"Alright. Communion with the cricket." Ramses initiates the session with a deft hit of three buttons and a switch.

"Alright. Communion with the cricket." Ramses initiates the session with a deft hit of three buttons and a switch.

Modded tape deck with antennae to pick up the cricket's signal. Signature Ramses engineering -- zero budget precision, wretched and ingenious.

He slides right back into his old skin.

The old act awakens dormant pathways to tactile memory. Even the pulse returns to his palsied hands.

"What are we dealing with?"

"Cricket logs three calls. First -- foreign number, incoming, thirty-six seconds. Second -- a long one to a local number, outgoing, twenty-four minutes and eight seconds. Finally -- another local number, incoming, three minutes and seventeen seconds."

"Say the word, H." A little plume curls from the side of his mouth.

"Let's hear the first one."

Alternative wording

"Let's hear the customer service one again."

Hum, static, click:

"Hello, is this Mr. Gonzalo E.S. Gonza?"

"Ckhm... Board?" Gonza's voice takes a moment to croak his answer, like a snake cautiously peering our from its hole.

"He always answers the door like that. He's terrified of the Medical Board."

"Checks out." He nods absentmindedly, focused on the recording.

"Um... I'm calling from the Viudas Credit and Savings Banks, we've got a--"

"A-ha! Caught you, reptiles."

"Sir? We're just calling ab--"

"Pass this on to the narcs at the top: send all the collectors you want -- send your best collectors. I will be waiting."

The spike of the receiver slamming pierces your eardrum like an icepick.

"That was a dud."

"We're just getting warmed up." He grins.

Among listening devices, he's back in his native element, if only for a moment.

Stripped off his wounds. Back raw into danger.

"Not everything can be a hit." He shrugs.

"Incredibly informative."

"Unbelievable. He never stops with that."

Ramses nods absentmindedly, his focus on the recording.

Keep listening.

Warm electrical hum. A heavy click and the rush of ambient noise entering as the receiver is picked up.

"Play the long one."

Alternative wording

"Play the second one."

Alternative wording

"Play the one with the wife again."

Hum, static, click:

"Gonzalo, you miserable bastard, is that you?"

"Have you bathed today, Marcella?" The doctor's voice rings with a timbre previously unknown.

Guttural, breathless, and somehow strained, as though in the middle of some physical exertion.

He's not choking, but something similar to it. Something that has lowered his lung capacity to half.

"Some kind of breath play, I think?"

"Good. Sex calls are where everything comes out."

"Just hope he doesn't knock himself out. before we get somewhere."

"Yes, Gonzalo, I have bathed twice, and I'm not falling for this today. Not after the stress of dealing with my fucking unfaithful husband's businesses..."

"See?"

Cumulatively, Ramses has listened to more phone sex than you will ever have in your life.

As ever, he has a remarkable ear for the rhythms, the things that slip...

"This is why I need you back on your game."

Your asset makes a sour face, but says nothing, his eyes fixed on the tape player.

"For the last time -- and I promise, the next one will be accompanied by some dramatic act of self-destruction -- I have never once been unfaithful. If anything, I displayed an excess of fidelity."

"She's my fucking sister, Gonzalo!"

The suggestion of usable information is cruelly whisked away.

"Exactly! You and I are bound by an insane pheromonal determinism, Marcella, don't you see?"

"Anyone who shares your genes is subject to the same inexorable pull. Frankly, it would be weird if I hadn't fucked her."

"Sound logic."

Ramses taps his temple conspiratorially.

"Gonzalo, you sick, violent man..." A kind of throaty intensity enters her voice.

"You know what I need at the end of a long day, Marcella. Come on..."

"What about my day, Gonzalo? Your fucking supplier..." Previously beginning to dissolve, she bristles again.

Target acquired. Ramses' ears perk to attention by your side.

"Don't talk to me about my fucking supplier right now. I've already injected myself with the formula. You know the one."

"He scares me, Gonzalo... I don't know that I want to deal with him."

"With who? Give us something we can use."

"Don't speak to me about those fucking people right now. I told you, it's the driver you deal with, not the Azzurri."

"But Gonzalo, he has my number..."

"You heard that? Azzurris."

"Not a whole lot of them in Portofiro, but those few are rotting in money."

"God curse you, woman! Already I'm starting to lose sensation in my lower body. You can do what you want with it, Marcella. It's yours..."

"Oh, you sick fuck. You would paralyse yourself for me?"

Irrigational miracles. This is her shit.

"I already have."

"Ugh. And you leave me to run your businesses alone?"

"All you need to remember about that business is the passphrase, Marce, that's it."

"Derrotado, pero inclaudicable," she recites.

Roughly: 'Defeated, but incapable of surrender.'

Every little act a show of defiance in the face of imagined enemies, down to even his passphrases.

"There it is!"

"Got it." Quicker than you on the pen and paper, Ramses already has it down.

Success nears. Big man hungers.

He can almost taste those anticonvulsants.

"That's all there is to it. Those words, through the Party Alley payphone -- make sure you do it at night this time -- and you never need to hear that man's voice again."

"Ugh. Fine..." There's the sound of paper being violently shuffled.

"Now come on. I'm as hard as a rock but unfeeling, unresisting... vulnerable to anyone who wanted to do something to me."

"Got what we needed."

"Let it run."

"Roger that." He tries to muster a grin.

All sense of humour is gone. All he wants is to go chasing after those meds.

"My legs are gone, my groin is numbing. From the waist down, I'm yours."

"Soon I'm going to lose the upper body and this phone will slip from my hands, you better be here when it does..." His voice becomes more constricted with every sentence.

Unnamable homemade concoctions surround the motor cortex and zero in for the kill.

"You depraved man. But what if somebody cuts you while you can't move? What if they wound you?"

"Then I would be fucked. Utterly fucked. Helpless as a cripple." His breath runs short. "Get over here. Now!"

Marcella's breathing deepens to the beginnings of panting. Suddenly, the line goes dead.

A recent darkening night. Dr. Gonza waits in his office chair. Unable to show his usual bravado, unable even to say 'Board', he surrenders to the sadistic mercies of whoever and whatever comes through his door.

"We'll have to look into this paralysing agent. Could be useful for, you know, spy stuff."

"Mm. Not my thing, H, fucking... sounds like the doctor had a good night, though." He shrugs.

"Shall we you know... go over the plan?"

"Did you know this paralysis fetish was a thing?"

"There's someone for everything. Sounds like your doctor had a good night, though." He shrugs.

"Got what we needed. Let's talk about the next step." (Conclude.)

"Cricket communion: complete." He sighs and lies back. Sweat glistens on his forehead.

For a moment, he'd forgotten how weak he is.

"You alright?"

"Just about holding it together, H." He gulps. "The dealer's number. You got it?"

"Yeah, it was on Gonza's desk."

"Alright." He nods, a few times, to himself. "Hersh, guessing we don't have the sol for this kind of deal... is this going where I think it's going?"

Nickin' meds by the trolley. Proper smash and grab.

"It's a stick-up job."

"I assume you have a gun?"

"Yes." (Lie.)

Alternative wording

"Yes."

"Good. What next?"

Synaptic routes light up. A grid of variables emerges: timing, sight lines, crowd density...

"I place an order as soon as possible."

"From the Party Alley phone." He nods along. "That's the easy part."

Maximum opacity. 1) Face covered 2) Bulky clothing -- both of which you already carry. Good.

"I'll be full incognito. Wait for the driver, neutralise him or scared him off, drive away."

"Where do you want me?"

"Ramses. You're in no shape for that, man."

"No argument there. But I'm coming."

It's pointless to argue. You won't be stopping him.

Hunger's good.

"You stay by the stairs, at a distance. No stepping in unless it goes sideways."

"Back-up. I can live with that." He nods. "It's a plan then. After you place the call from P.A., call me, and I'll be there."

Unless we don't call him. You've already got us, you don't need him too.

With a loose plan in place, Ramses takes in a big breath and exhales, punctuating whatever he's feeling with a couple of steady nods.

One for fear, two for guilt, three for determination.

"There anything else? Or...?"

"Here, resting. Safe. It's non-negotiable."

"You're out of your fucking mind. I'm coming with." He glares. "Non-negotiable, Hersh."

"So you can do what? Distract 'em with your involuntary convulsions?"

"Fuck you. I'll bring the lightbulb, then." He growls, vaguely offended.

Just because you think something, doesn't mean you need to say it.

"Once you place the order, you call me. I'll haul ass. I want to be there as back-up, at least."

"After that, I wait for the delivery and ambush the driver."

"You're not worried about..." He indicates his face. "Fucking, being seen?"

Why didn't we think of that?

That part was self-evident -- that's why you didn't think of it. This was not a failing on your part. Do not admit to it being a failing.

"Obviously I will be covering up. I am a trained operant, Ramses."

"Hey, you know. Just... checking."

"Shit, you're right. Good shout."

"Hey, you know. Just... checking."

You need maximum opacity. You have enough to cover your face, but you need loose or bulky clothing. Find some.

Don some loose or bulky clothing -- which you already have. You'll need a mask or something to cover your face.

Don some loose or bulky clothing -- something you are yet to acquire. You'll need a mask or something to cover your face too.

"I'll try to find some gear in order to go full incognito as I ambush the driver."

"Probably for the best. You don't want these people after you." A small twitch in his left hand.

"I'm a professional, Ramses. I have double guns."

"Shit. Someone's prepared. Alright, then what?"

"I do. I also have a 66 Wolves toy sword."

"Are you even trained in those?" He squints. "Forget it. You got a gun. What's next?"

"Not yet, but I will."

"I'd really fucking prefer it if you were armed, H. Unarmed hijackers... not the most fucking successful species, yeah? But anyway..."

Unarmed, armed... high, disabled, maimed, dead -- there's nothing that could put Ramses off the job at this point.

"So you put in an order from that Party Alley phone. What else?"

"You see a scenario in which we don't steal the merchandise?"

"Another year convulsing for rich fucks, and maybe I could put in a quarter of an order." A corner of his mouth twitches. "No, I don't see another way."

"It's going somewhere very, very cool and possibly violent."

"Shit. I figured."

THE MARKET HAS FAILED. THE TIME HAS COME FOR STATE-DRIVEN REDISTRIBUTION.

"I got three numbers from him. It has to be one of these."

"No... there was a notepad with a bunch of numbers on his desk, but I didn't get it."

"Fucking... Can you, please?" There is a note of desperation in his voice.

"That's all we're missing, and if she makes the call before us we might not get another chance."

"I'll be on it right after this, Ram."

He nods, which unsteadies him, taking a couple of seconds to find balance again.

"Relax, will you? I'll get them in my own time."

"You can't... H, this is urgent. Please."

"Alright, I get it."

"So. We have the passphrase."

"'Derrotado, pero inclaudicable'." He nods. "The dealer's number. You know it?"

"I want to check out the other recordings."

"Roger."

As the line clicks off you hear Marcella's breath growing heavy, as Gonza's grows fainter and fainter.

"Alright, let's figure out our plan. (Conclude.)"

"That's kind of sad, actually."

"I don't care what it means." Quicker than you on the pen and paper, Ramses already has it down.

Take note of it and keep listening.

Ramses flashes you a piece of paper. Quicker than you on the pen, he already has it down.

"Ram, is there any way to find out what numbers have been calling her?"

"Not with our setup." He shakes his head.

Listen.

Just listen.

"Piece of work."

"Sounds like a man who knows what he wants."

"Kind of hot, but I doubt we're going to get anywhere with this."

"Wait for it." He holds up his palm.

Keep listening.

"Let's wait and see what kind of business they mean."

Say nothing, just listen.

"I think this one's just a sex call, Ram."

"Not just. Sex calls are where everything comes out."

Just listen.

Warm electrical hum. A heavy click and the rush of ambient noise entering as the receiver is picked up.

"Play the third one."

Alternative wording

"Alright, now, just for kicks, the last one."

Alternative wording

"Let's hear the one with Dr Hugo again."

"Playing." Ramses leans in and hits the play button on the device.

Alternative wording

"Doctor versus doctor. Should be good." He grins and leans in to hit play.

Again, a soft click precedes the wash of room tone seeping in, and the sound of someone breathing:

"Ahem. Hello?... Hello? Who's there?"

"Doctor..." Laboured breathing echoes across the line. "Help me..."

"Do you remember? Your first year at the hospital. The little girl whose tummy was hurting really, really bad...?"

Sweet mercy! That's no human waveform!

"It's a little girl's ghost, Rams!"

"Nah, I've heard spectral calls before. They mostly cry a lot." He points at his gear. "Plus this call's from Gonza's end, remember?"

"It's me, little Cecelia Paz..." The breathing intensifies. "My da-da trusted you, doctor. I trusted you. And you let me die, bleeding out on the slab..."

"I know it's you, Gonzalo."

"Fuck you! It's not m-- I mean, no, doctor, it's me, Cecilia..."

The illusion's gone. You can hear him slurring.

"You're drunk, Gonzalo. You need to stop doing this."

"WHERE IS MY APPENDIIIIX, DOCTOR?"

SLAM. The receiver crashes. Your eardrums can't take much more of this.

"Okay, that one gave us nothing."

"I was into it." Ramses exhales smoke and shrugs. "But I wouldn't call it helpful."

"Gonza's growing on me."

"I get it." He exhales smoke and nods in agreement. "I'm thinking I might just leave the cricket there."

"You know, just fucking get high and listen in every once in a while." He grins.

It's not just about this call. He's only now remembering that this is his element.

"What a sick, sick man."

"Yeah." He blows out a ring of smoke. "Although I'm thinking I might just leave the cricket there."

SLAM. The receiver crash sends shockwaves rippling through your eardrum.

Just listen.

"That's messed up."

"Gotta give it to Gonza. He's got a gift."

"So Dr. Hugo kills dogs and little girls..."

"Wow." He pauses the recording. "Who's the guy?"

"Local doctor. Runs a pet clinic not far from the Bazaar."

"So, he euthanises dogs. It's not like he's doing it for pleasure, right? Hopefully."

"He's Karolina's dad."

"No way." A crease deepens above his brow. "She's talked about him. He sounded like a nice guy."

"He used to work with Gonza. They don't like each other."

"Explains the late night prank call, then."

Warm electrical hum. A heavy click and the rush of ambient noise entering as the receiver is picked up.

"Got what we came for. Let's talk" (Conclude.)

"Ramses, you look like your old self again.

"Can't say I feel the same, but..." He blushes and makes a vague little salute.

In spite of himself, he relaxes into a familiar position as he hits play.

"Let's commune." (Initiate.)

"Communing." Ramses leans in to hit play and assumes his familiar wiretapping position.

His personal sedentary yoga - hunched, elbows on his knees, staring at the device from zero distance.

A fraction of the gang reunites! Not all is lost.

"Actually, wait, not now. We'll listen to these another time." (Back out.)

"But..." For a moment he looks flummoxed, but he lets it go.

"It's whatever you say it is, Hersh."