Episode 46

... from the Files of Hydrogen Guy

Part I - "Vanilla Fudge Swirl"

In years past, the city of Maple Ridge, British Columbia, was the equestrian capital of the province. In the urban sprawl of the early 21st century, the ranches have all but disappeared, pushed farther north into the wilderness and eventually supplanted by over-sized homes occupied by the well-to-do.

But a handful of ranches still exist, and the horse culture still exists near the municipal limits, at the edge of the preserved wilderness.

The man who calls himself Camus looks out over one of these ranches now. He is looking out a large picture window on the second floor of a house built by a local horse baron sixty years, whose other passion was apparently large homes with high ceilings.

Another thing the horse baron apparently appreciated was an incredible view. Camus is looking at the acres of pasture, long empty. At the far edge of the pasture is nothing but forest, and the forest runs to the three peaks of the Golden Ears mountains. The house is far from any neighbours, one of many reasons Camus and his partners found it so well-suited to their needs.

As the morning was wearing on, heavy clouds were coming in from the north, over the mountains. The sunlight streaming through breaks of the clouds has a subdued quality, and brought out the more melancholy colours of the forest, mountain and pasture. It is on these that Camus was meditating.

The study door opens and closes behind him. After allowing fifteen seconds of silence to pass, he speaks without turning around.

Camus
Are the grounds to your liking, Georges?

The newcomer does not answer immediately. He looks around the room, taking in his new surroundings in. Hands in his pockets, he wanders a bit. Examines a rustic knickknack, inspects the coffee table for dust with his fingers. Looks at the painting hung over the mantle. Sniffs the atmosphere tentatively. Spotting a leather armchair, he walks around it a few times, as if checking its fitness for the task ahead. Finally he allows himself to settle into the chair, limbs sprawled languidly. Only when Camus hears the creaking of chair's leather does he allow himself to twist around and look at the newcomer. He raises his eyebrows, providing additional punctuation to his unanswered question.

Georges speaks in a low, growling voice, traces of Québec's Eastern Townships in his accent. If one didn't know he spoke this way all the time, one might accuse him of trying to imitate a French Clint Eastwood.

Georges
They're secure.

Camus continues looking at him, as if he hadn't spoke, and let another half minute pass by before acknowledging him with a fraction of a nod. These silences, they understood but never remarked upon, were integral to their balance of power when they were alone. That balance was still being steadied, and their respective territories still newly marked.

Camus turns back to the window.

Camus
Good. I might take a turn around the back field before lunch.

Georges
The rain is coming.

Camus nods. The clouds behind the mountains did indeed seem to be getting darker by the minute.

Camus
It is British Columbia, Georges. The rain is always coming.

He turns and steps carefully away from the window. He pauses in front of a writing desk, and glances down at it, amused. He looks back up at Georges.

Camus
I just talked to Kentaro on the phone. He's in San Francisco, and should have that little problem taken care of tonight. He'll be here tomorrow.

Georges nods.

Georges
No sign of your doctor yet?

Camus grimaced.

Camus
No. If he's not here in an hour I'll phone the Corporation again.

Georges
He was supposed to be here when we arrived.

Camus
I know. I wish you hadn't been so hard on the driver. It would have been enough to send him back with a flea in his ear.

Georges
I know these types. You have to be tough to get what you want, you know? You do not always push them around enough.

Camus
I can be plenty pushy when I want to be. But cutting that man wasn't necessary.

Georges
He'll remember to get a doctor, though, eh?

Camus shrugs, conceding his point. His glance drops again to the desk, and he picks up an envelope sitting on it. He tears it open and frowns as he peruses the contents.

Georges
What's that?

Camus
A list of the backers we need to see.

He glances at his watch.

Camus
Still some time left in the morning. I'll phone and make a few appointments for this afternoon.

Georges
You're going to see them?

Camus
No, Georges, I'm not going to go see them. And neither are you, I'd like to stress. Personal visits will have to wait until after Kentaro arrives.

He flips through the remaining papers in the envelope, pausing briefly to smirk at a glossy brochure for car insurance that had been slipped amongst them.

Camus
A fine pair we'd make, walking into their offices... Anyway.

Georges
Instructions?

Camus
Yes. While I'm handling the respectable types, you can make contact with the disreputable types. Find out what their current games are and start coordinating.

Georges
Turn up the heat?

Camus
Only way to make an omelettte, Georges.

Georges
I thought that was breaking eggs?

Camus
Or breaking legs as the case may be... oh, and try not to brutalize anyone for the rest of the day, will you? I realize this may be an alien concept to you, but high-synergy partnerships work better without loathing and fear.

Georges
If they push me, I push them back.

Camus
Just don't push them off a cliff.

The doorbell chimes.

Georges
The doctor, I'll bet.

Camus
You want him to see you?

Georges doesn't answer, but rises and slips out the door.

Camus
Stay out of trouble.

Sounds of the doctor conversing with the butler drift through the open door from downstairs. Camus glances at the window, and sees it is starting to rain.

"... rain today, with possible thundershowers this afternoon, and then tapering to showers this evening. The outlook for the rest of the week is rain, rain and rain, and it's not looking good for the weekend, either."

"Hey Shauna, you know what follows two days of rain in the Lower Mainland?"

"I don't know, Billy."

"Monday."

[rimshot]

"That's too, too painfully true... Right now at the Vole it's 15 and overcast. I'm Shauna Basic."

[cheesy game show music]

"OKAAAAAAY!! Do you wanna be rich?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"Do you want nothing more than a little extra cash flow, and by 'little', I mean, A LOT?"

"Sure!"

"Do you dream of finding fifty THOUSAND dollars just lying around with nobody to claim it but you?"

"You bet I do!"

"Well throw away that Wall Street Journal, put down the Monopoly board, it's time to plaaaaay... Find Fifty Grand!"

[crescendo, and cheesy music stops]

"The concept is simple - the good people in the Vole's promotions department have taken fifty thousand dollars of the boss's money and hidden it somewhere in Maple Ridge."

"And the thing is, nobody knows where it is except the people who hid it."

"That's right. I don't know where it is. Jerry doesn't know where it is."

"Nope."

"Shauna, you don't know where it is."

"I wish I knew where it was."

"None of the other DJ's here at CVOL know where the money is - it's a complete and utter mystery."

"So don't call up and ask us where it is, we don't know either."

"We are, however, giving carefully selected clues to the money's whereabouts. You'll hear the clues twice a day, once at 8:15 with us, Jerry and Billy, and then on the drive home at 4:45 with Bob Chutzpah. The clues will not be repeated any other time."

"Finally, we can tell you that the money is hidden in a public place that's easily accessible. So don't go digging up your neighbour's lawn or dangling off any bridges."

"Now without further ado, here is... clue number two..."

MIGHTY BIG SHOES TO FILL.

"Gee, that's pretty cryptic."

"One more time, here's clue number two..."

MIGHTY BIG SHOES TO FILL.

"There you go - add it to your official Ziggy's Brake and Muffler Find Fifty Grand Clue Card, and get hunting."

"And now here's Journey... on your maximum prize station, 93.9 the Vole!"

"Maple Ridge's Home of Real Rock!"

Norman
HEY! Hey, you kids! Come buy some ice cream! C'mon! Buy some ice cream, dammit! Where ya goin'?! Get back here and buy some God damn ice cream!

Norman Napoleon Kay, purveyor of Willy Webster's Frozen Treats, probably knows in his heart of hearts that cursing at potential customers is not a sensible business scheme. But then, Norman Kay could give a correspondence course in insensible business schemes.

Norman
Aw, nuts. I gotta move some product today, and soon.

He leans on the fold-out counter on the side of his ice cream truck and stares up at the sky. Partly cloudy. Giving way to thundershowers this afternoon. Thundershowers, he thinks gloomily, do not sell Frozen Nut Clusters. And the rest of the week looked no better.

As Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" gives way to Led Zeppelin and "Dancing Days", his cell phone does it's impression of the Dukes' General Lee. He answers it with no great enthusiasm.

Norman
Yeah?

Li
Hello, Norman.

Norman winces. Big Li was who he wanted to talk to least at the moment.

Norman
Hi, Li. How are you this morning.

Li
I am perturbed, Norman. Would you like to know why I am perturbed?

Norman
You're probably not eating enough ice cream. You should come buy a tub or two.

Li
I am perturbed, Norman, because yesterday was Wednesday, and on Wednesday I was expecting the next installment of your loan repayment. A sum of $1,051 dollars, you may recall.

Norman
Uh, yeah. See, the thing is, Li, I was looking over the budget for this month, and it came down to either making the payment, or eating, paying rent, and buying gas for the truck. Selfish of me, maybe, but I thought --

Li
Norman, we already had this conversation last month. I will not let the payment slide, nor would any reputable bank.

Norman winces again. The only way he had been able to make last month's payment was to sell his computer.

Norman
But if you could give me until the --

Li
No. I was more than generous last month by allowing you to pay a week late. This month, you have already incurred a $200 late fee.

Norman
TWO HUNDRED -- ? You can't do that!

Li
If you look at the agreement we signed, Norman, you'll find I can.

Norman
It does NOT say anything about a $200-a-day late fee!

Li
It's in the fine print at the bottom.

Norman
Fine print... You mean that line in Chinese?! You told me it was a traditional blessing!

Li
It is. For me.

With a tremendous internal struggle, Norman resists the impulse to hurl the phone across the street. He takes a couple of deep breaths.

Norman
Li, if you --

Li
You know, Norman, I might come down and have some ice cream. In fact I'll have all the ice cream I can eat, once I take your truck.

Norman
My - what - you - You can't do that!

Li
I can, Norman, unless you are fair with me. I will be fair to you. I will once again give you a week to make the payment, but this time I expect the first $200 late fee as well. If you are late again next month, I will charge you the full $200 for each day the payment is late. Am I clear?

Norman
Perfectly. Why don't you speak in that fake Chinese accent you put on for your customers?

Li
Because I respect you, Norman. I will see you next Tuesday, or hopefully earlier. I must go and set up the buffet.

He hung up. This time Norman yields to temptation and nearly cuts short the life of a nearby pigeon with his throw.

The past few years had not been kind to Norman. He had a hefty student loan after two years of college courses. A brief, ill-conceived marriage had then left him with alimony payments to a wife now living with a rodeo clown in Calgary. Last year he was laid off from his other job in the computer department of Oakwells department store, when Oakwells folded and an American discount chain picked up the remains of the franchise, and now he had no other source of income but this ice cream truck.

Things seemed to be looking up a few months ago, when he ran into his old college room-mate Keith. Keith told him about his pre-IPO company OnionSoup.com, which would connect providers and consumers of onion soup the world over. Keith spoke brashly of its profitability, having already secured agreements with several banner-ad networks. Always a fan of onion soup, the Internet, and minting money, Norman practically begged Keith to let him buy in. Keith relented, and asked Norman to put up $10,000.

Such money was not to be found, at least by an OnionSoup.com-less Norman Kay. Bemoaning the missed opportunity one night at his favourite Chinese buffet, the waiter brought him back to see the owner. In addition to running the Jade Dragon, and being by far the largest Chinese man Norman had ever seen, Big Li lent money to trusted customers at competitive rates, no credit history required.

Money in hand, Norman returned to Keith, and was soon a silent partner in OnionSoup.com. Alas, after a few heady days of climbing up the CDNX like a gecko, the dot-com industry as a whole had a sort of epileptic seizure, and wired onion soup aficionados were deprived of a valuable online resource. Keith, being one of those people apparently made of rubber (especially above the neck), took it in stride. Norman, on the other hand, stood wondering how on Earth he would be able to repay his Cantonese creditor on an ice cream vendor's salary.

At voice at his elbow jerks Norman out of his brown study.

Marcolin
Norman!

Norman
Huh? Hey, David. How's it going?

David Marcolin shrugs.

Marcolin
I'm alive.

Norman
What can I get you?

Marcolin
Double scoop of vanilla fudge swirl.

Norman
Comin' right up.

Marcolin
You looked preoccupied.

Norman
Yeah, just contemplating financial matters.

Marcolin
Ice cream not paying the bills?

Norman
Let's just say I'd love to find that pot o' gold the Vole's hidden.

Marcolin
Hmf. What a ridiculous concept. Oh sure, just leave fifty thousand dollars lying around, while every yahoo and his maiden aunt go running around looking for it.

Norman
One vanilla fudge swirl. That's two-fifty.

Marcolin
Got change for a twenty?

Norman
Yeah, barely.... seventeen fifty's your change.

Marcolin
Thanks.

He takes his ice cream cone and gives it a satisfying lick.

Marcolin
See you around, Norman.

Norman
Later.

Marcolin
Great fig tree of Buddha...

Norman
What?

Marcolin
What is that squirrel doing to that cell phone?

Norman
Aw, nuts...

The skies opened up and gave it all they had. The rain continued all that evening. At Django Djava, one of Maple Ridge's more eclectic coffee houses, patrons huddled around their espressos, pots of Pu Erh tea, and the flickering half-melted candles on the tables, thinking of excuses not to go back outside, and reminding themselves of the two weeks of really nice weather in July and August that made living in the Lower Mainland worth it.

In one corner of the subterranean café, Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy are getting down to business.

Hydrogen Guy
... and he kept calling me Randy. I told him, look, my name isn't Randy, I don't even know a Randy, but I think he was too drunk to understand me.

Deuterium Boy
Uh huh.

Hydrogen Guy
And the albino just kept staring at me. I gotta tell you, I'm never going back to that dentist again.

Deuterium Boy, who by day calls himself David Marcolin, avant-garde nuclear chemist at the Maple Ridge Institute for High Energy Physics, sips his heavy water mochaccino and gives his companion a long-suffering look.

Deuterium Boy
It's getting late, don't you think we should go out and start lurking?

Hydrogen Guy - aka Jim Evans, world renowned theoretical physicist, same Institute - spoons the last of the whipped cream off his hot chocolate.

Hydrogen Guy
It's still coming down pretty hard.

Deuterium Boy
I don't think that matters to the criminal element.

Hydrogen Guy
Well it should. I'll tell you, it matters to the hydrogen element. I hate what the Hydrogen Poncho --

He thwacks the blue plastic garment hanging over the back of his wrought-iron chair.

Hydrogen Guy
-- does to my profile. You know it's hard to strike fear into the wicked when you look like an oversized second-grader.

He cleans the spoon with a paper napkin and puts it aside. Taking up his hot chocolate, he gives it a considered sip.

Hydrogen Guy
Besides, the rain wrecks my feather. Takes the jauntiness out of it... You know, the cocoa here always has just the perfect balance of phosphorous and magnesium. If the prices weren't so steep, I'd say we come here all the time instead of the Usual.

Deuterium Boy
Okay, okay. I don't want to get soaked either. And I look even sillier in this orange Deuterium Poncho, you know. I look like a half-peeled orange. We'll give it until eight to let up a bit, then go out regardless.

Hydrogen Guy
Suits me. Got your phone on?

Deuterium Boy
Yup.

Hydrogen Guy
Good, that alleviates the lingering guilt.

Deuterium Boy
Speaking of phones, I was buying ice cream today...

He is interrupted by a black-clad, fortyish gent with mutton chop sideburns. He is wearing a stirring mauve beret and carrying a tray laden with paper cups.

Carl
Evening, gentlemen.

Hydrogen Guy & Deuterium Boy
CARL!

Hydrogen Guy
Our favourite Romany coffee house proprietor. How's the boy?

Carl
I come bearing free samples.

He gestures to the paper cups as he lowers the tray for their perusal.

Carl
It is a new drink from California. Try it.

They each take a paper cup.

Hydrogen Guy
I thought you refused to serve soft drinks.

Carl
This is different. Go on, try it.

Deuterium Boy
What is it?

Carl
Be surprised.

Our heroes exchange suspicious glances.

Hydrogen Guy
All right, but if this tastes like curry, I'm throttling you.

They take tentative sips. Deuterium Boy screws up his face in a convincing imitation of a Mr. Yuck sticker, while Hydrogen Guy stops just short of a spit take.

Hydrogen Guy
Great Feynman's Ghost, that's disgusting!

Deuterium Boy
That is foul. Here, let me drink yours...

Carl
You don't like it?

Hydrogen Guy
Saying that I don't like it is like saying I mildly disapprove of genocide. What is this bile?

Carl
It's called Carffee. It's carbonated coffee. I'm negotiating to become the sole distributor of it in British Columbia.

Deuterium Boy
I've never tasted anything worse in my life. You'll make millions. Can I have another?

Carl
For you, the world.

Hydrogen Guy
Carl, I appreciate your zest to be on the cutting edge, but this stuff is horrid. I wouldn't even recommend it to a super-villain who was cutting me in half with a laser.

Carl
Well, I didn't ask you for a celebrity endorsement. Before I go - a word.

Hydrogen Guy
Of course. DB, no, leave some for the other victims. I mean, customers.

Carl squats next to their table and glances from side to side with a conspiratorial air. He then gazes intensely into their eyes.

Carl
You know that occasionally... I see things.

Deuterium Boy
Like Louis Del Grande.

Hydrogen Guy
You're sure it's not just the Carffee?

Carl
I had a powerful premonition this morning. I saw a beast with three heads that was ravaging the land, and a hero that had come to slay it. The vision lasted only a few seconds, but it convinced me I had to warn you.

Hydrogen Guy
Thank you, Carl. DB, make a note - avoid three-headed beasts.

Deuterium Boy
Right.

Carl
I doubt the vision was meant to be take literally. The three-headed beast is symbolic of something - something evil, that is soon to be set forth upon the city.

Hydrogen Guy
What kind of evil?

Carl
That, I don't know. But there is one other warning I think I should give you.

Deuterium Boy
About the three-headed beast?

Carl
About the hero. He is a man who has recently won a costly victory. He could be a dangerous enemy, or a valuable ally. Be wary.

Hydrogen Guy
We'll run it up the flag pole, and see if Doug salutes.

Deuterium Boy holds up one of the four empty paper cups that have collected on the table.

Deuterium Boy
Are you selling this stuff?

Carl
I have a case in the back. I'll set you up. Good evening, gentlemen. Enjoy your drinks.

He takes his leave. A moment later he exchanges effusive greetings with the young women at a nearby table. Hydrogen Guy and Deuterium Boy exchange glances over the tops of their mugs.

Deuterium Boy
You notice how we seem to get a lot of vague, mysterious warnings?

Hydrogen Guy
Yeah. Yeah, I'd noticed that. They never come to any good, do they?

Deuterium Boy
At least Carl doesn't gurgle.

Hydrogen Guy
He might if I force-fed him that "Carffee" crap. You actually like that stuff?

Deuterium Boy
It's awful, but I'm willing to give it a chance. Man, I'm feeling buzzed.

Hydrogen Guy
I wonder if it comes in decaf...

He pushes away the cooling dregs of his hot chocolate.

Hydrogen Guy
C'mon, let's go lurk.

Deuterium Boy
It's still raining, though.

Hydrogen Guy
Yeah, but it's getting close in here. The rain'll clear our heads.

He gets up and grabs his poncho. Deuterium Boy follows suit; a moment later the door bangs shut, and the Diatomic Duo disappear into the cold, drizzling night.

Mysterious Warnings from a Mysterious Gypsy!
What dire prediction does the parable of the three-headed beast conceal? Is it somehow connected to the shady characters at the ranch? Can Norman pay his debts to Big Li, and keep both his ice cream truck and his kneecaps? Some of these questions might possibly be answered in part III (yes, that's right, part III) of ...

Black Gold, Blue Moon
Same Hydrogen Time... Same Hydrogen Website!

And don't forget to catch part II of "Black Gold, Blue Moon" in
Christopher Ford, Amateur Paranormalist!