JL: Tinman

Fiction

Tinman

A Novel of Post Economic Baltimore: A.E.G. 30: Sequel to Motherboard

SEP/7/24

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A Crackpot Book

Lynn Lockhart Publisher

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About the Subtitle

A.E.G. has replaced C.E. for Common Era, as that designation replaced A.D. for In the Year of Our Lord. A.E.G. means After Everything got Gay, meaning A.D. 2020, placing Tinman in A.D. 2050

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Dust Cover

Thirty years After Everything got Gay, diversity engineering has taken the place of physical infrastructure preservation.

As Baltimore eats itself alive, the bosses yet thrive. By the length of white winter, The Boss, in his high tower, wishes to be warm, and not like the proles below, shiver.

By brief of gray summer, The Boss, confined to the 33rd floor, declines to sweat and starve as the looters below look longingly up. But all around, in many oddly sustainable places, humans have gone to ground.

Tinman is the story of the last HVAC mechanics operating in Baltimore, to be written in 2024, Gawd willing. Motherboard was the prequel about the world these mechanics inhabit while not zip-lining from roof to roof cannibalizing the heating and cooling mechanisms of another age to maintain the suites of the Company Bosses and their food coolers. Tinman is a view of life on a likely, future, top floor of life.

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Inspirational Quote

While Driving with a Knife Fighter & Gunman, Now in Private Law Enforcement

“What the hell!—that is a [traffic] cone in that hole? It is a pit! Gotta love the City.

“Okay, a snap shot of police work is here before us, Mister James.

“In Montgomery County, my old beat, down there in the shadow of the Evil City, where all those rich fuckers only existed because I was there to save their ass from what’s comin’, If the Captain, or the Battalion Commander, or—God forbid, knock on wood—drives by like us, just before midnight, and sees some shit like that—in a four way intersection no less—he pulls over, gets on the horn, calls the [shift] Captain, who calls the cop whose post this is, and his ass is out here guarding that hole. And his ass is going to stay there directing traffic until the County Works detail gets there; and that could be all night. In any case, a night is ruined.

He might have been rescuing the gay senator’s wife’s cat from the tree, ready to partake of all that lonely thanks—maybe beatin’ down some loud mouth up from Capital Heights thought he could run his mouth—and all those good times are out the window: he’s am guarding that fucking hole!

“Now, if the CHIEF rolls by and sees some shit like that: Harford County, Baltimore County too, same thing, protecting the good people—the fucking do-nothing, afraid of their own shadow TAX PAYER; God bless them, I made my dime off of their bent backs. If THE BOSS sees some shit like that, he calls the Battalion Commander, who might be in bed with THE BALL AND CHAIN, whose gonna take everything he’s got if he loses this fucking job. Now HE calls the Shift Captain—who might be stuffing it to that cute meter maid on his desk who came in to work on her own time out of the goodness of her heart.

“Now, as soon as Cap shakes it off and pulls up his pants and says, ‘sorry darlin,’ clean my desk until I get back,’ he’s out there at the fucking hole—that fucking hole right there, a fucking pit, with the sergeant, and says, “I don’t wanna know what stupid fuck dropped that cone in that hole rather than calling it in. But I have called County Works, and that fucker, your man, whoever’s post this is, is going to guard that fucking hole until it is addressed, no leaving when the county guys show up.”

“So, let’s say this is Baltimore City, right and we’re driving by this hole right here, this same hole. I’m a cop, maybe even a sergeant. Let’s say you are my snitch. Right, you like that?

“I say, hey, that is funny—somebody has a sense of humor out there. Brutha, sit back’—and I throw this coke bottle right by you into that hole.

“Did it go in, Mister James?

“A three-pointer, huh?

“Now, and this is where it gets good: let’s say I’m a City Commissioner, and I drive by that hole. I don’t call in City Works—oh no. I call it into the Mayor, whose brother owns a construction company, who is going to pick up a bunch of Mexicans at the 7-11 on Broadway, and he’s going to bill triple for it, and I get my finder’s fee—and who gives a fuck if some drunk drives over a Mexican… speaking of which, do you really believe that That Bridge came down by accident?

“My Point is, Mister James—you who I hate and respect because I cannot get a clean cut, let alone a kill on you, in a knife fight—in law enforcement, and even more so high up in the political machine, there is a lot of money to be made, and none of it, or very little, is for the good. And that, Knife Instructor Sir, is why I chose to herd the cattle [1] rather than be the cattle.”

-The Operator, 5/7/2024, Baltimore City

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Reader’s Note

On July 10, after suffering a crippling injury since June 5, my condition became worse and required my transport to a medical facility. In too much pain to speak above a whisper and in nervous system failure, a crew of dispersed and diverse knuckleheads provided transportation and housing for this ailing sack of meat.

As I sat one dawning day, shaking in pain, drinking whiskey so I could pass out again, my host, The Brickmouse, regaled me with stories of his work as an HVAC mechanic in a corrupt city with failing infrastructure, in a trade increasingly dominated by designed obsolescence, being fanciful regulations to save the Planet which have the effect of using even more toxic resources, but making more money for the manufacturers, whose lobbyists own the politicians and regulators who draft and pass bogus laws.

I grinned and observed: “I was a frozen food and/or dairy clerk and grocery store manager for 36 of 38 years in retail food, and had a lot of interaction with HVAC mechanics. Ironically, Nero, who brought me here, is an HVAC mechanic. You are, my eldest son is, and the man who runs the nearest boxing gym, are all also HVAC men, what carpenters call tin-knockers. This begs for a novel, written next year, when I can hopefully type rather than shake, shiver and drink at your table.”

Both The Brickmouse and Nero the Pict, were intrigued by the idea and began discussing what means by which they might be able to continue the operation of some heat pump and refrigeration at the far end of a slow collapse economy. The Brickmouse also noted how he gains easy access to government buildings, including the City Courthouse, just by having an HVAC badge and work clothes, especially while hauling 20 pounds of highly explosive refrigerant into the building! Such men in the downgraded future would be even more hallowed, perhaps even to the point of being bound to serve the highest echelons of society.

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Motherboard Inspirational Notes

-1. Cattle are citizens of any modern municipality, who do not have the good sense to get in on the government grift, or “the balls to be a criminal, who, if it must be said, Mister James is the ultimate cop. A crook is a pure, unapologetic, policeman, who does not hide behind the badge or work for a pension, but says, ‘Fuck you, I’m takin’ my cut of that tasty pie, and let the herd eat grass.”

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To the Reader

This novel is a serious work of fiction. So please, do not suggest it for a literary award.

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The Protagonists

The Viewpoint characters in these novels are all patterned on actual Baltimoreans:

-Tinman, after my host The Brickmouse

-Zipline Cline, after my transporter, Nero the Pict

-Drew Drop, after my benefactor, The Operator

-Apprentice, based on my African Son, Incognegro

-The Boss, a composite of my supermarket bosses

-The Guards, security guards and supermarket loss prevention officers I have worked with as patterned characters