Excerpt:

Everything in this world falls to shit except the Good Lord Jesus Christ, and that’s the fact of it. Most times it happens eventually, each thing falling apart in its own good time. There was this one time, though, when everything went to hell at once. But that’s no place to start a story, not at all. Hard to figure really where to start something like this, could be back in the war, could be when these friends first met, but I think I’ll start it like a good night or a good meal, with a tall glass of whiskey.

Tall fella, good lookin, walks into a bar. Anyone could see the man had money; not like some flashy asshole trying to announce it. But suits don’t fit that well off any rack, and the fact is rich people get a haircut nobody else can. Anyway, even if didn’t know any of that, you’d probably recognize him from the news. Steven Marshall was rich as sin, twice as photogenic, and prone to outlandish behavior. So of course the tv loved the man.

He’d left his assistant in charge back in Chicago, and felt more relaxed than he had in a long time. Despite his image, Steven worked his ass off. He hadn’t been to New York in a long time, so when Yuderka made plans for her “birthday week,” he was happy to go. He had a tight circle of real friends, the kind you rarely get, but life had made it difficult for him to see them at any real length in years. But nobody said no to Professor Yudi, and so a New York bender it was.

Steven liked New York. Nobody gives a shit who you are there. The bartender, if he recognized him, was walking proof of that theory. “What can I get you?” he asked.

Steven looked around at the selection. He was, of course, early. He always was. But if it was gonna be a bender, there was no reason not to get started. His eyes lit up when he saw the Scotches. “I’ll have a REALLY GOOD SCOTCH,” he said. “One cube of ice.” He hesitated. Those close to him often accused him of being bad with people when not playing a role. “Sorry . . .that probably sounded pretentious.”

“No worries . . .you get a Scotch that good, you gotta treat it right.”

“Scotch fan, huh?” Steven asked as the bartender poured.

“Yep . . .the owner of this joint only ordered that bottle to look cool. Breaks my heart . . .so close and yet so far.”

Steven laughed. “Well, pour one for yourself, then. My treat.”

The bartender stopped short. “Shit, OK!” he blurted and made a twin to Steven’s drink. The men clinked glasses and let the warmth fill their throats and stomachs. Hell, ain’t nothing in the world like a good glass of whiskey. “Damn,” the bartender says. “Worth every penny . . .so what brings you to town?”

“Good friend of mine’s having a birthday. She invited some, some of the old gang for a week long bender.” Steven couldn’t help but smile. He almost never took time off . . .but Yudi was very persuasive. He could feel the muscles in his back loosen. He was ready to actually enjoy himself, not just pretend to.

“Well you’re getting started pretty damn well. Sounds like a great idea . . .maybe next year I’ll do that . . .just get the real friends, take a week off, and just go nuts. Heh.”

“No fair starting early,” a crisp, precise voice said. The bartender jerked about, startled, but Steven knew very few people could have snuck up on him. “Sheng!” he said without even turning around. The strong clap on the back confirmed it. Wu Sheng was a dear friend of Steven’s since the younger man was born. Wu’s mother had been one of Steven’s teachers many years ago, as had Sheng’s English grandfather at another time.

“How late do you think she’ll be?” Sheng asked, adroitly taking his seat at the bar.

Steven smirked. “Hh. Very late, that’s as good an estimate as you’re going to get from me.”

Sheng’s eyes darted about. “Whiskey already? Shit. I’ll have . . .I’ll have a Guinness please.”

“No problem,” the bartender said and began to pour.

“How’ve you been?” Sheng asked.

“Well, you know. Business. The new assistant’s working out well, I left her in charge back in Chicago.”

“Yeah. Heard about you tangling with that arms dealer with the diamond fetish.”

Steven’s back got stiff. “Sheng, um—“

“Oh, she didn’t tell you? This place is friendly.”

Steven had heard rumors that New York had a few such establishments, for one reason or the other “friendly” to the sort of unique individuals like him and his friend.

The bartender piped up, “Yeah, don’t worry guys. Oath of secrecy and everything.”

“What, did you think Angel walking in wouldn’t be weird?”

“Wow . . .totally didn’t even think of that . . .I’m just so used to him.”

“Yeah, the owner here, I think he worked with my grandfather some back in the day.”

“Ah. Well, fine. Yeah, that arms dealer, he wasn’t much, really. Snuck in and took out his whole organization in less than a week. You?”

“Japanese scientist asshole . . .some kind of development in robotics. North Korea was very interested, but I kept him out of there. But bollocks to shop talk. How are you, the real you?”

Steven paused. He wasn’t the sort that went to some head shrinker, or even sat and thought about himself all that much. “Easy to forget I’m not just my job, Sheng. Honestly, this will be the first down time I’ve had in . . .hh, longer than I’d like to admit.”

“Seeing anybody? I heard about you and that pop singer . . .any truth?”

“Just PR. I’d rather date you . . .ugh, she’s disgusting. But, no, I don’t really have time for that stuff. You?”

Sheng smiled widely. He had few weaknesses, but he shared his grandfather’s for women. “Oh, here and there. Nothing serious. That scientist had a daughter . . .bloody unbelievable. The Japs are sick, but sometimes that works out pretty well if you ask me.”

Steven laughed. “I don’t want to know. Not until another Scotch or two at least. God knows Yudi will make you repeat it anyway. How’s your mom?”

Sheng took a long drink from his mug. “She’s . . .you know her. She’s fine. Still right pissed that I defected to England. But what were my options? Tiananmen Square? Great Grandfather? I don’t know which is worse.”

Steven nodded. “She’s probably actually proud of you. She never was too good at showing that sort of thing.”

Sheng laughed out loud. “I was just a kid, but I remember her just raking you over the coals over any sort of mistake. I swear, I think she was almost harder on you than on me.”

“Worth it, though. Great teacher.”

Sheng nodded. “Cheers, here’s to her, biggest pain in my arse I’ve ever known.”

“Cheers,” Steven finished the Scotch. “Hm, what next . . .”

The doors burst open, scaring the poor bartender again. “Tequila, asshole!” said the new entrant. Another well-tailored suit, but a shorter man than Steven. Piercing brown eyes peeked out from a blue mask like those Mexican rasslers wear. Some folks you meet and you know right off they’re one of those bigger’n life personalities. And some of ‘em even pull it off. Angel pulled it off in style. I had a buddy like that back in the war, but he ain’t who we’re talking about now.

“Oh, shit, tequila already? Aren’t you afraid of being a stereotype?”

“Ah, fuck that PC shit. I’m Mexican and I like tequila, sue me. ‘Tender! Three Patrons . . .shit, get yourself one too!”

“Best day ever!” the bartender said as he began pouring.

“Salud!” Angel said, loud as hell.

“Salud,” the others replied. And down them tequila shots when. Never could stomach the stuff myself.

“So, I take it the lovely lady is even later than me again,” Angel said as the others recovered from the shot. “Puerto Ricans . . .only people on earth to make us look punctual. God bless her though . . .who else can actually get you to come out these days, Steve?”

“Definitely not you . . .you still talk too much.”

Angel gave him one of those smiles you could even see under the mask, and the men hugged. Steven’s like me, not much of a hug guy, but what are you gonna do? These fellas they talked a bit, you know, the sort of bullshit fellas talk about over drinks before the real thing gets started. Yeah, these guys were unique, special, whatever, but that don’t mean their small talk ain’t just as boring as anybody else’s. So I’ll just skip ahead for when the pretty one showed up.

“Something came up, guys, sorry. You know how it is,” she said. Tall glass of water, skin like a dang work of art, cheekbones, you know, the whole deal. Some folks God just gave all the gifts to. Probably the smartest person I ever met, and I’ve met some smart ones.

“Professora, thought you were going for a new record!” Angel said, kissing her cheeks in greeting. Steven took her hand just right, he’s a smooth fella when you think about it. Sheng acted like he was gonna bow, but he ended up just hugging her.

“Happy birthday, darling,” he said.

“Not until tomorrow!” she reminded. “Matt, my usual,” she said to the now-blushing bartender. Steven arched a questioning eyebrow and she just winked back as answer. The bartender began busying himself making a stiff vodka martini. “Boys, I’ve got something serious to discuss. I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” Sheng said.

“Anything!” Angel blurted.

“I need you to promise me we’re in this all the way. One week bender, no turning back. I don’t care what happens. We work hard and we deserve a week off. And I deserve the best birthday insanity anyone could possibly devise.”

Angel and Sheng laughed and agreed. That Steven, though, he didn’t go for it so easy. “Really? I mean, what if—“

“Steven Marshall, I am using your full name because I am that serious, boy. How many times have I saved your ass?”

“Probably as many as I saved yours.”

“Point. But I’m more charming and it’s my birthday week. So do as I say or I get mean.”

“I just . . .” Steven stopped. I’d say round about here he remembered the feeling he got earlier, that rare relaxation, almost unheard of for people like him. “You know what? Yeah. I promise. I’m yours for the week.”

“Oh, don’t tempt me yet,” Yuderka Morales, also known as Professor Think, could flirt a man into just about anything. Hell, even at my age . . .ah, well, nobody needs to hear that. Anyway, he’d come to regret that promise, but what’s life without regrets?

Anyway, at this point it was round a bout eight thirty, and boy was things about to get started.

Now, by the time it was four in the a.m., you can imagine about how they was feeling: higher than goddam rockets, and probably more powerful to boot. Now these were not your average folk. Scientists, chop socky spies, Masked adventurers, and billionaire playboys up to some real secret type stuff. But I’ll tell you this, there ain’t a person what ever lived who can’t get real good and knockered if he puts his mind to it, and I should know. So if you got all these folks who’ve become better’n anybody else at some thing or the other, through training, talent, but mostly just workin on it, what you think’s gonna happen when what they put their mind to is getting good and sauced?

Listen, hooch ain’t no cure-all. It ain’t for everyone and it ain’t for every time. But if you’ve never felt that special glow, when the night is just right and you’re there with all your buddies and your whole damn nervous system is glowin from the booze workin through ya, well I must say I feel sorry for you, I truly do.

They’d decided on this night not to travel much, just to stay where they started. Angel suggested a crawl but Steven cut him off. “We crawl tomorrow or the next day. We’ll explore. Tonight, let’s just do this, the four of us, right here.” And boy did that idea catch on! Steven paid to rent out the place for the entire night. No normals, no assholes, no one to impress or hide from. Just four good friends catchin up. People what normally don’t get to be knuckleheads indulging in, how was it the Professor put it?

“The essential beauty of human chaos and depravity and love.” Way with a phrase, that one.

They asked after absent friends, old colleagues, inspirations, you know, all those folks that really add up to something in the end for a person. Sheng’s grand daddy still happily retired up in the Jolly Ol’. (but honestly I knew better and I suspect they all did, too. Retirement my ass.) The one they called The Old Man, he was traveling with some not-quite-as-old archaeologist and a couple others you’ll meet later, doin the sort of thing Old Great Men do.

I’ll skip some details, nobody needs to know everything about someone, it don’t help one bit. You got to respect the bond friends’ got, let them have it and you got your own. Truth is, these four had a damn good time, laughin and jokin and drinkin and, well, they’d probably be pissed if they knew I told ya, but singin too. That boy Steven’s got a helluva voice, things went different he’d a been quite a crooner! Steven, you ever read this, well, I almost want to apologize, but I only said something nice so deal with it, ha!

Anyways, point is, it was a golden night. Yes, fueled with intoxicatin materials but the feelins were no less real. Volume of voices got higher even though seats got closer. Many colors were ingested, mostly on the scale from brown to clear. But all colors were felt, deeper’n normal, brighter, richer. Somethin about bein with those what really mean something makes everything . . .more. More whatever it is that it is.

Now, last thing I want to do telling this story is makin it seem like life was some unbelievable buffet of happiness. You know and I know that ain’t even close to truth. A whole lot of life is about hurtin, and a whole lot more is about how others is hurtin more than you. And how there’s folks out there what kind of thrive on such, and just really do whatever they can to make themselves not hurtin, even at the expense of anyone else. And sometimes all that is is some piece of shit tryin to get some promotion or the eye of some pretty filly. Other times, though, there’s people and they see that bad we all got in us, and don’t you deny it, we all got that bad in us, but these folks they see it and they ain’t ashamed, they ain’t inspired to move past, they ain’t even afraid. They walk up to that bad in themself and they just shake it’s hand and say “How do you do” and they right embrace it like it was something good.

Anyway, you ain’t here to hear about my philosophy or some such. All I’m sayin is that we all got bad in us, ain’t a perfect man or woman whose name weren’t Jesus or Joshua or whatever the hell it was, pardon my language. Point is that none alive’s a saint, but some folks down right get cozy with the evil in them and that causes some real problems. And just like there’s some folk that are real good at doin right and helping others, there’s some what are damn expertises on doin wrong. And just as a story would have it, a long ways away, two of such . . .honestly, the word don’t do ‘em justice but I want to say “assholes.” But fuck that, pardon me again. I known me plenty of assholes, and almost to the last one of them they got something worthwhile for the world. These two ain’t got nothing past their own greed and shittin on everything anyone else ever done did.

So, right, there they was. And right about this time I guess I got to talk about something. You probably got a few hints so far, but there ain’t no dancing about it from here on. Fact is, life’s a lot more than what you might think. It’s a lot more wonderful, a lot more awful, a lot more weird, it’s really a lot more. There’s a lot out there you might a been told is just stories or hokum, and I definitely was with you on that one for a very long time. But fact is ol Billy Shakespeare was right, there’s more to life than you’re thinking. There’s Mexican fellas with magic ancestral weapons passed down since before continents existed. There’s scientists workin on shit that bullshit nerds can’t even make up. There’s fisticuffs could make the damnedest director blush, and there’s men of skills that all sound like horseshit. And that’s all wonderful, just grand.

But just like when you grow up and you find out that havin a whiskey is better’n you ever thought but havin your heart all broke up is even worse’n you thought, just like there’s good things you ain’t believed in there’s bad. I ain’t meanin to be no bearer of bad news, I’m just sayin what’s real. I’m sayin as such because though I ain’t maybe the savviest fellow what ever was, I know enough to predict how some of you might react as to which I am about to say about them two awful men meetin somewhere far away on the night such wonderful friends drank such wonderful things.

Anyways, the two men I mentioned, well they weren’t quite men anymore, but whose quibbling now, they got enough of their past to count when telling a story I say. Where was I? Oh, well, they came from not too far away from each other as the crow flies, or at least as a bomber flies, but in truth all they had in common other than their status was an awful hatred. Well, I apologize, I really been avoiding this but the fact of the matter was they both got names, and names you well should know. And when I report on the awful things they said, I will translate for you from Kraut and . . .damn, I honestly ain’t got a nasty word for Bavarians. Kind of thought the service probably taught me one for everyone, but probably clearly ain’t enough.

So Hitler says to Dracula something like, “So how goes the plan?” Fuckin bastard always talked like he was givin a speech.

Well Dracula looks at him. Thing is about nasty fellas like this, it ain’t like they like each other the way they hate everything else. They are just all hate. So there weren’t no songs sung, no stories rehashed and relaughed-at. Just two real piles of shit talking about the only thing they got in common, which if you ask me is being a pile of shit. But there’s also this, well this class thing.

You ever spent any time in Europe? Well I have. Don’t get me wrong, you got some wonderful things there. Not a damn thing wrong with havin art and food and culture developed over hundreds of years. The Frogs can cook you a meal that’ll damn well blow your mind, and I don’t even mind telling you the Krauts make beer seem like Leonardo Da Vinci was makin it. But they got this class thing just as much as America’s got it’s race thing, pardon me.

In America we got what we call old money and new money. Well back over there our old money’s kind of like the snot you blow out in the shower. They got some inbred sons a bitches that’s had a lot for a long time. Some of ‘em call it aristocracy, some royalty, whatever. I know I seen folks looked like ‘em in the deep hills of Appalachia, and ain’t nobody bowing to them. Still, all in all, you look past the piece he’s an evil son of a bitch, ol’ Count Vlad Dracula, he was old school power. Born into it, raised into it, conquered, fought, tortured, shit, whatever the hell it was he did, his real old piece of shit clearly didn’t think to much of this relatively-young piece of shit born to common folk. (Just goes to show you that poor and rich folk alike can birth some real pieces of shit.)

So anyways Dracula sighs with that slight dismissal rich folks can give and says, “Perfectly, Mr. Hitler.” (I know for a fact Drac never gave that Kraut the titles he tried to demand, almost makes me forget the fact he was an evil piece of shit.) "In fact, within the next few hours my operatives will be back with quite a prize. I trust you are satisfying your end of this engagement."

"Ja, of course. I am a man of my word, always." No he ain't. "I might add . . .my contacts have some interesting reports on frontier five." The old bloodsucker arched an eyebrow oh so slightly, that way he thinks is so charming but ain't much if you ask me.

More on those sick, sad sons a bitches later on. Back to folks more worth talk and thought.

"S'where we gonna crash, I can get somethin," Steven said.

"Yer slurrin," Angel replied.

"Back to my place, boys." Well that stopped them right there. The three fellas looked at the Professor, oh that one with the legendary appetite for all of life. "Oh get yer minds outta th'gutter. It's jus th'firs night anyway. 'Smy party, my birthday week, do what I say or I'll kick yer asses."

Sheng adopted a shaky stance. "DRUNKEN MASTER MOTHER FUCKERS!" he felt was appropriate to say and who is to tell him otherwise? Accurate if nothin else.

Ms. Morales had a penthouse apartment in midtown, but she always felt that Brooklyn was her home. So she sold some patents a while back and bought up a bit warehouse, really did it up nice. All kinds of science and such, but a real nice place to live to boot. Truth be told, I think it was the right thing to do. She never was much of a Manhattan type, least from my experience.

So these folks piled into some cab or another, Steven up front (big fella needed the extra leg room) and she directed them all to her home. She'd set up one of the rooms as a makeshift garrison of a sorts, still better'n anything I ever saw in the service. There was some more talk, not all that much. Comes a point in a night when most what can be said has been. Well that and anybody needs to sleep some, pretty much, and eight hours straight of hittin the bottle don't do anything to change that for sure. So soon as you'd think, they was all tucked away in their little beds, all snug and sleepin off the damage they done did, hoping to be ready for more the next day. Good night, sleep tight, all that good stuff. You earned some rest, especially considering what they had to do fairly soon.

*****
Steven woke up first. He was used to real late hours. He wasn't so used to the way his head and stomach felt. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, smacking his lips, trying to get the cotton out of it. That's all it took to wake up Sheng.

He sat up straight and surveyed the room. Habit, instinct, who knows. The men locked eyes for a moment. Mutual suffering perfectly expressed in a brief second.

"Been a while," Steven said.

"Don't guess you get out too much socially," Sheng replied. "My line of work's got a bit more freedom." By this point they were both stretchin and exercisin, more habit or instinct, never was sure with some folks.

"Couldn't just lie there, could you?" Yudi said. She'd put the pillow over her head in a vain attempt to block out the world.

"You're one to talk, mi guapa," Angel called out. "You snored all night."

"I DID NOT!" That sure as hell got her up.

"That was you, Angel," Sheng said in between push-ups. Angel merely shrugged.

"Coffee," Yudi said.

"Sounds good," Angel replied.

"Shut up, I'm talking to Papi."

"You named your computer system 'Papi'? I don't know if that's sweet or creepy," Sheng mused, now just using one hand. Steven was focused on some fancy meditation thing, but I'm bettin higher consciousness was a bit tougher after a night full of Scotch. He shook his head and got up.

"Internet?" he asked.

"Tsk," Yudi clicked her tongue. A mechanical arm came out of the wall next to her and handed her a glass of coffee. "No way, Marshall. I know you. One second you're checking email the next you're checking the crime reports and then there's no getting you out of that. This is my week. You're off duty. You've got but one job right now."

Steven sighed. He hated when people were right about him. "And what would that be?"

"I require much hair of the dog, so start making martinis while I shower."

"Fine," he smiled. "But it doesn't take me long to make a damned martini."

"Blahblah blah," she replied, walking away. "Drinks, make them."

Angel was still prone on his bed. "DO YOU HAVE BEER PLEASE HAVE BEER!" he hollered.

"Duh!" was her only reply.

That's all it took and he was up and running towards the kitchen.

"Angel, Speedos, really?" Sheng grunted.

"I like the way they feel! Support is important! Besides I --oh, oh, my. YUDI I COULD KISS YOU! Guys, she's got Presidentes direct from the Dominican Republic!" Angel held three beers up proudly. "Want some?"

Sheng squinted skeptically. "Green bottle beers all suck."

"You hush yourself, Mr. Wu! I tell you this is one of the finest pilsners you'll ever have." Sheng didn't look convinced, I'll tell you that. But you got to know that a man who ain't afraid of Iron Fingers Chau, Master Bak Mei, the Orski Brothers and Mr. Nothing, well, he probably ain't afraid of a beer neither.

The shower water turned off well before Steven was ready so he hopped over to the wet bar and got started. "Opener's in the second drawer with the--" Yudi began from the bathroom.

"Don't care!" Angel said, popping off the caps with his powerful, ropy thumbs. He sat a beer at the wet bar for Steven and walked Sheng's to him.

"Dude, clothes." Angel smiled widely under the mask. Sheng sighed and took a swig. "OK, I'm man enough to admit when I'm wrong. Damn good beer, Angel."

"When have I ever led you wrong, kid?"

Sheng stared at him flatly for a moment. "Argentina two years ago. Kabul, twice. Don't even get me started on the Lost Palace of--"

"Ay, fine, whatever. You got out just fine! If I remember, there was a certain princess you didn't seem to mind meeting."

"She tried to eat me!"

"Before that."

"She was pretty hot . . ."

"That martini ready?" la Professora asked, walking into the room dressed, dried and ready.

"That was fast," Steven said, pouring the drink.

"Oh, I can invent artificial intelligence, clone new limbs, perfect cold fusion, and studied things you guys have never even heard of, but I couldn't possibly find a way to get ready faster?"

Steven had to concede the point. So there they stood, startin early, round abouts ten in the mornin if I remember correctly. "To the future," she toasted and the fellas followed in. Never did find out exactly how much she knew at that point, but I wouldn't put much past that one.

"Your shower safe for males of the species?" Angel asked.

"Of course."

"BEER IN THE SHOWER! BEER IN THE SHOWER! BEER IN THE SHOWER!" the broad, muscled Mexican chanted as he jogged over.

"What's the agenda, birthday girl?" Steven asked. "Mm, damn, that is a good beer."

"Well, we drink, we get cleaned up, and then we go out and drink more. Maybe some food too."

"I could go for a good brunch," Steven replied. Yudi rolled her eyes.

"Oh, God, no. You sound like one of the hipsters who've started taking over my neighborhood." I'll spare you the rest of the rant, as in my experience when a New Yorker starts talkin shit about other New Yorkers, it ain't exactly scintillatin to much of anyone else. Suffice to say they all survived takin showers and such activities and went on to start another day.

Elsewheres, in Washington, a pale fella whose name I don't rightly recall stared at a computer screen. His eyes was glazed and his mind nearly numb from boredom. Moroff, that was his name, Moroff. Sorry. Anyway, he saw some sort of readout or blip or somethin, never was a computer fella, but it got his attention for certain.

"Wow," he said, and followed that up with a "wow wow wow wow wow woowwwwww." Then he got up and called out. "DR. GREEN! DR. GREEN! Wow! Big!" He was probably a sweet kid, but I guess he weren't quite ready for what he was one of the first people in America to see.

Dr. Green, well, he kept his composure a bit better, but was obviously shaken. "Good God . . ." he trailed off . He began working on the computer, checking and rechecking. "Hm. Status A, ladies and gentlemen. Status A is finally here. Moroff, get me the President."