The Fourth Floor

I woke up in an alleyway. About a foot away from my face was some cat crap and about a foot away from that was vomit, probably mine. I was lucky I didn't pass out on either of those, not like last time. The smell of cat crap is not my favourite fragrance. 1

I sat up, and as I did my brain moved and then a sharp jarring pain blitzed through it. I swore, then promised myself I’d never drink again- knowing by tonight I'd be back at the pub drinking myself stupid again.2

I rubbed my sore, sandy eyes and lit up a cigarette. It tasted terrible, and I remembered that I had spent all yesterday picking up cigarette butts off the streets so that I could use the left over tobacco. Freeloading.3

I stood, attempted a step and swayed. I was still quite drunk. 4

Well, today was my lucky day I thought. Little did I know. 5

I staggered through the small port city of Dust-Town. Nobody could quite remember what it was really called, it started with H, but Dust-Town seemed to suit it. The streets were all littered, the walls vandalised, the sky was bleak and grey. It was depressing... it suited me. 6

I passed a window and gazed at my reflection. My blue eyes were cloudy, yellow and bloodshot from the drink and they shone back from the greasy glass. My hair was a muddy brown colour and in a style discarded by current fashion, a stylised afro. My small beard that seemed to grow just under my chin was slowly growing, too slow for my liking.
I admired my slender frame. Despite however many days, months or years (I could no longer remember) drinking, I still had a well defined body, back from the days when I was occupying my time doing ballet and contemporary dancing.
It hurt to think of those times, back when things were normal, before the war, before the avian flu and before the asteroids. It never did any good to dwell on the past.7

As usual, thoughts of the past crushed my carefully prepared front from reality, and I needed my escapism. I passed people in the street, they regarded me with suspicion- I guess I did look like one of the bandits that waited outside the city borders. The city folk never left the city any more. Strange bandit and cut-throat groups camped out in the thick forested areas outside Dust-town, waiting and preying. I considered joining them at some point, but alcohol doesn’t grow on trees.8

After some time I got to the closest pub. It was a wild place. It used to be called something like ‘The Builders Arms" back in the old days before...everything. Then afterwards, an enterprising young thug took over and renamed it "Gosford’s Den". Gosford was a scary man. He had this ability to read people, not like a psychic, but perhaps more like a criminal profiler. But he used this skill pretty much to exploit and intimidate people. Disgusting as it was (or he was), he had become something of a leader in the town, for the small time crooks and petty thieves that frequented such a shithole. Still, his bar was a bar, like any other.
I stood in the line outside the pub. Two burly bouncers stood staring at all. They reminded me of two large dogs, sniffing the arses of smaller dogs. In such a chaotic place as Dust-Town, only the promise of violence kept order.
Eventually I got to the front of the line. Thug Number one barked at me.
"You can't come in here, you're too drunk. Go!"
I must say, I didn't expect to be refused. Knowing I only had seconds before being beaten to a bloody pulp (perhaps even knifed up) I cleared my throat.
Goddess of Luck, I place myself in your hands, I thought.9

"Sorry to be a pain guys, but I’m not actually drunk. You see, I have Dyspraxia." As I said these words, for the first time in a while I felt as though I was losing my sense of style.
The two bullies were stunned. They had heard many excuses obviously, but nothing as far-fetched as that.
"What’s that?" one said at last. I pressed on; it was too late to change my story.
"It’s like dyslexia, only it affects your sense of balance and coordination. I can't actually walk in a straight line. Been that way all my life"
"Then you should have a card in your wallet, showing us you have a medical condition" the smarter of the two supplied.
"It isn’t life threatening, so I don't have a card"
They both once again looked at each other, and then after consideration-
"Sorry buddy, come on through", their facial expressions softened and I walked passed, with exaggerated staggering this time to make my story credible, gave them the nod, and got to the bar.
Goddess of Luck, I thank thee.10

I walked passed the bar, round to the other one. I pick-pocketed a fat man in a grey suit. Found fifty bucks, and walked back over to the first bar. I got a red wine- cost 7 dollars and it was of inferior quality. But that was to be expected. Dreary Dust-Town only had one thing that was classy, and that was me and I was losing my edge.
I found a chair, sipped wine and glared at the women across the room. Upon finishing, I went for a second, which ran into a third.
I sat there, blowing spit bubbles (they were red due to the wine and at the time I found them fascinating) listening to a young man tune his guitar.
Then a man sat down next to me.
"Seats taken mate" I said, straightening my body to give the impression of someone not be messed with. I arched my broad shoulders and put on a mid-strength frown. I turned to see Mr Gosford himself.
He just smiled his snaggletooth smile, his greasy face breaking out with beads of sweat. He breathed with his mouth and a faint wheezing sound escaped with each exhale. The noise was irritatingly familiar to the sound a duck or other water-dwelling bird may make.
Gosford and I never really did get along. He thought he was a charming man. He was mistaken, and I’ve always been of the impression that he was attempting to affect my same sense of cool. He didn’t come close. Who could?
I just had to appeal to his eloquent, intellectual side.
“Sorry Gosford, I did not know it was you. Perhaps you will join me for a drink?"
"Bails, you drunk! Welcome to my den. I thought we banned you from here after you stuck the finger up at a cop car?" His voice was as coarse as gravel, probably caused from cigars and heavy drinking.
"Oh come now, my dear friend that was after all, a long time ago."
"Hahaha .I tell you what, you do me a favour, and we'll call it even?" I was in the shit and I knew it. Gosford had this strange allergic reaction to the word no, and it caused him to break out in violent tendencies.
“Gosford, I’ve already told you that I’m not looking for work. I’m flattered really, but I’m not interested.” I didn’t think it would work, and I was right. Gosford rolled his eyes, made an obscure hand gesture and then said very quietly in a creepy tone,” Bails, behind you is Rob. Don’t look. He has a small crowbar in his hand. One word from me and you will have broken shins. Now tell me Bails, do you want broken shins?”
“Alright, I’m listening.”
“Answer the question Bails.”
“No Gosford, I do not want broken shins.” he was such an arsehole when he was winning. He motioned with his hand to ‘Rob’.
“There’s a good boy.” He glanced about the room and then in a secretive voice asked “you still doing bounty work?” 11

The main problem with Dust-Town was that everyone knew everyone. That usually ended up kicking your arse eventually, and it had just booted me. No point lying this time, he obviously had had contact with my handler, Alonso. I reminded myself that I should either have a talk with, fire or execute Alonso. For his thirty per cent cut of all my contracts, he should know not to talk to Gosford. Bloody wanker.
"Yes Gosford, occasionally."
For the first time in a while, Gosford looked a little less sure of himself. He realised I could be armed with a weapon. He knew that my personal weapon of choice was an old colt revolver that I had "acquired" somewhere during the first days of chaos. Guns were hard to come by, ammunition was more so. I’m sure he knew I didn’t like him, but then, nobody really did.12

Gosford regained composure. He reached into a small leather bag and pushed over a large A4 envelope, yellow and cliché. That was Gosford, always doing the cliché.
"Alright bails, there you are. That’s your man. Get him. You'll get 2 grand, minus Alonso’s cut, and mine." My right eyelid twitched, as it does when I’m angry. Gosford slowly averted his gaze to the table. 13

It was at that point, my mind went back to the Luck Goddess. She had left me; she had neglected her only worshipper. She was probably out smoking bongs. That’s what I thought at the time.14

I decided that if I was going to get screwed over, I could afford to be rude and difficult.
"Gosford, I’ll do it if you give me 3 bottles of the best red you have" I winced; I was expecting to get hit.
"Done" He stood up and walked off quickly, something bothered him. I didn’t care, Pretended to play a poker-machine, because I had hit the jackpot.
Then I noticed a young Goth girl, her hair was dual pony-tails and her head lolled playfully from one shoulder to the other in time to the music, beautifully and fluidly, like a puppies tongue. She moved as gracefully as a goldfish. My brain said meow and I walked over.
****
I woke up the following day, at the young girl’s house. She was still asleep, breathing slowly. I slid out of bed, got dressed and walked out.
Back to business. I tore the envelope open and I leafed through the papers. Maxi Paddy. Apparently he was a fairly good boxer in one of the less then legal underground fighting matches, well that was until he got busted for shooting up steroids. Then, as any man would, he hit the piss. From there, he apparently killed three people. As it turned out, one of them was Garth Gold's cousin by marriage. Oh crap. I'd broken my rule; never get involved in anything big.15

Garth Gold was one of those individuals that could be labelled opportunistic. He owned about a third of Dust-town, so while that didn't make him the richest man by world standards, He had a large amount of money and therefore a certain amount of sway. He'd recently gone into politics and spent most of his time buying people’s loyalty.
I recognised that I was in a certain position of danger now, because once the deed was done, Garth Gold wouldn't want his name to be tied to me. Bad for business I guess.
God damn you Gosford, may your pubic hair itch continually!16

****17

Well, I wasn't finished. I was Bailey. Some called me a drunk or a drug addict, but I preferred to think of myself as a man of substance, different ones for different times.
I went back home. I had a cold shower which stopped my shaking hands and refreshed me. Cold showers are awesome.
I then went to my chest, entered the combination and opened it. 18

I've never shown any one my kit, well, anybody that is still alive.
As I’ve probably said, I have a peculiar sense of style and a flair for the melodramatic.
My kit is in essence the distillation of that flair.
I have a small handmade crossbow and three ornate throwing daggers; my colt revolver which was rusting slightly; a small book on how to make explosives (it wasn't cheap), and the explosives that I’d managed to make from the book. Also, a small vial of arsenic.
I wore my favourite black boots with a shiny silver buckle and large heels, my deep black denim jeans and of course, black suit and olive green long sleeve shirt. I looked so smart. I rarely dressed like this any more, it was easier to appear tough and walk, using the full effect of my height, than to dress ‘bright and breezy’ as my Grandma would have said.
To get myself in the mood to kill Maxi Paddy I got a small cassette out from the wardrobe next to my work chest. This was something of a ritual to me. I listened to this every time before I made a hit.
The first tune on it, I was unsure what it was called, but I know I had heard it from the Jackie Chan film "snake in eagles Shadow". It was an awesome Synth tune, and after making myself a gin and tonic, I pretended to do martial arts.
****19

It was raining in Dust-town by the time I’d finished. I had pulled a muscle in my leg and so I winced as I went down the stairs. First things first were to go and find someone who would know some stuff.
I sniffed the air, someone was burning a car.
I walked towards the smoke. It would seem a collection of young teenagers, mostly fourteen years old had decided to go looting and pillaging. Kids these days.
Then one noticed me and got his gang together
"Desert Pigeons! Looks like we got ourselves a witness"
Desert pigeons? What brand of cough syrup were they drinking to get that name?! Dust-town was hardly desert country.
"Look kids, I’m just on my way to the pub, I don't want any trouble and you don't want any of mine" They didn't appear to be all that influenced by my words.
In fact, it was at that exact point that they all got out chains and iron poles and started swinging them, walking towards me in a slow deliberate pace. I stood still. I didn't feel like fighting, I never do. Killing is different, of course.
I don't understand why I did it, but I simply took a deep breath in, and then roared. I yelled from the centre of my body, and just for theatrical purposes I made sure I pulled the scariest face I could muster.
The Desert Pigeons stopped their advance and stood and watched. I don't know if they were afraid, or that they just thought I was particularly bizarre brand of retard. In any case, they had lowered their weapons and in their momentary confusion I walked through them.20

I decided I would go to one of the other pubs, possibly rowdier then Gosford’s Den. It was called ' The Pillar". At one point, I believe it was called the caterpillar, but then some cheeky bastard stole half the sign. It was an old weatherboard building with chipped paint, fist-sized holes in the plaster and particularly dirty carpet. It is no secret that they watered the beer down there. There was no security by nine, they'd either gotten drunk or were off sneaking a quickie with one of the local harlots.
I’ve never really fancied prostitution myself.21

I let myself into The Pillar's front door, and scanned the area for one of The Wasters. The Wasters are quite a clever bunch. At one point, all the drug dealers in dust-town decided that they would all benefit more from working together. Rules were enforced; particular prices were set for certain qualities and quantities, and the law and the politicians were paid off. Any rogue dealers were usually dealt with swiftly and gruesomely. They were marvellous. I wanted to work for them, but I’d never found the right person to ask. So the Wasters could sell anything, information, drugs, and it had been said in certain dark conversations, weapons and internal organs.22

I got myself a tall glass of vodka (they never watered it down strangely enough) and sat down. I eventually saw my only contact within The Wasters. His cover name was Ainsley; I didn't know his real name. He wasn't very high up in the Wasters hierarchy, but he was good at what he did. I owed him about 50 dollars which he'd want as soon as he saw me. It was already over-due by about a week.
I decided I would give him his money. I walked onto the shabby dance floor and busted out some of my best moves. The girls were very amazed and came over to dance with me. The guys grew sullen and jealous and regarded me with fierce hostility. I danced 80's disco. Girls got close to my body and began to do particularly suggestive movements. One girl had this strange fascination with putting her arse against my groin. While she did this, I quickly grabbed her purse and put it in my pocket. She didn't notice, either because she was very drunk, or because I’ve gotten good recently. I feigned interest with another girl and completed another successful theft, all the while cutting a rug.
Two was more then enough, and so I decided to go to the toilet to check out my newly acquired purses. In total I had successfully obtained 300 dollars, a stick of what appeared to be some strong dope and some cherry lip gloss. Out of curiosity, I decided to eat the cherry lip gloss to see if it tasted nice. It was waxy and horrible, I would advise against it.
I walked out and headed to Ainsley, I handed him his money and he nodded without a word. Clearly he didn't want to talk tonight. Too bad for him- I was bailey, and I was busy.
"Ainsley- I need some information. I’ll make it worth your while"
He regarded me with his small green eyes. His expression softened. When you deal with the wasters or any dealer I guess, one should always flash the cash about as often as possible, you'll find you'll get their attention.
"What do you need to know bailey?"
"A man named Maxi Paddy. Where is he? What does he look like?"
"Ok bailey, for you, 100 dollars."
I handed it over. He asked me to follow him, and so I did.23

He led me to an alleyway. He stopped and said “He’s about your height; he has brown eyes and black hair. He’s well tanned, he's fit, and after all he is a boxer. I saw him fight once, he's fast and very strong, and he's got a mean left hook on him. He's fairly arrogant; he'd probably lack the smarts to go into hiding, after all who is going to bring him down?"
"Me, I’m gonna."
"Bailey, you're a drunk. What are you gonna do, get wasted and cry about how nobody loves you?"
"That was the only time that happened Ainsley, and I've avoided Jim Beam ever since. I'll get him, just you wait and see."
"Well, he likes the drink, almost as much as you do bailey. He drinks at the Swan hotel; you know the one that Petra deals at?"
Petra was Ainsley’s girl, yet another Waster.
I got out the stick of dope, and rolled up a nice two-paper spliff. I took four drags and handed it to Ainsley.
"Nice shit man, where did ya get this?" Typical Waster type, always talkin' shop.
"Here and there."
I walked outta there, tripping off my face.24

****
There it was The Swan hotel. It was 4 storeys. White plaster, ornate wooden doors. Huge security guards. I'd never been able to get into the place; usually they wouldn't let me in because of my boots. Today they let me in however; they were all polite and courteous. It must have been the suit. When one wants to go anywhere in the world, wear a suit. They never suspect a man in a suit.
I walked in. First floor was a boring nightclub scene. I walked through it, still very much stoned. The music was repetitive and dull and I got bored quite quickly. No tough arses in this room, only gaudily dressed dandies and attractive but snobby ladies. I walked on.
Second Floor was a wedding reception. Free alcohol and platters of food. I hadn't eaten for three days, unless you count the cherry lip gloss, and so I loitered in this room. I drank gratefully, and ate my fill of delicious pastries and caviar on small irregular- sized toasts. I filled my glass and toasted the bride and groom and the room all joined in. They all assumed that I was the friend of someone else, and the bride and groom were too distracted by the novelty of the day to worry about me. Besides, I looked suave, I looked the part. I stayed in there for over an hour, I chatted to the brides Grandma, we danced for a while, and I have to say I actually had a very good time. Then I snapped out of my drunken free-loading, and rather regretfully went back to business. I climbed the stairs, and got to the third floor. There was a particularly crap cover band; I can't remember what they were covering, possibly because I was too far gone on the drink by then. I went straight to the bar, and quietly nicked a glass from the table behind me. Screw paying for drinks, I was bailey.
I sipped it, it was plain coca cola. Disappointing I thought.
I tried to put it down and instead spilt it all over me. Oh dear I thought. The barman looked at me and was about to say that I had to leave, so I quickly left the third floor and went to the fourth. Let him find me here, I thought.
****
The Fourth floor.
The walls were black marble, and halfway along each side there was a small ornate water fountain which trickled noisily and rather irritatingly. The floor, beautiful green tiles which reflected the fancy disco lights which hung from the ceiling, which was covered in stylish painted red corrugated iron. At the far end was a bar. Three people on the Fourth floor. The Three most important people in all of Dust-Town. Me, Maxi Paddy and the Barman.
I concentrated hard and managed to walk in a straight line. I got down to the far end and sat in a comfortable stool.
"G’day barman, I’d like a drink. One drink. For me. Please. Thank-yooou bar-man.” I drummed my hands on the bar as I thanked him. It suddenly occurred to me that I was quite wasted. Right next to me was one of the potentially dangerous people I’d ever been assigned. I'd have to be on my guard.
The bar-man was a particularly patient man and quietly asked what drink I would like. "Scoke and Cotch. Cotch and Scoke. Scotch and Coke. There we are, got it out finally. One of those, mate. Cheers."
He sort of smiled to himself and got my drink. I paid and turned to Maxi. He eyed me with disgust.
"What’s cracking?" I asked.
"Not much.” he replied in a non-committal tone.
"What are you drinking? I’ll buy ya a round." I've always found that drinking with the enemy is an incredibly fun little game to play. It requires a strong willpower, and stronger drinking skills.
"Are you f**kin' gay or something'?" He asked. So many people ask me that question, it is bizarre.
"Nah man, I'm just trying to be polite. I saw you fight, you're hell wicked man. If you don't wanna drink that’s fine."
"You saw me fight? When? Yeah sure I’ll take a drink"
I had put myself in the shit. I’d never seen him fight so I had no idea where I would have seen him or when.
I got him a drink, he drank straight whisky. I usually drank straight, but after the wedding, I had gotten a fair bit drunk, and decided to tone down a bit.
I managed to bullshit that I couldn't remember where or when because I was so drunk, but assured him that I thought he was good. He relaxed and drank, so I did too. We Drank for 2 hours, chatted about many things and were soon well acquainted. We Started singing "around the world" by daft punk as loud as possible, and the bar-man asked us to leave. Maxi said he was gonna smash his head in but I said that we should go down two sets of stairs to the wedding and try and pick up. Free booze one him over and we went down. Around the world, around the world.
****25

Maxi and I met many people. We spoke to a man who had a yacht and was commodore of a yacht club. We spoke to an old man who had been bitten by a crocodile last year and had lost his hand. We danced, we sang. We drank as much of the free stuff as possible. We ate more of the little pastries, Maxi steered clear of the caviar but I indulged. We were having a fantastic time. Then, Maxi reached his limit, and showered the young bride and groom with vomit. He couldn’t stand. It was embarrassing, but I had to do it. I picked him up and dragged him downstairs and eventually got outside. I dragged him to the alleyway. He woke up just as I was about to get the job done.
"Bailey, bailey. Let’s go get a pizza!" I pulled out my lovely colt and plugged him in the head twice.
I walked back inside, and got a small slice of pizza.
"This ones for you Paddy."
I walked outside and started walking home. Some Asteroids fell from the sky about a mile away, so I sat down and watched them.26

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