Nuum Story Part 2 of 5: The Last Nerv

Chicago 1927.

From the opposite side of the river, the city was an insomniac, flicking its lights and throwing tantrums under the rising moon. Leaning against a glowing lamppost, dressed in a black suit and smoking a fragrant cigarette, António listened to the faint musical notes of jazz echoing over the lapping water while he waited for a new recruit of the High Order to pick him up. He looked at his watch. It read: 9:02.

“Late,” António grumbled.

He flicked the excess ash from his cigarette, took in a long-winded drag, then exhaled and filled the cool night air with smoke. The echo of jazz began to rumble until the music was nothing more than the deep growl of a Ford Model T driving towards him. It haphazardly rounded a corner from the main street and parked in front of António with a young and fresh looking man in the driver’s seat.

“Nerv,” António stated.

The young man smiled from the half-cracked window, nodded his head, and replied, “I’ve got a lot.”

“You’ll need it.” António flicked his cigarette into the wind and entered the passenger side door of the car.

“And your name is?” Nerv asked.

António stared at the young man for a tense moment before Nerv decided to put the car in gear and drive.

“Bottom’s Dreamland Café,” said António.

Nerv nodded and headed towards the jazz hot spot. As they drove, António could sense the itch his driver had to converse. He knew he had questions and he was certain that the recruit wanted to prove his worth. Both traits that António once had at the beginning as well. António appreciated the biting of his tongue and commitment to driving in silence as the car rumbled along the roads.

They crossed the bridge over the river and headed to the south side of the city. The streets became snakes, curving around buildings and coiling into dead ends. The scales of colorful people dressed up to enjoy the night slithered under streetlamps and over chalk-white sidewalks. Even in the midst of prohibition, Chicago was immune to the dry spells and clasps of the law. In fact, one man and one man only ensured that the city stayed wet and loose. Nothing happened on or off the streets that he did not order or know about. Nobody has ever seen his face, but the entire city has felt his presence. They call him the Boogeyman.

The Dreamland Café wasn’t far, and by the time they arrived, less than fifteen minutes had passed. Nerv parked the car and started to get out the driver’s side when António stopped him.

“Wait.”

António stared at the front of the café. A large man shaped like a box, wearing a blue pinstripe suit, guarded the entrance. His silver eyes shimmered.

“A minion,” said António.

“What is a minion?”

“A soon to be brain-dead sack of brute strength and magic,” António answered. He exited the car and marched towards the large man. “Stay put.”

As António approached the large man, their eyes locked onto each other’s.

“You wanna dance, scurf?” asked the large man.

António retrieved a medium sized dagger from inside his suit jacket, unsheathed the silver blade, and burst into a sprint. His teeth bared as a green fire began to consume the dagger. The large man balled his fists and ran to meet António head on. Less than four feet from each other, António jumped into the air, sailing across the night like a deadly and graceful ballerina, and stabbed the fiery blade into the middle of the large man’s forehead. As they landed, the man’s lifeless body crumpled onto the road.

He stepped over the dead man and motioned for Nerv to follow. Nerv jumped out of the car and ran over to António, kicking the large man as he passed.

“Wow! Just…WOW!” said Nerv.

António pushed the door open to the café. “Don’t you dare drink any of that giggle water while we’re here. We aren’t going on a toot. We don’t have much time to waste, thanks to you.”

“What? I was only a couple minutes la—.”

“And now, WE’RE late. So,” António ordered and pushed Nerv inside.

“You know, if anyone could use a drink, I think it’s you,” Nerv said and shrugged António’s hand off him.

“Once we have what we came here for, maybe I will. Move.”

The café was busy. Finely dressed folks danced to the melodies of Louis Armstrong as his puffed-out cheeks blew jazzy tunes from his golden horn. Vodka and whiskey flowed from the bar and trickled into the bellies of Dreamland’s patrons like streams of after a rain. The buzzed were loud and the drunk roared. Nobody seemed to notice António and Nerv as they made their way to the back offices of the building. The two discovered a short hallway and a brown door at the end of it with a translucent window. António walked to the door and opened it without hesitation.

“Excuse me? Nobody should be back here,” shouted a nasally voice.

A small and balding man sat behind a polished wooden desk in the dimly lit room. Tall stacks of cash lay in three rows in front of him, and three red glowing stones sat on top of them. As António entered the room, the small man recognized his face and became incredibly nervous.

“You—you’re him!” said the man. “High Order is the true and only light I live to serve.”

António nodded.

“Plea—please, don’t hurt me, okay? I know what you want. It’s located at the Henry E. Legler Regional Library.”

“Be clearer,” said António.

“It is in an underground chamber. Find the book titled, Main Street by Sinclair Lewis. Next to the shelf that book sits on, is a door with a circle and two triangles on it. It will lead you there. But beware, it is guarded by a few heavies.”

António nodded and the two of them left just as quickly as they entered the café. They piled back into the Ford Model T and began to drive to the library.

“Why was he so scared of you and the High Order,” Nerv questioned.

“He is a man in debt.”

Nerv raised his eyebrow and asked, “What kind of debt?”

“The kind that sends a man like me to his door. The kind that he might have to clear with his last breath. The kind that I’ll put on you if you keep asking questions.”

Nerv swallowed his next words and sealed his lips, driving the rest of the way to the library in silence. It was barely 10:00 when they arrived at the parking lot of the quiet building nestled in the belly of the boozy city.

Nerv raised a curious eyebrow and asked, “And, what exactly are we here for?”

António paused. “You don’t know?”

“They didn’t tell me. Said, get the car and meet you. The rest would play out as we go,” Nerv answered.

António sighed out of frustration. “We are getting a key. That key unlocks something that leads to a relic.”

“A relic?” said Nerv.

“Now you know.”

The two men stepped out of the car and looked upon the massive building of concrete. António liked libraries. They held secrets, often in plain sight. Secrets that had led him to learning all about the High Order and the Global Society of Scholars. Secrets that revealed certain spells and magical incantations to aid him in his missions.

“Isn’t it strange that the library is still open?” Nerv asked as they approached the doors.

António didn’t respond. He pushed open the door and entered the library. Nerv shrugged his shoulders and followed him into the building. The lights were low and the atmosphere had the pulse of a man on his death bed. Shelves of books lined the walls and many evenly spaced rows throughout the building. Large paintings of colorful landscapes, stern political figures, and wild animals decorated the walls. Above them, directly in the center of the three-story high ceiling, was a stained-glass dome and underneath, on the marble tile, were several wooden tables with small gold and green lamps. Besides the librarian there were only four people that António could see as he made his way inside.

“Alright, let’s find that door,” said António.

“What’s the deal with the symbol?” Nerv asked.

“It’s the mark of the Boogeyman. He runs this entire city. It’s how he marks what’s his.”

“You think people would recognize that, right?” Nerv asked.

“They do.”

As they wandered the library looking for the door, the librarian appeared behind them.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked kindly from behind her glasses and stiff posture.

António turned around and met her eyes with a cold stare. Most would have turned and left upon such a glare. Not her. She stood and asked again only more directly.

“Is there something I can help you with, gentlemen?”

Nerv watched as António stayed quiet and simply stared at her, now more curiously than cold. As the tension grew between them, the four other people in the building were now staring at them too.

“We are looking for the book titled, Main Street by Sinclair Lewis,” said Nerv, unable to bear the silent tug of war any longer.

“Actually,” António interrupted. “We are looking for a door.”

“A door? What kind of door?” asked the librarian.

“A door that leads to a key.”

“That is unusual,” she replied. “Typically, you need the key first.”

António smiled.

“What does this door look like?” she asked.

“It has a circle with two triangles inside of it,” António answered.

Before his sentence came to an end, the librarian and four remaining people exploded into bright streams of blue electricity, transforming into potbellied, pea-green trolls with greasy white hair, elephant-like skin, and jagged teeth. A shockwave sent both António and Nerv flying backwards into the bookshelf behind them. António looked up. The librarian’s pale eyes locked onto his. She let out an ear-piercing roar and ran towards him.

“Move!” António ordered as he scrambled to himself up.

As they raced around bookshelves, António pulled two golden pistols from within his suit coat, both engraved with odd symbols. He dropped to a knee by the edge of a bookshelf and lined up the shot for his first target, the librarian. A gleam of light from the golden gun glinted in the corner of her eye. She turned to António and growled. He squeezed back on the trigger and a fiery eruption that could have belonged to a cannon exploded from the mouth of the pistol. With lightning like reflexes, the librarian dodged the incoming fireball. The troll behind her did not. He absorbed the shot and completely disintegrated into ash. The three other trolls stopped for a moment at this sight. Once the ash settled, they became enraged and tore through the library after the men.

“If you’ve got any weapons, now is the time to use them!” António shouted to Nerv.

“What weapons? I’m just the driver!” Nerv shouted back.

“Fucking recruits,” António said to himself. “Stick to me!”

Nerv stayed close to António as they snuck around to an adjacent bookshelf. António aimed his pistols at the three incoming trolls and pulled the trigger.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Three balls of fire soared through the air and buried into the jiggling bodies of their marks, making all three trolls exploded into ash.

“One to go,” António whispered.

The librarian was hiding now. As they searched for her, something caught António’s eye. Off in the distance, in the back corner, tucked into the dim light and shadows of a cluster of tables was a wooden door. On it, the exact symbol António was looking for.

“I see the door,” António whispered. “On three, follow me and stay close.”

Nerv nodded in agreement.

“One. Two—”

The bookshelf toppled over on them. Leather bound and hard cover books fell onto them as the librarian appeared. She smacked António and sent him flying across the room. Then, she grabbed Nerv by his neck and brought his face to her hers.

“Gah! Smells so bad!” said Nerv.

António picked himself up. The librarian opened her mouth wide and brought Nerv’s face in closer.

“No! Don’t you dare eat me!”

António aimed his pistols. Nerv was in the way.

“Kick her as hard as you can!” António shouted.

Nerv kicked the librarian’s ribs as hard as he could. He heard a loud snap. The librarian howled and dropped him. António took the shot and watched as the bullet buried itself into her chest. Ash exploded all over Nerv as António raced over to him.

“Trolls have soft ribs. Remember that,” António said as he helped Nerv to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Both men walked to the door. To António’s surprise it wasn’t locked. He opened it and found a spiral of concrete stairs descending into darkness below. António led and Nerv followed. They twisted down two flights of stairs until they reached a landing and another door. This one was green and looked to be made of emerald and gold.

“Well, that certainly is fancy,” said Nerv.

“Boogeyman is said to be a bit eccentric.” .

As the door opened, António discovered an empty, golden room with a single round table in the middle of it and three candles illuminating a small ivory box on top of the table.

“Look,” Nerv said, pointing to the walls and ceiling. “Think that’s all real gold?”

António touched the wall closest to him and answered, “Seems like it. Stay put, there might be traps.”

Nerv nodded and watched as António slowly made his way to the table. With each step, António anticipated some sort of response to his attempt to get to the table. A lose tile that if stepped on would launch poisoned darts at him, or an invisible string that would trigger an ax to cut his head off. Yet, as he inched closer and closer, all the way up to the table, nothing happened. No trap was set into action, nor anyone alerted to respond. António simply reached down, opened the ivory box, and collected a rusted key.

“Time to go have that drink,” said António.

Author notes: This story is my contribution and part 2 of 5 of a larger story and the shared world of Nuum that was created in collaboration with my peers/artists/writers/fellow students at Ringling College of Art and Design during the Spring Semester of 2023 Shared Worlds Class taught by Rick Dakan.