Noetic Justice

story and artwork

by Kenneth McSween

1. Approaching The Bench

Pete left a clue to his few trusted friends on the outside. It was an oblique phrase at the end of their last conversation during visitation in prison. Jess knew something important was transpiring because Pete never used this mystery talk unless he felt danger. An hour later he was found dead in his cell, apparently at the request of a rival crime boss. Jess called Pete’s girlfriend, Lynda, and told her what he’d said and that he had an idea what the cryptic sentence meant. “Fine Mob Crafting Choir?” said Lynda, sounding distraught and befuddled. “Right,” said Jess, “Pete confided to me that whenever the competition decided to rat someone out, you know, ‘singing’ as in ‘choir’, they’d always meet and discuss things at that bench by the deserted fish market, that’s gotta be where the jewels are stashed. So anyway, as I promised I’ll find ‘em and take one or two for my trouble and bring you the rest.”

A short time later Jess arrived at the scene and laughed at the irony of it. “Here I am,” he thought, “a criminal, approaching the bench with no fear of a judge, God, I’m so clever!” He chuckled to himself as he shoved the bench over and found in one of the leg’s indentations a small medicine bottle full of diamonds. He of course had no intention of giving any of them to Lynda and by the next evening he planned on being hundreds of miles away.

Lynda had never trusted him and had predetermined he would pull a stunt like this, which was why she played dumb when Jess spilled the clue. Pete was a brilliant crook and he never chose girlfriends who were any less in intellect. Lynda knew that Pete was fond of wordplay so she doodled with the phrase: “Fine Mob Crafting Choir” and discovered it was an anagram for: “Micro Graffiti On Bench.” She assumed that Jess would be well out of the picture by now so she casually went to the location of the still tipped bench and examined it with a small magnifying glass. Within minutes she found the tiny inscription she was looking for.

Later, at the very moment that Jess, half way across the U.S., registered extreme dismay at the realization his bottle contained only Cubic Zirconiums, Lynda’s plane touched down in Spain with a million Euros worth of diamonds that cleared customs undetected in her luggage.

2. Nile Be Damned

“This is just all too obvious,” she thought. “How’d that f**k trace me to Egypt from Spain?” Lynda was sure that the two small boats must be booby trapped so she decided on a mad swim to the opposite shore. If the Nile crocs and hippos were elsewhere she was home free. She assumed that Jess would be in revenge mode and hell-bent on his “carat of flesh.” The swim wore Lynda out and when she dragged her head up in exhaustion a robed man extended his hand and said in an ominous voice: “Diamonds are forever, my dear, sorry the same can’t be said of your sojourn on Earth.” The man pulled his hood back and Lynda gasped, never having been so relieved and irritated at the same time. “Robin Graves!” exclaimed Lynda, “You a**hole, how can you prank out on me at a time like this?” “Can’t help it,” said Robin, “I’m a fun lovin’ guy.” “Well you won’t get any fun outta me till I see the GPS co-ordinates.” said Lynda in a menacingly sexy tone that made Robin glad he was wearing robes and not trousers. “Interpol’s closing in on me.” said Robin, “Why should I be spooked by your girly ass?” “Because,” said Lynda, “my ‘girly ass’ is gonna save yours if you’re in a cooperative mood.” “I had a feeling you’d say that.” said Robin. Lynda then pulled an object from out of her damp cleavage that made Robin dizzy when he saw it. It was not so much the pendant on a slinky white-gold chain, but the beautiful way it was wrapped, so to speak. Lynda slapped Robin’s hand when he reached for it. It was an insect effigy; a cicada delicately and meticulously crafted from platinum. “What’d this cost you?” asked Robin. “Most of the diamonds Pete, er, ah, bequeathed to me,” said Lynda, “and that was just to get access to the tribal custodians.” “Let me guess,” said Robin, “you scared ‘em into giving it to you.” Lynda smirked, then pursed her lips à la Marilyn Monroe and began to sing: “An incubus touch can be, quite elemental — ‘cause demons are a girl’s best friend…” Robin laughed uproariously, then told Lynda about his Interpol run-in.

3. Blown Away, Dandelion

“So how’d you shake the Interpol popo’s?” asked Lynda. “Triage, I guess,” said Robin, “I thought I was done but then both myself and that agent noticed Jess, of all people, in the marketplace. He refocused on him and I slipped away. I don’t know how Jess managed to elude them though, he looked like he’d just stepped out from an Opium den.” “So you sent me the alert that Jess was around?” asked Lynda. “Yeah,” said Robin, “I had to make it anonymous.”

Jess was back in his Cairo hotel room smoking bowl after bowl of Hashish. In his pondering he drifted back to when he was in the States a few weeks ago. He owed a debt which he attempted to pay off with the batch of diamonds he thought he’d scammed from Lynda. He was in a nearly deserted park at sunset and a seasoned hit man sat with him. He was casually holding a silencer equipped pistol pointed at Jess in one hand and a dandelion in his other. Jess was so positive the diamonds were authentic he never bothered to have them checked. The thug sent them via lackey to make sure and they both awaited the results. Bad news —the phone rang three times then stopped, the signal that the gems were bogus. The hit man brought the dandelion to his lips and gently blew, causing it to disperse. He then leaned forward, pushed the gun’s barrel tightly against Jess’ chest and proceeded to pull the trigger.

4. Spoke In Words

No language could have described such swiftness. The dead hit man lay in the grass. He never had a chance to pull the trigger, he never saw the lethal, laser-quick kick that broke his neck. A youngish man, wild haired and grinning, stuffed into his hoodie pocket the gun the man dropped. He looked over and said, “Hi Jess, any questions?” “Jesus!” said Jess. “Close!” said the man, “My name is Spoke. I’m a psychic, and as you’ve seen I’m not too bad at martial arts and crafts either. Pete, bless his criminal genius soul, secretly had me on retainer since my late teens. Gotta find other employment though, now that the cash flow’s dead.” “Why,” said Jess, “Don’t you just pick…” “The winning lottery numbers?” asked Spoke, finishing Jess’ question. “I or no one else can predict the future; it’s about intuition and the ‘most probable’ probabilities. I can see a little further around the corner than most, that’s all, and Pete figured that if cops hired psychics then why shouldn’t he?”

Spoke put on latex gloves and began rifling through the hit man’s pockets. He found a penlight, perfect, it was pretty dark out at this point. He continued talking as he searched the body for valuables. “I didn’t get your name psychically, by the way,” said Spoke, “I heard from Pete about you and your debt to his competitors. He didn’t trust you as much as you’d surmised. I’ve been watching this guy for a while now and I knew you would come to him to pay up.” “Well, did you pick up anything mentally?” asked Jess. “Oh yeah,” said Spoke, “this gent planned to kill you whether the diamonds were real or not!”

In the dead man’s wallet Spoke found three thousand dollars in cash which he put in his own pocket. He also found a very small greeting card. The back of the card contained a note signed by Pete, not too unusual as this hit man served occasionally as a liaison between Pete and the competition’s bosses. The front of the card was a reproduction of a surreal New Age / Fantasy type illustration: railroad tracks, a floating clock and a fairy princess ascending hovering stepping stones to an ethereal doorway etc.

“We both should get out of here.” said Spoke as he handed the greeting card over to Jess. Next he handed him the hit man’s gun which he’d just wiped the fingerprints from. “You’ll probably want to go find Lynda now.” he added. “He is intuitive.” Jess thought.

5. Shelf Preservation

Lynda was a track star in high school and this reminded her of when she would practice sprints on beach sand to build endurance. She had caught a glimpse of the powerful legs of the man who was chasing her along this barren patch of desert. Though dressed in western garb he bore tribal markings which she recognized. His leaders must have had second thoughts and decided to send him to take back the platinum cicada effigy. Being aware of their ways, Lynda knew it would be her death if she didn’t return it. Problem was she’d mailed the artifact for safe keeping to a friend in the States. Presently it was nestled in the false bottom of a cylindrical bread container in a quaint country kitchen in Virginia.

With her pursuer less than a hundred meters and gaining Lynda stopped running when she heard a beep signaling she’d arrived spot on to her coordinates. The sound came from a tiny remote control carefully palmed in her hand. She probed with her foot and could feel steel just beneath the sand’s surface. She then turned and stepped back facing her opponent in a fighting stance.

Now with just a couple meters distance between them the man lunged forward screaming wildly. At this precise moment Lynda pressed her remote and a circular hatch cover popped up instantly and violently, enough to shatter the tribesman’s left kneecap on contact. The man passed out from the pain and Lynda quickly picked up a rock which she introduced to his head to prolong his lack of consciousness.

Lynda climbed into the hatch and closed the cover. She expected this high tech hideout of Pete’s to be unoccupied but as she hit the light switch a voice startled her, rendering much surprise at the sight of whose presence she was in.

6. Pinwheel Of Fortune

Smiling before her was Jess. Lynda, smiling also, pulled a hand-made obsidian knife with a blade sharper than any modern scalpel. “Chase to the cut.” she thought. Jess was holding a gun by the barrel, gesturing to hand it to Lynda with no aggressive intent. He also gave her the mini greeting card with Pete’s note on the back of it. Lynda took the items but retained her distance regardless.

“Spoke gave these to me,” said Jess “he also gave me the passkey to this pod. I hate cramped spaces but I can’t seem to elude those f**kin’ Interpol agents, they were tipped off by a tribe that claims you talked them out of a sacred artifact. Now it seems anyone who’s ever known you is under their radar. By the way, tell Robin thanks for the diversion.”

“The tribe, hah!” said Lynda, “One of their diplomats is sunning himself by the hatch cover right now and you,” she continued, “went to all that effort to find me and you don’t wish to abbreviate my life span?”

“Not now though I did at first,” said Jess, “and that guy Spoke, who I don’t even know, saved my life then suggested I find you, I swear I get the feeling that Pete’s watching me from the great beyond. I can’t decode his note on the card, maybe you can? And keep the gun, I’m done with weapons. Oh yeah, one other thing! In Spoke’s ramblings he recited some nursery rhyme about a ‘pinwheel by the garden gate.’ Does that ring any bells?”

“No.” said Lynda. She was lying.

7. Yes Virginia

Lynda and Jess vacated the pod and went their separate ways. That desert hot potato would take on more metaphorical thermal qualities when the tribesman by the hatch returned to a lucid state. Lynda contacted Robin Graves and together they managed by circuitous means to sneak back into the States. Two days ago they grabbed one of the many cars that Pete had kept stashed throughout the country. Lynda continued to weave the story of her recent life to Robin as they plodded at dusk along a deserted backroad in Virginia. She knew he was sound asleep but it felt good to get it out of her system anyway.

When they arrived at their destination Lynda shook the sleeping Robin. “Wake me only for golf or sex.” he mumbled, indicating he wished to doze in the car for now. Lynda felt bad about knocking on the old house’s door at this late hour but Pete’s aunt Millie greeted her with a smile and a hot cup of some bizarre tasting tea. She knew that Millie had written the rhyme about the pinwheel and hoped Spoke hadn’t been here first. She asked if that was the case.

“Yes dear, that little paranormal pissant’s been here.” she said with a chuckle, “He’s good but no competition for old Millie! His hand was in the bread jar when he felt my shotgun in his back and with a captive audience like that I could not pass up the opportunity to lecture! I told him that I thought Pete shouldn’t have hired him and maintained a clean criminal life and kept the psychic realm out of it! I told Spoke that if he didn’t want to meet my Pete, rest his soul, in person he’d better exit my property real quick-like, tee hee!”

Lynda shook her head and laughed. “Can you help me on this?” she asked.

“Sure.” said Millie, “Oh that Pete and his anagrams!” she commented while reading the words on the mini greeting card: ‘material of cart ring.’ “Hmm.” she murmured as she paused and reached for a notebook and pen.

8. P.O.W. Prisoner Of Work

“PUNK !! You work for US now.” yelled the NSA agent at Spoke, “YOUR skills and you couldn’t overtake an old lady with a shotgun? I’m surprised she recommended you.”

“It’s not like that,” said Spoke indignantly, “she can tase people with her MIND, I’m not s**tting you, and don’t rub it in, I realize you’ve got me by the fine follicles but I got a good work ethic so ease OFF!”

“So your fence hopping here is for exercise?”

“I’m ok now.” Spoke mumbled.

“I understand more than you’d imagine, kid.” said the agent, “Nobody likes kissing the royal rectum, but do what we say and you’ll be dispensing your own orders before you know it, and maybe you’ll never have to wear a necktie.”

“Sir.” said Spoke.

Aunt Millie could do lots of things with her mind, which is why Lynda sought her help regarding Pete’s anagram. Millie liked to utilize computers as much as anyone but she felt she could solve Pete’s encoding more efficiently with her intuition. Within a few minutes she proclaimed confidently that “Material of cart ring” was an anagram for: “Marion triangle craft.”

“Those synchronicity-slicker psychic folk are NO match for a country witch!” giggled Millie, “That Spoke, on the other hand, darn clever, probably be someone to reckon with when his powers mature.”

“Right,” said Lynda, “he may have heard your rhyme from Pete, but wow, discerning that you also used the pinwheel as a visual signal!”

“I feel sorry.” Millie said.

“For Pete?” asked Lynda.

“No, for Spoke!” chuckled Millie.

“I know this charming fella,” Millie continued, “a high muckity muck NSA agent and a rogue one at that, I called him right after I ran off Spoke and they’ve got him now. I provided some blackmail info for them, so Spoke’s once again employed whether he likes it or not, hehe!”

“Hmmm, so back to the anagram’s solution,” said Lynda, “and its meaning.”

“Hope you’re ready for this.” Millie said.

9. Once You’ve Had Gray There’s No Other Way

“Gotta show you something downstairs, Lynda” said Aunt Millie who then paused suddenly; “Robin.” she whispered. A few seconds later there was a knock at the front door which she answered; Robin Graves stood squinting in the morning sun. “You know where the bathroom is, join us in the basement when you’re done.” Millie announced before Robin could utter a word.

Millie handed Lynda a black and white photo depicting a dreary stretch of rural road, she pointed to the picture’s lower right. “It’s faint, but those are three burn marks,” she said, “I was driving home from bingo at the Elks Club, I saw this strange glow coming from the woods and that’s how this game of mine began!” Millie opened the door to the basement and Lynda’s jaw dropped at the sight.

“No your eyes aren’t deceiving you,” Millie said with a chuckle, “I decided to rotate the tables, you know. Hey, it’s OUR turn! I ABDUCT ALIENS!”

Lynda walked up to a large pet cage, inside was what was undoubtedly an other-worldly being. Wide almond eyes, pasty skin, humanoid, sort of.

“How…?” said a stunned Lynda.

“Simple,” Millie replied, “their technology is great for GETTING to Earth, other than that they’re pushovers. I caught this rascal away from the ship, he never had a…”

Abruptly the cage door burst open and the small alien leapt out and grabbed Lynda around the waist. She fainted.

10. Gulf Ghost

Robin Graves knew Aunt Millie from his dealings with the late Pete. She was something of a den mother to more than a few eccentric criminals, a dispenser of supernatural knowledge and a complete believer in creating one’s own reality. Robin wondered why such a person would be so appealing to those who made their living waltzing on the edge of chance. She told Robin she thought he and Lynda would make a great couple, though, and that was enough for him.

Millie had given a sly wink to Robin as he entered her house, he figured she was up to something and this was confirmed moments later by the roaring laughter he heard as he descended the stairs to the basement.

Lynda came to the sight of Millie and the small alien laughing and hugging each other.

“Sorry about the practical joke!” said a giggling Millie. “I finally found something that scares you! I’ll admit I kidnapped this fellow but I found out right away he’s of peaceful intent. He said he couldn’t gain the upper hand if he wanted to, without a little something his brethren sought here. Anyway, we’re the best of friends now!”

“You gotta handle, graymate?” asked a less than amused Lynda.

“Dang.” replied the alien, adding, “You know the story, studied and learned the language. Our people don’t use names, but for protocol I gave myself one. It was the first word Millie said when she discovered me.”

“Lynda, I’ve got something unsettling to tell you too,” said Millie, “I know Pete told you some things that set you off to treasure hunting and whatnot, but Dang, havin’ just now seen Pete’s words and diagrams on the back of that little greeting card you brought, filled in some mighty weird blanks for me!”

“Doesn’t sound all that unsettling.” said a still somewhat huffy Lynda.

“Pete’s not dead.” said Millie.

“What the f**k!?” exclaimed Lynda, “How in the…”

“You’re used to being without him now dear,” said a consoling voiced Millie, “best to hold that thought ‘cause you won’t be seeing him again. He’s a time traveler, so is that fellow Jess, they’re competitors but only Pete knows this presently. Jess sustained a head injury in his gangster ruse and has amnesia. Pete hoaxed his death to try and recover Jess’ clues but gave up and left this timeframe when he discovered Dang was on the scene. In fact Dang, bless his hearts, he’s got two you know, hipped me to what Spoke, that NSA agent, Pete and Jess have been up to all along.”

“But you’re his aunt, how could Pete be a time traveler?” questioned Lynda.

“We’re not blood kin, I just mentored him in the witches ways,” said Millie, “he always called me aunt.”

The next week found Millie, Lynda, Robin and Dang many, many miles from Virginia. They stood near a large sand dune on a deserted stretch of Mexico’s Eastern coastline. Even Jess was nearby but hiding. He had been alerted by Spoke of this meeting even though he was not invited. During the risky flight from Egypt his memory returned and at this point he was nothing more than a clandestine spectator hoping for one last clue to help cut his losses.

Spoke and the NSA agent approached from a distance and stood before Dang who bowed to them in subservience.

“Uncle Sam wants you, and thanks to Ms. Millie we know you’ll come quietly.” said the agent.

As Dang straightened up Spoke and the agent noticed he had a metal object in his tiny mouth. Before they could draw their weapons Dang’s device emitted a strange chattering sound which not only made the two aggressors immobile but caused them to hover above the ground as well.

“You set us up!” Spoke managed to exclaim but in a moment both had lost their voices.

Dang’s device gave off another odd sound and a very large tetrahedron shaped object burst forth from under the dunes and came to a gentle rest before them.

“I’ll never forget that night driving home in Marion, Virginia.” said Millie.

“Ah, so that’s the triangle craft.” said Lynda.

One of the triangular facets became clear then opened inwardly. Dang bounced Spoke and the NSA agent along and inside the ship as if they were air filled party balloons.

“Dang, what in the hell is that doing in your mouth?” admonished Millie, “You don’t know where it’s been!”

Dang removed the object, then held it up. It was the platinum cicada effigy.

“This isn’t merely an artifact, it displaces gravity on a much larger scale than any technology on my planet,” said Dang, “your clever ancients were inspired by the natural sound amplification of certain insects. I’ve been tracking this down for ages, and as with your pyramids I feel this device could be, er, monumental to my planet’s city planning. Worry not, we’ll return it once we discern its workings. No one amongst your present day people would understand how to operate it anyway, but you’re close, especially the tribe Lynda procured this from, so put your minds to it when we give it back!”

“What becomes of those two? said Robin, referring to the agent and Spoke.

“Extended vacation.” said Dang, “They’ll be returned unharmed. I don’t wish to establish contact with your world’s leaders under the conditions of ones like them, so, goodbye, it’s been fun!”

“I’ll miss you sugarbritches,” said aunt Millie, “don’t make a stranger in a strange land of yourself!”

Dang fired up his craft and was gone in a blink. A few minutes later Millie began her drive back towards the border while passengers Lynda and Robin necked in the back seat.

Jess now stood at the water’s edge after watching the whole scene from bushes near the dunes. He was glad he’d followed his hunch by dressing in early twentieth century fashion. His sights were set on North Africa circa 1924 and a certain tribe which just might have other gadgets tucked away.

Mild waves kissed the shore and fluffs of clouds danced in contrast to atmospheric blueness. Jess lit a cigar as he dematerialized…

Gulf Ghost, oil on canvas, by Kenneth McSween

END