Episode 101 Previous Episode	Next Episode
Left Brain and Right Hand Bon Jovi’s ‘Dead or Alive’ played just loud enough to cover the soft purr of the car’s engine as it idled at the red light. In the deep night, morning just out of sight behind the horizon, Armand sat with his elbow propped against the car door, absently picking at his teeth with his thumbnail. “I don’t like this,” he finally declared. He looked at Everett in the passenger’s seat. “This is the best plan we’ve got,” Everett assured him. “It’s the best, and most-solid, course of action.” Armand stared out the window at the street corner. Outside, the pre-dawn air was strangely still. The featureless sky overhead was stagnate. “I went to go see that Madame Kieri woman that Marilyn’s always talking about.” Everett rolled his eyes but said nothing. “She told me that someone I knew was going to sacrifice their life for me.” “Hmph,” Everett snorted with a smile. The light turned green and Armand drove them on. “There’s nothing that’ll put a burr up a knight’s shorts faster than finding out someone else took the bullet for them.” “Ev, I’m being serious,” Armand said. “Apparently not,” he argued, his right hand hanging from the stabilizing handle over the door. “Not if you’re bringing fortune tellers into the conversation.” “One would give their life for me,” Armand said. “One would pave the way to the promised land, one would save all the world.” “And you’re going to meet a tall, dark stranger who will…” The car squealed to a stop in the middle of the street. “Damn it!” Armand yelled. “Shut up and stop interrupting me.” Everett was quiet, taken by surprise. “Now, look, I don’t do the whole psychic thing either. But I’m not going to deny, what that woman said to me shook me up. And you’re getting to walk into the lion’s den. “Armand, there isn’t going to be a fight or anything,” Everett said as red and blue flashed in through the rear window. Both knights turned and looked to see a squad car behind them. “Pull to the side or keep going,” came the magnified voice from the police car’s horn. Armand turned and started forward slowly. “I’ll be okay,” Everett said. “I know you plan on being okay,” Armand said. “I just worry others might have a different plan.” The car pulled in next to the burnt red brick building, giving Armand and Everett a partially hidden vantage of the Red Carpet Club in the middle of the block. “There it is,” Armand said about the ghost town-like dance club. “You sure you want to do this?” he asked as Everett shut the door. Armand watched him walk around the car and head towards the club. “Of course you are,” he sighed. The walk to the club was cautious. Everett was hyper-aware of his surroundings as he approached the front stairs. With no crowd or bouncers about, the city street felt hollow. He jogged up the steps to the front door and pushed on it, not surprised to find it unlocked. Waiting inside the doors, Everett saw an army. Sixteen knights in red and black stood impatiently around the main dance floor. With the dance lights off and the overheads on, the room was surreally featureless. Just the same, the absence of the music made the room into an endless sea of echoes, especially when he heard his name. Everett looked down the steps to where Alan had been talking with several knights, but had now turned around. “You’ve got a lot of guts coming here,” he said, doing nothing to hide the cutlass that waited at his side. Everett took hold of his black trench coat and held it open, showing the absence of a sword. He turned around slowly for all to see before he began to descend the steps. “Indulge me for three minutes,” he said to Alan, ambivalent to the other knights. “As for my guts, one,” he said, holding up his finger, “my people came here to have a good time; to unwind. They weren’t looking to start any trouble. Two, Morgan Brandywyne is not one of my people. His actions are his own.” With the final word, Everett reached the last step, standing just a few feet away from and a few inches above Alan. “Was anyone seriously hurt?” “Only your people,” Alan said directly. Everett breathed out cautiously. He looked at several of the knights near the entrance to the 80s dance room. “You and I need to talk.” “If you think sending your people…” Alan started. “In private, preferably,” Everett continued. “I don’t have anything to say I don’t mind saying in front of these fine ladies and gentlemen,” he clarified with a nod of his head to the knights, “but it would make life easier if we had a conversation rather than a speech.” “We’re on the verge of open war between your faction and my knights and you want to talk?” Alan asked. “Can you think of any time more important to talk than when on the verge of open war?” Everett countered. Alan withdrew a bit at the comment. He looked to his left, where Ryoko stood with Dante. “The manager’s office in the back is a good place for us to talk.” “Please pardon me if I suggest somewhere a bit more neutral,” Everett said diplomatically. “There’s an all-night coffee house two blocks over, on Westing. It’s usually petty dead at this hour. Your crew is welcome to follow, but this should be as uncomplicated as possible.” “A lot of demands, Everett,” Alan said. “A clear idea of how precarious the current situation is,” he disputed respectfully. Alan looked to Ryoko and Dante one last time. “Alright,” he said as he turned back to the Blue Knight. “We’ll go. We’ll talk. We’ll part ways.” He took a step towards Everett, looking him in the eyes. “What happens after that, though, is still very much up for debate.”
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