Old Mans Shadow

Chapter 3

Gigs

In our most desperate times,

Greed will not fail us,

Shine, and you shall fail.

Fiddling with the syringe, pricking at the needle occasionally, staring at it, as if looking through it - as if it was ghostly. Jim was heavily in thought, about what he would do to those that wronged him. He then jabbed the needle into his ass, jeans half-way down his legs. He pulled them back up, tied his belt up, and walked outside onto his apartment's little veranda - lighting up a smoke. The city was silent as usual - grey, beige, rat-infested. Sirens would go off every 30-odd minutes. To add to this, there was no sky to look up at. Instead, it was covered with huge bridges for the higher class citizens to drive upon in their vehicles that floated by, soaring through the air silently. The only thing that flew down in the slums were the huge behemoth-sized garbage trucks that smelt of pure human shit, and beyond off-decaying dead "things".

Jim slid his fingers down the neck of his guitar, feeling the bevels of the strings, too innumerable to count. He then fixed his fingers on the first string, and two others on the far strings of the bottom three - which was the Cmaj chord for the guitar. He played it nicely, gently - soft. The electric guitar buzzed, a droning sound. Feedback started to disperse from the amp. The crowd, as usual, were not paying any attention to his playing. The bartender would look up occasionally, but other than that, pay no attention as well. Jim slid some loose hairs away from his face, his mouth made an oval shape as he focused and doubled down on his playing. It was Heavy Rock, Krautrock in origin. He was in a mind of peace when he played, and this time was one of the best "flows" he had felt. He then started to play a riff on it, and let it flow, playing for a long nine minutes straight, of a pure riff. Then he finished up with another loud flick of a string and the amp went wild, feedback was as loud as ever and you could hear it from out of the bar. The people there stopped and looked in his direction. The bartender as well, turned around and stopped what he was doing. Jim was in the "flow state". And he loved it. And for once, so did everyone else there.

Holding onto his guitar in a soft-shell case. He made his way to another club which was not too far away. The usual people walked past him, prostitutes, shady scums, addicts - alcoholics, substance abusers. Occasionally you'd have people mouth off at him once again. But he paid no attention. It was so typical here, and he has lived here all of his life to know the ins and outs of how everything "rolls" here.

Weeks passed by and nothing new had changed. So Jim thought that it was time to make his way down to the council building. Jim got there, burst open the doors, ate chewing gum and walked fast towards the clerk's desk. Buzzing the bell impatiently and aggressively 'Hello!?' Jim said with a huge frown on his face. Again 'HELLO!'.

'Hello, I'm sorry to keep you waiting, and thank you for your patience. How may I help you today?' The clerk lady asked.

'Took a rock mate!' Jim said abruptly. 'Took a rock from my home, you did!' Chewing his gum louder and louder. 'Where is it? I want it back! NOW!' The woman looked confused and startled. She didn't have any clue as to what he was talking about. The rage in Jim was so much that it was overwhelming to her.

Another person came over to him. 'I'm sorry, but we're going to have to ask you to leave--'

'I WANT MY FUCKIN' ROCK MATE! ONE OF YOUS STOLE THE FUCKIN' THING!' Jim yelled! The lady and the man there, stood idle but an utter shock ran over their faces. 'WHERE'S ME FUCKIN' ROCK!' Police came into the building. Walking over to angry Jim. 'I WANT M--' Jim yelled again - starting to sob and lose control of his emotions quickly.

'Come on, mate. Off we go.' One of the strongly built police officers said, grabbing him gently by his arm.

Jim scruffled and screamed in absolute rage. Spouting utter nonsense and a cry for help - in a way. He was so lost in his emotions that he had no comprehensible words that could be conveyed to them. The police officers grabbed him firmly this time and carried him out of the building. Jim kicked over a chair, slipping out from the officer's grab. 'GIVE ME M' FUCKIN' BELONGINGS BACK, YA FUCKIN' CUNTS!' Spitting on the ground, out came his chewing gum. His hair was all messed up, ruffled and greasy from sweat. Eventually, the cops managed to get him out of there. They took him to the police office, to interview him and ask what was happening there and what was wrong. Jim explained to them after a while of slowly calming down that they took a rock from his home and explained that the rock was valuable to him. They explained to him that he would have to go to court after that incident he displayed. They were understanding enough of Jim, but looks of worry came over their faces as they evaluated him during the interview. They were worried about his health. Mentally. So they asked the obvious.

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'Uhm, and do you take any medication of any sort, Jim?' The police officer asked Jim.

'Yeah, mate. I take aripiprazole.' Jim replied.

'Oh okay. And are you still on that? You go to the doctors regularly?' The officer asked. One other officer wrote some stuff down. Another mumbled some stuff to another officer there.

'Yeah. But not regularly.'

'When was the last time?'

'About a year or so ago mate.'

The police officer looked at Jim with a firm look. A look of worry, and compassion it seemed. Jim was looking at a wall over in the distance, his eyes seemed lifeless - beady eyes.

'Well, mate. What we're going to do. Is we'll take you home, mate? And we'll be visiting you sometimes. Just to check up, okay? Just to see how you're going. We'll look into that rock, mate. I'm sorry about that. In the meantime, please be more careful how you approach people, okay?' The officer laughed softly, grinning. He was a sympathetic officer. Which Jim found odd. And rare.

The officer patted him on the shoulder and opened the door for Jim. Jim walked on out, following the policeman to his car. The two were quite silent during the drive but the policeman did crack a few jokes which Jim smiled at shyly sometimes.

Days passed, and no news of Jim's rock was heard about. And as the weeks went by, the police did visit him from time to time. Jim started seeing the psychiatrist more often as the police suggested eventually as they grew closer. Especially with Keith Clarke. Which was the officer that initially talked to him.

Six months later

Jim finished up a gig and to his surprise saw that Keith was watching him perform. He saw Keith smiling and clapping after the show. Jim a bit shocked, walked on over to Mr. Clarke. 'Hey mate, how's going? Fancy you being here, mate!' Jim laughed as spoke.

'Just passing through, thought I'd come and stop by, see how well you are at the guitar mate.' Keith said, laughing back. 'You're alright, actually!'

'Ya reckon, mate?'

'"Alright . . . "' He stressed on that word, Keith did. Jokingly, of course, to stir Jim up a bit. The two were a lot closer these days. They seemed like they had become friends with one another. Jim seemed relaxed with him around. And Keith was the same. 'We've found something about that rock of yours, mate. Some guy called Gary?' Keith said to Jim.

'Yeah? Do you reckon you guys could get it? You allowed to or whatever?' Jim asked.

'Sure. Down the week, we're going to go visit him, ask him about a rock . . . Y'know.'

'--K . . . Clarky if he has. Get it. Really.'

'I know, I know. I will mate.' Keith said, scratching the back of his head, and looking down to the ground for a second.

Jim lit up a smoke and walked out the back of the pub into an alleyway. There were a few feral cats, and rats scaling the wall's edges. Huge overflowing waste bins were hugging the walls as well. And occasionally a cleaner would come along, and drop some more garbage onto the bin, where it would fall onto the ground.'It means a lot to me that rock, mate. It's worth a bit.' Jim said to Keith.

'How much?' Keith asked.

'Around a thousand. Probably a lot more.'

'Really!?'

'Yeah . . . ' Jim said, butting out his cigarette on the ground with his boots.

'I'll get it, mate. Y'know how this place can be though . . . ' Keither said reluctantly.

'I know mate, I know. Just if I could get in there, and grab it. It'd be no problem. But I won't mate. I know how'd you feel about that.'

Keith laughed and said 'Yeah, yeah. It's my job, mate. I got to, y'know?'

'I know.' Jim replied.

At the home of the thief, two weeks later

'I don't have it, I swear.'

'Well, mate. We know you took it. We have you on camera mate.'

'I know. I did. But I don't have it.'

'Well who has it now, mate?'

'Some Official. They snatched it from me, without explanation. Said to me that it's not mine and stormed out, leaving the door wide open.' Keither looked at the thief with a great surprised look on his face as the thief told Keith. His eyebrows were as wide as ever, and his eyes open as they could be. Mouth firmly shut.

'Okay. Do you know what they looked like?' Keith asked the thief.

'Dark hair, fat. Suits.'

'Okay, anything else? Did they say what agency they came from?'

'Nah.' The thief replied.

The other officer beside Keith wrote everything down, and another officer was taking pictures of the thief's apartment. Later, they went back down to the police station. And asked for a Stat-Check of Official buildings in Ascension that are nearby. None were found - or officially listed. So Keith drove back down to Jim's apartment and explained to him the story. And then Jim said something of value to Keith. He explained to him how a pawn shop owner told Jim and his friend that it was highly sought after and more valuable than what it was listed as. That it is made of the same material the Heart was made of for Ascension. Keith was amazed by the details and drove back down to the station once again. Another Stat-Check they did. And this time with added information. To their surprise. A few came up this time. They were seeking Ascension Heart materials as well. Listed as a Priority. Keith knew one thing about Officials. And it is when they say that it is a "priority". It means that it is EXTREMELY SOUGHT AFTER.

The next few days during work and after hours. Keith began to research the materials used for the Heart of Ascension. He studied it nearly 17 hours long each day. Write down any important details. Getting it fact-checked back at the office and so on. This was an investigation. But a secret, personal investigation. He didn't know how to feel about this. But he knew that Jim was wrongly done.