The Mini-burger

FanFic in the Birmoverse

Nobody’s Talkin, by 53807

Jimbo shivered as he pulled his thin cotton jacket tighter around his body. The cutting winds that gave Chicago its Windy City moniker were living up to the name. He massaged his sore leg as he leant further into the doorway of the convenience store. It was after midnight and the store had long since closed but the alcove was a good respite from the wind chill. The leg had no respite though. The dull throbbing meant he’d been unable to walk properly on it for at least 5 years now. Ever since Hoovers FBI goons had given him a savage beating in New York City half a decade ago. The beating, combined with his heavy use of Syntherol meant he had not bothered to get medical treatment and now it was crooked and bent, like a lame dog. ‘Lame’ he thought, “Just fucking great. Here I am stuck on a shitty corner of a shitty city with some shitty idiot to look after and I can’t even walk in a straight line.”

Just then the idiot he was thinking of loped over “Hey-yah Jimbo, I gots a real winner here, shes loaded by the looks.” Jimbo glanced over to the kerb. An old, heavy woman who may have been attractive once sat high in a Smart car. She stared at the two of them with a look that Jimbo wasn’t sure radiated disgust or desire, she beckoned with a pudgy finger and Jimbos companion waved at her. “I gotta go Jimbo’, money in da bank, I’ll see ya back at the house, maybe tomorrow”. “Ok, just go Elvis, get outta here, and don’t you get ripped off again like last week.”
Elvis strode over to the car. His faux cowboy outfit was incongruous in the setting. The black cowboy hat and the tan leather jacket with frills decorating the arms and torso made him look like some sort of overgrown child on his way home from a party. The heavyset woman gave him a rapacious smile and beckoned him to the passenger side. He climbed in and she paused for a moment, stroking his face with a heavily bejeweled hand and then pulling away from the kerb. The last thing Jimbo saw was the bumper sticker on the back. ‘I brake for the Homeless’.
Jimbo contemplated his next move. He would have to try and make it back to the house. He had a stash of Syntherol there that would get him through the next few days but unless Elvis could get some more money and maybe liberate some jewelery from the fat broads apartment then they were going to quickly run out of cash and Syntherol. Jimbo didn’t want to think about what would happen then. The ‘house’ they planned to meet up at was little more than a derelict apartment really. With no power, most of the windows smashed and the interior covered in filth it was nothing compared to the luxury Jimbo was used to in the early days of the transition. They were some memories, Booze, Money, Broads, oh the broads, and then the Syntherol.
Syntherol was one of the unexpected side effects of the transition. A Class A drug in 2021 it was forbidden worldwide due to its highly addictive nature and the propensity for its users to put everything behind the aim of getting high on it then getting more of it. An MEU marine had gone AWOL shortly after hostilities in Europe had ceased, made his way to Mexico, and set up the world’s very first Syntherol lab. The Marine in question had been a good soldier, heavily decorated in several tours including WW2.1. But he also had a long criminal record with regards to drug use, dealing and cultivation of a narcotic. A judge had given him the opportunity of Jail or fighting Al-Qaeda in Syria and he had gone onto distinguish himself. But he never forgot the chemistry he had learnt in the ghettos and when the opportunity arose he took off to make his fortune. The upshot was that the Marine was long dead and the North A
merican Syntherol market was now controlled by fantastically wealthy Mexican gangs. They had all but destroyed the other criminal organizations. The Italian mafia was a shadow of its pre-war self and only the Russians and Hawaiians could compete with the Mexicans for pervasiveness and ruthlessness.
Jimbo moved out of his narrow shelter into the bitter wind. He balled his fists and stuck them into the empty pockets of his woolen trousers. Despite his wiry frame the Syntherol had altered his metabolism such that he now had a considerable paunch over his belt. It was just ‘Jimbo’ now. No more ‘Slim Jim’. He shuffled along the dark and deserted street, his way lit by store window displays. He paused at one, a travel agency. In its window it had a series of posters showing the latest holiday resorts that had opened in the Carribean. Here was one in Trinidad that was served twice daily by High Speed hydrofoil. Jimbo closed his eyes and imagined himself on board the vessel. Laying back surrounded by Bikini clad beauties, a mojito in one hand, cigarette in the other. Enjoying the thrill of taking a high speed hydrofoil trip to the white sandy beaches of Port au Spain, skipping over the ocean like a stone. He coul
d almost feel the warmth in his mind. But then a gust of chill wind bit him hard as ever. The Syntherol was wearing off. He had to get back to the house.
He could smell his apartment before he had dragged himself up the last flight of stairs. He and Elvis had been the sole occupants for about nine months now. Before that they had shared it with a no-good broad from New Mexico. Turned out she was a hooker turning tricks for Syntherol. It was her that had first told Elvis about the market for virile young men like himself. “Don’t you worry about the reputation Elvis” she had said. “Nobody knows who you are in this city, and nobodies gonna be talking about you. Its better that way”. But it had taken a while to convince Elvis that it was something he could do for cash. He was still convinced that he was going to be a big music and movie star. Jimbo had been convinced too at one stage. He had seen the pictures and newspaper reports from the future. Elvis’ fame had seemed inevitable but nobody had predicted that Rock n’ Roll just wouldn’t take off in this timeline. Pa
rt of that was the sudden explosion of Syntherol that invaded the club scene and gave rise to the massive all night dance parties playing music that Rock ‘n Roll just couldn’t compete with. In terms of variety and more importantly Beats Per Minute, Speedcore was the peoples choice. Syntherol had the effect of being intensified by auditory triggers. The more frantic the beat of the music the greater effect the drug had. It was not unusual for Musicians to be putting out songs with a BPM that was above 300. As a result the government had been forced to regulate all dance clubs to keep the BPM below 300. There was some controversy around a genre called Extratone, in which the music must be 1000 BPM or above and is soaked in noise. Some said it didn’t exist while others felt it surpassed speedcore in intensity. It was banned anyway.
Elvis’s movies had attracted scant attention. The public had gravitated towards the big blockbusters of the future. Independence day, Jurassic park, Spielbergs Draka Series. Nobody was into watching a romantic musical about some helicopter pilot on the islands. Especially since the special effects accompanying his movies were, well, non-existent. People wanted Aliens and Dinosaurs and Explosions. And thanks to some perceptive assessments by Maria O’Brien that’s what they were getting. Getting by the bucketful. Jimbos mind wandered to what Maria was up to now. Last he had seen her was almost a year ago when he and Elvis had ventured up to New York to see if they could wheedle some more money out of her. Maria knew what they had become and despised it. She had fought so hard to save Elvis’s career but it had all been in vain. She was upset too that Elvis’ main loyalty had been to Jimbo and not her. Despite this s
he gave them $2500 and a quarter of Syntherol from her road managers stash. She then told them to get out and not come back. Jimbo was happy with that. He’d been high for weeks after the New York trip. 



entry posted July 1, 2006

1 Comment »

  1. From StrategosRisk on 06/30/06

    Very well written. I had a suspicion that Elvis’s popularity wouldn’t have stuck- he was the forerunner of our timeline, and all of his successors are available. Very interesting interpretation.

    Rather depressing, though. I kind of hope that Birmo won’t let Elvis crash before his prime. And the old world eaten up by Syntherol? Bleak.

    From savo on 07/01/06

    Everybody’s talkin’ at me…

    It’s improved.

    Very good – nice and down

    From Birmo on 07/01/06

    Dude, this is why I wannted this fan fic festy to go ahead. I love seeing the alternate alternates stories that you guys came up with.

    From Bangar on 07/01/06

    It’s gotten better with time.

    From yankeedog on 07/04/06

    Still good, uh, 53807. You write like a guy I know from New Guinea. Coincidence, I’m sure.

    It is a bleak story but I could see it happening. Lot of fun!

    From smurfo on 07/06/06

    Great downward spiral. I really like how he’s happy to trade a long term friend (ok work partner) for a chance to get high.

    From J on 07/10/06

    Okay, this is frickin’ brilliant story. 5.., I’m very impressed and have to say that you’re story is my favorite so far.


    Comment by miniburger | 22 March, 2009 | Reply

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