RICHIE ROBERTS 6.7

by Jo Anzalone

One corner of his mouth lifted in a small smile of satisfaction as he listened to the irate

pounding on the door of the storage room.  So Russell would have to spend the day with

the mops and perhaps a spider or two. Big deal. He stood in the hallway, looking down

the length of himself. Disgusting wardrobe. Baggy dark slacks, dark shirt, dark sports

coat. No color anywhere. Oh, well.  It was only temporary. Good thing  Russ wasn't

playing Aubrey right now. He'd never have been able to pass himself off with all that

extra blubber.  But Russ had slimmed down for Braddock and never really gained it all back...just a bit of it.  One finely-manicured hand reached up, touching the floppy brown

wig he wore. Yeah, with a bit of carefully-applied make up, he should make a damn fine

Russell Crowe playing Richie Roberts.  Damn fine. His smile broadened and he walked

down the hall, listening to the sound his black shoes made on the old tile flooring.

Damn, but it was hot! Stupid people, filming a movie in New York City during such a heat

wave. What could one expect, though? People in general tended to be stupid.  But he did

enjoy them. They made excellent mice for his little cat-games. Especially one of them. 

Parker Barnes.  He'd always been his favorite mouse. His eyes narrowed as he recalled

their final battle on the rooftop, then how he'd been tricked back into the computer,  how

the ''essence" that was him had been crushed in the street...thrown there by Parker's hand. 

Did the man really think it ended there?  Did he not understand, truly, that it was in the

movie itself, in the mere fact of its being saved on film, on tape, on digital disk, that his

existence found its continuation?  No, Parker would not understand that.  He'd not under-

stand that over the years the synthetic nanotech organism had continued not only to exist,

but had...evolved.  He chuckled softly at the ignorance of mankind.

Stopping just inside the door of the deserted tenement house, he looked down the street. 

Filming was beginning today five blocks away. Cat and mouse...again. Denzel and Russell

in a rematch.  The knuckles of his hand whitened as he clutched the doorknob.  Did Denzel

think he could leave Parker Barnes behind? Did he think Sid did not...mind...the countless

times  now that he had been  shredded, the countless times  he'd been  tricked,  the

endless smashing into the street?  Parker was no longer a mouse to be toyed with.  He was

a bug, a cockroach that needed squashing.  Sid opened the door, stepping out into the hot,

bright sunlight.  He understood, even if nobody else was smart enough, that Parker was

what mattered...not this Washington actor fellow. It was a mere incidental that now he

was being called another name in another movie.  For Sid he would always be Parker

Barnes...until Sid put an end to him.
 

Starting up the street, he reached to straighten his tie before he remembered that

Richie Roberts was too sloppy to wear a tie. The man had obviously had no taste in clothes

at all. Parker seemed to have gotten all the smart clothes this go-round. Parker. His lip

curled as he muttered the name aloud.
 

A few moments later he walked up behind Ridley Scott, licked his lips, half lowered his

eyes, then tapped the director on his shoulder.

Ridley turned quickly, his brows crinkling in a slight frown. "You're late, Russ," he

snapped, not used to such behavior from the man with whom he'd made two films already.
 

"Couldn't be helped," Sid grinned pleasantly.
 

Ridley relaxed at bit at the sight of the smiling face. "Well," he added, "try to help it next

time, right?"

"Sure, Boss," Sid replied, looking over Ridley's shoulder to where Parker was standing

on the sidewalk across the street talking with some men.
 

Ridley was studying him, a crease in his forehead growing steadily deeper. "What's up with you?" he asked.

"Up?" Sid repeated.

"Yeah. You look...different...today."

Sid cocked his head a bit, looking down at the shorter man. "Different...how?"

Ridley continued to study him. "I don't know...maybe more...more rested.  Something." 

He was genuinely puzzled. Russell's jaw line hadn't been this tight even back during

Gladiator. "You into botox all the sudden, Russ?"

Sid laughed. "Clean living, Ridley. That's the ticket. Clean living." Parker was starting to

walk away. "'Scuse me, Rid, gotta go talk to Par...Denzel."

He stepped into the street, then paused a moment, his hair flopping down across his fore-

head.  Irritated, he brushed it quickly back but it flopped right down again. "Damn hair!"

he muttered under his breath as his eyes lingered on the also darkly-suited form of Parker Barnes. He flexed his fingers. They wanted to throttle the man right there on the street.

But he plastered on a hearty smile and walked up to Parker, forcing himself to say,

"Denzel!" in a happy greeting.

Parker actually opened his arms and enfolded him in a big hug. He thought he might puke

on the spot. "Walk with me," Parker said, "I'm goin' after some coffee."

So together they strolled down the sidewalk, discussing inane things about this movie, the weather, general crap. Sid put his hand over his heart as he talked, reeking sincerity. Inside,

his wiring was vibrating at being so close to Parker again, at walking beside him and letting him...live. His face was about to break with all this smiling. He casually moved his hand from

his chest, sliding it under his jacket, letting his fingertips touch the shoulder holster. Now

that was one bit of wardrobe he approved of. Only he'd made one slight...adjustment. The

blanks had been replaced.

The scene they were filming this morning was perfect. Detective Roberts was meeting Frank Lucas for a brief exchange of information. Richie would be waiting near the entrance to an alley. Lucas would be driven up in a car, get out, go into the alley to talk with Richie. To-

gether, the two men would walk down the long, shadowed alley in close conversation, Lucas would turn and head back to his car. Then it would all go wrong. Police would arrive. Shots would be exchanged with Lucas' men. Sid smiled to himself as he leaned a bit closer to hear

a joke Parker was making. They had no idea just...how...wrong it would all go.

If he'd had his 'druthers, he'd make Parker suffer long and slow, but this would have to do.

A quick snuffing. No more Parker Barnes. He laughed at Parker's joke, patted him on the

back. Perhaps he'd just leave Russ in the closet. Ben Wade sounded like such an interesting character.
 

Russ, in the closet, was sucking the side of his fist where his pounding on the door had made

it bleed.  A single 25 watt bulb hung from a ratty-looking long wire, dimly illuminating the windowless room. He was barefoot, clad only in a sleeveless tee and his underwear. The air-

less room was stiflingly hot and sweat dripped freely down his forehead, stinging his eyes.

My God! SID!

He was almost staggered with the thought of it. He had no idea how the nanotech had

managed it, but there was nobody in the world who knew the insides of Sid better than he

did. God! What would Sid do? What wouldn't he do?

He felt almost dizzy with the combination of the heat and fear for Denzel. It had to be Denzel. That had to be why Sid had come. He felt suddenly shaky and sat heavily on a small stool, burying his face in his hands, his mind racing as he remembered creating Sid, letting

himself feel, express what it was to BE Sid. Sid wanted Parker. He knew it! Good God...he

had to get out of here, had to warn Denzel!
 

Dashing sweat and tears of frustration from his eyes, he explored the room. Nothing much

was left in it. An old sink, the water turned off long ago. A wide broom, most of its bristles missing. A mop, its handle broken half off. A stack of newspapers dated from the 1980's. 

The stool. Lots of cobwebs and rat droppings. That was it.
 

He went to the door again and instead of banging on it, began to study it. It was thick oak

and quite solid, no way to break it down. But...its hinges were on his side! He smiled, his

lips still pressed together, and pulled the broken mop from its resting place among the

cobwebs.
 

It took him the better part of an hour to pound and worry the rusty pins out of the three

hinges, but finally the heavy door fell outwards with a loud crash. He paused, leaning

forward, his hands on his thighs, just breathing raggedly from the effort and the heat,

before he was able to walk across the door and into the hall. What now? A pair of old

janitor's overalls hung on a peg just past the door. He lifted it off the peg, giving it a

sharp shake and layers of dust flew into the air as a spider dropped out of one sleeve.

Gritting his teeth with distaste, he slipped it on, buttoning it as he ran bare-foot for the

door.

Luckily Sid had found Russ' copy of the script and in one fast reading had his lines down

pat. Superior brain power was good.  He walked down the alley, his head close to Parker's, saying Russ' lines perfectly...of course. No one suspected a thing! Soon the actors playing

the crooked cops would arrive. It was hard not to smile when such pleasurable events were

so close.
 

Parker stopped, turned and walked about 20 feet back toward the street as Sid stood there quietly watching. Three police cars suddenly roared up, blocking the alley's entrance.

Actors tumbled out. Parker's driver was "shot", falling out of his open car door. Parker

began to run, crouching, scrabbling for his gun. The cameras rolled.
 

Sid calmly reached inside his coat, unsnapped his holster, pulled out his gun. Denzel was breathing fast from his run and tripped over an unseen brick that poked up unevenly from

the alley's surface. He reached his arm out, bracing quickly against the wall of a building, managing to keep himself from completely falling. Blanks were being fired rapidly near

the alley's street end. The sound of Sid's gun was lost amidst the noise. Denzel didn't even

hear it. All he felt was a sudden tearing in his suit coat and when he looked down, found

a hole through its front where it had flown open during his stumble. What? He turned,

his mouth open in shock, looking back down the alley toward Russell. What in hell was

going ON?
 

Straightening, he started to yell toward Russell but was struck dumb by a look in his

eyes. Russell was walking slowly toward him, raising his gun as he came. But it was his

eyes that went through Denzel. The gun was still rising. He managed to shout, "Russell,

NO!"  A bullet zinged past, just barely grazing his left bicep, tearing his sleeve. He could

hardly breathe. Russell had gone mad.

Frantically, his eyes searched the alley, latching onto an old fire escape. He lunged for

its lower rung, hauling himself up as Russell began to lope towards him.  He felt

almost paralyzed with confusion. What was happening? Forcing himself to move, he

scrambled up the first flight of black metal steps, not able to keep himself from looking

down at Russell.
 

Russell had stopped just below the fire escape and was looking up at him.

"Come, come, Parker", he said. "Surely you can do better than that."

Parker? Parker? Why was Russell calling him Parker? He leaned out just enough to get

a clear look at Russell's face. It was twisted into an odd grin, his eyes glittering. He'd seen

those eyes before. My God, he had! It was when Russell was being Sid during the filming

of Virtuosity.  "Russell!" he called down hoarsely. "Snap out of it, man!"

"Russell?" Sid smirked. "There's no one named Russell here, Parker." He cocked an

eyebrow, tipping his chin sharply upwards. "You haven't forgotten me so soon, now

have you, Parker?"

Denzel sucked in a painful breath. If he didn't know better, know the impossibility of it,

he would swear he was looking at Sid 6.7.  But that couldn't be. "Russell," he called again.

"It's Denzel, man! Drop the gun!"

"Oh, Parker, Parker, Parker," Sid sighed. "You never were very good at pretending."

He hopped slightly, his strong fingers curling around the bottom rung of the ladder.
 

Denzel almost bit through his lip. He turned, dashing for the next set of steps, tripped,

bashing his shin hard against a metal edge.

Sid was taking his time climbing the ladder. He wanted to enjoy every bit of this. "You

can run, Parker Baby, but you can't hide."
 

Russell careened around the edge of a building, his bare foot slipping on the bricks so

that he almost slid into the alleyway. "SID!" he screamed. "STOP!"

Denzel's eyes went completely round. He stared, horror-struck, through the black mesh

at the approaching man. Sid? This was really SID? Gaining his feet, he half-ran, half-

crawled his way up the steps.

"Go away, Russell," Sid said, stopping his climb long enough to glare down. "It's time

to end this. You know it is. You of all people know it is."

"No, Sid!" Russell shouted. "You can't do this!"

"Just watch me," Sid smiled, returning to his climb.
 

The rest of the cast  and crew were standing out by the street, quite  dumb-struck, as

Russell ran for the fire escape and leaped to grab its end. He winced as a sharp pain

shot through his left shoulder, but he didn't stop. Grimly he pulled himself up, his face

red and sweating from the effort.
 

"I wouldn't do that, Russell, if I were you," Sid said calmly from some 20 feet above him.

"Damn you! You ARE me!" Russell puffed.
 

"An interesting eschatological point," Sid replied. "We must discuss it some time over

tea. But right now I have an LA cop to kill," he smiled sweetly, "and his name's not Bud."

With that Sid began to climb more rapidly, gaining on Denzel.

Denzel was frantic as he neared the roof, five stories up. Heaving himself over the ledge,

he lay there briefly, trying to regain his breath. The sound of footsteps on metal brought

him to his feet and he ran across the tarpaper roof covering toward the stairway door,

yanking on its doorknob. Locked. Damn, damn, damn.
 

Sid's head appeared just over the ledge. He was singing "We will kill the old red rooster

when she comes."  His eyes found Denzel. "You got a chopping block up here, Parker?"

he asked amiably as he rested his free palm on the ledge and flipped himself easily over

onto the roof.
 

"You aren't real!" Denzel shouted at him.
 

Sid put another bullet deliberately through Denzel's coat. "I make a pretty real bullet

hole, though, don't I, Parker." 
 

The edges of Denzel's vision were turning black with sparks of bright light exploding.

He thought he was going to pass out and leaned against the locked door for support.

"I'm...not... Parker," he gasped, trying desperately to keep standing.
 

"No?" Sid said. "If you are not, tell me who...is?"

"There is no Parker," Denzel croaked. "He doesn't exist. He was never...real."

"Like my bullet holes in your jacket are not real, Parker? Like those?"

Sid moved slowly toward him, cocking his head back and forth as he walked. "Do you

have any idea, Parker, any idea at all of how much I dislike being dismembered by you

over and over and OVER?" He shouted the last word.
 

"It was a movie. Only a movie," Denzel murmured weakly.

"Only a movie?" Sid repeated contemptuously. "ONLY a movie!?!"  He ran his forefinger lightly down the barrel of his gun. "To you, maybe, Parker. But...."

He was interrupted by Russell sliding over the ledge. "He's right, Sid. You've got to stop

this. He's not Parker. He's Denzel Washington...an actor."

Sid glanced between the two men. "He looks like Parker to me, Russell. Do you think I'd

ever forget...him?" He snarled at Denzel, whipping off his wig and tossing it on the roof.

Russell half-smiled at Sid.  "No, Sid, I don't think you would forget him." He took a step

toward the nanotech. "I've certainly not forgotten you, mate."
 

One of Sid's eyebrows went up slightly at the concept of even the possibility anyone could

ever forget him.  Russell took another step. The tip of Sid's gun rose a bit in his direction.

"I wouldn't...," he began.

"If I were you," Russell finished, locking eyes with him.
 

"Stop," Sid ordered, his finger tightening on the trigger as Russell's foot began to lift

again.

"You can't kill me, Sid," Russell said softly.

"Pray tell, why not?"

"Without me, you don't exist." Russell completed his step, ignoring the blistering heat

of the tarpaper on his bare feet. "I brought you into existence, Sid. You ARE me."

"I am more than you," Sid replied.

"No," Russell continued, his voice level, controlled. "You are far less than me."

Sid's lip curled. "You don't know what you're talking about. You...you're a mere man."

"A man who created you, Sid. You are but one among many I've created. Without me,

Sid, you would not...be."

"Doesn't matter," Sid mumbled, feeling oddly disturbed.
 

"It matters," Russell said softly, trying to keep his eyes on Sid's, trying not to look beyond

him to where Denzel had managed to come close. "LOOK at me, Sid!" he snapped. "You

know it matters. Who ARE you without me?"

"I...I...," Sid stuttered just as Denzel's fingers slipped over the back of his collar, pressing

at the base of his skull, making a small compartment open.

"Wha...what?" he said, trying to turn, but Denzel had grasped his character module and he

crumpled into a heap. 
 

Denzel held it a moment in his hands then strode toward the ledge, pulling his arm back.

"No!" cried Russell. "Don't throw it."

Denzel whirled on Russell. "You stand there and tell me not to destroy this? YOU?"

"Yes, me," Russell replied. "I...I...,"

But Denzel's arm continued its swing and the cube sailed out in a graceful arc, then almost

in slow motion curved down, shattering on the bricks of the alleyway.
 

Russell pressed his lips together, his feet suddenly not able to stand the scorching of the

tarpaper another moment.

Somewhere in the building beneath them, in an apartment on the third floor, a DVD was

popped into its slot and a man dressed in green lifted chopsticks to his lips as an LA cop

made his way stealthily down the hall.