Difference between revisions of "Surviving Lunch"

Latest revision as of 13:13, 4 June 2019

{{ | date=10/03/2018 | summary=Grayson does not kill Alma. | cast=

• Alma
• Grayson

| place_name=Jumpin' Jive | place_desc=Jumpin' Jive is the epitome of a certain sort of local independent coffee shop, the kind that would be put out of business by Starbucks without its fiercely loyal regulars. It's lucky enough to have a corner location in a renovated factory building--one where a plethora of glass windows have been retrofit on the first and second floors, to allow for sunlit street-side real-estate. The windows often hold posters advertising community events and performances, and the most prominent spot on the front door is reserved for a chalkboard listing the live music schedule at the cafe itself. These are always repeated on both sides, so as to be visible to patrons inside the cafe as well as those passing by.

The decor is "eclectic reclaimed factory chic," with a little modern-industrial thrown in: the two 'inside' walls are exposed brick, with one of them set up with horizontal cables used to display works by local artists. An antique freight lift stands in one corner, often laden with bags of coffee beans, along with a handpainted sign that reads, "We roast our beans on the premises! Ask for a tour!"

The cafe proper is a large, open square with the sales counter occupying half of one end, creating an L-shaped seating area. The original hardwood floor hasn't been refinished entirely, just lightly smoothed and given a thick new clear-coat so as to show off all the marks of its original wear and tear. There are other features that play into the modern-plus-historic decor: tables of reclaimed wood planking with big antique factory-cart wheels, metal bracket edge treatments on the counters, Edison-style bulbs in primitive fixtures that hang from the high ceiling. The ducts are exposed, as well, creating what has to be a dusting nightmare requiring twelve-foot ladders. The chairs are simple but stylish brushed metal, set neatly around tables for two, four or--in one case--as many as six or eight. Along the storefront, bar seating stretches the length of two generous windows, so that one can sit and people-watch. Near the service counter, there's an opening to a back hallway, with a hand-carved sign pointing the way to the (all-gender) facilities.

The service counter, staffed by people of varying ages and appearances, has a large pastry-case and, of course, an industrial-sized Marzocco espresso machine; the machine itself is burnished stainless, kept spotless. The menu occupies several chalkboards, hung well above the behind-the-counter area and suspended by iron chains. As well as (of course) coffee, espresso drinks and tea, the cafe serves breakfast sandwiches, a small selection of lunch sandwiches, soup in the winter, smoothies, and pastries made by a prized local bakery.

Like a number of artsy Hamtramck businesses, the cafe is open late: one a.m. on weekdays, 3 a.m. on Friday and Saturday. | log= Alma rings Grayson.

The voice on the other end of the phone is impeccably English-accented. "Good morning?"

The voice on the other end replies, "Mr. Grayson? This is Alma Hunter. A mutual acquaintance of ours gave me your number. I was wonderng if we could meet."

"Remind me to shoot them next time I see them," Grayson says, as casually as if he were discussing the weather. "We could meet, but why should we?"

Alma's voice is a little uncertain at that response, but she is uncowed. "I'm researching a family genealogy for First Nations peoples and I don't recognize the language of some of these names. I was told you would be able to help me with the folklore of some of the spiritual traditions. This isn't my field of study, but I think the names I've found might have some significant meaning in that regard." The voice is hopeful, "Is that something you can help with?"

"My dear Ms. Hunter, I'm an Englishman, from England, who hasn't been in the Americas for more than a few months," Grayson replies drily. "I have no idea what I could possibly tell you that a genuine First Nations person can't, and there's no shortage of those in this part of the world. Still. If you're that bored and that desperate, surely you can at least buy me lunch in apology for pulling me away from my current project."

"Mr. Grayson," Alma withholds a laugh. "I would be happy to buy you lunch in apology. Have you heard of a place called Jumpin' Jive? They have a great menue and also serve tea." She pauses for a moment, "um, but I don't know if they serve English tea."

"Hmmm. Jumpin' Jive it is. I can be there in about half an hour. I'm the tall one with white hair."

That sounds like someone Alma's met before. "Oh?" She says. "I'll meet you in thirty minutes then. I'll be wearing a bright green scarf to help me stand out."

"Right you are," says Grayson, and then the call is closed from his end of things. And half an hour or so later he ducks into the Jumpin' Jive, a tall and slender figure with long white hair braided neatly.

Alma is camping at a secluded table. She's taken it over with notebooks and a bag in the other chair. As advertised, she is wearing a green scarf. Actually, it's chartreuse. She's got some coffee and has managed not to spill any on her notes, but there is a coffee ring or two.

Grayson takes a few steps deeper into the Jive while he's looking around, and then he spots the green scarf and the person it's wearing, and he heads on over. "Ah, I thought I recognised the voice," he says. "Ms Hunter, good morning again."

Alma clears off the table and the chair while she talks, "I didn't make the connection until you described yourself." She's more tentative than in their earlier meetings. "I didn't realize... anyway, what can I get you?" She hands him a menu from the service counter.

Grayson glances down the menu, then looks up at Alma. "A half-decent steak would be nice, if the budget will stretch that far," he says, then smiles ever so faintly. It's not an entirely pleasant smile. "Are you feeling alright, Ms. Hunter?"

Alma passes Grayson two newspaper articles, "Let me put in an order for you and then I'll answer your question. The steak sandwhich? rare?" She gets up to go order.

Grayson takes the articles, but shakes his head. "Medium rare," he replies. "I'm not a /complete/ barbarian." That said, he goes back to reading. "Interesting. I believe most of the First Nations only started scalping after the Europeans arrived and started it, yes?"

"Check that one article. Not only that the professor they consulted..." Alma holds up a finger, "I'll be right back. They don't do table service here." She returns with a slip of paper and settles back in her chair. She opens her mouth, closes it. Opens it again, "I'm not entirely alright," she admits. "Disconcerted." Then continues.

"I... don't know how..." She looks around to make sure the table is secluded enough. "spirits like this work. I asked my friend some questions and she said you know about this kind of stuff. I apologize for disturbing you. I didn't know you were English when she gave me your number. Can you answer questions maybe anyway? Maybe there are some similarities in how things are on our continent? I think I know who is doing this, but I have questions about them. I was given a dream, and I saw a very disturbing thing talking to him.".

Grayson's pale eyes focus on Alma, his slight smile fading as though it had never been. "Spirits. Dreams. I know a little about that sort of thing, yes - albeit not from a particularly local perspective. You can't knock around re-enactors for as long as I have without learning a few things. But what reason do you have, Ms. Hunter, for listening to your dreams?"

Alma's face is neutral but for a small quizzical wrinkle between her eyes. "The ghost," Alma watches for his reactions, "of the mother. of the murderer. sent me the dream to explain what happened to him. and why he is mutilating people like that. I can see things you might not believe. If you need to test me, you can. I don't think she was lying. I would have seen it. But," Alma tilts her head at him, "if you are more of an expert than I am, I want to know from you. I don't want to tell people who a murderer is based on hearsay. and..." Her true expression is no longer hidden. She's thinking about this and it disturbs her. She solemn, and not afraid of Grayson--something else disturbs her more. "I want to know if it safe to tell people these names I heard so that they can do something about them."

Grayson doesn't burst out laughing; whatever his words, he's treating this seriously. "I warn you now, Ms. Hunter, if I find my words published in some New Age hippy journal or Book of Shadows or something equally ludicrous, I'll curse you with the fleas of a thousand white-tailed deer until your dying day." Despite the hint of a smile on his lips, his eyes - and his tone - are deadly serious. "You might be surprised about what I can believe in - and just what I can do. And what even I can't do is say 'This person is sheer malevolence on legs' without being able to back up my words, even if the only evidence is that which my friends will accept. Dreams and ghosts just don't cut it."

Alma looks irritated. "I'm not going to--I only publish articles about /corvids/ in peer reviewed journals!" She looks like she is about to scold him; but just then, their number is called. She holds up a finger, "I'll be right back." She comes back with a tray of food. The steak sandwich has a double portion of steak, both cooked to specification. There's water, no ice. Water, ice. a tea pot, a teacup, and a small cup of soup for Alma. She sets everything down. "I don't know if it is a thing to drink tea right now, but I decided to risk it. They also have sugar water if you like," She frowns. "You should let me make you aqua fresca if you want something sweet," Her eyes widen ever so slightly. She fell in to friendly acquaintance mode. She's embarrassed now. She ahems to start again...

Grayson relaxes, just a little, when the steak sandwich arrives, gaining the air of a man who's seeing good faith in the bargain struck. "Thank you," he murmurs, before setting about getting the tea brewing. "Proper tea isn't sweet," he informs Alma. "It should only get that way when you add the right amount of sugar in the cup." And then he falls silent, gesturing for Alma to continue as he picks up the sandwich.

Alma ahems and picks up the thread of the conversation, "As I was saying--I'm not going to publish what you tell me. That's not what I do," She looks around again, and lowers her voice. "I am not a new age flake who imagines she saw a ghost in some dream. I /literally/ went to a cemetery and called for one because I was hoping to talk to the murder victim. But I got this other ghost instead. I was shocked to even find a ghost. Up until now I haven't found ghosts here in Detroit. But this... In the dream, I think I saw his spirit crushed by this... thing," She looks sickened at the memory. "And he's not merely human, this killer."

Grayson listens, making his sandwich vanish in the usually-acceptable way, albeit rather more neatly than might have been expected. "Go on?" Again, there are no signs of irritability, rage or disbelief.

Alma continues, "I suspect that he made some bargain with it. It was maybe ten years ago based on the conversation I had with his mother, but I'm still searching records for that. It looked like something that leaked out of an oil pipeline. In fact, that's where I ended up in second half of the dream. We were in the plains and there was a pipeline running through it. And he was there, Michael. He was yelling out a name, I think. And something oozed up from the ground and mocked him back with a name. It made my skin crawl. I have a kind of sight, and everything I saw about that thing was wrong. It destroyed all the life around it. I imagine it ended up destroying him even though he is still here. And he is, she glances around again, "a Bastet. I don't know if I sound credible to you. If not, could you consider meditating on it? Normal authorities aren't going to handle this. Some friends and I are working on this. The more we have to go on, the faster we can find him and prevent more killings. We aren't even sure what he trying to do with those bodies. It could be some kind of ritual, but we just don't know."

Grayson's eyes narrow, and then he nods. "And now, if you please, I'll have the name of the person who said I was the man to talk to."

Alma looks shocked. "I thought they got in touch with you to let you know I'd be calling. I didn't want to cold call someone about this!" She looks more frightened now than she has been during all of lunch.

Grayson's head tilts a little to one side. "I was told someone had been sent my way," he says. "I need to verify absolutely that you're the right someone."

Alma says, "Professor Jamila Ibraahin. I am assisting her in this matter."

Grayson nods. "Then yes, you are the right person." He relaxes just a hair, and finishes off the last of his sandwich. "Thank you. Very well." His voice drops to a low murmur. "What you saw would be a spirit, yes. And it is likely to have made itself one with him, as you likely gathered. The possessed are hard to deal with, and the more potent the one possessed, the harder it is. What do you need to know?"

Alma says, "If a ghost or something is stuck, I can help send it on its way. I don't know if this type of spirit works the same way. And I haven't pulled that kind of thing from someone before. I had help last time. Someone else broke the connection and /then/ I sent it on. Would that work here?"

Grayson shakes his head. "Wrong sort of spirit," he says. "Terribly sorry, and all that."

Alma looks like she wants to swear, "D--I didn't think it would be that easy, but I hoped. Not that the thing I did was easy." She moves on to another question. "If what I heard in the dream were their names, can those help us fight them? Or find them? I can do divination too."

Grayson nods. "They certainly can," he says, "Although you might want to exercise some caution when looking into the one that was just wrong. Just as a suggestion."

Alma looks sick. "I am freakin' horrified by the thing. I don't want to look at it at all. In the dream, I think it saw us in the present--I was there with a friend. My friend said he didn't think the dream was the ghost's anymore and asked if I could leave. The thing said not to worry, that we could reach an accommodation. I woke up then." Her skin crawls. "I want to know how to leave dreams. Is that something you can teach?"

Grayson shakes his head. "I'm afraid that if I taught you, I'd have to kill you," he says; his smile suggests that it's the old stock joke, but there's perhaps something a little too serious about those pale blue eyes. "But you'll notice that I'm not calling you a liar or trying to laugh it off."

Alma is uneasy. "I appreciate that." She sighs. "If there is ever anything I can do for you, please let me know. As long as it doesn't go against my beliefs, I will consider helping. I qualify with 'consider' because I have a lot of duties I can't let go. This month--there's all the arson," She stop in mid breath. "You don't know about it, do you? You're not from around here!"

Grayson simply nods. "Given that I've no idea what you're good for, other than dealing with the dead, I'm unlikely to make that call," he points out, with a hint of a smile - a real one, this time. "And no, I don't know about the arson."

"Detroit has something called Devil's Night the night before Halloween. There are shootings, arson--It was getting better since the 90s, but last year was back up to those numbers. When you have a chance, look up Angel's Night to see what the community and the city does to respond. But basically--watch out for those you care about at the end of this month. I'm not good with guns or putting out fires, but I'm hoping to help with planning things. I can also do divination. It's more comfortable for me to look back in time than forward, but I'm willing to do that for this."

"Um, plus I'm a behavioral ecologist, but I also did extensive work in cognition and memory. If you have any questions about those things, or need information about the wetlands health around here--it's in horrible shape and the flood mitigation plans that the city of Detroit has in place means they will sending polluted water out to healthier habitats in the north suburbs..."

She shakes her head to clear it. "You did tell me to try and say things one at a time. I've been trying. Anyway, keep my number." She rips out a page from her notebook and writes more of her contact information on it. "Here's my office information at school. My email address." She passes it to him across the table.

Grayson reaches out to take the page. "If there's one sort of environment I do understand, Ms. Hunter," he says, "It's wetlands. If you could make sure I get all the information you have on the wetlands issues here, I'd be much obliged. The rest is of very little interest to me, but thank you for staying with one topic at once."

"Will do." Alma says. "If I have another question while investigating this person, may I call you?"

Grayson inclines his head. "You may," he says, then adds, "But my advice is never free."

Alma's brow wrinkles. "Will you be offended if I pass on the wetlands information without me asking you for payment? I don't follow your customs. That type of information is something I'd want you to have if you are dealing with related matters. I don't want to give offense. I can ask for payment if that is more appropriate."

Grayson smiles ever so faintly. "Ah, but I gave you information today. I believe information for information is a fair swap. The sandwich was the price of getting me here to start with." He winks. "I may not be a complete barbarian, but I /am/ open to bribery."

Alma reacts smile for smile. "Food. I will remember that. Maybe at a place with more steak."

Grayson's smile warms. "It /is/ a good bribe," he agrees - and then it's to more mundane topics, and tea. }}