The Multitudes of the Lizard Man

Chapter 1

Many years ago, I visited my friend, the one I shall refer to as the Lizard Man. I do so not only because, being a private individual, he wouldn’t want me to use his real name but also because he is an anthropomorphic reptile. He has the body of a human—one that isn’t tall (he’d hate it if I called him short)—and the skin, claws, tail, eyes, and face of a lizard. The Bureau had just become international, and I used my free airplane tickets to visit him. He lived in Singapore, part of the Federation of Malaysia, where the IBV had never been welcomed. Still, even the great Li Kuan Yew had to bow down and kiss the hand of Jeremy Thorpe, our director, who spent almost a century serving our organization. Thus, vicemen could travel there and do our wetwork if it didn’t involve somebody important.

---

Knowing that my old friend was a drug fiend, I used my privileges as a viceman to smuggle a pound of Mary Jane for him, the least I could do for him. When I reached his apartment, I was surprised by the familiar musky smell that hit me as I opened the door. On the coffee table, there were lines of cocaine and tabs of acid waiting to be consumed. Knowing the harsh laws of Singapore, I had to ask him how he procured them.

“Buddy, why would I tell you where I get my stuff? So you can go and harass them because it’s your job to do so?” he replied in a nasty tone after a lukewarm hug. Lukewarm, even for someone with cold blood, that is.

“You know I can’t do shit here. The IBV isn’t in any bilateral treaty with this cyberpunk hellhole. I was just curious how you found a dealer in a country where they hang them,” I said, trying my best not to stare at the bone ridge between his eyes.

“They hang them because people do drugs. Even so, people still do them,” he said, shrugging.

“I smelled dope even before I entered the door. Be careful. I wouldn’t want you getting in trouble,” I said, tasting my speech's falsity.

“How could I get in trouble? Do you think the government wants to admit a reptilian is living among them? I have to tell you, David Icke did me a solid. Whoever made me a lizard person picked the right animal. Imagine if I were a mammal with all those furries around,” he said, chuckling as he rolled a joint for us on the couch.

“So, you figure out who made you?” I asked. Hearing my question, he put down the half-finished joint and stared into my eyes. For a moment, I wondered if he knew the purpose behind my visit.

“I don’t need to find out who made me. I know what I am: a person. More importantly, I know who I am. I’m not just the bone ridge between my eyes that you’re always staring at. I’m not just my tail or my scales. I have a soul. A whole world inside me. As Walt Whitman said, ‘I am vast. I contain multitudes.’ But that’s the problem with your kind: you want to categorize everything, to name the earth and everything in it and then catalog it alphabetically and destroy anything that cannot be indexed.” His voice had sharpened, his claws glinting in the dim light, pupils narrowing to furious slits.

“Don’t get angry, man. I was just wondering if you regained your memory. You know I’m your guy. I took care of you when the Bureau found you hungover in Lamplight. Some of the senior vicemen wanted to terminate you then and there. I argued your case, man. You’re a person. And an excellent friend. I knew that from the very start, from the moment I walked into that bar. All the patrons and staff had run away, and you were nursing your drink by yourself. When you saw me, you know what you said?” As I spoke, I heard his claws retract.

“That you seem like a cool guy, and I wanted to buy you a drink because there aren’t many cool people left. Then I added, I’m not sure about that, but I am drunk enough to give you a chance.” He grinned, showing sharp teeth. “I still can’t remember who I was before or if I was anyone at all. But thanks to you, I’ve had the chance to figure out who I am. I know I love to read, so I must have been educated. Either that or I was created to be educated. I know I’m smart, and I listen to good music.”

“And that you love your drugs. We can’t forget that,” I said with a grin and the Lizard Man, which came out more as a whistle than a regular sigh.

“For that, I have to thank you and the rest of the Federal Bureau of Vice. You ran through the MK Ultra ringer all those decades. " His yellow eyes, now gentle, stared across me into the distance, looking through the foggy window at the sun starting to set. After a moment of pensive silence in which I tried to regulate my heartbeats, relaxing my face with deep intent, the Lizard Man resumed, “What are you guys up to these days?”

“First of all, it’s the International Bureau of Vice now, officially, I mean. And second, not much has changed. We’re still stealing the stashes of wholesalers to sell them ourselves and fund Uncle Sam’s dirty work. The only difference is that we’ve gotten into the politics of ex-Soviet Bloc countries. And when we’re not doing that, we’re busy fighting insurgents in Russia or the former Yugoslavia. Same pieces of shit you know and love,” I said, taking the joint he passed me. Like Clinton and Obama, I puffed on it without inhalation and then passed it back. I don’t think the Lizard Man noticed, as he was too focused on his diatribe against the IBV.

“Yeah, but now you pieces of shit got UN passports, and the world is your oyster. Officially, I mean. I am not sure if you guys are behind the fall of the USSR, but I am sure you guys were the ones who killed President Zelea-Codreanu, but you helped him stay in power all those years. Either that or Romanians are stupid enough to be okay with those policies. And for what? To have a port in the Black Sea where you could more easily smuggle jeans into the USSR? A whole generation was butchered inside the prisons, women were stripped of their reproductive rights, and people were queuing for salami. For what? So that you can protect the interests of the Thorpe Corporation,” though his voice was filled with anger, it was the impotent kind. Every sentence ended with one of his whistles.

“You give us too much credit. I wouldn’t know anything about your involvement in Romania. And anyway, you know the Thorpe Corporation has been liquidated by the Clinton administration.” I decided not to smile.

“It may have liquidated the corporation, but what about the family? Has anyone ever been prosecuted? Don’t answer that,” the Lizard Man said. I kept silent and wondered if he knew more than he should.

---

“Anyway, let’s go,” he said, getting up and pulling on a pair of blue jeans and throwing on a hoodie.

“You’re in Singapore, and I’d be a terrible host if I let your munchies be satisfied by anything other than the wholesome food of our hawker centers.” He got up and grabbed the keys to his BMW, waiting in front of the apartment building. The driver’s door was scratched around the handle, and similar marks could be found all over the tan leather upholstery, which were signs of clumsiness rather than self-vandalism. The car ran smoothly and silently, just like all second-generation electric cars. The traffic was heavy, but we careened through it with a few prolonged honks following us occasionally.

“So, what do you want to eat?” he asked as we got on the freeway, remembering that we were, after all, headed somewhere.

“I am alright with anything, you know I am not fussy about food,” I lied.

“You on those uppers your boss was on back when I was staying with you guys in the Cube?” he was referring to our headquarters located in Lamplight, in middle of Central Park.

The BMW hummed quietly as we sped through Singapore’s neon-lit streets. Outside, the city flickered past in a kaleidoscope of colors—towering glass skyscrapers, crowded food stalls, and the occasional flash of greenery. The sharp scent of rain lingered in the air, though the storm had already passed.

“How’s your boss these days?” the Lizard Man asked, flicking his long tongue out to tap the corner of his lips. “Jeremy Thorpe, right? Or should I say, Mr. Immortal Playboy?”

I shifted in my seat, watching the glow of red taillights blur through the windshield. “Don’t call him that.”

“Why not? That’s what he is, isn’t he?” He glanced at me, his yellow eyes narrowing in amusement. “The man’s ancient. What’s he now, ninety? A hundred? And still chasing cocktails and… whatever else he chases.”

“He’s not that old,” I muttered, though even I didn’t sound convinced.

The Lizard Man laughed, the sound dry and rasping. “Sure. I bet he still walks into a room like he owns the place. All stiff and upright, like a vampire mimicking a human.” He gestured ahead, where a cluster of motorbikes weaved in and out of the lanes. His claws tapped idly on the steering wheel.

“He’s disciplined,” I said, though the word felt hollow as I spoke it.

“Disciplined? Please.” He shook his head, a sharp turn of scales catching the faint glow of passing streetlights. “The guy’s got the kind of energy that makes you want to check if he’s hiding something. You know, like a mosquito that buzzes just close enough to drive you insane.”

I stared out at the water’s edge as we passed Marina Bay Sands, its sleek silhouette reflecting off the calm harbor. “You’re not wrong,” I said finally. “He’s always had this presence. Makes you uneasy, though you can’t quite pin down why. He stands there all straight-backed, like a soldier, but there’s something restless underneath. Like he’s waiting for something. Or someone.”

“Sounds exhausting,” the Lizard Man said, glancing over at me. “Not for him, though. For you.”

“Yeah,” I admitted. “His face doesn’t help either. It’s gaunt and weathered, like someone who’s lived too much but hasn’t had enough. And those suits of his? Fine, sure. But they’re never immaculate. Creased elbows, worn shoulders, like the guy doesn’t even stand still long enough to iron his goddamn image.”

The Lizard Man snorted, flicking on his turn signal as we merged onto another highway. “Sounds like he can’t decide if he’s royalty or just some workaholic who’s one step away from losing it.”

“That’s exactly it,” I said, exhaling sharply. “I used to think he was the kind of leader who looked out for his team. Someone sharp, able to think on his feet. I’d even tell people how lucky I was to work for him. And maybe I believed it, once.”

“But now you don’t,” he said, his voice lower, quieter.

“No. Now… I don’t know what he is. A corpse, maybe. One that doesn’t realize it’s dead yet. He’s just out there, haunting the earth, trying to suck whatever new pleasure he can find.”

For a moment, the only sound was the soft hum of the car and the faint chatter of a radio station playing through the speakers of a passing cab. The Lizard Man finally broke the silence.

“Guess we all despise our bosses a little, huh?” he said, his tongue flicking lazily as he stared out at the road ahead. I didn’t answer. Maybe he was right.

---

We ended up having Hainanese chicken rice by Changi Beach. People surrounded us, but they didn’t seem to notice my friend. To them, he was no more out of place than the industrial ports that dirtied the horizon on either side. I was happy he didn’t remember who he was before he became a highly educated stoner living in a country that would’ve arrested him if he were human.

As the sun set, we fell into a long, comfortable silence. The lazy splashes of the waves mixed with the chatter of people and the faint music from a nearby beach bar.

“Buddy, how come there are no vice women? Have you ever met any of your colleagues?” he asked suddenly, breaking the stillness.

“In all honesty, I wouldn’t be able to tell. I’ve only met a handful of my colleagues. Most of us are in contact with our boss, Jeremy Thorpe. We only contact each other when the mission requires it.”

“So you’re meeting each other for the first time in the field? That’s crazy. How can you be sure the person is who they say they are?” he asked, licking his plate clean with his long tongue.

“Now, that would be giving out trade secrets. But we have our ways. Sometimes, we don’t even tell each other anything unless necessary. We do our part and get out. That should be our motto,” I said, watching the sun dip into the sea.

“Do you guys even have a motto?” he asked, lighting a Mevius cigarette and offering me one.

“Audeamus. I think it suits us,” I replied, exhaling.

“Like how you’re now trying to kill me?” His yellow eyes narrowed, thin, and mean.

“Is that a joke, or are you finally starting to get paranoid?” I asked as I watched the seagulls fly.

“Paranoia keeps you alive,” he said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. “And if it’s not paranoia, it’s knowing what someone like you is capable of.”

I didn’t respond. He flicked ash from his cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the dusk. Maybe it was just his lizard brain talking, hardwired for survival, always scanning for threats, always ready to flee or fight. That instinct was how he had stayed alive this long.

I just watched the waves roll in, lazy and slow, and thought about how quickly things could change.

(End of the First Chapter)