Who Is Brian Quinn?

The Dream - Interrogation - Nina

I had this dream where I was being interrogated. Real cliche scenario, the whole dimly lit room with a table and a mean cop shinning a light in my face going over and over the same question and me sitting in a metal folding chair stone faced unable to answer, not because I'm a hard case but I just don't know who Brian Quinn is.

"So. Who's Brian Quinn?" he begins.

"I don't know," I reply.

The cop grimaces and settles his fat hairy hands on the table. "I'm not asking you again, Mister," he consults some notes on the table. "Mr. Milner," he glances back down. "Manfred Milner. What kind of name is that?"

I shrug.

He frowns. "Anyway, I want some answers, and I want them now."

"Well, don't always get what we want," I say trying to make this whole scene a little more believable. The guy's like a bulldog, stained white shirt, wrinkled tie. I feel like I'm maybe not holding up my side of the scene so I try to slouch a little more. Maybe I should light a cigarette, I think. But I don't have any. Wait, hold on. Yes I do. A pack sits on my right, next to my hand. Where'd those come from? I pull one out and stick it in my mouth.

Lickety-split, the cop knocks it out with a slap. "You little punk. You're gonna tell me who Brian Quinn is, or I'm going to make you wish you'd never been born."

I roll my eyes at him. "Never been born. That's precious. Who in the blazes is writing this?" I say. "Look, you're talking to the wrong guy. I already wish I'd never been born. I don't need any help with that. And I don't know any Brian Quinn." I lean back trying to think of something to say. Something appropriate. "Hey," I reply. "Maybe you should check your sources."

The cop grimaces and clenches his fists. "My sources say you're the man who'll tell me. Even if I have to wring it out of you." He snarls, hits the table with both hands.

He stands, pacing the room. I remain seated, ankles cuffed to the chair, trying to keep cool. Maybe I do know this Brian Quinn. "Why don't you tell me everything you know about Brian Quinn, and then I'll tell you what I know." I'm bluffing.

The cop turns and squints like he just got hit in the nose. He slides back down into his seat cupping the lamp in his right hand so it shines down onto the table leaving the two of us in shadow. "Okay tough guy," he says. "Deal. But if you back out I'll make mince meat out of you."

Geez, this guy just wont let up. "Fine," I say. "Go ahead."

"Okay then." He grins and raises an eyebrow. "As I'm sure you know, Brian Quinn has appeared within this very city. In various shapes and sizes, we believe acting on orders from some unknown agency. His superiors, whoever they are seem to be completely insulated. Our operatives have found no clues as to their origins whereabouts or intentions. Quinn himself is equally elusive. We've been unable to gather even a shred of evidence as to his identity or appearance. All we have is a name."

I'm starting to get confused. "Just a name?" I say. "Are you sure this guy even exists? Sounds like some kind of inter-office screw up, like you got some of your profiles mixed up and created this Quinn fella out of thin air."

"What?" The cop hits the table hard again and I think I catch the sound of teeth grinding. "This Quinn is a threat, a serious threat to the civilized world, Milner. Don't you see, he's been systematically deconstructing the whole works. Bringing characters in from other areas, disrupting the tenuous and delicate balance of this whole thing." He gestures around with his hands at our surroundings.

"What whole thing?" I'm beginning to get the feeling I'm missing something.

The cop grins at me slyly. "Don't play dumb with me. You know the score. Don't get uppity, you're just as much a part of this dirty pulp crap as I am."

Dirty pulp crap, I think. Not the language I would use but he's right. This whole scene is resembling some kind of low-brow pulp fiction and I'm having a hard time keeping character.

I sigh. "Look fella," I glance around. "This is a dream. I think. I mean I'm pretty sure. But regardless, in this instance I plead the fifth. And I want my phone call."

"The fifth what?" he says.

"What?" I say. "I don't know," I'm bluffing again. "I saw it on a TV show I think."

He gives me a worried look and stands. "Fine, Milner. You win. This time. But don't think I'm done with you, cause I'm not. Not by a long shot."

"Sure," I say feeling tired of this whole scene. "Hope you find this Brian or whoever he is."

"Don't get cute punk. Phone's in the hallway." He gestures toward the door.

A guard escorts me to a pay phone and stands a few feet away noisily smacking on chewing gum.

Who to call? In a dream you can call anyone I guess. So maybe my friend Karl. Or my editor. Or maybe a lawyer but that seems silly, it's just a dream.

Then the phone rings. I look at the guard. He looks at his shoes. I pick it up. It's a woman's voice. "Manny, it's me."

Nina. Figures she'd call. I only get one call and she decides to call me.

"How'd you get this number?" I say.

She seems confused. Her voice skips an octave. "What? Look I just had this dream and..."

"What?" I say. "This is a dream, Nina."

She pauses, startled maybe. "Don't be an idiot," she says. "You gotta listen to me. It's very important. I was having this dream. I was in this house. An empty house. Very creepy, I hate empty houses. Give me the creeps every time."

"Right."

"Right," she says. "So, I'm wandering around. It's kind of dark and then I start hearing this phone ring. Somewhere in the house. I start looking for it. Going from room to room looking. But I can't find it. It keeps ringing. Won't stop ringing. I start to feel frantic, you know, like if I don't get to this phone before it stops ringing something bad's gonna happen. Anyway, now I'm running through the rooms, up stairs around corners trying to find this ringing phone and all the rooms are empty. Nothing."

I decide to interrupt her. "Wait. Wait, hold on Nina. Look, I'm in dream jail. I'm supposed to be making my one phone call."

"Just listen. You're not listening."

"—"

"So I get to the phone. Finally. And I pick it up and guess who it is."

I stand there waiting.

"Guess," she says.

"I don't know," I say. "Brian Quinn."

"Who?"

"Never mind." I glance over at the guard. He taps on his watch and makes a face.

"You, Manny. It was you."

"Me? Right. Then what. I don't have much time here, kid."

"Neither did I," she says. "In the dream I mean. You start telling me over the phone to wake up. Wake up, you say. Wake up Nina. You have to wake up and call me and tell me what I just told you."

"I said that? Tell me what I just told you," I'm not sure what to make of this. "That's odd. And what did I tell you that you were supposed to tell me?"

"I can't remember," she says.

"You can't remember?"

"No, I can't remember that part of the dream."

Fine. She can't remember. "Fine," I say. "Look, you know what."

"What?"

For a second there I had forgotten that this whole thing was just a dream. "You know what, I need to wake up."