A DARKNESS PALE

SHARK

…8 years ago Irie was a drunk and corpulent mess. The only thing she cared about was pleasing Evie…

Shark

After Irie concluded her workout she didn’t bother showering because she was headed straight home to get back into reflooring the fourth unit.

Out front, Maria at the desk said, “You got a guy who’s says he’s waiting to see you, got an appointment with you.”

“Not true.”

“I think he might be, you know, maybe her family put out more of those posters.”

Irie gave a resigned nod accompanied with a frustrated sigh. “Great.”

“He set down in the corner, by the fern.”

A plastic fern, real fauna being way too expensive for the rec center. The black man seated next to it watching her. He presented as street dapper, a hoodie and chaps over acid washed jeans. On the floor was a neatly folded poncho and cone hat. He was toothpick thin, somewhere in his sixties, and Irie could tell he was tall, the way he his legs were bent and folded, like a praying mantis.

He began to unfold himself and Irie said, “Hey, don’t get up – I’ll come down.” She took a nearby chair and angled it toward him, rusty aluminum feet scraping over painted concrete. “I’m Irie Baglavitti. What can I do for you?”

His face opened into a wolfish grin. “My name is Daimon Phelfs.” He handed her a black plastic card with his name engraved in gold and then, Chief Minister, First Moluxhc Church. “I must say I do appreciate a sister with muscle. But you ain’t all sister. What’s that, you’ve got some of the orient in you, yes?”

“I’m half Thai.”

“There you go, there you go. I knew it was somewhere around there. When I was in the navy I saw Vietnam, the Philippines, but never got over to Thailand.”

“I’ve never been there either.” Irie said, impatiently. “Is this about the poster?”

“Why yes it is, yes it is. Gave a call on the number and then I thought it’d be more expeditious if I dropped in. I always prefer in-person when it’s available.” 

“I get that. But listen – there’s no other way to say this - those posters are all fake.”

His eyebrows popped up and his lips pursed into a small o. “But the person I talked to…” He looked over her shoulder and muttered something inaudible.

“What was that?”

Daimon shook his head. “Just clearing my thoughts. You were saying?”

She hadn’t been, Irie becoming even more irritated. “You talked to whoever was running the desk. They don’t know, or they don’t want to get into it. Motown’s family puts the posters up. They don’t have any money so the reward part is complete bullshit. They slap my name on the posters because I was Motown’s partner and they’re trying to shame me into getting on board and finding her.”

“Her partner?”

“I’m an AES operator and she was my partner, before she relapsed.”

He looked skeptical and muttered something pleasantly again to that invisible point over her shoulder. “AES. I get it. I see it. You got the muscle cause you got to hustle. You’re a Berserker.”

“Uh huh.”

“Berserker a real hard job, and I hear it’s harder now than it used to be.”

“What, you mean the reforms? LIFE MATTERS? I don’t know about harder, but it’s more dangerous, for sure. We can’t engage now until the mental health assessor has determined if the suspect is acting reactivity, or intentionally. So you’ve got three people there and you’ve got communication issues, and then you’ve got suspects who know how to fuck things up so they can take advantage. It’s a mess.” She shrugged. “But what isn’t.”

He let out a feeble laugh. “And there ain’t no reward.”

“Nope. Like I said, the only people interested are her family and they don’t have shit.”

“But I… I was under the impression AES always took care of it’s own.”

“She’s not in the fold. She got fired. That’s that.”

“And you done with her too.”

Irie let out a exasperated sigh. “She made her decisions. She dug her own hole. She can get herself out if she wants.”

“That’s cold, but that’s straight up.”

“It is what it is.”

“I’ve devoted my humble skills such as they are toward trying to clean up messes. I got an ambitious reorganizing effort going on down on Skid Row, so every nickel I can find, you know? But I ain’t stingy and I ain’t petty. There a loan shark by the name of Mr. Greenwald. Third ring in the downtown hive. He knows where your girl’s at. Seen one of the posters and say as much. Said he’d go for the reward himself cept he figured it was some bullshit.”

“No one said a loan shark had to be dumb.”

Daimon snorted. “Mr. Greenwald savvy as a fucking snake. And I know, cause I used to be in the game myself.”

Irie thought, you don’t say.

Daimon said, “I suspect she be in one of the upper rings cause Mr. Greenwald don’t truck no where else. You can pass that on to the family, all pro bono, gratis and gratis. But please give them my card case they happen to trip over that nickel, know what I’m saying?”

…Irie’s new domestic situation… Familiar faces and the never ending drudgery of this imploding world…