Blackout City

By Horrified Press

THIS IS BLACKOUT CITY — MY CITY — A DANGEROUS CITY WHERE NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS TO BE, AND THE PEOPLE HERE ARE NOT WHO THEY SEEM TO BE. THE DOUBLE CROSS IS NOT ONLY A GAME BUT THE NORM. STAYING ALIVE IS SURVIVAL, STAYING SANE IS A NECESSITY.

– JOE SMOKE, PRIVATE DETECTIVE, CIRCA 1970

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326247102

Book preview

Blackout City

BLACKOUT CITY

Bizarre Tales of Joe Smoke

Edited & Created

By

Frank Larnerd & Mark Slade

COVER ART

Lora Griffith

INTERIOR ART

William Calkins

GRAPHICS

Nathan J.D.L. Rowark

First Edition

Horrified Press

© Horrified Press

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner

without written permission from the publisher.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious.

Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

INTRODUCTION

Originally these stories were written and narrated for the podcast BLACKOUT CITY. All stories were narrated by E.S. Wynn, one of the writers of the series. The idea had come to me one hot afternoon reading one of the books in the Nate Heller series by Max Allan Collins. It made me remember why I loved crime fiction – so many different styles and types of crime stories. What if someone centered them all around one character?

Well, flash forward 4 months later and during a Facebook conversation with Frank Larnerd we began bouncing ideas. I told him I wanted to do an anthology where different writers write one character set in the same world. I had thought of making it steampunk, but Frank had other ideas: making it alternate history. Then we came up with alternate 1960’s. Our take on history, maybe a liar’s point of view. Combine the 1940’s P.I. with 1960’s SF, horror, and even fantasy! I wrote the Bible for the series. We knew what kind of hero he was going to be, knew the secretary and even the street wise info guy.... but I was stuck for a name. We knew Joe would have a memory problem, and had to take various drugs to help the memory, and the main story line was that his identity was stolen, therefore becoming a faceless man, which was a crime punishable by death.

Frank came up with Joe Smoke.

Couldn’t have been more perfect. The crazy world where Joe encounters robotic policemen, drugged out psychotic hippies, and Lovecraft-like Godzilla's was definitely fun to write and it was even more fun to hear Earl read these stories.

The name of the show changed a few times – finally settling on Blackout City, named because in our history the Chinese had bombed a certain west coast city, nearly leaving it as huge hole before rebuilding it again.

So here it is, the life and times of Joe Smoke (and Morti, a story told from his point of view). Enjoy!

- Mark Slade

BLACKOUT CITY

THIS IS BLACKOUT CITY—MY CITY—A DANGEROUS CITY WHERE NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS TO BE, AND THE PEOPLE HERE ARE NOT WHO THEY SEEM TO BE. THE DOUBLE CROSS IS NOT ONLY A GAME BUT THE NORM. STAYING ALIVE IS SURVIVAL, STAYING SANE IS A NECESSITY.   

– JOE SMOKE, PRIVATE DETECTIVE, CIRCA 1970

Table of Contents

BLACKOUT CITY

INTRODUCTION

I Forgot to Remember to Forget

Mark Slade

Kiss A Killer When She's Stoned

Frank Larnerd

Darkness and Light

E.S. Wynn

Requiem For Hope’s Dreams

L. A. Sykes

Shooting Junior

E.S. Wynn

Love in Blackout City

Nathaniel Tower

Dirty Hands

Joseph J. Patchen

One for Lily

William Calkins

Nightmare of Future Past

Bruce Taylor

Hit

Joseph J. Patchen

Like Glass in an Acid Bath

Mark Slade

All Things Grey

Jonathan D. Pigno

Shuffle and Rewind

Vela Damon

The Disposable Mind

T. Fox Dunham

Stones Left Unturned

E.S. Wynn

Smoking at the Movies

Jeremy Maddux

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

I Forgot to Remember to Forget

By

Mark Slade

I saw the sun burst and bleed across a dark sky as the moon died a slow death to the morning sacrifice.

And I wasn't feeling too hot myself. I drank another fifth of tequila and swallowed a handful of Blue ribbons, hoping they would kill me. Blue ribbons are what I have to take for the pain in my face—or lack of face---I should say. They also help to remember things forgotten

It was just last year when I awoke from a bar fight to discover my identity was gone. Identity Theft is punishable by death. When I catch the fucker I will be his Judge, Jury and executioner. I woke up with no memory of who I was, no face.

It’s also illegal to walk the streets disfigured or without an Identity. So I ingest Morphadril. It changes a person’s appearance. If it wasn’t for Morti, my contact on the street and Lily, my fire –red haired secretary, I wouldn’t be doing this at all. They keep me up to date, fill in the blanks. There are a lot of blanks. Too many.

I was on a case for a broad dressed like Grace Kelley. Her husband had died from an overdose of Grunt. That’s a muscle enhancer usually given out to johns in government funded whore houses. My client was Casey Blackmore. She didn’t want to believe her husband was a frequent visitor to Madam Lai’s whore house.

I saw my new face in the window reflection. Strong chin, slight overbite, dark hair in a box top, no facial hair, scar above my right cheek, and piercing blue eyes.

She was in my office, sipping on a cup of Earl grey tea, crossing and re-crossing those long legs. It was hard to stay focused. I’m sorry, Mr. Smoke. She said, looking a bit mystified. I don’t believe my husband would do such a thing to the family, or me for that matter. We have---had a great sex life.

That I could believe. If only it was true, she would have said, I can’t believe he would do that to me before the family bit. Any man playing the Tomcat on a dish like this, is nuts to me. The Blackmore family run the manufacturing plant that makes Nepenthe, a drug used for treating high blood pressure, nervousness. They are a big contributors to the City for any project City wants. That’s why it was odd Mrs. Blackmore didn’t ask a special cop to look into her husband’s death.

This whole business rubs me the wrong way, lady, I told her. I was watching the sun come up, holding the blinds partially open.

How so? Her big brown eyes flashed an S.O.S. sign at me.

I told her what I thought. She shook her head, laughed nervously.

Mr. Smoke. She sat her cup on my desk. It is also a well-known fact that my family and the PIGS do not get along. Cedrick’s father was not on the up and up when he started out in the drug manufacturing business. Police Chief Gates hates us. Now, I don’t trust them anyway. No amount of money or influence, would ensure they his death would be resolved. To the PIGS, the case is closed.

I felt bad for her. Or hell, maybe it was the way she looked at me. Those large brown eyes, honey-brown hair in a bun, and of course, those long luscious legs in the paisley blue dress. She looked like a nice girl, but I was hoping underneath she was a bad girl all the way.

Okay, I said, tugging at my suspenders as I walked to my desk. I’m not much of a fan of the PIGS either.

Mrs. Blackmore stood, placed an envelope two thousand dollars in money chips. She hesitated, came around the desk and kissed me on the left cheek. I was so surprised by her gesture, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Thank you, she said softly. ‘You won’t regret this." She promptly exited my office, closing the door behind her.

I touched my cheek, still in a daze. You wanna bet? I said to her lilac fragrance that still lingered in the room.

Then I heard this high pitch whine. What the hell was that? My ears were ringing from the sound. I threw my hands to my head. The room began to swirl. As quickly as it began, the high pitch whine disappeared.

At this point Lily walked in the office, her stilettos tap- tapping across the linoleum floor, giving me headache. Lily tossed the micro tape on my desk. I always videotape everything in my office. I learned that when I was a Special operative for hoover and those boys. Old habits die hard.

Another slit skirt for your hands to steal under, Joe? lily chewed her gum frantically, clucking it with her tongue and giving me the WIFE look, disapproving eyes and head cocked to the side.

No need for jealousy, baby, I told her. I thought I proved that last night.

Lily rolled her eyes. Whatever. It’s not dipped in gold, She breathed through her nose like a bull seeing a red hanky.

But you keep coming back. I grinned.

Burt’s going to find out. Sooner or later, she said, her mood changing like the wind to concerned. I…. She swallowed hard. I do…like you, Joe. A lot. But I love Burt.

How could anyone love a blanket head like that geek? A real moron with a Professor title at a college hardly anyone goes to except to get wasted for four years. That coke-bottle numb-nut could never find out about us unless I made a stag film for him to see us doing it in an arena. Still I would have to explain what sex was.

Naw, I said. No way will anyone know, Love-duck.

She smiled hugely, blushed. Don’t call me that at work. She popped a bubble hanging from those bright pink lips of hers. Later in your bed. 

Lily walked through the threshold of the office, turned and smiled at me.

***

I had to see Morti and get whatever information I could get on Cedrick Blackmore, his last seen whereabouts and maybe Casey, his wife. I caught Morti on the subway. We were riding with the Straights. Straights are soulless men and women working in the City’s manufacturing plants, hopped up on Soma. Soma is usually a depressant, if taken daily, you become a mindless zombie.

Morti was rummaging through the Straights pockets and purses. I grabbed his arm when he came to a man dressed in a shabby suit and holes in his shoes.

Morti, no, I told him.

He looked at me, confused. What? The small man with a hook nose, small beady, black eyes, took his hand out of the man’s coat pocket, and shrugged.

Don’t you feel bad taking from these people?

What? Why? Morti shook his head. It ain’t my fault they became a sheep. They chose this.

He was right. They were given a choice to work in the factories and digest pills that render you useless, become slaves. But where you come from, as most of these poor schups are the case, come from a life Morti and I were never apart of. After the Chinese gas bombed us in 1947, most cities in America had to rebuild. Families were ravaged, people on the street became destitute. But there is a choice. They just aren’t told about it, or encouraged.

I heard that high pitched whine again. My ears began to ring as my head was pounding. Squinting, I looked around. No one else seemed to hear this strange sound. Morti was staring ta me.

You okay? I heard his muffled voice.

The sound hit its pitch, but soon was gone. Weakly, I nodded to him, shook off the last remaining pain between my ears.

Okay, Saint Morti of the holy thieves, give me some info on Blackmore. I pushed him along with the others out of the subway door when it came to a full halt. Soon we were on the sidewalk leading out of the terminal. We passed by a PIG. It whirled and its buttons on its chest lit up blue and red. The android in a police officer’s uniform was scanning us. Morti and me do have records. Obvious what Morti has done, four convictions, two years in Church’s Holy Detention center. Me, its more complicated. We haven’t been nicked in a few years though. So the PIG did his number, his eyes flashed yellow. We were in the clear and on the city street again.

I saw a legless man ride by us on his bicycle, his little nubs fiercely pumping away. Above us in a gray misty sky, advertisements for the newest films resided with no help from billboards. Tanks ride through the street, helping to patrol in case of a Russian or Chinese invasion. A man dressed in robes was playing the part of Jesus, was standing on an orange crate. He was preaching the gospel, but no words come from his lips. He was miming to another man’s voice from a record playing on a lopsided Hi-Fi. The record was stuck in a rut, playing a verse from the book of John over and over.

I was following Morti. He was taking me to the Happy Outlook, a café he eats breakfast at every morning. He stopped to steal a paper while the vendor chased off some kids for stealing comic books. Morti smiled at me. Need to keep informed, he said and shuffled off quickly from the newsstand.

You wanna know about Blackmore, he said. What do you wanna know? You know his family used to manufacture illegal drugs, their money runs the City, they were the ones who had the drug laws changed. He died in a government funded whorehouse----that’s funny. So he had the clap did he? Only reason anybody goes to those places is because they ain’t aloud to have sex with people that ain’t diseased.

Who runs Madam Lai’s house? I asked as we sat down at corner table a little more private from a full house in the café. A bleached blond with a beehive hairdo dropped menus on the table.

Why do they give me a menu? They know what I eat every morning. Burnt toast, coffee spam and eggs. Morti told the waitress. Mr. Bingo runs that house, Joe. That whacko clown owns all the joints on the Boards. Including Madam Lai’s.

Oh fuck. I forgot about the Boards. Dangerous beyond belief. No one in their right mind would go down that cluster of alleys and avenues with no street signs. Called the Boards because at one time it was the only source of income the city had was a boardwalk of circus and carnivals. Then Mr. Bingo had a breakdown of sorts. I heard he was angry at the new Freak laws that were passed. A beautification of humans’ law to actually rid the city of the embarrassing circus/carnival business that they no longer needed to survive. Mr. Bingo went on a rampage, killing at least a hundred people, taking over the Boards in the process. The cops and he have an arrangement.

They don’t go into the Boards. He doesn’t kill any of the PIGS. I had no idea he had extended the Boards into Pleasants street.

I ordered a plate of fried potatoes and a glass of milk. Those damn pill and inhalers for Morphadril always does a number on my stomach. But if I don’t have anything in my stomach I can’t take the medicine. No medicine, no memory….no face and horrible pain without a face.

Why would he be in her place, Morti? I said wiping my side of the table clean of crumbs.

Joe, I heard something in my inquiries yesterday. Morti leaned in to whisper.

Yeah? I threw the napkin on the floor beside my chair, leaned in.

Blackmore. He used to run Madam Lai’s place. He owned it….until----

Mr. Bingo took over. I nodded, drifting off into thought a few seconds. Then I asked: By force?

Morti shook his head, laughed. Naw….that is what’s nuts about it. God almighty it is the craziest shit. All Blackmore did was levy the whorehouse----yeah government sanctioned---until they lost the license to sell only sex to the diseased. So Blackmore borrowed heavily from Mr. Bingo. That’s how he took over. Mr. Bingo has the government funding.

The waitress slammed our plates hard on the table. She stood with one hand on her hips and another extended, demanding payment. Your credit is no good here, Morti, She snarled. 

I tossed a five dollar chip toward her and cut my eyes at Morti. He smiled and shrugged.

I see, I said. He got it by saying under new management.

Exactly! Morti dug into his food sloppily.

I looked up and I saw a ghost from the past. Literally.

Sitting at a table across from us was my old partner Les Banks. He was the one who gave me my first job as a Private Dick after I quit running Mafiosi types for J. Edgar Hoover. This agency was his before I inherited it after Les died. Les was and I were out in the Citadel, the local university investigating campus rapes. The creep we caught was the janitor, big surprise huh? Finding which one it was the hard part. The University had ten janitors and none worked the same shift every day.  Anyway, Les caught the scum. He didn’t know the old man had his war bayonet in his boot when Les tackled him. The old creep ran Les through the belly. God, I’d never seen so much blood in my life. The old creep ran as I tended to my friend who died in my arms. The campus PIGS got the old creep and disintegrated his body with blasts of lasers from their fingertips.

Well, there he was, my dead partner sitting at a table across from Morti and I, smoking a cigarette and smiling at me. I was stunned. I couldn’t eat at all. Nothing like a ghost to remind you of the past.

Without notice, Les stood. He dropped a chip on the table. He took a long drag from his cigarette and dropped the butt on the tile floor, stepped firmly on it. He tilted his head to the left, raised an eyebrow. That was his signal for me to follow him.

I had no choice. I had to follow.

Les led me through those streets again. Les was passing through the other pedestrians. They would sneeze, or shiver. Feeling faint, some even fell to their knees. We headed east on Lubbock. There,