EIGHTEEN: JOLENE

“And of course it's the Winchester. This translation shit sticks out like a sore thumb once you know the secret. And you sure this is the best place to look? It seems… a little sketchy.”

“I’m positive,” Dumbass replied. “A lot of the Chirp reviews mentioned it was the best place for information in town. Apparently a real wolf of a data broker likes to hang out here.”

I furrowed my brow. “Chirp?”

“Yeah, it’s like Yelp but for space chickens.” Dumbass climbed up my leg and perched its rotten Frankenstein body on my shoulder. “And speaking of chickens, I think it’s a good idea if we put away my avatar for now.”

My right eyebrow shot up towards the bioluminescent glow that served for a sun here. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it? An avatar? Stealing ideas from James Cameron now, are we?”

“Yes.” Dumbass huffed. “I made it so I get to name it. And this is a Gallic bar, by the way. While most of the patrons this close to Absolom’s core have no love lost for the Collective, asking questions with the head of fascist war chicken on your shoulder would go over like plans to build a Kentucky Fried Chicken next to the National Mall in Cluckington, DC.”

“Smart thinking.” I pointed to Weevul. “What about him? Don’t they like to, um, you know?”

“Eat him? Nah, they’re used to the accused rolling through. And since he’s in a party, they’ll leave him alone unless you start something. So don’t start something.” Dumbass snickered. “Oh, and I’ve been inside your head, Flap. I know the things you’ve done with barn animals, so don’t think this is an opportunity for you to pick up chicks.”

Weevul craned his head. “Why would Flap lift baby Gallics?”

“Why don’t you ask him yourself, bug brain? It’s one hell of a story. A bawdy tale only suitable for listeners over the age of… how old are you again?”

“Weevul is very young. Not sure if old enough for this bawdy business.” The Curculian sucked in his eyestalks, a gesture I now knew meant embarrassment. “Only 832 years old.”

“Eight hundred and thirty-two?!” Dumbass and I snapped in unison.

“Holy shit!” I added. “That’s like a thousand lifetimes!”

“For a duck, maybe,” Dumbass said. “But he’s old enough for your story. It’s nothing too gross, Weevul. Only a little cross species pollination. Though I guess since we're not talking about plants you subtract pollination and replace insem—”

“Alright! That’s enough, Dumbass!” I winced. If I had eyestalks, they would have sucked in too. "And I’d… rather not."

“Yes.” Weevul shook his head. “No think Weevul want to know now, anyway. Sound like when Curculian cave beast hunt down trixlesnort to kill, liquify insides and lay eggs so baby cave beasts have nice warm home and tasty rancid meal upon hatching.”

“No, Weevul. It certainly does not sound like that. Flap just snuck into a coop and ducked a chicken. What you just said... is completely ducked up. Anyway, I'm over it. Do whatever the hell you two want. Talk about trixlesnorts til the cows come home for all I care. I’m on my break.” Dumbass climbed down to my chest and disappeared into my inventory. “Ah, home sweet home! Feels good to be back. Maintaining the connection to Drok’s implant was wearing on me.”

“Yeah, well don’t get too comfortable in—”

“Could you please leave me alone?! I’m watching Out of Gas. It’s my all-time favorite episode of Firefly—goes over all the cool backstory of how Mal got the ship and threw his crew together. And… you’re ruining it.”

I rolled my eyes and held out a hand to Weevul. “C’mon, pal. Looks like me and you are going this one alone. Let’s head inside and start asking some questions. And not about trixlesnorts.”

The inside of the Winchester looked just like any other Earth bar—aside from all the aliens inside, of course. Mirrored signs for different brands of space beverages lined every wall, a brushed metal bar top with stools took up most of the center, and there was even what looked like a combination bowling alley and dartboard along the back wall. It was an interesting-looking game. As we strolled past the bouncer, I watched a group of burly Gallics wearing matching teal tunics take turns hurling each other down the lane, while the rest of their gang cheered as the hurlee tried to drive their beak into the center of a plate-sized bull’s eye.

One chicken got stuck, and I thought I heard his beak crack when they yanked him out. As a fellow owner of an external jaw, the sound made my legs weak. But those way-past-tuned-up chickens laughed it off and ordered another round.

I would have looked for a place to sit down and collect myself, but the fact that nobody even bothered to turn and look at me as I scoped out the place pulled me right out of my funk. That, and it disappointed me beyond belief. Everybody always turned to look at the mysterious stranger walking into the local watering hole in movies, and that nobody did led me to two conclusions. Either I was neither strange nor mysterious, or even worse, beings didn’t really do that kind of stuff in real life. I honestly couldn’t say which one bothered me more.

Okay, so it was obviously the strange and mysterious one. What can I say? I like the idea of being the bird version of Eastwood's man with no name, strolling across the galaxy in my own eleven herbs and spices version of a space western.

Anyway, as I walked towards the bar, I tested one of my conclusions by nodding at toughest looking member of a pack of wolf men playing cards on a purple felt-topped table. “How you doin', Maverick? Think you can pull the ace you need to beat Otto Octavious and Our Man Flint out of thin air?”

Yeah, I ducked up. The entire pack was less than amused.

And they weren’t men, either. That was just me making a stupid assumption in a place I knew nothing about. But after a beat, the one I took to be the alpha... female nodded back and spoke in a singsong drawl that reminded me of Dolly Parton in The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. “You seriously can’t be asking about my hand, sugar? Ain’t you never played cards in a bar before?”

I thought for a moment, then shook my head. “Yeah, no. Nope. Honestly, can’t say that I have.”

“Well, I guess I’ll chalk that up to you not knowing any better.” She stepped forward and adjusted the lapels of my duster. “And I’ll give you a free pass on calling me Maverick since I can't fault anyone for chasing a little tail. Name’s Jolene, and I’m more than fine, darlin’, now that you’re here to look at. How are you, sugar?”

“Well,” I gulped, as I pulled at the collar of my t-shirt. “I’m feeling a little ducking warm for one. Is it… normally this hot in here?”

“No, not normally.” She laughed, then licked her lips. “But it is when me and my pack are looking for a tasty dish like you.”

“Hehe,” I laughed. “Tasty dish. That’s funny. Wait… what?!”

“I said we’re not here to pick up chicks dogdammit!” Dumbass screaming inside my head. "And she wants to eat--"

“Shut the duck up, Dumbass!” I bellowed in return. “You're squishing on my flavor. And she ain’t even a chick, so calm down. She’s a wolf lady or whatever!”

The wolf lady in question, Jolene, leaned away. “A wolf lady or whatever?! Sugar, I’m the most alluring Lupine you will ever have the pleasure to meet.” She flashed her canines. “And speaking of whatever, I know you're just a fresh accused. Still, you’ve shown some gusto by even gettin' this far. But you clearly have no idea who you’re talking to.”

“Listen, I’m so sorry.” I ran a hand through my frill as I tried to find a way out of the bad situation my implant had placed me in, yet again. “The Dumbass outburst was just me being upset about this cheap entertainment mod I had installed by a... sketchy brain repairman. It’s stuck playing the same three seconds of a song I hate over and over and over again, like a Walkman with a scratched CD. Truth is, me and Weevul here? We’re looking for some information and it's hard to mind your manners when there's a broken record player inside your head. And, to be frank, when you find yourself talking to a walking work of art. I didn’t mean to offend, ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

“You dirty ducker! Of all the things you could have told her I was you went with a damn Walkman?! You didn’t even have the damn decency to call me an MP3 player—or even”—it made a gagging noise—“a Zune. After all I’ve done for you?”

I ignored it. Dumbass didn’t stop complaining, but I ignored it.

Jolene stared at me for the longest time, mouth agape and a strange look on her long face. She snapped her mouth shut, raised her eyebrows, and blinked at several times. “Ma’am?! Who you calling ma’am?”

I looked around the room for help. Weevul, bless his little carapace, must have seen the writing on the wall because he was intently investigating a a floor tile. “Uh…”

She burst out laughing. “I’m just ducking with you, sugar. Truth is, I barely understood anything y’all just said, but I did get one thing. And that was information. And honey, if you came to the Winchester looking for information, you certainly offended the right woman. Because ain’t no piece of information come through here without going in one of my pointy ears and coming out the other. Now”—she ran a claw up my chest until she hit the bottom of my bill, then dragged it all the way to the tip, and gave my a playful pat right between my nostrils—“since I like you so much, I’m gonna answer your first question for free.”

“Wait, that's awesome!” Weevul and I exchanged an actual glance. “But what if I have more?”

She shrugged. “Depends on the question. If it's straightforward and you catch me—or put me—in a good mood? I just might answer it. If it’s a hard one, well, that you gotta pay for. So… shoot your shot, sugar.”

I took a breath, held it, and said, “We’re looking for a space goblin. Short, green, pointed ears—wait.” I held up a finger. “Do you mind giving me a moment?”

“I don’t mind giving you one.” She shrugged, then looked me up and down. “But take two and I might start to mind.”

“Be real quick then.” I turned away and lowered my voice. “Dumbass, what the duck does a space goblin look like?”

Dumbass didn’t respond in words. Instead, it brought up a tooltip that showed me a render of a space goblin. It was about as close to a stereotypical fantasy goblin as you could get, minus the skinny jeans, space pea coat, scarf, and not-worn-ironically fedora.

“Thanks, I owe you one.” I turned back around. “Yeah, space goblin. Female. Short, green, pointed ears. Dresses in a way she thinks is trendy. I wouldn’t put some kind of brightly colored hair out of the question. Maybe a pixie cut? Hangs out with a guy called Toe-Knee the Cosmopolitan Space Goblin. Oh, and she's an alcoholic. Like… bad. Like probably can't drive anymore bad.”

She cocked her hips. “Honey, if you’re gonna get a free question, at least make it a good one. Y’all the third accused that's come in looking for her, and I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told them. Her name is Armanda—"

"Amanda? That's not very hipster. You sure she doesn't go by Mandy or something."

"Don't cut me off when I'm speaking. And the name is Armanda. Not Amanda. Armanda. And that lush of a goblin hasn’t been in here. Most likely, she’s already off doing the quest. And you should be too, sugar. So I’d get a move on to that first temple if I was you.”

“Dammit.” I cursed myself. But I wasn't about to let a golden opportunity to get information slip through my feathered fingers. And despite all the snarky banter, I could tell Jolene was sweet on me. Either that or she wanted to eat me. "Jolene, how you feeling about that second question?”

“Not good.” She chuckled. “But seeing as how you look more lost than a moon in winter, I’m willing to work with you. What you got to trade?”

I checked my inventory. “A couple bags of chicken fe—”

She bared her teeth. "Look at my mouth. Hard pass."

“Hmm. How about some Curculian Jelly?”

She frowned as she looked down and to my right, almost like she was scanning something. “Honey, I may be a predator, and may have done some terrible things in my life, but I am not about to eat the last of a species.”

“What?” I furrowed my brow. “Oh? You think I meant Weevul?”

Weevul raised a pair of hands and waved. “Yes, down here, Flap. Weevul knows he owes you, but would prefer not to be eaten today.”

“No, Weevul, that’s not what I meant. I was offering your friends in my inventory."

"Still rude and slightly offensive, but Weevul approve."

“You two are cuter than a bug's ear.” Jolene laughed. “Like I said. I’m a predator—a carnivore. I like my kill fresh.”

I hung my head. “Yeah, I get it. But that’s all I got to offer.”

“Then go ask your Public Defender. They’re the ones that should be helping you with this stuff, anyway.”

I didn’t say anything.

“You don’t have one yet, do you?” She considered me for several minutes, then flashed that broad grin that brought the wholesome image of Dolly back to the forefront of my mind. “Tell you what. How about I guess that next question? And if I guess right... well, I still won’t answer it. But I will… point you towards… someone that might. If you play your cards right. Oh, and you’re gonna owe me double next time, sugar—if you live long enough for a next time.”

I didn’t hesitate. “Deal.”

“Nice duster, by the way. You can’t buy hardware like that off the rack, can you?” She walked a slow lap around me, placed a claw on one shoulder and dragged across my back to my other. When she was in front of me again, she leaned close and whispered, “You were gonna ask me about them keys and that portal weren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well, today’s your lucky day, sugar. The man that can answer that question for you is sitting at the end of the bar. And, baby, he’s also a Public Defender without a client.” She raised a clawed finger to her mouth. “But shh. Don’t nobody know that part. He'd be awfully mad at me if he knew I told you. You know what? I could use a little excitement, so tell him Jolene sent you. His name is Len. And he’ll tell you all about the keys and the portal—if you play your cards right, that is. Oh, and here’s one more tip. You might want to show him that rotting chicken head you’re hiding in your inventory.”