Urban Nirvana Chapter 1 - Sunglasses at Night (Patreon)

“Thus the terms of this amicable divorce are settled.” The judge boomed, firmly smacking his gavel into the firm wooden grain of the bench. In front of him, a man and a woman were each flanked by their lawyer. The woman had shoulder-length blond hair, tied together in a casual ponytail.

At first glance, it would seem like a choice of style, but the man knew that it was actually because the ponytail kept her hair safely out of the way for just about anything, whether that be yardwork or office work. Her dress was one he never remembered her wearing when they were together. It looked rather nice. A calm, mellow blue. Like a bluebird flying through a clear blue sky in the middle of Spring.

In a way, it mirrored his thoughts. Calm. Mellow. Blue.

The man, however, wore his usual charcoal-black two-piece business suit, something that the woman had once joked that he never took off, not even when he slept. Considering that he oftentimes slept at his place of employment, that joke was almost a reality. His blond hair was kept close-cropped to help with his own work, and a simple Timex watch tick, tick, ticked away at his wrist.

The man took in a slight breath as he turned away from the judge, his hands adjusting his striped, blue tie completely out of habit at this point while at his side, his lawyer droned on with the woman’s lawyer about matters he cared not a whit about anymore. What was done, was done. The man stepped towards the door. Behind him, the woman began to open her mouth with an expression of slight pity, but she could only watch as the man’s long legs took him out of the small family courtroom with only a few strides.

The man’s face was expressionless as he fished the brown, fluffy keys of his beater Chevrolet pickup truck out of the pockets of his black suit pants. His bland face, one unremarkable enough to have potentially earned him many years of ridicule at school (if his classmates would have bothered to in the first place), glanced across the cars. Twenty cars. Exactly the same number that was there before he had entered the courtroom.

He nodded to himself. The number hardly mattered, but the count was instinctual at this point. After all, who could tell when knowing the exact number of cars in the parking lot could be handy. That, and the make and model of each car. Which ones he could expect to find the keys above the sun visor, which ones would be more likely to have a full tank of gas, and which ones he could potentially find a gun in the glove compartment or behind the seat. The little things counted most when the chips were down. That’s what Mr. Moon had learned over the years.

Mr. Moon, of course, was not his real name. Yet, it was close enough at this point. Lisa was really the only person in his life that still used his birth name.

Originally it was nothing but an odd nickname that spawned out of the still-settling dust of an incident all those years ago. Nothing but some weird oddity, a nickname thought up by a group of men who were either superstitious, drunk, or high. Probably all three. He couldn’t blame them. Hard times had a habit of leading men toward the watering hole of terrible coping mechanisms.

Once Mr. Moon had finished his work in the Vietnam, he hadn’t expected to ever hear it again. Then, just five years ago in ‘75, department policies were adjusted by his boss to better protect the personal lives of field agents. That meant code names. That meant permanent code names. Ones chosen by his boss, who had a rather idiotic sense of humor and had been in Saigon that day as well.

So, he became Mr. Moon. A name that was quite obviously not a real one, but if a random person would be introduced to the man right off the sidewalk and told his name, all they could do would be to nod and think, 'Wow, that is an odd name'. Then that unremarkable observation, combined with Mr. Moon’s bland, forgettable face, would cause them to forget about the meeting not even minutes later.

Soon enough, the rusted Chevrolet pickup truck rumbled to life. Similar to his charcoal-black business suit, his watch, and his haircut, the truck was chosen in part because if anyone saw it on the road, their eyes would glaze over it without a second thought, perhaps only pausing for an additional second to be mildly surprised that a truck like that could still run.

Mr. Moon, on the other hand, would be more surprised if it didn’t run. Sure, the body was rusted all over the place, the aqua-blue paint job was more of a paint suggestion, and the rumble of the truck was more like a whimper. But underneath it all, Mr. Moon had used his decent enough mechanical skills to keep his truck a finely tuned machine. He had to, of course. Who knew when his life could depend on its ability to go from zero to sixty miles per hour as fast as possible?

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Mr. Moon's truck rumbled to an unsteady stop outside his apartment. It was a far cry from his previous home, but, well, that old place was better off with Lisa anyway. She would take greater care of it than he ever could. With how many hours the latest project demanded of him, and his frequent visits to Henry in his off time, Mr. Moon hardly ever darkened the doorstep of the old house when he had still lived there. Mr. Moon sighed as his empty expression took in the weeds, the cracked sidewalk, and the heroin junky leaning against the door to the apartment complex. He closed his eyes, and for the briefest moment, the smell of sewage was replaced by the faint smell of freshly cut grass. Of neighborhood barbeques. Of a-

Mr. Moon opened his eyes, lifted the junky by the shirt, threw him a few feet over to the side like a bag of discarded trash, and opened the faded green door. As the door to the complex opened, a few eyes peered through nearby cracks, widening as they took in the sight of the man in the suit. The eyes shook and then disappeared to the sound of frantic, running footsteps. The footsteps soon disappeared, and the complex was enveloped by a cloak of silence disturbed only by the soft ‘click clack’ sounds of Mr. Moon’s dull black dress shoes going up the stairs one by one. No one bothered him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The TV in his apartment lit the dark walls with its peeling wallpaper in a soft blue glow. His apartment was rather spartan, with only a battered table he found on the curb, an old La-Z-Boy recliner gifted by his rotund friend from the office, and a mattress that drooped despairingly on the floor.

That same friend had questioned Mr. Moon’s choices in keeping the place so sparsely furnished, but he was quite certain about the decision. No sense in adding pointless junk when he was hardly there. Besides, Lisa was never coming back. That was certain. So, no sense in making it look nice for her. As for dating, he lacked the time. And the will. Mr. Moon knew that if he tried, he would only end up comparing anyone he met with Lisa. That wouldn’t be fair to them nor to him.

So, he sat by himself. His suit jacket was tossed haphazardly onto the battered wooden table, and Mr. Moon leaned back with a sig-

‘RRRRRRIRIGININNNNNINGGNGHGHINNNGGGG!’

The corded phone on his wall nearly shook itself off its hook with the force of its ringing, causing Mr. Moon to jump to readiness with a curse halfway formed in his mouth. His eyes snapped towards the source of the noise, noting that it was indeed an odd time of the night to get a call. Mr. Moon picked it up, hanging it loosely against his ear and not even bothering to say anything into it. If it was anybody he was willing to talk to, they would know to quickly make their case.

“It’s Sun. I need you at the office ASAP for briefing. Shit’s hit the fan with Nirvana.” A familiar voice with an underlying tone of panic spoke quickly from the other side of the line. Mr. Moon’s eyes narrowed. “Will do.” He replied in his usual monotone voice, before gently setting the phone back on the receiver.

As soon as the piece of plastic rested on the hook, Mr. Moon became a flurry of action. He grabbed his suit jacket from the table, nabbing a pair of sleek bronze keys from the kitchen counter with one hand while the other hand brushed over the standard-issue Sig Sauer P226 handgun that was still holstered at his side.

Less than a minute later Mr. Moon was back down on the ground floor of the apartment complex, where one of the bronze keys opened his assigned garage to reveal the sleek, unmarked form of his black Buick Regal T-Type car. Simple, powerful, and most importantly, provided by his department. No strange markings, no flashy modifications, nothing out of the ordinary besides the detachable siren on the roof of the car and the partially concealed shotgun rack that took up half the back seat.

Mr. Moon gave the vehicle a quick glance, noting with a sense of approval that barely appeared on his face that it all seemed in order. Seconds later, and that feeling was validated as the well-oiled machine roared out of the garage with sirens blaring, speeding far past the limits usually afforded in residential areas on the outskirts of Washington D.C.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The sun shone brightly through the window, posing it in the perfect position to distract Cass from the dreary lecture the teacher had been subjecting the class to for the past half hour. In the back of her mind, a small voice reminded Cass that her inattention was unfair to Mr. Bueller. He was a nice enough man (at least until you said the wrong thing and triggered one of his 'educational lectures' - then he was just boring. She could appreciate the enthusiasm though!) and he really didn't deserve the utter lack of attention his classes gave his teachings.

Still, being a decent guy who knows his stuff could never fully make up for being unable to make that subject into something interesting for a classroom full of kids just a few weeks away from graduation.

Cass suppressed a small sigh as she shifted positions to cup her chin in a hand. Only two weeks left, and it would all be over. This chapter would end in the metaphorical book of her life. In a way, Cass was dreading the end. What would be next? Around twelve years of doing pretty alright in school, and soon she would be ejected into the real world of small-time Carlston. A tiny town in the middle of nowhere, in a state no one cared about. Good ol' Kansas. The question of 'what next' felt like a heavy smog that covered her every waking thought, ever since the end of the first semester of classes had made Cass realize that the end was almost here.

She hardly meant to look down on Carlston in calling it small-time. It was just a fact. Still, it was all Cass really knew, and it was a nice old town once you gave it a chance. The dusty gravel roads that lead out to the farms. The literal bean field the high school sat in the middle of (sometimes it was a cornfield! Exciting!). The drugstore on the corner sold delicious scoops of ice cream. The small football field she had spent so much time around last year. Tractor pulls in the baseball diamond near the elementary school, car shows on the main street, a singular old-timey diner near the old highway, a cheerful bar down the road, the town had things going on if you knew where to look. They just weren't very big things, and Cass hadn't any certain ideas of just what to do once she walked out of Carlston High School for the final time. Not for lack of trying, of course. Just that none of the uncertain ideas were particularly appealing.

College... well, her dad had told her there was enough money set aside if she wanted to go. No worries about needing to take out loans, and she could probably grab one or two smallish scholarships to help out. But while Cass had thought about the possibility, she couldn't for the life of her think of something she actually wanted to study. And she wasn't like some of her classmates, going to college just to play one sport or another, or to party for four years straight. The one time she had gotten to kick a football to start off the homecoming game, she had almost knocked the assistant principal clean out. Poor Mr. Harman. Even baking multiple plates of apology cookies for him failed to make her feel better about that, despite his reassurances of the contrary. But anyway, she didn't see any point in going to college without a good reason.

There was always the option of moving away... but Cass just couldn't do that to her dad. She would miss the guy too much. Plus, where would she even go? The big city? Wayyy too many people. Another small town? What would be the point? She already lived in one!

So that left her with getting a job and staying in Carlston. Yay. One application was filled out and sent to Dino's Diner for the waitress spot that opened after Mrs. Helen retired (after being there for what seemed like hundreds of years). She already had a time slot booked for an interview.

Another application was sent to the high school for the assistant librarian job they hadn't bothered to fill since before Cass was born. One final application still sitting inside her desk for that open secretary job in the police department. None of the options were thrilling. Either work in a diner, be in a musty library all day, or weather the personal whispering thoughts that she got a job because of nepotism, instead of her own ability.

Cass suppressed a sigh at the thought and moved her pencil half-heartedly across a page as Mr. Bueller gestured enthusiastically to the world map pinned to the chalkboard with masking tape. Two weeks. Just two weeks.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

"One strawberry banana milkshake right for you, sweetie!" Cass smiled brightly in thanks to Daly as the waitress expertly slid the ice-cold glass of sweet ice cream deliciousness over to her. It was the perfect counter to the overly warm springtime air outside. Right beside Cass, her friends smiled in turn as their own cool desserts were sent over by the woman.

"Ah, nothing like a shake after school," Jen exclaimed through satisfied gulps of her peach milkshake. "Seriously, whoever managed to convince the teachers that homework would only distract us before the finals, I could just kiss them!"

"Hear hear!" Ashley shouted and slammed her Coke on the countertop in hearty agreement. The sound of the impact immediately brought the cook's disapproving glare over like eyes drawn to a lit beacon. "Sorry, Marty..." Ashley bashfully said. Marty glared at her, but eventually turned his attention back to the grill once it became clear that Ashley was being more careful with the glass.

Jen giggled and looked at Cass with a look of interest. "So anyway, I heard from Sandy that her mom saw Mark roll back in town last night."

"What?" Cass blinked in surprise.

Jen nodded. "Yeah. Sandy's mom was working her usual night shift at the Gas N' Shop and ol' Mark stumbled in around midnight. Truth be told, apparently he didn't look too hot. He had dark circles around his eyes, and Mark wasn't even wearing that ratty baseball cap that was practically glued to his head back in school. All he got was a twelve-pack and some potato chips before he scooted."

"I thought college still had about a week left?" Ashley idly wondered. "Maybe Mark went through all his tests in a flash and all those fuddy-duddies wearing tweed and slacks were impressed enough to let him go early. I don't know. What do you think, Cass?"

Cass threw her hands up with a sigh. "Dunno. It's not like I'm his mom. I haven't even talked to the guy for a year."

"When he graduated." A misty look filled Jen's eyes as she reminisced. "What a year it was. Breaking football records, that crazy homecoming party... prom… the senior prank! I still can’t believe the football team paid a mariachi band to follow old Mr. Hair around for the day. Oh, and the cows on the roof. Talk about redefining a classic.”

"And when I broke up with the jerk." Cass finished. "Look, forget him."

"We will~ but you won't~" Ashley sang through the smuggest face Cass had ever seen her wear. "Marky-Mark and Cassy-Wass, living the dream. Feel free to indulge in your delusions, Cass. I bet Mark's back in town to hook back up with you. That twelve-pack he bought? Liquid. Courage. That’s all I can say. Give the guy a day and he’ll be knocking on your front door. Better hope your dad doesn’t answer with that revolver of his!"

Cass sunk back into her seat with suppressed grumbles. She knew that her friends meant well. They never fully understood why she had broken up with Mark right before he graduated. All they saw were two high-school sweethearts hitting a rocky patch in their relationship. In a way, they were right. Except for the fact that Mark let his skills at football inflate his ego larger than the Goodyear blimp. And that he was kind of a jerk anyway even before that. When he had entered some big-name college to play football, Cass had just seen it as a sign. Mark moving away meant that maybe it was time to stop trying to fix their relationship.

The two of them had argued enough. Still, there was a nagging feeling at the back of her head, a stray thought that wondered why exactly did Mark leave college early? Her dad followed the college football season, or at least the big games. Cass couldn’t find much interest in it, but she didn’t mind hearing her old man talk about the game. It was something that made him happy. So that led the stray thought to bump around in the back of her head. Why was Mark coming back when there was a game this weekend that she was pretty sure Ohio State University was playing in?

“Oh come on, Cass.” Ashley’s teasing voice shook Cass out of her thoughts. “Don’t fall back into your soulless ginger routine. If you really don’t want to get back together with Mark, that’s a-okay. Heck, if I see him around and he asks me, I’ll tell him to buzz off if you want me to.”

Cass, aka the ginger in question, let out an unladylike snort of laughter at the thought of her tiny, four-foot-tall friend telling Mark, a hulking football player with over two feet of height on the girl, to buzz off. Probably with lots of threatening gestures mixed right in. She would find some way to make it work. Ashley always did.

“You know he could fold you in half with one hand, right?” Jen said with equal parts caution and amusement. “I think we can all remember that one home game. Three whole years ago, like a few hours into the game, and Mark gets so fed up with one of the opposing linebackers that he hoists the poor guy up above his head, spins him like he’s making a freaking pizza, and chucks him into the stands!" Jen's voice became louder with hilarity after each word. "Man, what a cool cat he was sometimes. Even after that, I think he ended up talking his way back onto the team."

“No kidding…” Cass agreed with a smile. “Anywho girls, forget about Mark. Jen, how’s it going with Dan? I saw you two at the prom back in April.”

Jen’s face immediately fell like a bottomless pit had opened right under her chin.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

An hour later saw many decisions being made. Dan, as it turned out, was a jerk who hooked up with another one of their classmates, which led to Jen having to walk home.

Cass right then and there decided to give Dan a solid sock to the face the next time she saw him.

Josh, however, was doing a fine job as Ashley’s boyfriend as always. In a way, Cass was jealous. Sure, she was happy for her friend, but sometimes it seemed like the steady relationship between Ashley and Josh was one of the constants of the world. Like the Earth being round. Or the sun rising in the East. A rule of nature that could never be broken. They just had to be together until the end of time itself. So far, that was looking to be the case.

But all of that talk about boyfriends, classes, and events to look out for paled in comparison to the raw nervousness that had begun to fill Cass's belly as the hour hand on the clock ticked closer and closer to the all-important time: interview time for the open spot in Dino’s Diner. Despite it being a popular hangout spot for the local kids after school got out each day, the three girls weren’t sitting around in the diner enjoying milkshakes just to chill. Cass had the first interview in her life coming up, and her best friends for as long as she could remember were there to back her up.

It hadn’t seemed real back in class when Cass had been idly wondering about the different choices she had. The waitress position was just another job opportunity, a chance to not starve or have to rely on the charity of her dad. A chance to earn something because of her own abilities, not because of who she knew. Of course, she did have a slight advantage since the staff and Dino, the owner, were all locals. They all were around for her entire life, watched her grow up, and supported her efforts. But that was an advantage that all the local kids had, though, and Cass was under the assumption that at least a few other people were competing against her. So that one advantage wasn’t much, and it really only mattered if she was up against an out-of-towner.

"Cass?" Marty the cook poked his head out the door separating the plebians from the mighty kitchen kingdom. "It's time. Go get 'em, girl."

Cass took a deep breath to fortify herself. No matter what, she had to remember that this wasn’t just Dino interviewing her, but that she was also interviewing Dino. Making sure that this job for the diner would work out. If it didn’t, there were still options. Like the library. Or being a homeless bum. Or sucking it up and taking the guaranteed job working for her dad.

“Yeah! Whoop whoop!” Ashley cheerfully shouted in her usual infectious way towards Cass’s retreating back.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Pick it up. Put it down. Pick it up, then put it down. The marching song for his brain. Jack Stockworth had a job. He had to be ready. If he wasn’t ready, who knew what would happen.

So, he picked up the scrap wood discarded on curbs and in empty creeks. He put it down in his trailer. His kingdom. His fortress. Best way to keep it growing. Up and down the streets, walking through the rancid filth of Miami. Disgusting but necessary. There was a time when he hated it. Now? He saw it as a challenge. A way to hone his instincts. To increase his strength. His willpower. His drive to conquer all.

Picking it up, putting it down.

Another full load of wood in the back of his beater pickup truck. Fallen trees. Discarded 2x4s. Part of a porch taken from someone who was too weak to defend it properly. It was all for the greater good. If his kingdom was not properly fortified, if his strength was not increased, who else could save the weeping masses when the end of times came? The strong took, and the weak dealt with that fact. If the weak did not want their possessions taken, well, they should become strong. Only then could they escape the weakling tax.

Jack let out a mighty breath of satisfaction as his fortress grew taller. Floor by floor, gaining height like a living, growing creature. Each thump of his steel-toed work boots against the ground saw it gaining height and mass. His creature. His bastion of security. Once upon a time it was nothing but a simple RV. Now it was his castle.

“Woah there Jack! Looking good partner!” A smiling man with perfectly white teeth, flawless blond hair, and a peach-colored cowboy hat cheerfully patted him on the back in admiration. “Absolutely stunning. Good work!”

Jack nodded and smiled. As always, his friend was nice and supportive. A blessing in these troubling times. Some philosophers said that a man was a lone fortress, but he was of the view that faithful friendship with the right people could make the walls of that fortress far stronger than it could ever be alone.

Another man, identical to the first, walked around the corner and shot Jack a cheery double thumbs up. “Niiiccceee!”

A third man, again identical in appearance to the first and the second, crawled out of a nearby storm drain. The man’s stylish suit was soggy wet, but he didn’t seem to mind, other than to joke about the rainy weather to Jack like any true Florida native.

“It’s a wet one out, isn’t it buddy?”

Jack smiled in exasperation and tugged at his own shirt. A stained white wifebeater undershirt. Faded blue jeans. All of it soaked with moisture from swimming through the floodwaters of last week's hurricane. It was good for exercise, though, so he couldn't complain.

“I know what you mean brother.” A fourth identical man walked through a solid glass window while sipping a cool glass of whiskey. A Macallan 12 single malt. Jack could smell it from where he stood. “Ah. Hits the spot. You know, Jack? That’s a sturdy fortress you’re building there. But you can do that later. There’s work to do.”

All four of the men smiled and spoke at once. “Yes. Work for you to do. Godless heathens are in America.”

“Where?” Jack spoke for the first time with a rusty, disused voice.

The men shrugged simultaneously. “The heart of America. Where better to drive the poison deeper?”

The heart. The heart. Where would the heart be?

Jack rubbed his shaved head in thought.

“Kansas. That's where I would go for an extract it the scene got too hot to handle. A town, one so small hardly anyone's ever heard of it. Easy to get spotted by the locals, but by the time any man worth his salt gets notified, you could already be gone. Better get looking. There’s a lot of those kinds of towns in Kansas." The men elaborated in unison. They gave him one last hard look in the eyes, and once Jack blinked they were gone.

Kansas… Jack had never been there. His truck rumbled to a start as he popped another Benzedrine tablet down his gullet, taking it dry like the Lord intended. He needed all the energy he could get if there was a cross-country drive coming up. The faint ringing of the telephone coming from his castle was ignored. Wellness checks could wait. In the passenger’s seat, his trusty friends nodded resolutely to him, showing their absolute approval for his decisive actions.

Good ol’ Winchester, Colt, and Fairbairn. Always ready to back him in a fight.