The CoverGirl Conspiracy
Syd
The Cover Girl Conspiracy
Paul Wright sat at a table.
This Five Points restaurant wasn't busy, which was strange, since
their food was some of the best. He sighed, watching the sparse
scenery. Every so often a single person passed by the restaurant. The
entrance to Five Points was blocked by construction and had been for
month. That made it difficult to access, and most people didn't
bother. He blamed the mayor.
Paul watched a rolls Royce pull up across the street. He perked up
when a beautiful Afro-American girl stepped out. She had cover-girl
features and high maintenance atair. With her were two tough looking
guys, more enforcers then bodyguards. He watched her walk to a trendy
club. She spoke with the doorman, and started inside. Before she got
inside, she turned and shot a riveting stare at him. He smirked,
She threw the silver fox stole back across her shoulder, and
disappeared into the club. He regretted that it was far too trendy for
his tastes. He never felt comfortable in a club like that. Just as
well, he thought, there was noone in there to pick up. Everyone there
was already attached and there only to show them off. As such, that
girl was there to meet someone, and be seen, perhaps to make headlines
in entertainment papers. An incestuous little scene.
He shrugged.
Paul pulled up to his Challedon Drive home. It was enjoyably big
house, near to the strip of road known as Harbison Road. There, a mess
of shopping centers stood. It definitely a mess. Traffic was terrible
at the best of times. Near the holidays, it was a disaster. He never
went down Harbison.
To much peril.
As he approached the house, his hand felt for his sonic gun. He let it
drop with a smirk. He recognized the shadow loitering among the huge
pillars. It was his buddy, Roland Crouse.
"Hey, Rol," He said.
"'Lo, Paul," Roland said. Paul opened the door, as Crouse scuttled
inside, and crashed onto a couch. He dug into the fabric for loose
crumbs. Old habits died hard. Shinny dirt reflected against his dark
skin.
"What news," Paul asked.
Crouse shrugged, said "The usual. I'm expecting a shipment from the
south, but otherwise, it's been quite."
"Unusual."
"To say the least."
Paul went, turned on the stereo. The Velvet Underground blared out. He
handed Crouse a Budweiser. He accepted it with a grimace.
"Local beer."
"Yep," Paul said briefly.
"Kinda sucks, compared to what I had in the army."
Paul had heard this before. He strode over to the PC, and several
minutes later was online. Behind him, Crouse was leaning fairly
substantially left. He finally sank fully down onto the cushions. He
was fast asleep. Paul interrupted his fan-fiction group to pull a
cover him. When he returned to the PC, he found he'd been dropped
offline from the email box that was being used as a forum. All that
he'd wrote was lost. He sighed, returned to his usual ID and looked
around the net.
A highly important meeting.
Paul sat a table at Do 'yr Maker. Across from him sat Calvin Smith. He
was a representative from consortium of left-leaning moderate business
people.
He was currently eating a slowly disintegrating hamburger. Besides the
plate were the remains of a salad. Paul watched, amused. He picked at
his fries besides his hamburger. His burger had several bites out of
it, but it was far from gone. Around the walls were artifacts of a
bygone age. All 1920's gild and high adventures. Red walls and
mirrors. Paul shrugged, and drank his beer. He felt nostalgia for an
another age he'd never known.
Calvin looked up; his mouth was full of food. Paul rolled his eyes.
"The jokes on us, it appears," Smith said.
"It appears so," Paul replied.
"They just steamroll over us."
Paul nodded, picked at his fries some more.
"That's why," Calvin said, "This consort is so important. The extremes
must be neutralized. I doubt we could survive if either side gets too
much power."
"Fascism."
"If we're lucky."
"And if we're not?"
Calvin looked down at his food, bit into his burger, as it
disintegrated some more. A silent moment passed between them.
"How's the facilities," Paul asked finally.
Calvin shrugged, said "Not up to spec just yet. We only just
recognized the threat. It was that Rash Rimjob that tipped us off."
"His numbers are impressive."
"That's one way of putting it. We saw the recent agenda of the
parties, and it's threat. And it was a case of getting together to
counter it."
"Your progress is impressive," Paul pointed out.
"But the timing!"
"I doubt it'll be too bad."
"We figured out the threat too late," Calvin said, popping a fry into
his mouth, "They had been massing under the radar. Growing. If these
intolerant, hard-heading bigots get in.."
"A government controlled by the least tolerant."
And all our gains being pushed back fifty years."
"No thanks to Reagan and Bush."
"Particularly not Reagan. He put a happy smiling face on social
rollbacks. He invented conservative disdain for the environment. The
first big-spending republican."
Paul nodded, and finished his burger. He wiped mustard from his mouth
with the back of his hand.
"We'll do." Paul commented, "What we can."
Paul had just saved the black girl. The two thugs ran off, one with a
needle in his leg. The other had a concussion.
He reached down to help her up. She slapped his hand away. Paul stood
up, turned on his heal with his back to her. Her guards ran up,
advanced threatening onto Paul. He looked at them coldly.
"Wait," Said the girl. She motioned to them, and the three vanished
into the night.
"You'd better," A voice said, "Be careful with that girl, Paul."
He'd recognized the voice.
"Whattaya mean, Chi Fang?" He asked, as she stepped out of a shadowy
door. She lit a cigarette, tossed him a pack.
"That girl is Charlotte Wilson," She said, lighting his cigarette.
"Thought she looked familiar."
"Yes. Been on the covers of every fashion magazine ever made."
"Quite the star."
"That's not all," She continued, "She's also rumored to be a mob
boss."
"Get away."
The city lighting had failed.
Paul cursed loudly as walked back towards the Broad River area,
crossing bridges, ducking through tree-lined darkened neighborhoods,
buildings, non-working lights. The moon was the only illumination. His
feet were sore. The shoes had holes in them. At this hour, few if any
vehicles passed him. Noone would be out at this time of night, save
convicts and thieves.
Paul kept an eye out.
A car pulled up next to him. He turned, as a window rolled down, and
revealed Charlotte Wilson. She smiled at him.
"Need a ride," She asked. He shrugged wearily, noting the absence of
her thugs.
"I wouldn't turn down a beautiful woman," He said. She opened the
door, and he got in. Her perfume was overpowering. The silver fox fur
coat she wore softened her form. She smiled again.
They rode on in silence for a time. Then, Charlotte touched his hand,
said "I want to thank you for saving me last week."
"It was nothing," He said, doing the same for her hand.
"I want to apologize for my rudeness."
"No need. You didn't know me."
Paul lit a cigarette and passed it to Charlotte. They both lay in a
bed at his Harbison house. His personal generators were working, so
the house shone like a beacon in the dark neighbor hood. He sighed.
She was evasive. It almost seemed like she was pumping him for
information. She kept asking about his knowledge of her rivals, which
he could claim ignorance. He just wasn't keeping up with the actions
of the fashion world. She said he wasn't missing anything.
"So," She said, "You don't know anything about J-Pop and his all-
stars?"
"Nope," He replied, bored by this line of inquire.
"Well, it's not important."
"As many times as you've asked about them, it seems important."
Silence hung between them. He flipped them off.
"So, tell me," He asked, "Are the rumors about you true?"
"Which ones?"
"How many do you have?"
"More then I'd like," She sighed.
"The one's about you being a mob boss."
"Heh. That one."
"Well?"
"I could tell you, but I wont," She teased him, pinching his arm.
"Must mean you are."
"So you say."
They shared a laugh. He looked at the ceiling, then closed his eyes.
The night sounds echoed around the room.
She stroked his arm.
"Something's," She whispered, "Are better left unsaid."
He smirked, said "We all have things we'd rather not air out."
"You do understand, then," She smiled.
He smiled back. She leaned up, kissed his cheek, and then worked her
way to his mouth. He turned, rolled over onto her.
The Whippoorwills howled.
In the darkness, bright explosions and load reports rang out. The
figures exploded with bright pops of red.
Slowly, the red dawn arrived.
-End