Spaceland (11 page)

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Authors: Rudy Rucker

BOOK: Spaceland
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The phone chirped. Jena.
“What now?” I asked. “I'm busy vacating.” Despite Momo's unsettling warning, I was feeling pretty chipper. Unlimited phone spectrum! The Mophone!
“Joe, it's about Nero's Empire. You were so huffy that I didn't get a chance to tell you before. One of their guys was at our room first thing this morning. He woke me up. Very buff, very tan, very crooner. He said he has to talk to you.”
This sounded like the pit boss from last night. Sante. “You told on me?”
“No! I was surprised you weren't there. I told him I didn't know what was happening.”
“What did he say then?”
“He said he'd find you.” Her voice had an anxious edge. “He said he knows where you live. And then he left, and I called you, and you hung up, and Spazz and I had breakfast, and now we're on the way to the airport.”
“Was it Spazz who put them on me?” I demanded. “Did Spazz tell?”
“Nobody told Nero's Empire anything, Joe. Let's try and stay centered. You're blowing everything all out of proportion. It's probably something innocent. I only called to give you a heads-up. Maybe they want to take your picture. Like to advertise about their big winners. Or maybe they want to comp you for your next trip.”
“Thank God I'm clearing out. They might already be on their way. I'll hurry. And—Jena?”
“What.”
“Be careful.”
“You be careful too, Joe. I'll call you again when I get up to Los Perros.”
“Okay,” I said. “I'm gonna be all over the place today. Momo's got an idea that's completely off the hook.”
There was a pause. “We can still work together, Joe. Even if we're split up.” Hearing Jena on the phone, I could visualize her so well. She'd be staring down at her fingernails, nibbling at them a little. Her nose would be sharp and her cheeks would be pale. Her eyes slitted. Nervously pursing her lips. Checking her face in the sun-visor mirror. She was so touchingly unsure of herself.
“We'll see,” I said softly.
“Don't forget that half the money's mine.”
I'd been thinking about this one. Like it or not, I'd told Jena last night that I would split the winnings with her.
“I remember what I said, Jena. But first we'll see what happens
with the Nero's Empire guy. And as for the rest of it—who knows. Nothing's final yet.”
“Great.” She made a kissing noise and hung up. I felt better now.
I got into a packing frenzy, and in a little less than an hour I was done. Everything I owned fit into a suitcase and seven cardboard boxes, except for the computer and the stereo which were loose on the car floor. I had my desk and my desk chair too. There would have been fewer boxes, but I had some books and papers I'd never unpacked from the last move. I didn't let myself think too much about why I was packing. I just did it.
Right as I was stepping out the door for the last time, my phone rang one more time. I was pretty eager to be on my way before the gangsters showed up, but I answered just in case it was Jena with more news. But it was someone different.
“Hello, this is Tulip Patel. I'm calling for Joe Cube?” Her voice was warm and vibrant.
“Um—hi, Tulip. It's me. How did you get my number?”
“Spazz left your card here.” She stopped, seemingly not sure how to continue.
“And you're looking for him?” I coaxed.
“Yeah,” said Tulip,. “How was the big trip to Vegas?”
“Jena and Spazz aren't back yet,” I said. I heard a car in the street, and quickly checked it out with my subtle vision. Just a neighbor's BMW. Those were nice cars. Jena kind of wanted one. Maybe I should get her one for—but wair, Jena and I were supposedly through. I kept forgetting, and in the shock of the brutal memory, I blurted out the truth. “They spent the night together. It was really painful.”
“Damn
it,” said Tulip. “I knew this would happen. Well, that's all I needed to know, Joe.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I'm moving out on him,” said Tulip. “He's done this kind of thing before. God's gift to women.”
An obvious thought formed in my reptilian male brain. “I'm moving out, too,” I said. “So maybe I'll see you around.”
“Maybe.” She didn't sound too interested.
“I won a million bucks at blackjack last night,” I bragged.
“That's nice,” said Tulip. “But you lost your wife.”
That popped my bubble pretty fast. “I'm feeling kind of suicidal,” I said. A useful line, partly true. “It would help to talk with a woman.
“I don't know you, Joe.”
“Can I call? Maybe we could get together.”
“I'll think about it,” said Tulip, and gave me her number. Good good. Jena wasn't the only fish in the sea.
In my car, I peeked in my attaché case at my tax-bitten million dollars one more time, making sure I really did honest-to-God have it, and then drove back to the shopping center, smoking two cigarettes on the way.
So I'd gotten out of my house before the Nero's guys showed up. No way they'd find me now. What was with that, anyway? If Jena or Spazz hadn't squealed, Nero's had nothing to go on. I'd had a lucky night, that's all. That's what gambling was all about. Were they sore losers all of a sudden? I bought a paper and sat down in the local Starbucks to study the classifieds.
Real estate was insanely tight in the Valley these days. Los Perros listed a total of ten houses for rent, half of them to hell and gone in the mountains. I decided to go for the most expensive one actually here in town, a two-bedroom house right on Los Perros Boulevard. It rented for more than our monthly mortgage payment. Big deal. I had seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars in the Halliburton case sitting on the table in front of me.
I made a call and got a Kay Harmid at Welsh & Tayke Realty.
Even though it was Sunday, they were open. Yes, the house was available for immediate occupancy. It had just gone on the market today, I was lucky, I was Kay's first caller on this. She'd be able to show it to me this morning if I liked. But I needed to understand that I'd have to come up with three months rent to move in: first, last, and deposit.
“No problem,” I said, even though she was talking about a serious amount of dough—almost enough to buy a car. But, hey, I was a player.
“Bring a contract,” I told the Realtor. “If I like what I see, we can sign off right away. I'm starting a new company and I need a temporary base of operations.”
“I have some prime office space I could show you as well,” said Kay Harmid.
“I'll be working out of my home until we finish our next round of funding,” I said. “That won't be a problem, will it?”
“Not at all. The house is on a corner lot. You and your partners can come and go as you please. I'll meet you at the property in fifteen minutes.”
The house was a small, frail, one-story wood structure on a corner next to a traffic light, with the Route 17 entrance ramp a hundred feet away. A fifty-year-old summer cottage, planted in such a crappy location that nobody had ever bothered to scrape it off the lot and build something new. The house was painted a brave light yellow, with green and brown accents on its spidery Victorian trim. The paint was totally coated with grime from the traffic. Kay Harmid was waiting in the house's large parking area, sitting in a white diesel Mercedes with tinted glass, talking on her cell phone. There was a tiny one-car garage by the driveway, its door overgrown with glossy Algerian ivy. I pulled in beside Kay Harmid and she got out, a stocky woman with a large, double-jointed black leather purse. She had shiny skin, short hair, and an expensive suit cut from folk-art
fabric. Little pictures of burros and farmers. Her smile was cursory. Real estate was a seller's market these days. Take it or leave it.
I'd thought the traffic was loud at our house, but this was a different story. Just now a truck was idling at the light, and the noise was pretty much all I could think about. It was too loud for talking. And this was only Sunday! The Realtor and I stepped inside the house, me toting my cash-filled attaché case.
“It's kind of busy here,” I said.
Kay closed the door and the sound level dropped down. “Not to worry,” she said, handing me a business card. “There's double-paned glass and a brand-new heating-cooling system. I love these hard wood floors.”
The house did indeed have hardwood floors, reasonably clean and shiny. All the walls and ceilings were painted white-nor fresh painted, mind you, but not too scuffed either. It took about a minute to peek into the four tiny rooms: the front living room, the kitchen, and two bedrooms. Ancient fixtures in the kitchen. Back in Matthewshoro I could have flat-out
bought
this house with what these Californians wanted for a few months rent. Jena wasn't going to be at all impressed. In fact she'd probably make fun of me.
But to hell with Jena. I needed a place to stay. With the right furniture, I could make the front room look like a real office. And it would be easy for investors to meet me here. Take the Los Perros exit off Route 17, and your first right turn is my driveway. I walked around the place again. One of the bedrooms in back wasn't all that bad; it looked out onto a row of messy eucalyptus trees that pretty much hid the sight of Route 17. The long, curved leaves were green in the sun and the sky beyond them was blue. I used my third eye to form a full image of the house, and then let my viewpoint fly all around inside it. It felt like home.
The only thing was, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was going to he moving in here with Jena. In recent years it had always been
the two of us looking for housing together. What the hell was I doing renting a house without asking Jena? But that was over now.
I hardened my heart and told Kay, “Let's do it.”
“You're going to love it here, Mr. Cube,” she said. “Now if you want to give me your social security number, I can run a credit check while you look over the paperwork.”
Kay phoned my number in to Welsh & Tayke. While we waited for the call-back, I filled out a rental application form and read through the fine print rental contract. Reading it calmed me down. I'm a businessman; I like contracts. As Kay looked over my form, her phone rang. She listened for a minute, then hung up and gave me a thoughtful look.
“You're co-owner of a townhouse at 1234 Silva View Crescent?” she said.
“That's correct. My wife and I bought it together. We're splitting up.” It hurt to be saying it out loud. I half expected Kay Harmid to contradict me, to try and talk me out of it, to recommend a marriage counselor.
“I'm sorry to hear that,” was all she said. She glanced down at my form. “Will your wife be taking over the mortgage payments?”
I hardened my heart again. “That's correct. And we'll be putting the house on the market.” I'd just decided that. Might as well get my equity back. Let Jena really see how it was, being on her own.
Kay brightened at this bit of news. “Well that should work out, then. I hope you'll consider using me as your agent. I've sold a lot of properties in the Silva View neighborhood. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised at how much your home there has appreciated in just these past few months. Now, regarding the move-in payment. I think I mentioned the amount on the phone?” She jotted it down on a piece of paper for me, as if not wanting to say the absurd figure our loud. “If you want to drop a certified check by the office, one of us can give you the keys.”
“How about cash?” I said.
Not even a ghost of surprise on her face. Things were crazy in the Valley these days. “No problemo,” said Kay Harmid pleasantly.
“Just a minute,” I said, and took my case out to my car. I didn't want her to see how much I had in there.
The traffic noise was overwhelming. A bit like the ocean, or like a high wind through the trees, but without that wholesome natural quality. Jena would have talked me out of this, made a scene if necessary. But I was alone now, free to do everything as stupidly as I pleased.
The case shifted in my hand a little as I got into the car. And I almost thought I heard the sound of the money rustling. I set the case down on my lap, opened it—and screamed.
There was a giant red spider in there—a tarantula? I threw my hands up in the air, trying to squirm away. But the spider didn't come for me. Actually it wasn't a spider. It was a red hand. Long, skinny red fingers with pointed black nails. Talons. Like a devil's hand. There were still a few bills in there with it. The hand gathered up the bills and made a crooked, twitching motion, shoving the bills vinnward into the fourth dimension. And then the hand paused, gave me the finger, and disappeared.
I sat there, my heart going a mile a minute, the empty metal attaché case in my lap. Finally I closed it up and went back in the house.

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