Walter Mosley - Futureland - Nine Stories of an Imminent World

“Either dancing or dead.”

“Mingus Black?”

The broad-shouldered young man turned to face the tall and slender black man who had called his name. “Yeah?”

They were standing at the railing of the Crystal Plaza Bar that hovered on invisible gasses above the East River at South Street Seaport.

“My name is Johnson, Folio Johnson.” Folio extended his hand.

“Do I know you?” Black was instantly on guard.

“No, no you don’t. I’m a security expert for Macso but I want to get into real estate. I’ve been studying the brothers in that field and you, Mingus Black, are at the top of my list.”

The black Seeker ran his tongue under his lower lip and wondered.

“Can I get you a drink, M?” a young, naked white girl asked Folio from the outward side of the railing.

Folio looked at the girl through the clear Glassone bar. She was shaven from head to toe and perfectly proportioned. He wondered what his hero, Humphrey Bogart, would have said in that situation.

“Real rum,” he said. “And, honey, do me a favor.”

“What?”

“Put in an ice cube and stir it with your finger.”

“You’re somethin’ else, mister.”

The young woman, who was unashamed to walk around naked in the bright sun of downtown New York, blushed under the detective’s intense blue eye. She moved away to get his drink.

“Macso, huh?” the real estate genius asked. “What division?” Folio was still watching the barmaid, enchanted by the words that had passed between them.

“Home,” he said.

“You shittin’,” Mingus said with a Backgrounder twang.

“No. I worked as Kismet’s main bodyguard. Nine years I was with him.”

“Was?”

“Seven years ago Home was hit by a Peruvian kick squad. They wanted to wipe out Kismet before MacroCode could annex their country. They got pretty close.” Folio ran a finger above his blue eye.

“You get that then?”

“A cinder broke loose from a wild shot. It ruined my eye and part of my brain.”

“Damn. That’s why I never work for nobody full out,” Mingus said. “They pay you to die for ’em, that’s all, they pay you to die.”

“You right about that, brother,” Folio said. “You right about that, but still that cinder was the best thing ever happened to me.”

“How you figure?”

“I saved Kismet’s life by puttin’ mine on the block. Motherfucker’s crazy to the bone but he’s loyal. Had his surgeons save me and then give me this synthetic eye to make up for what I lost. Between the fight and this new eye I see the world in a whole new light.”

“And in that light you see real estate?” Mingus Black asked.

“Sure do. I wanna move a half a million Kenyans to downtown Tokyo and spend my life lookin’ at cute girls at Crystal’s.”

“You’re here right now.” The black Seeker was getting comfortable.

“I’m working, though.”

“Here’s your drink, mister,” the bald girl said.

When Folio reached for the glass she dipped her finger into the amber liquid and stirred it around. Folio took her hand and put the finger into his mouth, sucking hard enough to get all the rum off. The girl’s eyes widened and she forgot to withdraw her hand when he let it go.

“Working on what,” Mingus asked, “a hard-on?”

Folio laughed, looking deeply into the starstruck girl’s eyes. “I sure am workin’ on that one.” Then he turned back to his target. “But today I’m here representin’ a new world Nazi boy named Charles Spellman.”

Mingus leaned back on his translucent barstool. For a moment Folio was afraid that he might bolt.

“What’s up with Chas?” Mingus asked.

“He’s drinkin’ synth and worryin’ about death.”

“He is?” Mingus looked down at his wristcom.

“If you wanna know the time, I can tell ya — it’s almost up,” Folio said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mylo, Laddie, Bill Heinz, Derry James. They’re all dead before their time. All the little Itsies.”

Mingus looked around to see if there was someone with Johnson, then he looked the detective in the eye.

“What’s Charles to you?”

“A piece’a shit,” Folio said. “But a piece’a shit who laid out hard creds for me to save his ass.”

“You think that’s it?” Mingus asked. “That it’s because they’re in the IS?”

“We should be so lucky to live in a world where they kill the fascists and spare the lambs.”

“Maybe it’s coincidence?”

“Is that the kinda thinkin’ bought you downtown Tokyo?”

“So what do you think?”

“Nothin’ yet. I’d like to know who’s killing you boys. And in order to know that I have to know why.”

“I have no idea.”

“What were you guys discussing at your last meeting? Other than the ten-million-mile pool cue.”

“Education and labor and their relation to citizenship. Azuma was thinking that Elite Education Group had the right idea, that everyone should be tested as to their abilities and that their scores should be the basis of the degree of their citizenship.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Nothing. They thought they were getting somewhere, though. Fonti and Derry set it up so that we could have daily meetings. They were all excited by the possibility of presenting the IS with a model for political organization that would lead ultimately to social change.”

“How could you hang with Itsies, man?” Folio asked. He took his glass and drained it, thinking of the barmaid’s fingers as he did so.

“They ain’t worried about us, man. There’s a place for all the races up in there. All except Jews and Gypsies.”

“You believe that?”

“Sure.”

“Then why don’t you belong?”

“How do you know I don’t?”

“I know.”

“Another drink?” the barmaid asked. She had a glass with a doubleshot of rum in it. Her finger already submerged.

Folio took the glass and the hand. This time he kissed the fingers and then licked his lips.

“My name is Paradise,” she said.

“What else could it be?”

“I get off at midnight.”

“I have to work the next three nights,” Folio said seriously. “But I will be at the front door on the fourth night at midnight. And I won’t do anything until we’re together. You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Eightday night, then?”

“Uh-huh.”

Folio smiled and handed her his wild card. “My friend and I have to go, but I’ll see you then.”

Paradise swiped the card through a payment slot on her left wrist. When she handed the card back Folio tapped in her tip on the screen over her artery.

“See ya,” she said meekly.

“You bet.”

“How do I know that you’re working for Chas?” Mingus asked Folio on the way down the Crystal Stair escalator.

“You don’t. And I can’t prove it either. But I bet you you know what’s goin’ on, that your boys are being eradicated and that you’re on the list. I’m not trying to kill you. If I was, you’d have never seen me comin’.”

“Maybe you need something first,” Mingus said. “I don’t know.”

“I went to the police,” Folio said.

“What?”

“Don’t worry. It was a guy I know pretty good. He wouldn’t turn on me, I’ve done him too many favors.”

“What did he say?”

“He can’t do a thing.”

The escalator had completed its steep descent and was now almost parallel to the water. A large photo-animae sign covered the side of the monorail bridge before them. The sign displayed a cinematic picture of boy and girl children marching with automatic rifles and cinder guns, firing on a unit of adult troops. After a moment soldiers on both sides began to die. The wounds were very realistic. One child was hit in the chest with a cinder blast that charred her body, leaving only her pretty face intact. As the head fell from her shoulders the image faded into giant words composed of flaming letters: TWELVE IS TOO YOUNG FOR WAR.