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Website content may offend and disturb. Content includes horror, murder, torture, military carnage and occasional incidents from the adult side of adult life. |
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"You heard him," said Opera. "We're not in a mood for all that illusion stuff." "Come on, hear me out," said the genie. "I know what you want, trust me. You'd like a brand new toilet cleaner that made your toilet bowl glisten like new. Wouldn't that be dandy?" "Dandy?" said Mop, who wasn't sure that he knew that word. "Or a brand new product to clean out the filthy insides of your air conditioner," continued the genie. "Something to get into the dirty places hidden to the naked eye and scourge out all those layers of unsuspected dirty. Wouldn't that be popazolish?" "Popazolish?" said Mop. "Yes," said the genie, grinning hugely. The genie's teeth were very big and very white. One of them - just one, the left-hand incisor - was razor sharp. That was doubly disconcerting. The sharpness was disturbing in itself, and so was the asymmetry. "Or," said the genie, "something to clean out the grimy places in your washing machine. The dark and filthy places where the water circulates unseen, depositing filth in layer on layer. You do want to be a clean woman, don't you? Or would you rather be a dirty little slut?" "We would like money," said Opera firmly. "Yeah, money," said Mop, who had been momentarily entranced by visions of a clean and sparkling life of flawless hygiene, but who saw now that Opera was right. "Money, and lots of it," said Opera. "Deposited straight into my bank account, thank you very much." "Oh, I can't do that," said the genie. "You're talking about real money - right? I only deal with illusions." "Well, what good is that?" said Opera, in disgust. "However," said the genie, "I can point you to something which already exists in the real world. What would you say to a million dollars in used notes, small denominations, untraceable?" "I'd say yes," said Mop. "Then take a pen and pencil and write down this address," said the genie. "Paper and pencil, you mean," said Mop. "No, pen and pencil," said the genie. "You might write down the first word with the pen, holding it in your left hand, and the second word with the pencil, holding it in the right." "Why on earth would we do anything so ridiculous?" said Opera. "Because you want a million dollars," said the genie. And, when they yielded to his urging, he gave them the address: apartment 2943, 18 Saprabong Drive, Gorleth. "It's locked," said the genie, "and there's no spare key tucked under the doormat. In fact, there isn't even a doormat. However, the concierge is an alcoholic." "The concierge?" said Mop. "The supervisor," said Opera, wondering why she had ever married a man with so many limitations. "That's right," said the genie. "The man who looks after the building. He has a set of master keys for the entire apartment block and he habitually leaves them in the top left drawer of his office desk." "Got it," said Mop. "By the way," said the genie, "you never bothered to ask my name." "Does it matter?" said Opera. "Not really," said the genie. "But it is traditional, you know. My name is Ptolemy Dace." "Gorleth," said Mop. "Do you think I should wear my casual sandals?" "Closed footwear, please," said Opera. "You never know what's going to be lying on the streets." Gorleth ... to say the name was to think of muggings and murders, of innocent passers by being doused with petrol and set alight by complete strangers, of people killed by old washing machines casually jettisoned from the upper floors of high rise buildings. All things considered, Mop and Opera were more than a little apprehensive about going to Gorleth at all. However, when the intrepid adventurers got off at the Ethel Pagan subway station, everything looked perfectly normal. Using their copy of "Omblock A to L" - the famous street guide, which took its name from the fact that the city's trains used the letters A through L to indicate their destinations - they found their way to what they thought was the right place, only all the street signs had been stolen, so they couldn't be sure. "Excuse me," said Opera, to a man wearing a suit and tie. "Is this Saprabong Drive?" "Peaches," he muttered. "Peaches and cream. Thicker the jam, the strawberry jam, thicker. Thicker!" He was getting urgent, his hands whirling over each other, tumbling, and Opera smelt the sour smell coming off him, a smell compounded of sweat and of dirty mattresses and of gloomy corners used for inappropriate purposes at two in the morning. "Well, thank you very much, we'll be on our way now," said Opera brightly. Down the road they found a Gold Geyser outlet and a Bonanza. Three or four police were inside the Bonanza, interviewing one of the staff members, while another staff member swept up broken glass. "Let's ask at the Gold Geyster," said Mop. "I don't think so, somehow," said Opera. Reluctantly, she pulled out her cell phone and activated the global positioning system. She had never properly gotten to grips with this function and hated the business of fumbling her way through the unhelpful multi-level menus. Finally, she found what she thought she was looking for. "Do you want to: (a) Direct artillery fire to a point near this location; (b) Use this as the zero point for your subsequent navigations; (c) See a map; (d) Find the city census coordinates for this point; (e) Connect to the web site of an enterprise at or near this location." Opera thought she wanted (c), and, after navigating through the map choice, was finally able to see an enlargement of the present area which confirmed that, yes, they were on Saprabong Drive. Very shortly thereafter, they were at 18 Saprabong Drive. The concierge was sleeping. An oily little man wearing a faded black suit. There was dandruff on his collar. With a snort, the concierge woke up. He stared at them with red-rimmed eyes. |
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zenvirus.com. Copyright © 2003 Hugh Cook. All rights reserved. |
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