Chapter 1

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Chapter 1: Big Tony

If we wish to fight, the enemy can be forced to an engagement even though he be sheltered behind a high rampart and a deep ditch. All we need do is attack some other place that he will be obliged to relieve. If we do not wish to fight, we can prevent the enemy from engaging us even though the lines of our encampment be merely traced out on the ground. All we need to do is to throw something odd and unaccountable in his way. -- Sun Tzu

It was the worst Sunday of World War III, a black Sunday. Heavy though this statement was, Carlo felt qualified to make it. Closing his eyes, he fell backwards onto his bed, silently contemplating the baloney sandwhich he had prepared to numb the pain of his encounter with Bababooey Benjy. It was the latest cringe-inducing event in a long line of recent humiliations.

Almost immediately, his skin prickled and his lungs seized up. Cornbread, for those not usually involved in subcutaneous chemicals, was a neuro-stimulant, and extremely poisonous. In small doses, it provoked his abilities. In large ones, however--he did not dare to think. It felt like fear itself was trying to claw out of each and every pore. (Pores are very small and thus this can be quite uncomfortable.)

He grabbed the antidote he had prepared and struggled to hold the needle steady. Already he could feel his mind slipping and the edges of his vision begin to darken.

"No...," he moaned. It started with an itch at the back of his throat. Then, his eyes began to swell. An army of centipedes began to crawl up his back. Then everything went dark. He had forgotten to pay his utility bill, yet again.

Sara ignored him. She had nothing to do but wait. In the darkness. She stared at the deserted streets through frosted glass, rubbing her swollen stomach fondly, a part of her looking forward to being mobile once more and another knowing that she will miss being this close to her little girl.

When Carlo came to, Inu peered at him, head cocked, pink tongue lolling in good humor. Carlo wondered what time it was.

He saw himself reflected in the marble of Inu's intelligent eyes. Staring for what felt like several long minutes, he wondered if Inu understood.

He struggled to pick himself back off the floor. Inu wanted to go for a walk. His reading of some book on his computer screen, which he had promised to finish that evening, was not getting very far. Hauling his dead-weight from the grimy floor he decided to entertain reality once more and step out of the dream induced hell his apartment had become. His sanity was like a needy child and he felt obliged to nurture it.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

"Big Tony," a voice said, "There's a call for you."

Big Tony carefully placed his cards face down on the round table, and looked at the bartender, slightly raising his left eyebrow. "For me? But everyone knows not to call me here?"

"They're calling your mobile (N95) - how would they know where you are now?"

"Of course," said Big Tony, nodding meaningfully as he took the cell phone out of his pocket. He might be "mean and dumb as a man can come" but he was also a street savvy mime artist. "

"Hello" said the voice on the phone, "Is that Huge Tony?"

"No, this is Mr Big Tony."

"I am Sorry - wrong sized Tony"

"No problem. But please don't call again"

Over in the corner Big Big Tony thought about his old life and the silver service he had been accustomed to and decided he was hungry, very hungry - he could easily have polished off a large horse, but he could no longer afford it. And the money his wife coughed up for child support wasn't nearly enough. So, as it was, he only had enough small change to order a small with extra mane. His adopted pleasure-withholding mantra forced him to make such sacrificial choices. If he was honest with himself, though, he was actually starting to get some strange enjoyment from doing so.

"Sortez de mon lit de fleur!," his sensei had told him long ago. Initially, he'd been annoyed with his sensei's random sayings - these kind of zen statements that makes no sense to him, except giving him some immense headaches - but he now seemed to understand this strange circular logic, especially since he bothered to translate the saying. By withholding pleasures one heightens the enjoyment of that which comes naturally. But withholding pleasure too long can result in problems, not to mention constipation, to put it lightly.

His thoughts were disturbed by the voice on the phone acknowledging the order, "ten minutes". Bababooey Benjy checked his wallet. He didn't realize that his cell phone had a digital clock on it so he always used his calendar. He took out his finepoint and circled the date. Ten minutes! He'd be ready! He'd pay exact change of course; no tip, no nothing. Big Tony was an atrocious man. Everyone knew that. They all knew better than to get in his way; even Carlo, Bababooey Benjy reflected, a wry grin on his face as he counted out coins and dug to the place deep in his pocket for the extra penny stuck there. Needing a couple more, he bent over and dug them out of his loafers.

Carlo had unsuccessfully attempted to queue jump at the grocery store earlier in the day. But no one pushed their way in front of Big Tony, as Carlo had found out to his detriment. Then afterwards there had been the unmercifully filed complaint with the store's cardboard-cut-out of a manager; that had been Big Tony down to the ground. He was a stickler for paperwork and bureaucracy, especially when he was the recipient of such things.

Big Tony knew he'd annoyed Carlo, but even he would have been surprised to see the quickly spreading effect his run-in with his old partner was having right now across town.

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