Editor's note: entering the Indiana Dunes, Johnny's hidden camera was
confiscated by men dressed as members of the Department of the Interior.
I have been forced to use stock photos that roughly approximate the events.
Rain fell as we wove the van through the decaying streets of Detroit;
every third house was abandoned. A burned-out city in the literal
sense, there was evidence of arson everywhere. We made our way to the
rendezvous point, the back room of a small bar in Corktown, where
smoking regulations apparently held no sway. I lit a cigarette and
took a seat across the table from her, examining the chess board which
sat between us. She took a long drag of her cigarette and silently
opened the game with a pawn Her lips naturally rested in a slight
part, revealing a bit of her teeth and giving the impression that she
was just about to speak, just a moment away from revealing something
profound, yet she didn’t utter a single word to me throughout the
course of the game. I countered and we began the game. I am no chess
master but I play passably well and I started the game strong. About
twenty minutes in I asked her; “Where is the code translation?”
She glanced at me and then back to the board, moving her bishop into my
territory. I was a bit puzzled by her lack of response but continued
the game so as not to arouse suspicion. Still it began to bother me, I
asked again; “we came here for the code, where is it?”
I slid the envelope with the payment out of my pocket and onto the table.
She glanced at it, readjusted her rook and looked at me, expectantly. In
my agitation I made a few rash moves and found myself in checkmate. In
a rush to end the game I conceded and pushed my king over. “Alright,
enough games” I whispered harshly “Where is the codebreaker?”
She smiled and looked at the king. On the bottom side I could see a small
latch to what could only be a hidden compartment. Brilliant. She
grabbed the envelope and left before I knew what had happened.
With the code translation we were able to secure the coordinates to
PJs Lager House, a fine establishment of Detroit’s Corktown. We played
with The Fake Surfers whom I knew to be legitimate through my
encounters with them in Minneapolis, they did not disappoint. Tent and
Nurse also played, it was a good show. The bartender also happened to
be in the Terrible Twos. I’ve got a few of their records and hadn’t
even realized I had missed them when they came through Minneapolis in
January, I must remember to stay vigilant!
End Transmission
