The G Game

by bluemicrocosm

-- Chapter 11 --

Oct 3, 3:30 p.m.

“You look perky,” D notes drolly. She leans against thin rows of blue sky and warm air between the blinds. “How was school?”

“You should know, since you were there,” says Lediv.

“Only for a while. Your lectures are incredibly boring. I don’t how you stay awake. Oh, and tell your history teacher to get his facts straight. The war did not end that way.”

“Who really knows how the war – or any war – really ended? The winner writes and re-writes history, feeding a filtered reality to the masses that perpetuate it through institutions, media, and hearsay.”

“Why didn’t you say this to your history teacher?”

Lediv shrugs. “It wasn’t worth the trouble.”

“Or perhaps you don’t want to rile your classmates? It’s so very hard for humans to accept something that contradicts their indoctrinated beliefs.” D grins humorlessly, the points of her teeth glistening like carved pearls on her shaded face.

Though still unsettled, Lediv finds it easier now to sooth his nerves and replies coolly, “But that aspect of human nature entertains you.”

D tilts her head, wisps of silver hair lingering at the corners of assessing eyes. “You’re surprisingly tolerant compared to most humans. Many would either deny my existence, be driven to insanity, or writher away from the guilt of using the Alef.” She steps forth, threads of sunlight wavering atop her head. “Don’t you feel guilty?”

The madness and hysteria that possessed him at the first indulgence of the Alef never quite vanished. They rise from beneath their burial of rationality, chiseling hairline fractures in the stone lid and quaking the cool, unrelenting soil.

“Depends on the context,” breathes Lediv. He remembers his purpose, and the ghosts in the coffin are again laid to rest. “What I have done, and what I will do, is nothing to feel guilty over.”

Mild interest sharpens D’s expression. “When are you going to kill John Peld?”

“So you remember him,” says Lediv, unwilling to be disturbed by how quickly (and accurately) D connects his loftier goals to a snippet of yesterday’s conversation.

“Of course. My memory is infallible.”

“Aren’t you humble,” mutters Lediv. “If things go smoothly tonight, then you’ll get to see something interesting.”

4: 00 p.m.

Lediv wedges a chair under the door knob, barricading the entry. He closes the blinds, then takes out his notebook and flips to the fifth to last page. Flourishing cursive fills the space between gray lines, occasionally spilling into the margins or ruled neatly of out existence.

After rereading the script several times, he peels off his turtleneck and reaches for the mouse. A red light blinks back at him from atop his monitor.

When the red light has long dimmed and he is satisfied with the final product, Lediv slips on the gloves that he bought yesterday and saves his work onto a new flash drive. Then, retrieving his jacket from the closet, he tucks the flash drive into one of the pockets.

Stretching out the kinks in his body, Lediv removes the chair from under the door knob.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

“Do you know where he lives?” asks D.

“Peld keeps a suite and office at his own hotel. He retreats to a private estate during the weekend, which is why it’s easier to approach him on a weekday.”

“He must make a poor husband if he’s hardly home.”

“That’s not a problem. He’s unmarried.”

“You’ve certainly done your research, little boy.”

“I always do,” says Lediv, ignoring D’s amused smile. “And I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

He grabs his keys and gestures outside. “I’ll meet you at the hotel. Just follow my car.”

When D doesn’t move, he scowls and begins to repeat himself. Suddenly, white wings flap across his room and through the wall, emerging in the warm sunset.

Lediv shakes his head. Talk about special effects.

At the top of the stairs, he sees his lone pair of shoes in the foyer. As expected, his parents aren’t home yet.

Passing by the guest closet, Lediv retrieves a black umbrella. He leans the umbrella against the front passenger’s seat of the car, then extracts the items from the glove box. On goes the wig, cap, and glasses.

He checks himself in the rearview mirror and barely recognizes the smart looking brunette staring back at him.

The black Mercedes purrs to life, rolling out of the driveway and into the dimming street. A bird takes off from a telephone cable and collides into the rear window.

A flash of light, then: “New look?”

“What do you think?”

“You’re a complete stranger.”

“Good.”

Lediv watches from the rearview mirror as D runs a pale hand over the leather seat. Her white cassock is bunched up around her like rippling waves; in the intermittent columns of streetlight flashing into the car, they look like flaccid wings dipped into dark water.

“Nice car.”

“Thanks,” mumbles Lediv.

“Did Mommy and Daddy buy it for you?”

Lediv rolls his eyes. “They would have if I asked. But I saved up to purchase my own car with my own money.”

“Did you start saving since preschool?”

“My stocks helped quite a bit,” admits Lediv.

“Ah, so you got lucky in your stock picks.” Before Lediv can defend his hard work, D says, “Your parents must be proud of their one and only child, even if he pretends to be a model son.”

“I am a model son,” Lediv says stiffly.

“You mean, you successfully give the impression of one.”

“What difference does it make? A model son, a model student – they’re just labels that you earn by displaying the appropriate characteristics. As long as you meet the expectations surrounding a preconceived social role, you can become it.”

“Isn’t that being untrue to yourself?”

“Sometimes it’s easier to do what people expect,” mutters Lediv. He leans forward slightly and squints at the road.

The heavy sky that threatened to collapse that morning finally split apart, unleashing a torrent of cold rain upon the city. Water sluices down the windshield, distorting the abject buildings and dump yard of Rundbau’s third ring. Each swing of the wipers bring fleeting clarity, enough to show depravity hunched in human form. Here, the degenerates and misfits of society loiter under rusty overhangs, and the smell of sweet smoke and alcohol and cash curl through the rainy sheets. Here, a different set of law rules the streets and alleys, stark to its residents and conveniently invisible to the police.

Neon signs blink in the dreary world, and D’s brows arch higher and higher at the lights glaring through the window.

“I thought we’re going to a hotel,” D remarks. “Unless it’s one of those hotels –”

“We are,” says Lediv. “And it’s not. The Peld Hotel is in the fourth ring, which means that we have to cross the third ring to reach it. This eyesore that you see is the unfortunate result of poor law enforcement. The problem festered over time, and no one wanted to deal with the rise of crime and violence in this district. The city council declared it a lost cause and reallocated funds to the other rings.”

Lediv eyes a rundown car abandoned by the roadside. Rain beats down on the roof, leaking through the jagged hole into the windshield and onto the mold-speckled seats. He murmurs, “It doesn’t have to be this way.”

The sallow beam of the Mercedes flits across a blue sign that indicates the beginning of the fourth ring. The abrupt transformation in landscape renders the sign extraneous. Deciduous trees stagger along the road, replacing the corrugated metal walls and broken overhangs with splashes of yellow and orange and red.

Half a mile down, the Peld Hotel stands solitarily on one hundred acres of land that has been cultivated into expansive gardens dotted with fountains and sculptures. The main axis of the gardens runs perpendicular to the hotel, which spans out symmetrically from the origin. The hotel itself is a stunning piece of classical work, with gabled roofs and columnar stone facades.

Lediv enters the underground parking lot behind the hotel, tucked out of sight to provide an unobstructed view of the surrounding gardens. A security camera sits above the entrance of the garage; Lediv lowers his head slightly, letting the bill of the cap shadow his face as he passes under the dark, scrutinizing lenses.

He parks as close as possible to the elevator leading up to the ground level of the hotel. Cutting the engine, he pulls on the black gloves again and checks himself quickly in the rearview mirror.

Catching D’s eyes in the reflection, he says, “If you want to come, you’ll have to make yourself inconspicuous.”

“You want me to change again,” says D.

“That would be easiest. Unless you can somehow sneak into the building in that,” says Lediv, raising his brows at D’s blinding white robe. His face twitches at the feathers brushing his cheek as D flies through the windshield.

‘Don’t you want to know where I’ll be?’ he asks silently.

‘Oh, don’t worry. I’ll always know where you are, boy. Our contract ensures that.’

Once D is out of the parking garage, Lediv takes the elevator to the hotel lobby. Though he isn’t a stranger to five star accomodations, the opulence of the Peld Hotel steals his breath.

Ceiling frescoes decorate the lobby, vivid colors overflowing between gilded bronze ornaments, telling the exploits of Augustus and Alexander the Great and other heroic figures. Dramatic shadows are drawn across the tiled corridors by carefully arranged lights, infusing the scenes with life. Space and volume play to invoke a sense of Baroque monumentality in the grand staircases and circular domes.

A layout of the hotel is inscribed into a bronze plate, which Lediv pulls himself away from the magnificent architecture to peruse. The billiard room, ballroom, gaming room and concert room are located on the first floor, each named after the planets. On the upper levels are north-facing suites. The highest floor serves as management space, where Peld’s office is located.

“Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

Over the rim of his glasses, Lediv peers down at a mousy girl with wide eyes and bright red lips. She flusters under his scrutiny.

Flashing a winning smile, he says, “No, thank you. I figured out where I’m going.”

The girl nods uncertainly, taking in his thick-rimmed glasses and brown hair that sticks out from beneath a cap. They will be the most prominent features that she will remember about him, Lediv knows, aside from his smile.

He rides the elevator up to the top floor. The elevator platform is connected to the offices by a hall of mirrors. Seventeen mirror-fitted arches reflect the seventeen windows that overlook the gardens. Ensconced between the arches are marble pilasters topped with capitals of gilded bronze. Silver furniture lines the gallery, glimmering in long shadows strewn across the floor and reflected on the walls.

The drumming of rain, audible in the lobby, is smothered by the walls and windows.

Lediv rehearses his upcoming act in his head, imagines every scenario and best response. Mistakes are foreign to him, and he cannot afford to experience it now. However, while his mind races fervently through his elaborate scheme, the young man in the mirrors looks languid, taking casual steps as if on his way to his hotel room. This is what the security video at the end of the gallery captures – just an indolent young man in a navy cap and black-framed glasses.

Peld’s office is the only one on the left side of the business hall, next to a conference room. A marble plaque by the door is engraved with Peld’s name and many titles. Several other offices occupy the other side of the hall.

Judging from the location of Peld’s office, Lediv estimates that it is at the center of the hotel, at the tip of the fulcrum that balances both wings of the building. He catches the smirk forming on his lips, where it will be seen by the other security camera at the end of the business floor.

Lediv knocks on the door, making sure to keep his hands visible at his sides so that the cameras can film his unarmed person. Moments later, a guttural voices calls, “Come in.”

Silver light floods in from two adjacent walls of the room: the vermillion downpour sketching across the window, where raindrops clinging to the glass glow from the last traces of sunset; and the artificial gray flickering from the right, in rhythm to the changing images from the wall of monitors. Two screens display footages of the business floor and corresponding elevator platform.

Paranoid freak, is Lediv’s first thought as he inspects the plump man to the left. The veneered mahogany desk behind which Peld reclines dwarfs him, making him seem shorter in his leather chair. His balding head adds another layer of roundness to him, fitted upon the silver suit like the top of an egg. A mirror stand sits on the corner of the desk next to a bottle of cologne, prompting Lediv to tact on “Narcissist” to his impression of Peld.

Despite his affable tone, the look that Peld regards Lediv with is of blatant suspicion and displeasure. “How can I help you, lad?”

“I’m here to convey a message.”

A nervous twitch breaks Peld’s face. He learns forward, eyes flicking towards the door. Finding it closed, he says haughtily, “Oh? And what would that be?”

“Something to temper your arrogance, for starters,” says Lediv, fingers flying to his collar.

Before Peld even realizes what is happening, his smirk flattens into utter obedience.

“Answer these questions honestly,” says Lediv. “John Peld, are you part of a criminal organization?”

“Yes.”

“Which one and what is your main operation?”

“I am a brother of Nove Fratelli and a member of the Russino family headed by Matthew Blackhand. The Russino family controls drug routes along the west coast of the United States and supplies drugs on the black market.”

Lediv’s heart skips a beat. The drug business was what tipped suspicion onto Peld. He was only let off the hook because the packets of heroin in his possession mysteriously went missing and thus could not be used against him in court. And now with this new name… Everything is going as planned. “Who is Matthew Blackhand?”

“He is the head of the Russino family in Nove Fratelli. He is well-known for his intelligence and ruthlessness, earning himself the nickname Machiavelli Matt.”

“Where is Matthew Blackhand?”

“I do not know, except that he is in the country. He only discloses his precise location to those in his inner circle.”

The response doesn’t surprise Lediv. He has considered the safety measures that someone of Blackhand’s status will take and has planned accordingly.

“How do you contact him?”

“We communicate using a pyramid structure, from bottom up. I am in contact with someone ranked higher than me, who reports to someone higher, until the line reaches Mr. Blackhand.”

“How many people are between you and Matthew Blackhand?”

“Three.”

With a gloved hand, Lediv extracts the flash drive from his pocket and holds it in front of Peld’s dim eyes. “Listen closely. I want you to show the video clip saved on this flash drive to any one individual ranked above you who is in connection with Matthew Blackhand. Do it as soon as you can. Do not make a copy of the video or tamper with it in any way. Do not watch or listen to the video yourself. Under no circumstances are you to reveal the contents of the flash drive, except to the individual whom you’ve decided upon. Another file is saved on the flash drive with instructions to follow if the video is discovered. Read this file before you show the video. Do you understand?”

Peld nods, accepting the flash drive wordlessly.

“Good.” Lediv glances at his watch. Forty seconds left. “After I leave, wait fifteen minutes, then erase all footages of the last hour from every camera in the hotel.”

“Yes,” agrees Peld.

“Here’s the final thing that I need you to do. After you have shown the video…”

The descent into night darkens the silver shade of the room. Cold light splinters Lediv’s face in black and white as he leaves Peld behind. The business floor is eerily silent, the office doors all firmly closed. The security camera at the end of the hall records a young man descending confidently down the hall of mirrors with winged shadows on his back.

Author's Note: You know, I really hate it when sh*t happens, they happen all at once. Like now. This week has been horrid on multiple levels, except none of it seems to be ending soon... Oh well. I'm sure most of us have experienced times like this. It's life. Self-pity does no good except to exacerbate the agony (and promote the heavy I-don't-remember-why-I-feel-bad sort of drinking).

On a more professional note, I've been considering switching the genre of this story to mystery. Although the plot is founded on a supernatural element, much of the story follows Lediv and Kiros' deductive capabilities. Do you think this is a good idea? Or will it just cause confusion in locating the story?

Thanks!