THE ORGANIZATION

THE ORGANIZATION

By Andrew Paul Grell

“Hey! Where is he going? He has all of our co-ords and we don’t have his! Somebody stop him!” Mike Crow’s team had followed leads, did their research, cut ethical corners, and eschewed non-team-related activity for weeks translating cryptic messages into geographical coordinates, at the center of which would be what they sought. It was true that the Organization had QR codes on stickers all over the city, from Orchard Beach in The Bronx to Tottenville on Staten Island. In principle, a team or its members could traverse every street, avenue, and place in New York and eventually find QR-0.  Or they could do what the Organization partisans  supposedly did; answer the challenge question on a QR correctly and get pointed to another QR, chains of which would eventually lead to six peripheral points circling the current prime Quick Response patch. It was ingenious. There was no code to crack. You had to know the answer or be able to figure it out. You can’t break what isn’t there. So Mike Crow and Cretan Prime had joined forces and hacked into Mycroft, which gave them an almost 80% correct answer rate; almost, but not quite good enough. The solution was recruiting more forces. Cretan Team’s newjack was fine, but the Jolly Ollie incident could be a less-than-graceful dismount for Mike Crow.  They had five coordinates. Jolly Ollie checked in, saying he had a sixth, and the team called for a special meeting at the barn to hexagonate the coordinates. Ollie waited until the five others put pins on the city map; he took a photo and scooted off without sharing his contribution, if, in fact, he had anything to contribute.

“Hot Team scramble, Now! Now! Now! ABEC-11, lead your troops around the Village. Ray Zoro, take the Deuce. GPS on and shouting, everyone.” Mike Crow had drilled the team endlessly for emergency sorties. Now they had their chance. He switched to command channel and knocked on Cretan’s door. “This is Mike Crow on command three.” He was answered immediately. “This is Cretan Actual. What’s going on over there? Spotters picked up your Ray Zoro and Venus Dee screaming down the reserved lane. Need a hand?” Mike Crow filled in his ally, who agreed that Jolly Ollie should be flogged around the fleet. But more important was getting to QR-0. People had gotten bits and pieces, mere baubles, but so far nobody was able to lock down what QR-0 had to give. Cretan Prime alerted the spotters, and he had Zoo-Tor and Mingeworthy ride out of the lists and join the chase.

ABEC-11 never thought she would see serious action, but she took the drills to heart and performed. “Mike Crow, Mike Crow, you got ABEC-11. Heading across on West 12^th, spotted Ollie on Seventh-South heading toward Varick. Suggest squeeze play either Christopher or Bleeker. ABEC-11 out, resuming chase.”

“Copy five by, ABEC-11. Releasing our spotters now.” Between the two units, there would be now be a mortar coming down on the pestle of Greenwich Village. Or there would have been if Venus Dee hadn’t misheard Minetta Lane for Minetta Street. She recovered quickly enough that the last vestiges of the Bonano family, eternally watching over the remains of their Sullivan Street territory, could notice.

“All chasers, Cretan Prime. We have intel Jolly Ollie is a subway rat. Converge at Spring Street Station.”  The combined forces placed a bet that Jolly Ollie somehow managed to use the West 4^th Street Subway station to get out of the trap and would emerge further down the line. That’s what did happen, but even some of the local chasers got turned around in the Medusa of Grove, Barrow, and Carmine Streets. Jolly Ollie just managed to avoid the catcher’s mitt.

“All responders, this is Mingeworthy. Anyone have a physical description of target?”

“Mingeworthy, you’ve got Mike Crow actual. Target is five foot six, maybe a hundred and twenty pounds, mullet haircut, really big ears.” Mingeworthy was in shock, but her dedication to duty carried her forward.

“Mike Crow, target may be my boyfriend. We never talked about the Organization. I had no idea he was a player, even an Indie one. And Vice Versa. He’s always hungry.  Suggest new intercept at the Shake Shack.”

ABEC-11 and her posse made it there first, just in time to see the target leave, heading west. Venus Dee, commanding Street, Crooz, and Milan, were tearing down the bottom of Varick Street.  They had to make it before Jolly Ollie could get to Canal Street. He could hide forever in the junk and surplus stores and the fake watch and jewelry joints.

“Mingeworthy, Mike Crow actual. Maybe he has his ears on. If I relay you, maybe you could talk him into coming in from the cold?”

“Five by, Mike Crow. Turn me on.”

“You’re live, Mingeworthy. Go.

“Brian, if you’re listening, this is Sue. Come home, Brian. You’re ruining things for all of us.”

“Wake up, little Suzy. This is my big chance to get the Organization. Sorry, Sweety pie. This is bigger than both of us.”

“Mike Crow, Mingeworthy. I can see him negotiating the Watts, Broom, Canal triangle. He’s still headed west. My god, he’s heading into the Holland tunnel! He’ll get killed!”

“Maybe not killed, but probably arrested. There’s a catwalk in the tunnel. If he rides low, maybe nobody will spot him.”

“Mike Crow, you’ve got Share A Zod. I have about 12 cousins in the gas stations along 139 after the tunnel. Cretan Prime, are you on the air?”

“Cretan actual, sweetie, go.”

“Request permission to use civilian assets.”

“Go for permission. Good luck.”

Share A Zod put the word out to the gas stations. Fortunately, after the torturous, hunched-over stunt through the tunnel, Jolly Ollie couldn’t resist getting some Slim Jims and a chunky. Share A Zod’s cousin Omar spotted him right away and arranged safe transit back to New York on the condition that he cooperate with whatever crazy stunts his little cousin was doing.

One by one, the team members rolled up to the Pike Slip Skate Park, neutral ground for the Manhattan crews. Mike Crow on his Micro Maxi, Venus Dee on her Xootr Venus model, Ray Zoro on his Razor 7XL, Cruz, Street, and Milan on their Xootrs doing synchronized ollies off the curb, ABEC-11 on her thoroughly tricked-out and customized ride. Finally, Jolly Ollie announced his arrival on the channel, dramatically, of course.

 “Coming in hot, bingo Slim Jims.” Sue walked over to Brian and literally kicked his ass all over the jumps and slopes, much to the delight of the other 7^th Graders.

“Give it. Right now. If you’re going to join a thing, be a member, you know, do the thing. Moron.”

There were finally enough co-ords to accurately pinpoint QR-0. The joint command, led by Cretan, rolled up Pike Slip, as it turned into Pike Street, then turned into Allen Street with it’s row of Congee Palaces, and finally First Avenue after Houston street.  A left onto East 15^th led them to the Union Square Farmers’ Market and to the Duck Ranch stand: Duck salami, duck bacon, duck sausage. On a corner of the stand there was a QR patch. Mike Crow did the honors of scanning the patch and waited for the challenge question, and Cretan opened the back door to Mycroft.

“In a village, the barber shaves every man who does not shave himself. Who shaves the Barber?” For the first time, Mycroft had no answer. All of this could have been for nothing and they wouldn’t get a thing from the Organization.

“I know. Nobody. The barber is a woman,” Jolly Ollie said, satisfying an entry on the Organization’s list of correct answers. Nobody would be flogged around the fleet. Jolly Ollie’s phone came alive with an organ grinder tune announcing that he had one the Grand Prize: 365 iPhone coupons for an Organ Grinder Slice Joint pizza, a pizza a day for a year, or a pizza a week for ten people. Sue towered over Brian as she made sure her no-good cheating soon-to-be-ex boyfriend forwarded out the coupons to the teams.

“What’re we gonna do now, Cretan,” Mike Crow asked.

“Do what middle school kids always do. Let’s go for pizza…”