Kaupunki 06 - All Day, All Night Laundry

Steel drums churn out their familiar and omnipresent rhythm. The smell of “spring” and “meadow breeze” fills the uncrowded, unliving room. Neon lights from outside bathed the room with a warm hue.

The laundromat’s resident cat perches upon a row of stainless steel dryers. Eyes closed, feet twitching as it dreamed about chasing birds.

At the back, behind a cluttered countertop, I sit. Head in my hands, staring at the Tera Violet plant in a terracotta pot that I’ve been trying to get to flower. I should really be studying for my entrance tests to medic school so I can get out of this place, but this plant is bewildering.

“You know, staring at it won’t make it grow faster,” calls Mr. Lowe, an elderly Verticune. Once a tall man, he had shrunken over hundreds of years, and his pale green skin was wrinkly and loose. Even though he was ancient, he was still sharp. His saucer-like black eyes sparkled with delight when he spoke. Now, he was sitting in the corner playing Baduk (Go) on an electromechanical tablet.

He had been a patron for almost a hundred years, since back when my grandfather ran this place. I use the word patron loosely, because Mr. Lowe rarely did any laundry and mostly spent his time playing Go on a coin-operated electromechanical table in the corner.

“I know, but the guy at the market told me this was a quick flowering strain. He said it would only take a few days,” I said, in exasperation.

Mr. Lowe howled with laughter. “Don’t you know, you can’t trust people at the market. Those people are all hucksters!”

I knew that, but it was the first time I had ever had a chance to own my own plant. Usually, seeing something green required a trip to the Crystal Biospherical Botanical Gardens. “Hey Mr. Lowe, how many games have you lost today?” I shot back.

He swatted his hand in my direction, grunting and turning back to his game. “This one is going just fine,” he muttered.

Mr. Lowe was right, though. Staring at my plant wouldn’t make it grow faster. Usually the only thing that made a shift go faster was cleaning. The bigger the mess, the faster time moved. It was my own personal time machine.

So I pulled open my desk drawer and grabbed the bathroom fob. It was inconveniently attached to the handle of a spatula. Dad’s idea, to make sure no one walked off with it.

The bathroom was in the back corner, beside the laundry soap vending machine and token dispenser that took electric credits and turned them into old crusty metal coins. I had tried for years to convince my dad to update our machines to electric only, but had been dismissed with a similar hand gesture to Mr. Lowe’s moments ago.

The bathroom itself was a small green tiled room with a painting, or rather a print of a painting. It hung in a faded plastic frame and showed snowy mountains with a little cabin. Nothing I had ever seen in real life, but I was told it existed on some distant floor of Kaupunki. Despite this cold reality, the painting always made me feel cozy.

Today, the floors were grimy, and the mirror was streaked with something gross. Thankfully, the water recycler had been spared any sizable mess. I opened a hatch in the wall and pulled a metal container with a spray nozzle and a vacuum scrubber.

I checked my watch and was thankful for the mess. Just a few more hours and I was out of here. The cleaner smelled like le’melon. It smelled exactly like the fizzy beverage available in vending machines around his neighbourhood. The existence of a le’melon fruit seemed dubious and was more than likely the concoction of scientists. Nevertheless, I found the scent comforting.

Spraying, scrubbing, vacuuming and then discarding the disgusting water into the recycler, I repeated this process like I had for most of my life, and soon I was done. I hoped that the time had ticked by as I checked my watch again.

Half an hour.

Maybe not as fast as I had hoped. Exiting the bathroom, I notice the place is now completely empty, and the machines have stopped rumbling. Mr. Lowe had moved on, and now it’s just the cat and me.

One of the washers is making a shrill beeping noise and its faceplate is flashing yellow. I move quickly, pulling a cable out of my watch and connecting it to the machine. Twisting the bezel, I flip through screens on its face. The dryer diagnostic program pops up, and with a gentle tap it starts to run. Gears whir as its mechanical brain thinks.

                                                     (CLEAN WATER FILTER)

Easy enough. I head around the back and crack open the panel, digging in; I find the spherical filter and twist it off. It’s filled with gunk and crud, but it won’t take long to clean.

At that moment, the front door opened with a clatter and a pair of voices speaking in an unfamiliar tongue. Loudly, angrily?

There was a metallic smell and the sound of something dragging. Like a wet carpet being dragged on a sidewalk.

I held back, placing the filter on top of the washer and crouching to peer through the cracks in the machines.

Suddenly, the conversation switched back to the common tongue. A thin, weasely voice said, “I thought you said you knew the owner of this place Rex. So where is he?”

A deep voice rumbled, “You here, ol’ man?”

Whatever this was, it didn’t seem good. They must have been talking about Dad. For a moment I thought maybe I could sit back here and hope they went away.

I heard a scratching and looked up to see the cat pawing at the filter.

“No,” I whisper, waving my hand. But it’s no use. I watch in horror as the filter rolls off the top of the washer, clattering to the floor out in the open. The cat hopped down beside me puffed up with pride.

“Who’s there,” the deep voice called. “Get out here, and don’t give us trouble.”

So I stood up and stepped out to see two figures, one large and the other smaller than me. They are wrapped in matte black trench coats. Their heads were clad in black skull helmets. Their glowing yellow eyes are fixed on me. I notice that they’ve flicked off the open sign. They’re standing in front of a large clear bag, but I can’t make out what it is.

The large one lets out a squeaky voice, “Who the heck are you?”

I tried to muster some confidence and stated. “I’m the owner.”

The little one steps forward. “No, you’re not the ol’man, where is he?”

“My dad? He’s been in the hospital for a month now,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s being held in stasis while we try to….”

“Fine,” the little one cuts me off loudly. “You help us then.”

“With what?” I ask.

“Are you serious? Fuck my whole fucking life. Rex, why in the fuck did you bring us to a cleaner who doesn’t know how to clean?!” He shouted, wheeling on his partner and leaning over him.

The short one, Rex, looked up at him calmly. “How was I supposed to know the ol’ guy was out. Listen, Ray, they’ve always been good to me before. They clean cash like nobody else. This place has been under syndicate ownership through our Yellow Eyes affiliates for almost four hundred years, it’s fine.”

“My dad owns this place. I don’t know anything about Yellow Eyes Affiliates.” I stammered.

Ray turned, looking me up and down. “See the yellow eyes,” he said, tapping his mask. “We might not be the biggest affiliates, but yes, we own the controlling stake in your family business. Welcome to the real world kid.”

Rex shook his head. “Thanks for the history lesson. Now let’s get this package off, or we’re both gonna get smoked.” He walked forward toward me. “So, since you clearly have no idea what this is, we’ll go slow. Where’s your waste shoot?”

“In the back.” I stuttered.

“Ok, chop chop,” Rex said, pointing at Ray and then to the bag on the ground. It was a bag, filled with a dark green liquid… was there someone inside?

“Quit staring at the package. Or I’m going to send you to visit your dad in stasis.” Rex snapped his fingers and pointed at the back.

Ray grabbed the bag, dragging it along the floor. As we reached the door, I looked back and saw Rex push his helmet up a bit. It revealed the dark blue skin and a white stubble. Rex pulled a vial from a pocket and tapped out an orange fungal pod into his black glove. Putting one end in his mouth and squeezing, he inhaled deeply. Depositing the spent pod into the vial, he closed his mask, exhaling a shimmering cloud through the faux bone helmet. “Nasty habit,” he muttered, “been meaning to quit.”

This guy must be Gormuine. Fungal pods would have any other race writhing on the floor on their way to a very painful death. I had met Gormuine before, but they usually kept to their own floors. People out here tended to have a problem with them, calling them Oni like the mythological demons. If these guys didn’t kill me, maybe that would be helpful for the police report. Then again, if they really were syndicate affiliates, they were probably untouchable.

“Just a second, I need to grab the fob,” I said, walking over to the desk and grabbing a spatula with the backroom fob on it.

“Are you gonna cook us eggs?” Ray snickered.

I brushed it off, pressing the fob to the lock. Up a flight of stairs and in a room on the second floor that housed spare parts was the waste shoot. It was a simple machine used for dumping garbage. These guys weren’t going to put a person in the shoot, were they? Surely the body would be traced back to here.

“Open it,” Rex grunted, and his partner hoisted the bag inside. It was a human woman; a little box inside flickered a pulse. Was this woman alive?

“Now punch in the transit code,” called Ray.

“I only know the code for trash, 1 2 3 4,” I said truthfully.

His yellow eyes closed to slits, and he pulled out a black ceramic rod that narrowed to a dull point and placed it on the side of my temple. In his high-pitched whine, he leaned in. “Do you know what this is?” he said, thumb hovering over the button on the side.

“Looks like a ceramic dematerialization dearg.” I said through gritted teeth. I’d only heard about them in the news and pulpy RNG films.

“That’s right, and if I hit you with this you’re gonna look like strawberries prepared 4 ways at a fancy restaurant. So, I suggest you remember that code expeditiously.”

Sweat rolled down my brow as I racked my brain. What would Dad have used as a secret code?

His birthday?

                                                                    (ERROR)

My birthday?

I leaned in, taking a gulp of air and typing it in.

                                                                    (ERROR)

White-hot fear shot down my spine. It was over. I squeezed my eyes closed, waiting for nothingness.

Instead, there was gleeful laughter from Ray. “Man, you should see your face. Hilarious!”

“OK, if you’re done messing with the kid, the code is 1999. Commit that to memory,” Rex said, leaning over and tapping it in.

                                                            (READY FOR TRANSIT)

He slammed the door closed and hit the green button on top of the machine. It rumbled, and the girl in the bag disappeared into the system.

Rex put his hand on my shoulder “Now remember that feeling you just had there if you ever think about talking about what you saw here tonight. I’m a peaceful guy, but I won’t hesitate to come back here and peel the skin off of you myself if you talk. Ok?”

“Ok,” I stammered.

“Ok,” he said, patting my back, “well, we’ll see you when we see you. Tell your pops the shareholders stopped by if he gets out of stasis.”

They both headed for the front.

“Tell your pops the shareholders stopped by if he gets out of stasis.” Ray laughed, and soon they were out of sight. The front door slammed in the distance.

I headed back into the main room. It was just me and the cat. I walked to the front, flipped on the open sign and checked my watch.

Still an hour to go.