CHAPTER SIXTEEN – “HAREM HOLIDAY”

The clock at C-Squad shows fourteen hundred thirty-two hours by the time Norlin is able to take his lunch break - digging into a soggy soywrap of greens and leftover krajjit, under the dispproving glare of Homer Sack and protests from Frank Desperate.

"Hey... assholes! You... asshole police, I'm talkin' to you! I need a kebbin' doctor... I been bitten! By a pig! Listen to me! And I'm hungry! You're starvin' me; it's outta Compliance! Hey..."

"Certain law-abiding citizens of Barataria have to be prepared to sacrifice certain minor liberties in the interests of promoting health, security and property," proclaims Homer Sack. "If you wish, I can provide you with some powdered coal?"

"You ignore me now," Frankie refuses the Jatesist offer, "...wait until I get in touch with the Law Firm! Wait until I get Compliance on your case..."

"If you don't shut up, freak," Norlin snarls, through a mouthful of the fusty, leftover food, "I'm going to let Homes tape your mouth again, and take his time doing it..."

"That's not fair!"

Taking another bite of his soggy sandwich, Norlin scrawls four names down on a scrap of paper... TERUSHKA, PEG, LOLA, HARRY... and punches his com, rubbing a hand through his hair while swallowing, hastily. Because he's muted the speaker, Homer takes the opportunity to inspect (and enhance) Frankie's fetters while Harry Greenburg's autocom rings and rings and, finally, a mechanical simulation answers.

"Hey, this is Paul Parchette, hangin' out here 'til my good friend Harry gets back. I'm sure he'll want to speak to you, so leave a callback code... unless you're sellin' something, in which case I'm only a monkey."

"Harry, this is Norlin here. Trouble Factory, C-Squad... got a tip about someone who might be movin' 'round the nuggets in your fexxer. This Venus-fellow, Pearson... Professor Pearson, got some fex as'll stand next to the veronica on Jatesday, he's mixed up in it, too. Give me a call."

Norlin's pencil rises of its own accord, scratches out Harry's name, and the Corporal glares murderously towards Frank Desperate.

"Cut that out!"

"I always wondered why we couldn't advertise ourselves as bein' from C-Section," Eric sniggers as his boss disconnects, seizes the wandering pencil and tries another chump on the list.

"Real original! Terushka! Me...," the Corporal scowls, "...it's Norlin, from the Trouble Factory. Right, love you too! And your dogs. Hey... got news for you, good news. Our Wire boys have come up with intelligence on the Colonel, I've had them working overtime on this. Listen... does Roman, I mean, did your husband play the FexMarket? Uh huh... military, well that figures. One-eighth share of Eisenhower, and half that General in Iraq... yeah, love to hear about it, some day, but I'm in a hurry! Word is, he's branching out... a Professor Pearson's selling shares in a pair of panties with bloodstains that look exactly like the kebbin' King! Yeah... but the King was in the Army awhile, over in Germany... that'd explain it. Talked with Nixon 'bout drugs and Lennon over the winter solstice, forty-two years before the K'ball, that's what put Triple-J in his corner, too, yeah. Yeah. Badge! Now I'm just letting you know that we're on the job, I don't want this info getting around. No... your bridge biddies... buddies... at the Thespian Society... insider trading, you know? Hey, Troosh... loose lips sink slips... yeah, I'll be in touch... whew!"

"Eric would be most interested in General Eisenhower's panties..." Homer remarks, after lowering the roll of duct tape he'd brandished at their prisoner.

"It's not panties," Norlin says, exasperated, "...just another specimen... kebbin' bottle of piss. Aside from wondering how Colonel Batter acquired it, it doesn't matter, it's imaginary... everything's kebbin' imaginary, here. I'm just doin' a job for Henry Hat."

"Oh..."

Homer raises his great, brown doggy-eyes towards the ceiling and C-Squad suddenly goes quiet enough to hear water drip from the overhead pipes - even Frank shutting up.

"Sometimes, the job requires bending the truth. You know?"

"You jates..." Frank begins, than corrects himself, "...you assholes lie for a living, I protect myself an' get punched in the belly, gagged and bit by pigs..."

"And you'll get your mouth taped again if you don't shut up while I'm working," Norlin snarls, punching comkeys savagely. "In order to preserve health, security and property, some people have to be prepared to give up some of their rights. Hello... hey Lola... Lola, from Angola, right on, sistah! Listen, I've got some dirt on the EastAmerican FexMart and the Brits, if you can keep it under your turban. Yeah... some big operator's bettin' the farm on this pair of panties belongin' to that Professor up in Blue City that got burgled. Someone high up! Clown took some fex offa that Salmon fella, Salmonella? Yeah, and king Fawd, but missed the big prize that's goin' on display at the Jatesaneum. Yeah... keep your eyes and ears open, don't spread the word around wrong places, you know... Royal Family has eyes and ears all over Barataria, too. If you've got lots of mice in the walls, sometimes they can get together and become a rat. Viva Lafitte, right... viva la France! Catch ya later, girlfriend..."

"She wants a slice of you..." Homer opines.

"They all do. Especially Peg," he winces, punching in Peg Reilly's comcode. "Afternoon, Peg... Norlin here. Gotta tip about Victor, now he's got fingers deep in fex. No... plans to buy out that Professor on the news last night, with them panties that look like the King? Well, yeah... but it's a way to hide illegal assets, try cheatin' on taxes. Yeah... but if we can nail him on a tax rap, that's how they finally busted the Hefners. Took down Al Capone. If you can get together any fex on Victor Iowa's taxes or money... and this is important, don't tell any of your friends what's going on. Top secret, yeah! Andrew Kowl... haven't heard about him, he's one of those quick-draw sketchers? A painter? Well, chromocriminals hide assets and cheat on taxes, too, by speculating in art... not as lucrative as fex, but who can truly understand the morphocriminal mentality?"

Eric Ice bursts through the door, still jaunty from his trip to Blue City, after Norlin had called him to come up with Lisa Marie's panties for Pearson to secrete for the burglar... now he dashes to his com, then deflates loudly as FexMarket news scrolls...

"Keb!... EastAms put Hillary Clinton back on a catheter..."

"What's so bad about that?" Homer growls back.

"Keep it down children, I'm on the kebbin' com!" Norlin scolds them, both. "No, Peg, s'a madhouse here... only called to thank you, we're closing in, the net is closing in. Just keep it under your hat... yeah, that one with the artificial apples, pears and grapes. Lovely... byeee!..."

He disconnects, leaning back in his chair, mouth open... giving Eric license to start up again...

"Hospitals, man... they're the kebbin' worst. I should know! Leakiest places in the world, to take a leak in. When people croak, the value of their specimens does go up, but some kebbin' nurse assistant's gonna skim off Hilly's ol' prune juice and flood the market, so to speak. Should know, I got a pal at Jatesland General, but the real money's to be made in the private clinics, ain't as if anybody's beatin' down doors in them South Node vegetable bins... ahh, sorry Corpse, I wasn't referring to your old man..."

"I got real work to do, Eric, so keep it down while I'm on the com..."

"Gotcha!" Ice shoots back, making a pistol of his right thumb and forefinger to plug the boss. "Looks like you weren't the only dook some pig bit on the ass, Frankie..."

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