that Asher Wilde was involved in anything out of the ordinary, but when a couple from Omaha, Nebraska found his body stuffed in the bar fridge of room 1104 at The St. Regis Hotel while looking for Mountain Dew, we were pretty sure that he’d been up to something he have been better off to have left alone. There was always something going on that most of us didn’t even know was out there, I mean almost anything was possible particularly if they told you it wasn’t. We were starting to figure out that things weren’t always what we were told they were. Farberman believed that Wilde had been murdered. I didn’t really know either way, although it was unlikely that he stuffed himself into that fridge, but Tate and I barely knew him so we just assumed that Farberman was right. Wilde had been bouncing around time and space, writing cheap pulp fiction that I had never heard of, but to be fair, we were pretty messed up on all kinds of shit back then. It wasn’t unusual for us to float through the myriad of galaxies that lay between the living room and the kitchen, fighting off the flying lizards, and watching the chimpanzees perform a pretty solid cover of ‘Tears Of A Clown’.  It didn’t really mean anything though, I mean he wouldn’t be doing any writing anymore. I wasn’t always sure if any of it was real or not, I mean sometimes it just seemed too fantastic to be true.  Farberman believed that Wilde had been silenced, I mean we were sure that there were secrets out there that we just weren’t supposed to know. I don’t think it really mattered, I mean it was close to impossible to get anyone else to see what had been going on. They said they wanted the truth, but so much of their time and energy was wasted on lying to themselves and pretending that they already knew so they wouldn’t have to see their piddley ass lives turned inside out. I suppose it was just human nature, but I really didn’t think it had anything to do with Wilde’s unfortunate demise.

Nobody could say what Wilde was doing at The St. Regis Hotel, or why the couple from Nebraska would be looking for Mountain Dew in a hotel bar fridge considering what they charged for that kind of thing, but Farberman wanted answers. We thought it was best to bring in a professional, and with Phillip Marlowe and Sam Spade dead, we really had no choice but to call Aragon Nixx, the Sci-Fi Private Eye. Tate and I were supposed to help him out but we really had no idea how we were going to pull it off, I mean we were already fighting off the flying lizards and trying to keep the chimpanzees on key as they ran through the Motown catalogue. Tate thought we’d be okay though, I mean he said we had more than enough peyote to get us through anything. Nixx showed up disguised as Javier Estoban, the infamous Mambo dancing Cuban national who looked a lot like Raul Castro, and sounded exactly like Desi Arnaz. We had no idea who he was at first, I mean jumping through time and space had a habit of making things pretty weird, but this was weirder than what we knew was already going on in boardrooms and bedrooms across the cosmos. In his guise as the traveling mambo dancer, Nixx wasn’t able to uncover much useful information, but he did manage to book himself two weeks worth of dance lessons in the hotel ballroom. The front desk clerk was almost certain that Wilde was in the hotel bar with a couple of chimpanzees in gabardine suits the night before his body was found, and I suppose it was possible, I mean nothing really surprised any of us anymore. Nixx said that if we found out who did it, it will invariably lead us to why, while Farberman suggested that knowing why will lead us to who. Tate and I had no idea which one of them was actually right, but at least there was some agreement that the chimps were probably involved. It was troubling for Tate and I though, I mean if it turned out to be true, it could very well be the end of one of the best Motown cover bands we had ever heard.

Nixx said that it wasn’t uncommon for governments to use unsuspecting animals to assist in the demise of its citizenry. He had seen it before. We had no idea though, which government secret Asher Wilde could have uncovered, but I suppose the answer to what really happened to him lay somewhere in that secret. Nixx was certain that the chimps knew more than they were saying, but we just couldn’t seem to get them to talk even though Tate kept feeding them opium infused bananas. Sometimes, despite all of the effort, the truth remains as elusive as freedom, and we just need to walk away with more questions than answers. It doesn’t really matter, I mean Wilde would still be dead, and the chimpanzees would still be filling taverns and concert halls that dotted the American mid west. I suppose that Tate and I were at that point, I mean we just didn’t care about Wilde anymore. There were far more important things that needed to get done, I mean the flying lizards needed to be rounded up, and the chimpanzees needed to be settled down. We also needed to find a way to get out of the nightmare that was The St. Regis Hotel, I mean eight dollars and ninety-five cents for a can of Mountain Dew was insane. Nixx hadn’t been able to help really, and I was beginning to suspect that he never would. I suppose he tried his best, but it seemed that the great Sci-Fi Private Eye was completely out of his league. Tate was having more success simply feeding  the chimpanzees, I mean at least he was building some kind of relationship with other living beings. We called it quits, although I have no idea if Farberman and Nixx carried on with their investigation, but Tate and I returned to the couch that served as the centre of our galaxy, strategically placed between the kitchen and the living room and settled in to watch the chimpanzees lay down a kick ass cover version of ‘I Can’t Help Myself’.

See Jane Run

 

It was a difficult time for Farberman, Hell it was difficult for all of us, but Farberman seemed to take it harder than the rest of us. Life seemed to have sucked the soul right out of him, leaving him angry and afraid most of the time. We had no idea what the hell we were supposed to do for him, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t have any ideas either. All we knew was that Martin Farberman had had enough. It was exhausting just trying to maintain some sense of sanity while surrounded by anguish and despair. That’s what he told us anyway, I mean he had simply  had enough of everything. There were a lot of things we learned as we tried to recover the souls we had so absent mindedly misplaced in a heap of broken dreams and stolen moments. The thing is though, its not about justice, I mean it never has been. We just didn’t know it back then. I suppose most people never get it, but somewhere along the road we traveled a few of us figured out that its really about forgiveness. Its always been hard to figure life out, I mean the beginning and the end are always the easy bits but the middle, well the middle’s enough to drive you out of your fucking mind.  For Farberman though, forgiveness just didn’t come that easy.

The news that Aragon Nixx would be delivering the commencement address had made Strange Jane wet with anticipation and sexual tension. It was almost more than she could handle, I mean the possibility of meeting the hero of Weaver’s Planet had her quivering with just enough excitement to make it difficult to walk. Nixx had no idea that he had that kind of effect on women attending liberal arts universities, but his larger than life image sent strange Jane racing across the campus in the hopes of purchasing a ticket for the event. She had started running in high school even though she never really had anywhere to go. She just ran, and despite never winning a provincial championship, she was almost always willing to go the distance. By the time she made it to college, Jane was running everywhere. She had run from here to there and then back again without stopping. If she would have slowed down, even for a moment, she might have discovered that Aragon Nixx was merely a fictional character, I mean he didn’t really exist. The Sci-Fi Private Eye who had filled her thoughts and stolen her dreams was nothing more than the alter ego of some writer’s damaged psyche. Strange Jane was never particularly fond of fiction, although she did have a thing for Salinger that lasted one summer. but that afternoon in a chance meeting with Aragon Nixx at an overpriced coffee shop on the far side of the campus, she discovered that her entire life had been a complete waste of energy. She was hurt and she was furious, and she wanted justice. Nixx was just relieved that he was too weak to give a damn, I mean if he was stronger, he was sure that he would have just pulled the plug.

Aragon Nixx delivered one hell of a stirring commencement address. Despite not being real he cut a dashing figure in a gray trench coat and trademark fedora, but I suppose it had more to do with the effects of the peyote than anything else really. There he was though, talking about running into the future with faith, determination, and a two for one coupon from Ponderosa. Strange Jane took in every word, and had made up her mind right there and then to spend her life traveling with  Nixx, I mean he wasn’t just any Sci-Fi Private Eye, he was the best, crossing galaxies in search of missing science fiction writers. Jane believed that if she ran far and fast enough, she would find herself in Nixx’s office above the Parallax Bar and Grill somewhere on Stasis 6. We thought it was one hell of an idea, but Farberman was pretty sure that it just wasn’t possible to generate enough speed to traverse space and time. He was probably right, I mean he was a physics major and everything, but the rest of us wanted to at least see her try.

As the address came to an end Nixx was perched at the podium with clenched fists and outstretched  arms as thunder and lightning filled the room. Strange Jane couldn’t get her legs to move and she was almost certain that she had an orgasm just sitting there, but there was no way of knowing, I mean she had faked so many of them that even she couldn’t be sure anymore. As Nixx began to dematerialize, Jane ran as fast as she could to catch up to him and, grabbing onto one of  his legs, rematerialized right beside him on Weaver’s Planet, which had really always been the psychiatric unit on the seventeenth floor of St. Michael’s Hospital. It seemed eerily familiar to her, I mean both of them had been there for months and months. Farberman was  sitting on a chair just outside of Nixx’s office and seemed relieved to see them return, and quite eager to speak with Nixx. Strange Jane was used to it though, I mean there was almost always someone waiting to speak to Nixx. This time it seemed different, although she wasn’t certain why. She had always understood that it was the price of notoriety, but she also knew that fame was fleeting, and one day she would have Nixx all to herself.  Everyday was the same though, I mean they traveled through space and time and returned by nightfall to the safety of Weaver’s Planet for interrogation and isolation.

Jane was tired of all of the running already, and she thought it might be time to just stay put for a while. Nixx himself believed that he just couldn’t stop. I mean he was needed to resolve all of the sci-fi mysteries that went on across the universe and beyond. He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Farberman, had watched it all unfold for several months, and he knew exactly what Jane meant. What he didn’t know was what the hell happened to Nixx and Strange Jane when they returned. He knew they were debriefed, and that their memories would have to be erased just so the next day could bring another adventure to any planet of their choosing. Neither Nixx or Strange Jane had any idea what was going on, but Farberman had theories, I mean he was after all a physicist. The problem was that the regular doses of chlorpromazine seemed to quell the progression of logic, and forced him to start all over again so that he never really got beyond the hypothetical. Had he been given the opportunity, its almost certain that he would have figured out that Nixx and Strange Jane simply returned back to the dark recesses of his mind where they been living for the past nine months. We all thought that it was better that Farberman didn’t know, I mean we just didn’t think he would be able to handle knowing that he was the patient in the psychiatric unit on the seventeenth floor of St. Michael’s Hospital.

Aragon Nixx-Sci-Fi Private Eye

 

by Solomon Tate

Aragon Nixx sat at a table by the window at Fran’s, nursing a cup of coffee for almost twenty minutes without taking a drink. He just sat there, stirring the spoon around and around, and every time he completed the circle, there was a clink as the spoon hit the edge of the cup. Dressed in a gray trench coat and fedora, he looked like he just stepped out of a Dashiell Hammett story. He said he was a sci-fi private eye, following clues that had led him across galaxies, as he searched for missing science fiction writers. He claimed to be the best although his reputation was solely based on his locating Agatha Christie so long ago.

By the end of the twenty fifth century, when fiction became fact, and everything that had once been mere fantasy had become the new reality, demand was placed on writers of science fiction to produce new worlds that could be abused and conquered. In this world it was not uncommon for science fiction writers to go missing. He was now in the midst of another case which involved the disappearance of the award winning writer, Kasper Kyro. Kyro was no ordinary writer. He had single handedly been responsible for individual time and space travel by simply manipulating thoughts. Nixx’s appearance at Fran’s that night was proof that it was possible to traverse space and time just by willing it.

“I’ve never heard of him.” I said.

“Well, that’s because he hasn’t been born yet. But in three or four hundred years, everyone will have heard of Kasper Kyro.”

Nixx said that it all began on Weaver’s Planet, a barren hunk of crap hurtling through space, where he had been forced to reside following a rather indiscreet transgression that involved the wife and daughter of the Governor of Stasis 6.  Kyro’s girl walked in to his office above The Parallax Bar and Grill, dressed in a black, leather body suit that left nothing to the imagination. He would have taken her right there on the desk if he could only have figured out how to get that damn body suit off.  She was concerned that he had not come home for almost a week, and had been to the police, but they didn’t take her seriously. One thing Nixx said he knew for sure was that no man would ever leave a woman like that alone for a week. At least not willingly. The clues Nixx had followed through time and space for the past three months had led him right to Fran’s.

And now I wait.” he said. “Sooner or later, he’ll walk in the door, and I’ll have him.”

“And then what?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Nixx said.. The job is only to find him. That’s it, really. Then I report my finding to the despondent girl friend, and pray that I can figure out how that damn body suit comes off.”

A tall man with a long, white beard wandered in to Fran’s clutching a small, leather brief case to his chest. He seemed anxious as hell, and sat at a table near the back of the restaurant. Nixx tried not to be seen.  “That’s Farberman.” Nixx said. “Dr. Martin Farberman, the physicist. About ten years ago he was working at some top secret government brain trust and then he disappeared. Rumor has it that he had inserted himself into a painting. Some friend of his blew up the lab and all of Farberman’s notes. No one has ever heard from him again. Things are certainly beginning to get interesting.” Kyro entered a few minutes later and sat down beside Farberman. Nixx watched and waited patiently, as he lit a cigarette.

“You can’t smoke in here.” I said.

“What?”

“Its the law. You can’t smoke in here.”

“What kind of hell is this?” he asked as he put the cigarette out in his cup of coffee.

“The worst kind.” I said.

Farberman handed Kyro the brief case which he attempted to hide under his jacket. Nixx was already halfway to their table before the writer even noticed him. “Call the police, please.” he said to the server as he passed by her. “I’m a private detective.”

“Kasper Kyro.” he said as he arrived at the table. “Please don’t get up. Your girl is worried about you.”

“She’s not my girl.” Kyro said. “She works for The Agency. She’s a spy.” The police arrived rather quietly and headed directly to the back of the restaurant.

“Mr. Nixx.” one of the officers said. “What do you have for us this time?”

“Constable Frayer” Nixx replied, “its good to see you again.”

“Its Detective Frayer.”

“How nice for you.” Nixx said. “I’m not sure what we have here, but I was hired to find Mr. Kyro, and well, here he is. I’m not sure what the story is with this other gentleman, but I suspect someone is looking for him as well.”

“Alright then.” the dectective said. “Well let’s go down to the station and you can give me a full report. The officers will take care of these two.”

“My friend there can corroborate everything.” Nixx said pointing at me.

“Anything you can add?” the detective asked me.

“Not really.” I said. “What’s going to happen to those two?”

“Nothing.” the detective said.

“And what about Nixx?”

“Well Mr. Nixx will be returned to his bed on the seventeenth floor of St. Michael’s Hospital. You’re free to visit him whenever you want to listen to his crazy ramblings.”

The detective left with Farberman and Kyro still seated at their table. They smiled, as Kyro reached into the brief case and removed what looked like a television remote control. “Tell Nixx we’ll see him again, sometime.” he said, and with the push of a button, the two of them vanished into thin air right before my eyes.