aaaaaaaaa

	Pokemon Jones walks down the back street of the ass end of nowhere. He hated asses. Lassy a local girl who works at a burlesque theatre -emphasis on the '-re'- and proud of it. She had been having trouble with a local guy. Some stupid putz with gambling debt she was dating. Lassy thought ol Harry was cheating on her so she hired ol 'Jonesie' to give him a once over. The acid bath was heavy today. Pollution was up 10%. Jones wore his acidbreaker.
Pokemon stepped through the saloon doors, they shut with an electronic whirr without swinging. He walked straight to the bar.
'Harry here?'
'You mean Jerry? Yeah he's over there.'
Pokemon Jones sat and spun mouth agape, a loose cigarette letting out blue embers hanging out of his mouth. There he was. Jerry. Jerry the snake. Jerry the lake. Jerry the shit on a stick.
'Jerry.' yelled Pokemon Jones with an exclamation.
'What?'
'Get over here.'
The lumbering frame of Big Jerry came into Pokemon's frame. Pokemon was a skinny man with an earned beergut in a lime green acidbreaker and bleached hair. He was not impressive. Neither was Jerry thought Pokemon but did not say aloud.
'What do you need, Shamus?'
'Do you fuck men, Jerry?'
Jerry took a step back, his eyes wide.
'What the fuck did you say?'
'All I'm saying and hearing and seeing is that you got a beautiful girl here named Lassy but she says you don't come to bed no more and little birdies say you're in the red parts of town. I'm wondering if you're in the gay parts too.'
'Shamus you got a lot of fucking nerve.'
'Answer the question Jerry.' yelled Pokemon,' DO YOU FUCK MEN?' The entire bar went silent, captivated by the exchange.
'No I'm not a fucking fag.'
'Prove it Jerry. Now or say goodbye to your girl.'
'I ain't provin' nuff-'
'OH CAN IT JERRY!'
A bodacious babe in a black bodice seperated herself from the crowd.
'Jones? Yeah I know the fucker. Jones.' a heavy Jersey accent came out of the woman. There she was. Cornelia. Lassy's coworker.
'Jones I been fuckin' the fucker he's not a fuckin' fag. He's a broke loser and you tell Lassy she can keep him.'
	Cornelia stormed out. Jerry quietly shuffled out the door mumbling about going to see Lassy. The bar started up again, they were quick to forget. And there sat Pokemon Jones. Exactly five bucks richer when he got back to Lassy.
	Jones reached into his pocket and gripped the inside. He extracted the contents and left it on the bartop. Jones returned to the long cold night.
	Lighting another cigarette Jones reflected on the night's peculiarities. A heavy acid bath, no kids on the street, the burlesque was closed on a Saturday. It was odd what a quiet Saturday night it was. Jones admired the pile of slag that was once the statue in the 'square. The back of Jones' neck tingled. He didn't like that. Jones walked a few blocks, taking in the dead streets and the old graffitti as it all melted into the gutter. The kids should be back to replace the graffitti tomorrow if they get out of Sunday School early. Jones let out a gasp when he came to Lassy's door in no time at all. He wondered if New Atlanta was getting another remaster.
	Jones was not a newbie and knew his knocks. They said every door in New Atlanta had a knock. Jones knocked Lassy's knock. The door buzz affirmatively, however Lassy did not come to answer. Jones glanced around. He knew he was right but he couldn't afford some peeping tom to get the wrong idea that he didn't know his knocks. Jones tried again. The door agreed with his argument but still failed to produce Lassy. Jones sighed and blew smoke on the peephole. The door buzzed in annoyance. Jones took his squat on Lassy's stoop. Every now and then ol' Pokemon would lazily rap Lassy's knock on the door and listen to the door's unrelenting agreement.
	This reminds me of my stool pigeon days thought Pokemon. He wasn't a beginner in the waiting game. In his line of work you couldn't afford to be.
	Jones heard a click. The door opened with a hush as artificial oxygen therein readily escaped its prison. That wasn't a good sign thought Jones. These doors don't just open. Especially a door as agreeable and unrelenting as this one. Jones put his hand in his pockets and fiddled with his brass knuckles. The 'knucks' thought Jones. Pokemon crept inside.
'Lassy?' said Jones inquisitively. Already with a dreadful suspicion.
	His suspicions were confirmed. Right in the parlor, in front of the fireplace. Lay his employer, Lassy. Jones ran over to her and cradled her head in his arms. Lassy was dead.
'Five bucks...' croaked Jones. He hated it when people died. They had a habit of doing so eventually.
The front door exploded off its hinges, flipping into the darkness beyond. Two heavily armored men crashed through, pointing their pistols at Pokemon.
'Put your hands up! You're under arrest. Dead or alive, you're coming with me.'
II
'I'm telling you people, I'm one-a you.'
'Jones you haven't been one of us for ten years.'
	The clickity clackity of the typewriter pounded in Jones' head. They really should up their budget. He watched the stenographer grind her hands away. It was a suicide note. He gave her a nod.
'I found Lassy that way, why would I kill her? I was doing a job for her. Ask anyone of the regulars at Latuya's.'
A smaller man in a fresh bowtie piped up. 'His story checks out. Joe sent it in.'
The larger man, the interrogator in the bowler sighed.
'Awright we can't hold the guy. But.' he turned to look at Jones menacingly.'But we'll be watching you Jonesie. We dont like guys hustling on our turf. The force doesn't take too kindly to scabs.' Pokemon's right eye throbbed. 'How long do you guys plan to hold up?'
'Like I told you, as long as we need.' Bowler paused and shot a look at Pokemon. 'The offer I made still stands.' Jones shrugged. 'My answer still stands.'
'The debt is still paid.'
'The payment was more than required.'
'The requirement was raised.'
'The offer must be recontractualized.'
'Can you two shut up?' hissed the bowtie. Bowler came around and adjusted his hat. He exited the interrogation room.
'Jones you better find out who killed Lassy. Joe didn't agree with your story. But I know Joe, he'd think it's funny to see you locked up.'Jones slipped out of his handcuffs.'Thanks, Adam, you were always there for me.'
'Jones please come back.'
'You know I can't. Not after everything.'
Adam looked down at the ground.His nose twitching in barely contained tears.
And just like that. Pokemon Jones was back on the streets.
III
	Pokemon's first order of business? Grab a drink. He knew what he liked. He went over to Latuya's first thing. The saloon doors whirred in salutation.
'Joe.'
'Fuck you, Jones.'
Jones took his stool. He ordered the usual. Kahlua, vodka, tomato juice, no ice and a lime. He nursed his drink. The bar was empty. It was a Sunday morning.
'Jones what the hell is this?' Joe dumped out a container filled with some lint, a scrap of paper, a half-burned cigarette, and a dimebag of White Sugar.
'Payment for last night.'
'You didn't fucking order anything and I don't fucking do drugs. I'm not some fucking junkie kid.'
'So I'll take it you're returning it?' Jones reclaimed his items as Joe left to clean the otherside of the bartop.
	The cops -or ex-cops I guess- took everything Jones had on him. Even his 'knucks. Which he guessed use to be illegal. Back before the strike. A decade ago the NAPD went on strike, nobody on the outside noticed. The former NAPD had become a mob family of sorts. They hired mercenaries to enforce the former law at random whenever they felt like. Technically because it involved illegal mercenaries hired by the former wife of the former chief of police it was fine, Nobody at NAPD proper did anything themselves so the strike still stood. Anything goes for the mercenaries, Jones was lucky to be alive.
	Jones finished his drink and wiped his mouth using his tie. Lighting up the cigarette he rolled the dimebag over in his hands, and deposited it within his interior breast pocket. He examined the scrap of paper. Written on it was:
'Harry - 414196 scratched out sign avenue and east 22nd New Atlanta. Latuya regular likes the finer things in life'
	Jones scratched his head. Harry from last night. He did say he'd go to see her. A good place to start. Pokemon left Latuya's clutching that scrap.
	The sun blasted down on our hero. Jones did a sort of hobble down the road. The ex-force was ex-rough on ex-him. The streets were dead. But unlike last night that was normal. Everyone should be nursing a hangover of somekind on Sunday. The cracked asphalt radiated heat. The sky was a sickly yellow. A man with a receding platinum hairline and a tarnished green coat limped down main street. It was January.
	Harry's place was down a dizzying series of twisting roads. As Jones continued down this maze the streets began to be covered in fresh graffitti. He was entering kid territory. Jones finally arrived at Harry's rundown townhouse. It use to be a duplex but nobody wanted to live here, so Harry took all of it and only had to pay half. Looking over his shoulder, Jones knocked Harry's knock. The door weakly staticed out a negative response. Jones rolled his eyes. He knocked Lassy's knock. The door lazily grunted. A few minutes later the lock clicked and the door began to open.
'Babe?'
'Did you kill her Harry?' Jones replied coldly. Harry's neanderthal-like brow scrunched together. His bleary eyes squinting into the blinding daylight.'What the fuck...?'
'Did you kill her Harry?' Jones repeated. Harry rubbed his eyes. 'Wh-what?'
'Did you kill her Harry?' Jones thricely stated.
'Kill..who? Who's Harry?'
'Who did you expect to be at the door, Harry?' Harry poked his head out of his door and glanced around. His gaze landed on Jones as if on accident. He gave a questioning apelike frown.
'Who the fuck's Harry?' Pokemon sighed. He didn't have time for this shoestring budget game of blind man bingo. Jones extracted the scrap of paper and pushed it into Harry's face.
'Is this your address?'
His eyes rolled in their sockets in unintelligent comprehension, a rat completed its first revolution of the treadmill.
'I...guess?'
'So then, you are Harry?'
"Whuh? Naw. I'm Jerry. I ain't kill no Harry.' Jones carefully studied his face. It showed no signs of sapience.
'Fine, Jerry then.' Jones straightened his grime-encrusted tie. 'Who did you expect to be at your door this morning?'
'Lassy I think.'
'You think?'
'Yeah.'
Jones wrote this down on the scrap of paper.
'Did you go to see Lassy yesterday night?'
'Yeah after I uh. Wait, was you...?'
'Answer the question.'
'Yeah I think.'
'Clearly. What did two discuss?'
'I...couldn't.' Jones leaned forward. 'Why not?'
'She...didn't let me in.'
'And is this strange for Lassy?'
'Well. I think she was mad at me. I did bad I think.'
'What time was it when you went to Lassy's?'
'I dunno. D'you?'
'No.' Jones pocketed the scrap of paper and made to leave. 'Thank you for your time, Jerry.'
'Wait! Cop!' Jerry rushed out of his home.'Te-tell me man! What's all this about? Where's Lassy?' Jones turned towards the imposing man towering over him and met his gaze. There was a primordial desperation in those eyes. 'Lassy was found dead yesterday evening.' Jones walked into the street.
'Wait! Wait! Please, who did it man?'
'That's what I'm trying to find out.' Jerry looked down at himself like a lost puppy. In his grief cogs grinded in understanding.
'Lemme help.'Jones' right eye coldly studied him. It took in the measure of a man. Jones knew what he was.
'Fine.'
IV