It Sometimes Snows In May: A B.E.A.N. Police Novella

It Sometimes Snows In May

a B.E.A.N. Police novella

By Tope Oluwole

It Sometimes Snows In May

a B.E.A.N. Police novella

By Tope Oluwole

Copyright @ 2009, 2014 by Tope Oluwole

Published by:

Zumbi Mobile Solutions, LLC

www.zumbimobilesolutions.com

Dedicated to

Oluwadara,

Chinedu,

and Oluwadurotimi,

who remind me daily

that anything can happen,

when you least expect it.

Zota sits hunched over a piece of net-paper, tapping and dragging across its heat-sensitive, plasma interface. Four flexible touch displays engulf him while he backs the darkness, with the exception of a blade of daylight cutting through the brown shutters. In the far corner of the room, the natural light reveals a long dead spider plant.

             
Computer code fills the displays, while a layout of windowed objects take up the two center displays. Zota glances at the bottom right corner of the display to his far right. An analog clock pops up, and the computer declares, “eleven-forty-six, A-M.” The clock fades away once Zota turns his head back to the code on the screen.

              “Not enough time. Not...enough...time,” Zota mutters as he types away. “Save and snap,” Zota says. An image of a vintage, circular hard disk fades into view on the center-left display.

              “Saving...” The computer confirms Zota’s command. “Save complete. Creating snapshot... Snapshot complete.” An image of a door fades-in on the center-right display, and pulsates with knocking, getting louder. Sweat dots Zota’s forehead and neck. The clock fades-in again with the word, “reminder,” across it’s face.

              “Crap. She’s early,” Zota says. He taps through the computer’s directory structure, flicking through folders with two sets of his four-in-one cybernetic fingers, until he finds the recently saved file. With a pinch of his sub-fingers across the file, “compressing...” says the computer. The knocking is now loud enough that it drowns out the computer’s voice. Once compression of the file is complete, Zota presses on the screen with one of his organic left fingers and drags the file to an image on a mobile device. “Syncing...” the computer replies. Zota clenches his jaw while he reads the progress bar at only three percent, with a duration estimated at twenty seconds. He scrambles in the dark of the room, in his briefs, to find something to put on. “Ow!” Zota stubs his toe on something. A small piece of furniture skids, and something clangs to the ground, then clangs again, before rolling across the floor. Zota tumbles and crashes into something soft. “This better be worth it.”

              “I was just saying the same thing,” a female voice says from beyond the right side of the displays. Zota, still in his underwear, crawls on his hands and knees until he reaches the wall and stands up, facing the light from his now open bedroom door. In the doorway stands a dark and thin figure. The woman steps slowly into the light of the displays, her face weathered with fine lines and a healthy mocha brown complexion baked in. Her boots hit the hardwood floor with a solid clunk as she walks towards Zota. Zota looks over her muscular shape, wrapped in form-fitting jeans in contrast to her green bomber jacket.

              “You...you’re early Ryles,” Zota stutters.

              “No, YOU, are late. It’s twelve-oh-three already. You need to get your server clock checked. Zota glances back at the right corner of the display closest to him, and the clock pop-up and chimes, “eleven-forty-eight, A-M.” The “Sync Complete” message bubble appears over the image of the mobile device. Zota fumbles around his desk, and grabs a thin membrane about half the length of his arm and just as wide. “I don’t appreciate having to come and find you," Ryles says. "You really wanna mess with the Triad?”

              Zota spies the center of the membrane which also reads, “sync complete”, and slaps it across his wrist. It locks and then automatically adjusts to fit, like a band. Zota turns back to Ryles and sees her face is stone; the darkness beneath her eyes, the weariness. “Relax mamita. It’s here.” Zota taps the band on his wrist. I just wanted to run a final round of Q-A testing to make sure the app can run across different mobile connections. I’m sure your Triad buddies can appreciate that?”

              “Save the B-S for your wife. Load it up. I wanna see how it runs.”

              Zota cracks a smile. “You don’t trust me? After all this time?” He extends his arm with the band, and then rolls it behind his back like a magician. Ryles, snaps her fingers twice, her scowl deepens. Zota’s smile disappears, he brings his wrist forward, facing Ryles. He runs his palm slowly over the top of the band, and the display lights up. He taps the icon of the app, and launches into a series of taps and swipes and finally a shake. All the while Ryles only nods in approval with each action as he completes it.

              “Nothing personal, but twenty percent of
nada
, is
nada
. And it’s not you I don’t trust, it’s your habits.” Ryles taps her fingers together and then points to Zota’s cybernetic four-in-ones. Ryles then motions at the band on Zota’s wrist. Zota’s presses with two organic fingers on either side of the band. The band releases itself from Zota’s wrist with about an inch opening. When Zota touches the band again it straightens itself out completely, while he passes it to Ryles.

“About that twenty percent, change of plan. I’m going with you.” Zota waits for Ryles reaction. She smacks the membrane across her wrist which forms the band. “Which means,” Zota continues, “I’ll be updating your fee down to the escort tier, from the agent tier. In one fluid motion Ryles pulls out an auto-pistol from behind her, and points its silencer tipped barrel at Zota's head.

“You must be speaking computer code ‘cause I didn’t hear that,” Ryles replies. “Don’t think for a second because you know where all my tattoos are, that I won’t split you in two if you try to play me, and collect my twenty percent,” Ryles says.

Zota raises his hands, and shows a bright set of porcelain teeth surrounded by a nervous smile. “Hey now... If you're going to kill me...why don’t you just take it all?” Zota asks.

“I haven’t survived this long in this business by being greedy,” Ryles replies. “You might wanna learn something about that.” After a few seconds of reading Ryles expression, Zota slowly takes one step forward. Ryles tenses up her right arm, so that it’s straight and steady. “Don’t be stupid.”

Zota stops moving forward. “Then why don’t you be smart for the both of us. Just because I’m lousy managing women, doesn’t mean I’m lousy with numbers.”

Ryles recoils and her eyes narrow. “Huh?” The auto-pistol lowers a couple of inches. Zota lowers himself until he's on his knees, while Ryles follows him with her the auto-pistol until the barrel is touching his forehead.

“Just hear me out. The Triad agreed to our two million, with little drama,” Zota says.

Ryles shrugs. “It was an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

“No! The Triad know what this is worth, and they are willing to pay at least ten-times that for the source code and the rights. And...since five percent of twenty million is one million, I believe I just gave you a six-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus. Zota smiles. Ryles eyes soften. Zota turns his head to the side so the auto-pistol runs by his right ear, and Ryles outstretched arm rests on his shoulder.

“What’s that old saying?” Ryles asks. “About a bird in my hand is worth two in a bush?”

Zota whispers, “Well you need to get out of the bushes to see the forest for the trees.” Zota moves within a foot of Ryles.

Ryles reacts by hooking her shooting arm at a right angle forcing Zota within inches of her face. “But...greedy bastard, we have a contract with the Tri-ad. Do you really want to mess with the Tri-ad?”

Zota replies, "Have the Triad ever...
renegotiated
a contract?"

Elisa peeps through the crack in the office door to see a woman embracing Zota. She turns around, her face pale. Her eyes dart about while she smoothes her hair from her temples back. The ground hums as she tip-toes backwards ten meters to the top of the stairway leading to the office. Elisa then takes a deep breath, exhale, and then forces a smile across her face. “Darling, daaaarling? Where aaaare you?” Elisa’s sings out loud.

Increasing her place, Elisa eyes glares straight ahead. She bursts through the office door to see Ryles pushing Zota away with force. Zota catches Elisa’s eyes, and smirks.

“What’s going on here?” Elisa screams.

“Be ready,” Ryles says to Zota. She turns away from Zota, and walks out past Elisa without so much as a glance in her direction. Elisa averts her eyes from Ryles as she passes. Elisa watches and waits until Ryles is across the corridor and heading down the stairs, before she turns her full attention back on Zota.

“I didn’t think your whoring had become this blatant. I would hope you would at least have a sense of discretion, if not decency. I am a sworn officer of the Commonwealth! I can’t afford...”

“Yeah, yeah. You can’t afford to manage any scandals you don’t know about,” Zota says.

“It personally cost me two-hundred thousand dollars to clean up after your last tryst,” Elisa says.

“Wow, you got a good deal by today’s dollars,” Zota replies.

“This isn’t a joke Zota! You’re jeopardizing my career, my future!” Elisa’s yells.

“Don’t you mean,
our
future?” Zota replies. Elisa slouches and looks down. Her eyes begin to water. “Look. Nothing happened. It’s just business. She was getting a bit nervous about our deal, so I need to calm her down.”

“She didn’t look very nervous to me,” Elisa responds. Zota walks toward a slender Elisa dressed in a cream silk blouse and matching skirt suit. Zota reaches for her ring and bracelet-adorned left hand. Elisa slaps Zota’s hands away, one at a time, in a flurry of clumsy but nevertheless accurate swipes. “Spare me the rubbish. I am well aware of your flings with...” Elisa fans her fingers up and behind her towards the corridor.

“Ryles is my agent, baby. I’ve worked with her for three years and you know this,” Zota says holding Elisa at her shoulders.

“Oh, so she’s your pimp, and not the other way around?” Elisa asks.

Zota smile turned to a scowl. “Unlike you, I didn’t inherit a trust fund from my daddy, so I’ve got to hustle, to make sure you can have all the things...” Zota ways his hands around Elisa’s jewelry. “you desk job in the bureaucracy can’t afford, while you wait for your payday.”

“Don’t forget your place!” Elisa snapped. “I married you because you appealed to my father’s penchant for seemingly benevolent strays. But make no mistake, you still exist because a
dulcet
willed it!”

Zota fumed in silence as he watched Elisa’s red face and flaring nostrils work him over. He swallowed the excess saliva rolling down his throat from having held his breath for so long without realizing it. “What are you doing home so early anyway? Elisa’s expression softens. She begins fidgeting with one of her earrings, and then twirls a few loose strands of her blond hair.

“Not like you to have nothing to say,” Zota says.

Elisa looks up lays her hands over her stomach. “Zota...I’m...”

“Oh hell...” Zota begins.

“I’m pregnant,” Elisa finishes.

“Are you sure?” Zota asks.

“Bastard!” Elisa blurts at Zota. “Is that your way of asking if it’s yours?” Elisa says. Zota shakes his head while pulling up a pair of jeans off the floor. “I’m not the one whoring about!”

“Did you see me...” Zota begins. Elisa puts her palm up against Zota’s face. Zota clenches his jaw, and brushes her hand away from his face.

“Spare me the semantics. Whether you like it or not you’re the father of my child. I don’t want to see that...that...woman, in my house again,” Elisa says.

“You don’t own me,” Zota replies.

Elisa whispers, “Yes I do actually. In case you’ve forgotten from drowning in so many weekend binges. When we first met, you were a burnt out imitation of cleverness, past your prime, with nothing to show for it but bluster. I admired your passion for life, and in my naivete, your potential. I allowed you a place in my world of resource, power, and import. I can change all that with thirty minutes and a phone. Know your place.”

Zota stares dazed at Elisa as she turns around, storms down the corridor, and then down the stairs.

The steel spiral stairs leads into a master living room with a view that could make the cover of a major home design magazine. There are three sofas in view and a motley of oil paintings, bronze statues, and Brazilian cherrywood sculptures. Elisa reaches the bottom of the stairs and then heads across the living room. She sniffs twice in quick succession, gags, and then runs to the kitchen sink; throwing up.