The Jerk Manifesto

Intermission - Noir

I remember the night she walked into, and out of, my life.  She looked like angels ought to look.  Golden locks, soaked from the rain outside, framed an elegant face with full lips and smoky eyes.  A moist red cocktail number clung to her curves like a second skin.  She was a dame in distress, or I’d never seen one.

I’d never seen a broad with so much class.  She moved like angels ought to move.  I barely even noticed when her one of her stiletto heels caught in the loose floorboard I’d been meaning to fix for weeks.  I’d never seen a lady trip so gracefully.  She reminded me of Grace Kelly, if Grace Kelly had taken a spill and broken her nose.  I offered a tissue to stop the bleeding, gesturing her to where a seat had been yesterday, only to remember I had pawned it for a pack of cigarettes.

I offered her a smoke and asked what I could do for her.  Still standing, she told me about her kid sister being kidnapped or something;  I was distracted by the way her chest moved when she spoke.  I asked why me, and she told me she’d heard I was the best around.  I nodded; I was indeed the best drycleaner in town, but she’d confused me with the private eye next door.  I wished her luck with that and, slipping her a discount card, reminded her that if she ever needed a stain removed I was her guy.  It was the last I saw of her.

Intermission - Subject 32

**Note:  University and poor planning have kept me busier than I'd like, so in the meantime I'm posting some writing exercises until I can get back to finishing the next chapter of the Manifesto.  Here's hoping you enjoy them! - Jake**

Test subject 32 should be considered something of a liability.  Subject is a Caucasian male, in his mid twenties, approximately 5’8” and weighting 72kg.  Subject regained consciousness at 6.35 pm, after having been sedated for close to 52 hours.  Improbably, there is still an alarming concentration of alcohol in his bloodstream, in excess of 0.75%.  In spite of this, all vitals are within acceptable functioning levels.  However, upon regaining consciousness the subject produced a flask of highly concentrated alcohol from somewhere, becoming immediately aggressive and assaulting staff.  Subject was restrained, but continued to speak both belligerently and inappropriately to anything within earshot.  Subject has been gagged and given a mild sedative for observation.

 ****

I’d woken up in a white room, bleary eyed and with a mild hangover.  The lights were way too bright, and the wires attached to my naked body weren’t particularly comfortable either.  Must have passed out in a public bathroom again.  I told myself I’d stop drinking so much, retrieving my Morning After Windex from my emergency hiding place, when suddenly there were people trying to take it from me.  I had no idea where they came from, but I managed to heroically punch two or three of them in the neck before they strapped me down.  I spent a while after that chatting up the nurse, until my vision cleared a little and I saw she was actually a saline drip.  Another nurse, ugly and sporting a beard, appeared out of nowhere; she didn’t seem too keen on my moves, responding to them by gagging me and giving me a shot in the arm.  Good stuff..  Maybe she liked my moves after all.

The Jerk Manifesto - Chapter 1 (Part 3)

We were somewhere fairly east of the city, in the middle of some industrial estate.  Vintage slowed the car as we came to a vacant lot, edging onto the river bank.  Gravel crunched under the tires, headlights casting long shadows into the night briefly before being switched off.  There was the faint tang of pollution and metal on the air, and hundreds of points of light piercing the darkness from factories and streetlights.  It reminded me of every mobster movie I’ve ever seen, in fact.  The problem with that however is that I was certain that most of those movies ended up with somebody being shot and dumped in the river.  Some of them even started that way.

I cleared my throat.  “Bit out of the way, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Vintage agreed.  “They always do this.”

“Do what?”

“Make me meet them in the middle of nowhere, like they’re Keyser Soze or something.”

“Yeah, I was getting the impression that they probably watch too many gangster movies.”

Vintage nodded.  “And they’re always late.  As if I don’t have anything better to do than wait around for them all night.”

He shook a cigarette out of his packet, offering in my direction.  I slid one out, holding it to my lips as he sparked it for me, then dropped the pack in the centre console.

“Damn you smoke a lot,” Vintage begun, lighting his own cigarette.  “You should cut that shit out.  I hear it kills you.”

There was a long pause as he breathed deep, cherry flaring as the air was sucked through it.  He exhaled slowly, filling the car with smoke before casually winding down his driver side window.

“Problem is,” he continued, “that these guys consider themselves to be a bunch of heavies.  Wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t coked out of their minds half the time, but there you have it.”

“That’s reassuring.”  I gingerly daubed the crotch of the panties to my lip where blood was beginning to congeal.  It had bled down my face and onto my shirt, which fortunately was black, so at least it wouldn’t stain.  Small mercies, eh?  Grimacing at my reflection in the mirror again, I made a mental note to book myself in for a herpes test first thing in the morning.  “I just hope they’ve got some rule that prevents them from beating up somebody who’s already been beaten up that day.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Vintage agreed.  “So, you know.  I doubt it.”

We sat in silence for a while, music filling the empty space between us while my mind wandered.  There was a chill breeze blowing in off the river, and the water seemed eerily like glass the way the lights reflected off it.  I found myself absently wondering how many bodies had been dumped in its dirty brown depths.  How long would it take to find them?  Would the sharks be all over that shit?  You’d probably have to tie them down with something.  Doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you come to unprepared, that’s for sure.  You’d need a rope, at least.  These guys we’re waiting for better not have any fucking rope, ‘cause I sure don’t have anything to cut it with if they do. 

“How much force do you reckon you’d need to break a decent rope?”  I mused, unintentionally voicing my thoughts. 

“Sorry?”  Vintage shot me a confused look.

“Let’s say you’re tied up, right?  Some dudes are about to throw you in a river.  How are you going to escape?”

“Do I get to have a knife?”

“Nah.  Let’s say you’re a reasonable person who doesn’t carry concealed weapons for no apparent reason.”

“When have we ever been anything you could consider ‘reasonable people?’” he shot, arching an eyebrow.

“Fair point,” I conceded.  “Do you have a knife on you right now?”

Vintage laughed.  “No, what the fuck would I want with a knife?” 

“Why would you even bring it up then?”  I shook my head.  “No knife.  If you haven’t got one, don’t bring it into the equation.  It’s just you, a couple of really pissed off dudes and a bunch of rope.”

“What are they pissed off about?”

“Jesus.”  I shook the panties that were still in my hand towards his face.  “Maybe these belonged to one of their sisters or something?”

“Yeah, but you’re the one sniffing them.  Shouldn’t they be pissed off at you instead?”  He shrugged.  “These bad guys of yours don’t sound too bright.”

I stared at him, open mouthed.  There really is no arguing with some people.  I thought I’d start again, slowly.  “There’s two angry dudes.  You’ve got no idea why they’re angry.  They tie you up and throw you in the river.  No knife, no nothing.  How much strain do you need to break through the rope?”

“More than we’ve got, I’d say.”  Vintage sucked the last of his cigarette and flicked the butt into the wind.  “Unless you popped, like, the world’s hardest boner.”

“I dunno,” I mused.  “It would have to be a pretty wild boner.”

“It would have to be the Incredible Hulk of boners.  Real trouser busting shit.”  Vintage gave a few enthusiastic pelvic thrusts to emphasize his point.  “The rope wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“So it’s probably green too, if it’s like the Hulk?”

“Oh shit yeah.  It’s definitely a radiation boner.  Normal boners just don’t have that kind of fortitude.”

“You’d be forever spending a fortune on pants, though.”

“Fuck pants, dude.”  Vintage spat at his feet.  “Why would you want to hide something like that?  Walk around with it flailing around, and if anybody says shit you’d beat them down with it.”

“I can imagine the judge going through the list of charges now,” I laughed.  “Indecent exposure to radiation, assault and battery with a concealed weapon..”

“I told you, it wouldn’t be concealed.”

“That’s true,” I chuckled, suddenly distracted by a set of headlights in the distance.  I nudged Vintage and pointed in their direction.  “Oi, you reckon that’s the gangsters we’re waiting on?”

“It would be about fucking time,” he replied, mood instantly shifting.  I finished off my smoke as he gulped the rest of his beer, tossing the empty onto the back seat. 

I had to admit, I was nervous.  I was acutely aware that I had never met these guys. With no idea what we were actually doing out here, and very much no clue what to expect, I hoped to God they weren’t the psychopaths that Vintage made them out to be.  He had a tendency to exaggerate things if they made for a better story; I hoped this was one of those times. 

Glancing down at the panties that were still inexplicably in my hand, something in my stomach twisted hard.  With my luck, they probably would belong to one of these guys’ sisters.  It occurred to me that the kind of nut job that moonlights as a gangster and can recognise his sister’s unmentionables at a glance is probably the kind of nut job I’d prefer never to meet in my entire life.  I could have been sitting at a table full of beer, committing verbal atrocities with likeminded felons and generally enjoying an uneventful evening.  Instead I’d lost my watch, nearly been run over by my current companion, punched myself in the face with a beer and given myself herpes with the underwear of a woman I didn’t even sleep with, but whose psychotic brother was going to tie me up and throw me in a river just the same.  Shoving the panties into my left pocket, I desperately regretted that they weren’t something more useful.  Like a knife.

The other car was getting close now.  Man those headlights were bright.  The light from them was reflecting right into my eyes courtesy of the side mirror.  Something about that didn’t seem quite right, though.  The car was at the wrong angle for that to be possible.  What was that, some kind of spotlight?  Who the hell has spotlights in their cars? 

“What the hell is going on with that light?” I asked Vintage. 

Suddenly the mirror was full of flashing red and blue as the car turned off the road towards us, siren chirping.

“Oh fuck.  Fuck.”  Vintage was panicking.  “It’s the cops.”

A quick survey of the empty beer bottles coupled with the cooler in the back seat told me that we had good reason to panic.  Even a cursory glance was wildly incriminating.

“Fuck,” I concurred.

“Dude, I’ve got half a pound of weed in here.”

“What?”

“Half a pound, right under your seat.”

“Half a fucking..” I pulled a very large, very full bag out from under the seat and froze. 

“What are you doing?”  Vintage hissed, leaning across and cramming it back under the seat. “Hide that shit!” 

“What, under the seat?  Under the seat that I’m sitting on?  In the car that’s filled with empty beer bottles?  With the cops about to search it?  You want me to hide half a fucking pound of weed under my seat?”  My head suddenly felt about six sizes too big for itself.  I was pretty sure I was about to be sick.

“Mannon, if you have any better ideas of where to hide it, I’m all ears!” 

An amplified voice crackled across the air.  “Please step outside the vehicle and put your hands in the air.”

Vintage looked at me, an unspoken question in his eyes.  Pulling the bag back out from under the seat I considered, not for the first time, how my life was little more than a series of increasingly poor decisions, lubricated with alcohol and punctuated with moments of sheer terror.  It stood to reason that a person could only get away with that kind of life planning for so long before having to face some serious consequences.  I just always hoped that I wouldn’t be facing them in a prison shower one day.  I know, technically that’s not ‘facing’ them so much as having them crammed inside my unwilling regret hole, but semantics aren’t much of a comfort at times like that.

Meeting Vintage’s eye, I nodded.  “I’ll deal with it.”

The voice crackled through the night again.  “Step outside the vehicle with your hands in the air, I won’t tell you again!”

I cracked my door open a little, and Vintage did the same.  As he stepped out, I shifted the bag to lean against the door so it would fall as I got out.  I breathed a deep sigh of prayer to whatever benevolent deity might care to answer then, placing myself between the bag and hopefully the cop’s eye line, I stepped out myself.  In what might have been my smoothest move all night, I kicked the falling bag under the car as it fell, hoping like hell that nobody was watching me too closely.  

The Jerk Manifesto - Chapter 1 (Part 4)

The headlights of the cop car were blinding; I couldn’t see anything behind them. 

“Hands behind your heads, and lie down on the ground!”

“We haven’t done anything!” Vintage yelled back.

“I said get on the fucking ground!  Don’t make me tell you again!” The amplified voice pitched with feedback.

My gaze met Vintage’s and I shrugged.  We were fucked and we knew it.  No point making the situation any worse than it was going to be.  Slowly placing my hands behind my head, I sunk to my knees, then face down onto the ground.  Looked like I hadn’t kicked that bag far enough; the edge of it would be visible to anybody who got close enough.  God damn it, I couldn’t even do that right.

“Stay where you are and don’t move!”  This time, the voice wasn’t using the loudspeaker.  I could hear boots scraping through the dust and gravel, saw two silhouettes walking towards us through their headlights. 

My mind was racing.  Ok, the carload of booze could be explained.  I could probably claim I drank them all, God knows I’m drunk enough to be convincing.  I reeked of beer after I spilled that one all over me, and if Vintage could keep his mouth shut they might not give him a breath test.  As long as they don’t see the bag under the car, and as long as they don’t ask us what we’re doing out here... I really didn’t have any kind of excuse for those that wouldn’t involve midgets or ghosts. 

Oh man, we’re screwed.

“Don’t fucking move.”  The voice was right by me, moments later a knee dropped into my spine.  Air went out of my lungs, and my stomach gave out.  I twisted on the ground as half a dozen beers made their way back up my throat. 

“What the..  Oh God, that is just disgusting!”

The cop jumped back as I did my best impression of that scene from The Exorcist, complete with contortion and cursing as I spasmed uncontrollably on the ground.  Even as I was giving the side of the car a questionable new paint job, I had the presence of mind to kick the weed a little further under the car.  Chances were they wouldn’t be spotting it now. 

“Get up!  Get the fuck up, both of you!”  This was punctuated by a brutal kick in the ribs which sent my stomach into further paroxysms. 

“Jesus,” I coughed.  “Up or down, which fucking one is it?”  I tried to ignore the pain shooting up my side as I crawled to my knees, focusing instead of not being beaten any further.

“Officers, please!” I heard Vintage protest, sounding remarkably unbrutalised.  “We don’t know what we’ve....”  Choked silence, then, “Oh, you son of a bitch!” 

At that moment, I figured the part of Vintage’s brain that dealt with diplomacy had misfired horribly, so I was pretty confused (and a little disappointed) when he started laughing instead of being beaten.  “Seriously, you guys are fucking pricks.  You totally had us going then.”

I attempted to get up off my knees, spitting remnants of vomit as I tried to steady myself.  A large hand reached down and pulled me to my feet much faster than I was prepared for and I lurched sideways into the car door.

“Oh man, Knoxville!”  The officer nearest to Vintage was whooping with laughter.  “You should have seen the looks on your faces.  Priceless!”

I looked about groggily, trying to wrap my mind around what was quickly becoming the strangest arrest of my life.  Vintage was laughing with one of the cops, a massive Mediterranean looking man, although he still seemed a little on edge. 

My assailant was, almost impossibly, even larger.  His uniform seemed about six sizes too small for him, but in fairness I wasn’t sure anybody actually made clothes big enough to fit a tractor.  He was grinning down at me, mountainous shoulders rolling with mirth.  I wasn’t sure what the joke was, but I was pretty sure I’d missed it.

“It might be the concussion speaking,” I started, “and I’m not suggesting we back to go back to kicking the shit out of me, but I don’t get what’s funny.”

“Oh, sorry man.  These are the guys we’ve been waiting for.”  Vintage gestured towards them.  “Mannon, this is Markus and that behemoth next to you is Stav.”

Markus nodded, the rhino man clapped me across the back and shook my hand. 

“Was the beating really necessary?” I asked.

Stav shrugged.  “Made it more convincing.”

“Oh, it convinced the shit out of me.”  I wiped some blood and spittle from my mouth, wincing at the stinging cut on my lip.  “Most of my stomach, too.”  I would have preferred a pantomime, honestly.  Marginally less chance of internal bleeding. 

“You guys want a beer?” Vintage asked, already reaching inside the cooler.  He tossed a round out, Markus and Stav opening theirs with their teeth.  Figuring I’d already racked up enough dental surgery for one night, I used the bottle opener instead.

“Vintage, you didn’t tell me we were meeting cops?”  My head was spinning faster than I could manage.

Stav laughed.  “Oh, we’re not cops.”

“Oh, ok... what?”  I waved vaguely at the uniforms and the car.  “What’s with the police gear then?”

“Oh that?”  Markus chuckled.  “We got pulled over earlier, didn’t leave us a lot of options.”

“Wow.  That’s... wow.  Definitely something I was better off not knowing.”

This night was spiralling seriously out of control, even by my standards.  I was already accomplice to a lot more felonies than I usually cram into an evening’s worth of entertainment.  The idea of even remotely being involved in... whatever it was that had landed the elephant twins a police cruiser and the rest... I’d get less jailtime if I’d sexually harassed a judge.

“That does explain the uniforms, though,” Vintage observed. Markus and Stav both looked at him, confusion written across their faces.

“I think he means the fit.” I volunteered.

“Yeah.  It’s like you tried to squeeze into a blue tube sock.  Speaks volumes about whoever stitched the buttons, though.”

“I hope they gave that guy a promotion.”

“Honestly though, I’m curious to know where you shop for clothing, Stav?  It must be like trying to dress a firetruck.”

“I get ‘em made, mate.”  The man-mountain tossed his empty bottle into the river.  Damn, he inhaled that pretty quick.  You probably had to feed him ethanol intravenously through a high pressure pump to get somebody that size drunk, though.  You’d need some kind of custom built drunkening machine.

“Anyways, Markus.  You said tonight was pretty urgent, lots to move?”

“Down to business eh, Knoxville?  Alright.  Yeah, we’re doing a special delivery, new client with a no questions policy.”

“So, not the usual then?”

“Nah, mate.  Bit hush hush, really.”

“So what are we moving?”

“I told you, mate.  No questions.  We get paid extra to not ask questions.”

“Is it in the car?”

“Not yet.  Haven’t picked it up yet.  We need you two for that.  This is the guy, right?”  Markus nodded in my direction. 

“Yeah.  What’s it all about?”

“Dunno, mate.  No questions, remember?”

If I had been less drunk, less concussed, or even simply paying attention to the conversation instead of trying to figure out the physics keeping Stav’s police shirt in a single piece, I might have been more prepared for what would happen.  I might have turned and run.  I might have avoided the shitstorm entirely.  Wishful thinking, I know.  Reason and logic had deserted my decision making process years ago. 

At least they won’t be roping us up and throwing us in the river, I thought.

“You guys don’t have any rope, do you?” I found myself asking.  What the hell is wrong with me?

“Rope?”

“Yeah, rope.” 

“Nah.”  Stav jerked his thumb towards the police car.  “We already used it.”

Mark narrowed his eyes at me.  “What do you want a rope for?”

Me and my big fucking mouth.  Why can’t I just keep it shut for once? 

Vintage broke the tension.  “We’ve got some shit to take care of later on.  It’d save us a trip to Bunnings.”

“Dunno when we’ll be done with it, to tell you the truth.”  Markus nodded towards the stolen police car.  “Like Stav said, it’s currently in use.  Speaking of which, you wanna give us a hand?”

“Oh, fuck no,” Vintage and I chimed in unison, but apparently it was a rhetorical question.  Mark and Stav were already guiding us over to the vehicle.  I shot Vintage a panicked look; this was way outside of my comfort zone.  I had no fucking business being in this situation and, ignoring the fact that I’d voluntarily tagged along, it was entirely Vintage’s fault we were here. 

Out of the headlights, Mark and Stav seemed even more imposing.  Red and blue flashing lights cast deep shadows into their features alternately as they lead us to the back of the stolen car. 

This is by far the worst thing I’ve ever gotten myself into.

“Over here.”

We were shunted to face the trunk of the car.  Mark turned the key in the lock and the hatch opened slowly to reveal...

Nothing.

The trunk was empty. 

“What are we doing?”  I asked, frozen with shock.

I turned toward Vintage, confused.  He opened his mouth.  “What the hell is going on?”

Markus laughed.  “We’re picking up the cargo, mate.” 

He lashed out with the handle of a baton and Vintage went limp, slumping as Markus went to shove him into the boot.  I panicked and turned, but found myself face to face with the great wall of Stavros who seemed in no mood to be fucked with.  He told me so with his fist, splitting my lip right again where the bottle had done earlier.  Everything was swimming as a follow up to the stomach confirmed that he could indeed punch as hard as he could kick.  My world span and gravity went wrong as a knee came up to meet me, then everything went black.

Intermission - Moonlight and Razorblades

**Major assessments for the next few weeks, so updates will consist of older prose I've written.  This is something of a mood piece; certainly not comedy, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless - Jake**

He lay awake again, one more night to add to the tally.  The moonlight trickled in through the window, cautiously making its way past the frame as if it wanted not to be noticed.  It bathed all it touched in a soft blue glow, birthing ghosts in the shadows.

Spectres of the moonlight mirrored the ghosts of his memory tonight.  He rolled over, as if he could banish the spirits of his imagination by burying his head.  Into her pillow.  It still  bore the lingering scent of her perfume, her enchanting scent. It was almost like having her there again.  The awareness of her absence ran him through like a sword.  Choking back a sob, he breathed deep and surrendered to the memories.

She laughed as he wrestled her on top of him, bed sheets flying every which way.  His fingers gently made their way through her hair, and she smiled as she lay her head on his chest.  Such a radiant smile, reflected in her eyes.  God, if he could only hold on to this moment forever…

The salt in the breeze mingled with her perfume in his nostrils.  The moon mirrored itself across the black vastness of the ocean, broken by the gentle white surges of the waves.  She was pointing at the stars, making her own pictures in the night sky.  Some of them even made sense.  He pulled the blanket around them a little tighter and buried his face into her mane, whispering his love.

 

Deeper he buried his head, tighter he held the pillow, as if by squeezing hard enough he could stay forever in his memories or bring her to rest by his side.  Her scent was almost lost now, washed away with tears.  Every memory was slowly stealing away all he had left. 

Sometimes it was as if she would make argument just for something to do.  This time it was something completely trivial.  They yelled their contention, words cutting through each other like razors, tearing along emotional arteries and veins.  She screamed at him through tears and stormed out into the night.  He heard her car door slam, and the hum of its engine as she drove away.  Let her cool off a bit.  It was best that they both calmed down a while.  Already he was regretting words spoken in haste, already thinking of ways to apologise when she got back.

A knock on the door.  She must have forgotten her house keys, she did that every now and again.  As he made his way to open for her, his mind was searching for the first words, a way to let her know how much she meant, how thoughtless he had been.  Opening the door, shock and surprise at the uniforms that greeted him.  Red and blue lights broke the darkness from the driveway.  His world fell apart in that moment, crystal shattering into fragments across cold hard concrete..

Tears bathed the pillow he was buried in.  The frightened moonlight offered little comfort, choosing instead to hide itself behind some cloud.  Soon it would leave him to the mercy of the dawn, where the uncaring sun would offer no opinion.  Another day, as an indifferent world carried on without him.  Another day.