Post by Juno Drezden on Jan 19, 2021 22:56:38 GMT -6
I
“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” - Voltaire
The neon veins of the city organism hungered always for the next infusion of human conflict. Mankind seduced by the illusion of chance in a twisted carnival where only the house wins, and yet, those Vegas lights just suckered you in anyways, like a million Chinese lanterns screaming for attention. What moth could resist that flame? Not me I suppose, for here I was sitting on a chartered plane, a small private flight riding out the turbulence over a cold Nevada night sky, my blood shot eyes glued to the electric forest of temptation below as America’s playground beckoned me out of paradise and into its glittering quicksand. And all it took was the promise of a half decent paycheck.
I guess my soul is cheap after all.
As always, It was a case that brought me here. Like every other case I’ve taken it would probably be dirty to the core, a seeping wound septic with lies and recriminations. Usually I just maintain a safe distance and join the dots, after all it’s par of the course for a private detective to face deception from all sides, especially in a town like this where you’re dealing with grifters on every corner. But when your client is someone who knows you, in ways you can’t unravel, things get complicated.
It’s an unwritten law that your client will be your enemy at least fifty per cent of the time. Rarely is it as simple as a cheating partner, they’ll always be complications. Especially when the case is murder.
“Juno’s anxious for you to meet her at her suite, Mister Navarro. She’s streaming for another hour so you’ll have time to check in” The Black Pyramid security guard with a nameplate that read simply “Sands” seemed cut from fascistic cloth; there was something of the proud boy about his middle aged square jaw and army buzz cut as his teeth rolled old gum against his whitened tonsils, a pair of mirrored shades reflecting my nonchalance back at me, my practiced cool exterior warped under inspection.
“She’s still streaming? I inquired, “Isn’t there a terms of service violation about a murder suspect--”
“She hasn’t been formally charged...yet” added the guard. “Maybe you can keep it that way. For her sake”
Juno Drezden, electro pop artist, breadtube communist, auteur. A woman living under house arrest inside the Elysium; a brutalist maze existing in defiance of the Vegas skyline, an edifice built by Juno’s late husband, millionaire futurist Edison Carter, as a gateway into the future, that now trapped her seemingly within her past.
This one could be tricky.
I should've said no to this. I should’ve ripped up the flight pass and stayed home, curled up with a book at the beach house and focused on that skip trace in the morning, or better yet, told the bail bondsman that I ain’t doin’ shit until the world starts to get inoculated. But it was Juno, and we had previous.
II
“Unironically, this nation is fucked” Juno’s breath was raspy with vapour and liquor as she leaned back in her leather bound chair inside her azure lite studio and smirked into her camera, flicking a length of blonde hair away from her electric blue eyes. “Stream, we’re less than one point five degrees away from ecological oblivion. I’m trapped in this desert town with dry river beds and hogs on every street corner and it feels like it’s already too late. The only chance we have is social upheaval. We need to reinstall the unions, we need to embrace Marxist philosophy and we need to upend the neo liberal snowflakes that gather in our way. You can make that difference. You can join the movement. Just hit that like button, subscribe, and if you can, follow me on Patreon and you’ll gain access to--”
Click.
“Well at least you’re not on onlyfans” I remarked as I poured a bourbon, opposite me was Juno, she smiled and closed the feed on her laptop, looked up and observed the night sky; her ebony dress flowed like living ink as a gentle breeze caught it’s fabric. We were on a penthouse balcony overlooking Fremont, the pulsating lights below felt like living circuitry beneath our feet as we sipped our poisons.
“I’m working on it” she fired back. “Carter’s estate wants me buried, Kurt. The only revenue I have access to is the stream, and that’s dwindling. Twitter is trying to cancel me and the cops are circling.”
I looked over the balcony and saw yellow osha tape flickering in the wind, we were thirty stories up, Edison was kicked out of a window on the twenty eight floor. Eye witness reports say he never screamed on the way down, a silent drop head first into concrete, his skull obliterating like a buckshot watermelon, and thus mankind's one chance to avert impending ecological disaster ended up an ugly stain over a screaming hooker.
“Why the fuck is Black Pyramid keeping you here? If you’re gonna take part in this freak fest of a tournament surely it would be best for PR to get you away from the crime scene? And what about the cops? There’s still procedure, right?”
Juno laughed. “Black Pyramid owns this town Mister Private Dick. And they keep me here because they want answers. The right answers”
“Did you kill him?”
Juno inhaled her vape, shook her head. “No” she muttered. “We were high, coke...speed...there was a shadow in the room, tall, masked, they struggled”
“And you?”
She frowned.
“And me?”
"I know how capable you are. Drugs aren’t gonna slow you down. Did you get to this...shadow?”
There was a long pause, then.
“Maybe you should ask Conrad.”
“Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities.” - Voltaire
The neon veins of the city organism hungered always for the next infusion of human conflict. Mankind seduced by the illusion of chance in a twisted carnival where only the house wins, and yet, those Vegas lights just suckered you in anyways, like a million Chinese lanterns screaming for attention. What moth could resist that flame? Not me I suppose, for here I was sitting on a chartered plane, a small private flight riding out the turbulence over a cold Nevada night sky, my blood shot eyes glued to the electric forest of temptation below as America’s playground beckoned me out of paradise and into its glittering quicksand. And all it took was the promise of a half decent paycheck.
I guess my soul is cheap after all.
As always, It was a case that brought me here. Like every other case I’ve taken it would probably be dirty to the core, a seeping wound septic with lies and recriminations. Usually I just maintain a safe distance and join the dots, after all it’s par of the course for a private detective to face deception from all sides, especially in a town like this where you’re dealing with grifters on every corner. But when your client is someone who knows you, in ways you can’t unravel, things get complicated.
It’s an unwritten law that your client will be your enemy at least fifty per cent of the time. Rarely is it as simple as a cheating partner, they’ll always be complications. Especially when the case is murder.
“Juno’s anxious for you to meet her at her suite, Mister Navarro. She’s streaming for another hour so you’ll have time to check in” The Black Pyramid security guard with a nameplate that read simply “Sands” seemed cut from fascistic cloth; there was something of the proud boy about his middle aged square jaw and army buzz cut as his teeth rolled old gum against his whitened tonsils, a pair of mirrored shades reflecting my nonchalance back at me, my practiced cool exterior warped under inspection.
“She’s still streaming? I inquired, “Isn’t there a terms of service violation about a murder suspect--”
“She hasn’t been formally charged...yet” added the guard. “Maybe you can keep it that way. For her sake”
Juno Drezden, electro pop artist, breadtube communist, auteur. A woman living under house arrest inside the Elysium; a brutalist maze existing in defiance of the Vegas skyline, an edifice built by Juno’s late husband, millionaire futurist Edison Carter, as a gateway into the future, that now trapped her seemingly within her past.
This one could be tricky.
I should've said no to this. I should’ve ripped up the flight pass and stayed home, curled up with a book at the beach house and focused on that skip trace in the morning, or better yet, told the bail bondsman that I ain’t doin’ shit until the world starts to get inoculated. But it was Juno, and we had previous.
II
“Unironically, this nation is fucked” Juno’s breath was raspy with vapour and liquor as she leaned back in her leather bound chair inside her azure lite studio and smirked into her camera, flicking a length of blonde hair away from her electric blue eyes. “Stream, we’re less than one point five degrees away from ecological oblivion. I’m trapped in this desert town with dry river beds and hogs on every street corner and it feels like it’s already too late. The only chance we have is social upheaval. We need to reinstall the unions, we need to embrace Marxist philosophy and we need to upend the neo liberal snowflakes that gather in our way. You can make that difference. You can join the movement. Just hit that like button, subscribe, and if you can, follow me on Patreon and you’ll gain access to--”
Click.
“Well at least you’re not on onlyfans” I remarked as I poured a bourbon, opposite me was Juno, she smiled and closed the feed on her laptop, looked up and observed the night sky; her ebony dress flowed like living ink as a gentle breeze caught it’s fabric. We were on a penthouse balcony overlooking Fremont, the pulsating lights below felt like living circuitry beneath our feet as we sipped our poisons.
“I’m working on it” she fired back. “Carter’s estate wants me buried, Kurt. The only revenue I have access to is the stream, and that’s dwindling. Twitter is trying to cancel me and the cops are circling.”
I looked over the balcony and saw yellow osha tape flickering in the wind, we were thirty stories up, Edison was kicked out of a window on the twenty eight floor. Eye witness reports say he never screamed on the way down, a silent drop head first into concrete, his skull obliterating like a buckshot watermelon, and thus mankind's one chance to avert impending ecological disaster ended up an ugly stain over a screaming hooker.
“Why the fuck is Black Pyramid keeping you here? If you’re gonna take part in this freak fest of a tournament surely it would be best for PR to get you away from the crime scene? And what about the cops? There’s still procedure, right?”
Juno laughed. “Black Pyramid owns this town Mister Private Dick. And they keep me here because they want answers. The right answers”
“Did you kill him?”
Juno inhaled her vape, shook her head. “No” she muttered. “We were high, coke...speed...there was a shadow in the room, tall, masked, they struggled”
“And you?”
She frowned.
“And me?”
"I know how capable you are. Drugs aren’t gonna slow you down. Did you get to this...shadow?”
There was a long pause, then.
“Maybe you should ask Conrad.”
