Reggie Repo was working through a heavy caseload of murder permit applications in his new position at the National Murder Bureau. What a grueling year 2074 had been for him. Reggie had been repossessing government controlled devices when the usage requirements were violated. That was in the National Repossession Department and why he had the surname Repo. Now that devices were made to disintegrate their staffing requirements were drastically reduced, thus Reggie’s transfer. An application to the Occupational Surname Department had not yet been approved. Ah, the cogs of government, but what were these cogs mentioned in this statement?
Reggie activated the visual display of the Murder app. The graphs, charts, statistics, and video pleadings appeared before him. The application appeared to be in order and very well written. The applicant had status to file; not everyone did.
Reggie looked at the video pleadings from Tessie Author, the applicant. He understood her request on at least a basic level. He activated the live video communication. Tessie stood at her desk behind a narrative creation unit (NCU).
“Ms. Tessie Author,” Reggie said. She looked up from her work. “Sorry to interrupt. I am reviewing your murder permit application. I am Reggie Repo. Excuse the surname. I used to work in Repossessions.”
“I wish you could repo someone for me,” Tessie mumbled.
“Doesn’t work that way, of course,” ever the matter of fact Reggie responded.
“This murder is all I think about,” she said, fidgeting behind her NCU.
“So you have been aggrieved by a Mr. Sessel Caracoa?”
“Yes.”
“You say that he has stalked you through online communications?”
“True. He has viciously criticized my narrative creations posted in the National Online Library.”
“Free speech, Ms. Author?”
“In no way is it free speech. He has posted his criticisms for all to see. Obviously slander.”
“Have you responded to his posts?”
“He critiques the responses.” She waits, then: “As you know, narrative creation is my assigned occupation, and I am failing to produce the quality and quantity necessary.”
“So he is jeopardizing your full payment for services?”
“Exactly.”
“So tell me Ms. Author, this Mr. Caracoa, what is his occupation? I am unfamiliar with that surname.”
“He is retired. He used to be a critic, a dead occupation. Looks like he chose a different surname after retiring.”
Wonder how long he had to wait for the change? Reggie mused. Then: “So criticism used to be sanctioned?”
“Years ago, yes.”
“Interesting. So he has targeted you and is affecting your ability to earn a living?”
“Exactly.”
“And how would you quantify this damage?”
“I have no final narrative creation units in the last six months. Murder would solve this.”
“What about your supervisor?”
“I have not been totally truthful with him about what I am going through.”
“I see. I will ask NOL to give him any archival information they may have on Mr. Caracoa.”
“Please hurry, Mr. Repo.”
* * *
Reggie needed to get out of the office. Sessel Caracoa was in residence at Southwestern Senior Living Center, so Reggie walked to the Southern Quadrant 254 SLC. As he approached the center, he saw the holographic projections. He could see the Grand Canyon, one of several former national parks that had been painstakingly catalogued, digitized, and visually enhanced before being cordoned off and closed to the public.
Reggie passed by the Malcontent Detector device. His brain waves and sweat glands were analyzed and he was cleared.
“Mr. Sessel Caracoa, please,” Reggie said to the kiosk ensconced within a bronze circular orifice surrounded by gladiolas.
“Room 7125,” the kiosk announced. “I will alert him and provide access. How shall I record the nature of your visit?”
“I am with the National Murder Bureau.”
Reggie held his palms up to the kiosk and stared straightforward with his eyes clearly in view of scanning devices.
“You work with repossessions,” the kiosk said.
“Hasn’t been changed yet,” Reggie said, but Reggie was further cleared.
Reggie ascended to the 71st sector of the facility through the Ascension Chamber and emerged a few steps down from Mr. Caracoa’s assigned life cubicle.
Mr. Caracoa’s portal was open and a man stood in the doorway.
“Come in,” Mr. Caracoa said.
Reggie followed him to a small table where they both sat. “I’ve placed an order for two cappuccinos,” Mr. Caracoa told Reggie.
The cappuccinos appeared and Reggie took a sip.
“Mr. Caracoa, I am here regarding a Murder Permit Application.”
“Murder. Murder most foul?”
“You were a critic, I understand. Can you tell me what a critic does?”
“These days, since the Critic Occupational series has been discontinued, the answer would be nothing, but a critic assesses the value of narrative creations, which collectively constitute ‘literature.’ The goal, a critic hopes, is to ultimately facilitate a better literary, or narrative, creation for the reading public.”
“So, in your opinion, a critic works to help an Author?”
“Yes, but more than that, to assist in the development of all literature.”
“But not necessarily one Author?”
“Some Authors produce drivel; they cannot learn. But some Authors have an innate ability to touch the soul, to stir the spirit.”
“Are you familiar with Tessie Author?” Reggie asked. Mr. Caracoa nodded yes. “And you have found her to produce drivel, as you call it?”
“No, far from it. She is a true artist.”
“Interesting, and you are retired, and the critic occupational series is defunct, yet you persist.” It was the closest Reggie ever came to a growl. Growls were not needed for appliances.
“Once a critic . . . . ,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“Always a critic?”
“Yes. I am distressed that she is not creating anything recently. Perhaps, because she has become obsessed with murder?” Mr. Caracoa suggested. “That is why you are here?”
“There is a very direct relationship, yes,” Reggie said.
“I hope she can get through this and produce more work.”
“She hopes for the same thing,” Reggie said. “You may disagree on how she achieves this given her request.”
“Mr. Repo, you are a master of understatement.”
Looking around the room, Reggie noted some trophies on the pedestal units near an NOL access port. “What are those?” The trophies glowed.
“Those are for my critiques of Petra Percopolis, a very successful narrative creator who produced at his zenith a decade ago. Petra nominated me, claiming my criticism led him to reevaluate his perceptions of his works, which ultimately led to his interglobal recognition.”
“So, a fan?”
“Yes, we grew quite close.”
“So Mr. Percopolis never applied for a murder permit?”
“I would think not.”
“Tessie Author has requested a permit to murder someone she does not even really know.”
“Surely you would never approve such a request?” He finished his cappuccino.
“I have a decision to make.”
Reggie returned to his office. Later he denied two applications from his earlier caseload for lack of sufficient cause, and he approved another one resulting from a foolish wager on a sporting event.
He established communication with Tessie Author and invited her to meet him again, this time at a NOL tech pod. He was formulating a plan of attack to resolve this application.
* * *
Reggie greeted Tessie. A NOL technician came up to help them but Reggie deferred. “Let’s wait just a few minutes.” Then at the door, Sessel Caracoa appeared.
“Tessie, this is Mr. Sessel Caracoa.”
“This is highly irregular, Mr. Repo, isn’t it?” Her face tightened, and her body movements were stiff, fidgety.
“Having the murder applicant and target together is breaking new ground,” Reggie said.
“Another cliché, this breaking of new ground,” Mr. Caracoa said, and he turned to Tessie. “I am delighted to meet you, especially since you hold no dangerous weapons.” He tried to take her hand but she declined.
“I can’t believe you would come here,” Tessie said to Mr. Caracoa.
“Allow me to explain myself and excuse my getting so quickly to the issue,” Mr. Caracoa said. “I chose your work because I see great potential.”
“It doesn’t feel that way. I can barely bring myself to look in your direction.”
“A critic has to be hardened to that kind of response.”
“Really, so you really don’t care?”
“I do care, Ms. Author. I care too much.”
Reggie interjected, “And now we are here together. I have an application for a murder permit. Ms. Author is in extreme turmoil. Mr. Caracoa feels that his task—not his work since criticism is no longer an occupation—is to help mold a literary great. Where does that leave us?”
“Looks like a stalemate,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“You could approve my application. If I had a weapon right now, I could execute the murder without hesitation.”
“One reason murder applications have to be filed and reviewed first,” Reggie said.
“Murder is the only solution,” Tessie said. “Do you not value my work?”
“How could you not value her work, Mr. Repo?” Mr. Caracoa asked.
“So you agree the work is valuable.”
“You should too,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“But understand that, whether Ms. Author would have benefited from your criticism or not is still in question,” Reggie said.
“My past success with Mr. Percopolis should prove that my criticism will help, not hurt Ms. Author,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“Past performance, I have heard, is not an indicator of future success. That’s a cliché from the early twenty-first century,” Tessie said.
Reggie continued, “I have two sets of requests for you.” Tessie looked at Reggie, as her figurative venom rose. Sessel looked at Reggie with an inquisitive gaze, trying to fathom how his own motives could be questioned.
“Ms. Author, take your anger and write a narrative creation that features Mr. Caracoa as a character and I want you to pour into him all the characteristics that you see. You have one week for this.”
Then Reggie turned to Sessel. “Mr. Caracoa, I need for you to remove all of your posts on Ms. Author’s work on the NOL. Then I need for you and Ms. Author to meet at the end of one week and you and she will go through all of your critiques face to face.”
“Ms. Author, can you do this?”
“If it gets me closer to a murder permit, consider it done.”
“And Ms. Author, you will arrange the meeting with Mr. Caracoa for the face to face discussion after you complete your narrative creation?”
“Agreed,” she said.
“And Mr. Caracoa,” Reggie said. “Can you work with this tech here at the NOL to remove all your posts and will you participate in the face to face discussion with Ms. Author?”
“I can do both. I would be glad to meet with Ms. Author,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“I require that both of you attest under oath that you have completed this work before I render a final decision.” Reggie waited and to himself counted to ten. “Now, pending the oath of completion, I am granting a temporary murder permit effective at the end of this week,” Reggie said.
“I didn’t know you could grant a temporary approval,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“Neither did I,” Reggie said.
* * *
A week later, at his desk, Reggie checked the NOL. All of Sessel’s posts were removed and Mr. Caracoa had provided a sworn statement. One check mark. But nothing posted from Tessie Author and no correspondence. Technically, and sometimes technicality is everything, no murder approval is granted, though the time has passed for Ms. Author to have written the document. Working against the deadline, going down to the last minute. She was not required to post the narrative but he was certain that she would.
After coffee, Reggie noted that a narrative was just posted. It was called “Murder of a Critic.” Had Tessie “‘jumped the gun?” He read it with interest, noting that the narrative had a feel that he could not really explain. Everything seemed very real. The critic in this narrative was a thinly veiled depiction of Mr. Caracoa (not surprising as that was part of the assignment). Almost perfect. The “inspector” seemed very much like Reggie, very real, methodical, and concerned. And the aggrieved, an author by trade in this narrative, had a very real passion, was fighting a very real problem in her life and saw the critic as her ultimate enemy, the subject of her desire for murder. The narrative creation was long, richly textured, very dramatic, and suspenseful. But where would it go? What would it reveal? Reggie had to find out, yet he resisted the urge to “skip ahead to the good part.” He read, slowly he read, anticipating what may or may not happen, and fearing the worst. Murder with an approval was an acceptable ending, but how much of this was fiction and how much could already be real? Murder without a permit would be an affront to proper society and proper protocol, and Reggie knew that his tentative approval might be questioned by his supervisors and who knows what the ramifications for that might be?
As he read on, he was more concerned. It appeared that the aggrieved Author would not be waiting on a murder permit, that the critic had been tricked into a meeting. Reggie remembered, though, he had demanded a meeting be part of this requirement. The reality versus the fiction, or is any of this any story fiction?
Face to face, in the final scene of the narrative, the character who is aggrieved looks at the critic. They are in a small café on the beach; the waves roll in. Both have a drink before them. She looks at the critic and tells him, “Your occupation was cancelled because it was unneeded, yet you relentlessly trashed my work. Why couldn’t you just wither away?” The critic looks at her with a puzzled look. “I thought we were hitting it off.” She pulls a gun from her purse and says, “Now the critic is silent,” and she shoots him. He falls forward onto the table. The aggrieved leaves and wanders down the beach, tossing the gun into the waters.
I think I need some strong coffee, Reggie thought, and he left his office for a double espresso.
* * *
Afternoon now, after more coffee than he should have ingested plus a long lunch of simulated crustaceans, Reggie returned to his office, wondering what the next step in this saga might be. He went to search out the NOL again. Surprisingly, there were hundreds of posts. “Loved it,” Nathan Author said. “I feel your pain. Great work,” Ellen Author said. Also there were posts from former critics, “I understand the suspense and the tension between creator and critic, but I wonder if this story couldn’t have ended differently, perhaps with a partnership between the two.” That particular post was signed, “Love, S.C.”
Was Mr. Caracoa the “S.C.”? Had he read the manuscript shortly after the post and now recognized that his fate was sealed, pending just a meeting that had to be acknowledged, assuming that Tessie would follow through with the requirements of the contingent murder permit, as Reggie required, or was she now on the way to commit the murder without the required oaths? Murder was supposed to be a highly regulated, state-assured activity. Now, here it was for Reggie all falling apart.
Reggie tried to contact Tessie. He could not reach her, but he saw that one of his coworkers had delivered a stack of papers. He fished through the papers and found a hard copy sworn oath signed by Tessie that she had completed the assigned narrative, as Reggie had required. And, of course, he had also seen the posted document.
Reggie tried to reach out to Mr. Caracoa, but could not locate him. Am I too late? Reggie asked himself. What have I set in motion? I wonder where the National Murder Bureau sends failed inspectors.
Reggie knew that the narrative creation had closely followed the reality, but there was no Reggie in the final scene, and there were no penalties for violating protocol. The story just ended. Reggie wanted to rewrite the ending in the real world before it was too late. Wait, Reggie thought, the murder scene was at the Seaside Paradise Moment Café. Was she using the narrative to give Mr. Caracoa the location of their meeting? He dashed out of his office, verifying that there was indeed a Seaside Paradise Moment Café, and he set his sights on getting there as fast as he could.
* * *
Reggie left his car in a less than perfect parking spot since legal parking was jammed full, and he plodded through the beach sand, eventually deciding to throw his socks and shoes down. He raced through yards of sand. He could see the Seaside Paradise Moment Café, an open themed café with clear view of the ocean. He could see a crowd gathered there, all of them circled around one table. Was it already too late?
As he got closer, he could see that it was Tessie Author and Mr. Caracoa seated at the table, both with drinks, facing each other.
The crowd made a path for Reggie to walk through.
“I’m so glad you could make it, Reggie,” Tessie said.
So I could see an illegal murder? Reggie asked himself.
“I wasn’t sure you would pick up on the location from my narrative,” Tessie said. “But around you, you can see several Authors who read the narrative and, well, they wanted to be here.”
Mr. Caracoa added, “And you can see that some former critics have come as well, all of them picking up on the urgency of being here, recognizing the reality behind the narrative.”
Reggie was still confused.
“I will not be needing the ‘permit,’” Tessie said.
“Yes, you do,” Reggie said, “and I still need the sworn statement that you and Mr. Caracoa have met.”
“You can surely see that we have met,” Mr. Caracoa said.
“Yes, I can, but the approval is not valid unless I have the sworn statement.”
“Sessel,” Tessie said, “are you able to swear to our meeting today?” Reggie noted it was “Sessel” and not “Mr. Caracoa.”
“Certainly, Tessie,” Sessel said, “but I would rather sign this license.” Sessel produced a hard copy marriage license, and offered it to Reggie. “I think there is a spot for a witness to sign. You will sign it, Reggie?”
Reggie signed the license and reached into his jacket and removed a hard copy of the murder permit application that he had been carrying with him. He had already signed it with the temporary approval.
“Hand me that,” Tessie said, and he did.
“So my best narratives are all ahead of me. With Sessel’s inspiration, sometimes perhaps more of an irritant such as that which makes an oyster produce a pearl, as I am told really did exist in the past history of the world, I have great success ahead of me,” Tessie said. Sessel held her hand and brought her close.
“Aren’t you an official of the government?” Tessie asked of Reggie.
Picking up on the implied request, Reggie began, “By the power vested in me. . . .,” and he continued on with a standard rendition of the wedding vows.
Tessie took the murder application permit and tucked it into her purse.
Shouldn’t she just let me tear it up? Reggie thought. Of what value is an open-ended murder permit? They’re married now. Why would they ever need it?
Tessie hugged Reggie very enthusiastically, and she winked at him as she pulled her face away, perhaps to ensure that he saw the wink.
Reggie was slow to join the crowd who were applauding the new husband and wife. Finally he did clap, but only twice. What is she going to do with that permit? Will she hold the approved permit over both her new husband and an inspector from the National Murder Bureau? Maybe Sessel should be very careful with any future criticisms. I need a moment alone with him when I get the chance.
