He now sat in a small room with a mirrored wall and a metal table before him. Across the table was a very large, very angry man who was the source of Darryl’s pain. The big man was Detective Harker, he had introduced himself ad then proceeded to berate Darryl for the better part of ten minutes. Harker called Darryl things like “lunatic,” “scumbag,” and “Shit-wipe.” Darryl had never heard the last one but the detective said it with vigor.

Harker was a tall, heavily muscled man. His thick neck was stuffed into a dress shirt. Grey-brown stubble coated his hair and face. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to reveal a series of military tattoos. At the moment Harker’s face was beat red with fury.

“I just wanted to feel happy,” Darryl reasoned. Why was this so hard for the cop to appreciate?

“So it made you fuckin happy to slap a poor, defenseless girl around?” Harker bellowed as he slammed his hammer-like fist into the metal table.

Darryl winced, was this ape mentally damaged? What didn’t he understand? Darryl struggled to discern why this was so offensive. He was sad, and empty, but for a few short moments he felt alive. Didn’t he deserve to feel that way?

The door to the interview room opened and the tall red-head walked in. Darryl smiled briefly until he caught her steely glare. Her brow furrowed when their eyes met, her jaw set tightly making the muscles in her face twitch, she quickly transformed from a beautiful goddess into a callous demon.

“This guy killed an old man and beat the shit out of a girl because it made him happy!” Harker said to the woman with a cold laugh. “Believe that one? Sicko was down in the dumps,” the detective said mockingly.

The woman shook her head. “Harker, we have visitors,” she said, motioning towards the door.

Both Darryl and Harker looked towards the entrance. Two tall men in dark suits entered the room. One had dark hair the other was blonde, but for that, the two could have been twins. Darryl immediately thought they were federal agents, he had seen enough movies to know how it worked.

“What the fuck is this?’ Harker groaned as he stood. The pair remained silent and the woman produced, what looked like, an official document. Harker grabbed it from her hand.

“A court order??” he shouted. Darryl smiled inwardly, this sounded good for him.

The blonde suit stepped forward, “We are relieving you of your problem.” he said motioning to Darryl who didn’t appreciate being referred to as a ‘problem.’

“You jokers aren’t relieving us of shit!” Harker barked as he threw the paper back at the two men. “This guy was picked up in our jurisdiction committing multiple violent crimes on our turf! Where the fuck are you from anyway??”

Blonde suit scowled but his partner remained stoic and spoke, “Judge Conrad seems to disagree. You can take the matter up with him but for now, we’re taking your suspect.” Darryl noticed that neither of the men in suits answered Harker’s question about where they were from.

Harker stepped aggressively towards blonde suit, but the man did not back down. “This shit-stain killed an old man and put a waitress so far into a coma that she may never recover, he’s not going anywhere!”, Harker barked.

“She wanted to be an actress,” Darryl wasn’t sure why he said that, but he felt compelled to correct the moronic cop.

Harker spun around like a panther on its prey. Darryl was shocked by the speed of the large cop. The detective shot his arm at Darryl’s grabbing him by the collar and dragged the smaller man across the metal table. Darryl choked as the cop got right in his face. Harker’s eyes were as wide with rage as Darryl’s were with fear.

“Don’t you DARE talk about her, you sick fuck!” spit showered Darryl face as Harker seethed. The cop’s face was now reddened with emotion and the two suits were lurching to Darryl’s defense. It took the two strangers and the lady detective to pry Darryl from Harker’s python-like grasp.

Darryl gasped for air as he fell back into the chair, Harker pushed the other’s away as he straightened his tie and regained his composure.  Although calmed, the darkness in Harker’s eye showed his already short fuse was down to a nub.

Rubbing his tender neck Darryl screamed, “this guy is a maniac! I have rights! He assaulted me and you all saw it!!!”

Harker shot him an ice-cold glance that made Darryl’s stomach turn. The female cop jumped between her partner and Darryl putting her hands against her partner’s broad chest, “He’s not worth it,” she said quietly.

Harker sneered, “no, no he’s not.”

Blonde suit cleared his throat, “, as we said, we’ll just take this little problem off your hands before anything else happens.”

With that, the other suit grabbed Darryl roughly and hauled him out of the chair.

“Hey! I thought you guys were here to protect me from these assholes,” Darryl shrieked pointing at Harker.

“Protect you? I’d let that monster tear you limb from limb if it were up to me,” the suit hissed as motioned back at Harker who twisted his neck making a popping sound. “Unfortunately it’s not up to me,” he said as he gave Darryl a hard shove.

Darryl knew that this was bad, the big ape was nuts, but at least he was a cop, Darryl didn’t even know who these suits were or what they wanted with him.

As they walked past Harker and the lady cop, Darryl heard Harker growl at the strangers, “You know this is bullshit.” Darryl finally agreed with the cop, this really was bullshit.

****

Patrick sat in his lab where he had spent nearly every hour of the past month. It was located in a warehouse that was rented by a corporate shell created by Ferguson. Patrick preferred to know as few details as possible. It really didn’t matter, all he cared about was his theory, his research and results.

Leaving his new congregation was easy. They were sad to see the notable young priest leave, but there was no love lost. Patrick promised he would be replaced by someone of equal celebrity.

He then moved into his warehouse-laboratory. Patrick’s files were all transported and made available to him. He spent the first week reviewing all of his past work. Patrick agonized every line.

Once he had combed through all the files and reorganized his thoughts it was time to meet with subjects. Patrick interviewed 25 individuals over the past month.  He got very little personal information and never asked where they came from, first names only. Patrick had developed a series of 50 standard questions and created a barrage of visual stimuli. All the results were tracked and recorded. Patrick was close, the conclusions the data foretold were nearly incontrovertible.

Patrick poured over the data and images covering his work space. Graphs and charts were strewn across the large, metal table. X-ray type images hung from the walls. Patrick leaned back in his chair and took in the environment he had created over his countless hours working. He was so close, his work was at a climax and he could taste success.

He heard the main door of the warehouse churn as it opened mechanically. A monitor on the wall showed a familiar black Suburban pulling into the bay. Three men exited the big vehicle, two he recognized and a new subject. Patrick had received notice that he would be meeting with another this evening. This one was of particular interest.

The door to Patrick’s lab swung open and two men in dark suits entered with the stranger between them. Patrick only knew their last names, the blonde was Wagner and the other was Stanley.  They both nodded to the priest, Wagner pushed the newcomer into a chair.

The man whined, “Hey, you guys aren’t cops, where the fuck am I?”

Patrick shook his head and rubbed his brow. “Have you fellas bothered to explain the rules to our friend here?”

Stanley’s usually calm demeanor waivered as he cleared his throat, “our friend here is a special case. We were told to stay here during the interview. There are some legal issues that still need to be resolved.”

“I don’t even want to know,” the young priest replied as he continued to rub his forehead.

Patrick turned his attention to the man in the chair as the Stanley and Wagner assumed positions by the door. “Sir, you are only here to answer some questions, then you can be on you way.”

Wagner coughed loudly, Patrick glared at him as Wagner shook his head vehemently. Shrugging Patrick continued, “would you like some water or coffee?”

The man looked sheepishly at the priest then glanced back at the two tall men by the door. He nodded hesitantly, “some coffee.” Patrick glanced at Stanley and nodded, the blonde man exited with a disgusted sigh.

“Now, what’s your name, just your first name?”  the priest finally asked.

The man suddenly stared up at Patrick, the visible fear in the stranger’s eyes dissolved, quickly replaced by a chilling disconnect. “I’m Darryl, and we’ll still be here long after you’re gone.”

After leaving the old man’s apartment Darryl went back to the diner. He then followed Nicky home after her shift and took note of her address. Darryl returned to her apartment the next day while she was at work. Breaking into her small apartment proved even easier than Darryl had expected; he simply pushed open a small window and quietly shimmied through it and onto her living room rug.

Darryl stalked around Nicky’s apartment, finally sitting restlessly on her couch. He was anxious and but he wasn’t sure why. When the door finally cracked open he stood and faced the entryway with a nervous smile. Nicky’s response was not what he had expected; she yelled, and then threw a candle at him. Luckily, the candle missed Darryl and crashed against the wall behind him, leaving a spidery crack where it had struck the plaster. Nicky turned and began to run back towards her front door. Darryl moved faster and grabbed her by the wrist, hurling her into the couch.

He only wanted to talk, but she was making it so difficult. Darryl wanted to tell Nicky how he felt. He needed to smile like the old man did when Nicky clutched his wrinkled hand. But now, she was just screaming, and whimpering. It made no sense, but seeing her so upset did make him feel better, so he slapped her….hard. Blood dripped from her mouth as she fell to the ground with a yelp.

Suddenly, Darryl felt immeasurably better. Nicky was crying, and pleading, “Why, why?”

“Why?” Darryl thought. Why not?

****

The massive V8 roared as the serpentine ebony car charged over the pavement. Harker’s Camaro was his pride and joy, he pampered the vehicle like a child and drove it like a wild stallion. Ostrowski tried to settle into the deep bucketed seat but the force from the acceleration made it difficult to get comfortable. She looked at her hulking partner who was currently hunkered over the leather wrapped steering wheel directing the bullet-like vehicle as it flew down a backstreet. Massive tires squealed as Harker pulled a hard turn, the rubber fought to maintain traction until the power of the giant engine rocketed them forward.

“So the old guy spent some time with a waitress while he ate lunch,” Ostrowski yelled over the roaring motor. She was nauseas from Harker’s driving but she knew that he didn’t give a flying fuck.. The car made him happy and he was more pliable when he was content.

“According to our timeline, the waitress was the last person Mr. Phillips spoke to before returning to his apartment,” Harker’s growl was almost in tune with the muscle car’s beastly purr.

Ostrowski glanced at her pad, “Nicky Gracini worked at the diner for a few months. She was originally from the ‘burbs and had dreams of becoming a singer. If there is any bigger cliché, I can’t think of it.”

“Jesus, Ostrich, how did you become such a cynic?” Harker shook his head. “Can’t a kid have a dream?”

“A dream is fine, but reality TV has made every talentless kid think their moment for stardom is just around the corner. They need to be more realistic,” she rebutted.

“Realistic? What, and become a bitter cop who hates men in authority and lives with 16 cats?” Harker chuckled.

“It’s 5 cats and I listen to you…sometimes!” She snapped. Harker’s face broke into a grin,

The squak of their radios interrupted their repartee. Dispatch was reporting a domestic disturbance at an apartment complex not far from their location. Uniforms were responding but Harker and Ostrowski were closer. Ostrowski asked for the details.

“The apartment is rented by a Nicole Gracini,” dispatch reported.

The two stared at each other slack jawed. “No coincidence here,” Ostrowski whispered.

“Nope, not a god damn chance,” Harker replied as he depressed the accelerator. The Camaro bellowed as they thundered towards the apartment building.

****

Nicky lay on the ground, she stopped counting how many times he had hit her. It didn’t matter. Her right eye had nearly swollen shut and the left wasn’t far behind. She had stopped sobbing and pleading; it wasn’t doing her any good and he clearly didn’t care. In fact it seemed as if her sobbing it was only making the situation worse. He was empowered by her cries and the throbbing in her head made it hard to concentrate on crying. She began to wish for the sanctity of unconsciousness.

At first she couldn’t register who he was, the shock of a person being in her apartment had frozen her brain. After his first blow she realized he was the creepy guy from the diner. She had always noticed he was handsome, but the way he had looked at her chilled Nicky to the core…now she understood why. The man was clearly a maniac and he was going to kill her.

Currently the psycho was stalking around the apartment muttering to himself. Nicky couldn’t hear what he was saying and she really didn’t care. The taste of blood filled her mouth and her side was aching. She had broken her ribs once when playing field hockey in high school – this felt worse.

Suddenly Nicky felt a wrenching at her scalp. He was grabbing her by her hair. The man lifted her up by her pony tail and threw her across the room like a child tossing a doll. She crashed against a small table with a yelp. Still, the darkness did not come. Nicky realized it was the middle of the day and barely anyone was home in her small apartment building. Those currently in the building were seniors and probably couldn’t hear the racket – she was doomed.

She felt herself beginning to slip as though an exhausted sleep was overtaking her, she welcomed it. Suddenly a pounding roused her. At first, Nicky thought it was the throbbing in her head, but the noise became louder, suddenly, a shouting accompanied it. It was coming from the door!

Slowly, Nicky turned her aching head towards the doorway. Standing between Nicky and the entrance to her apartment, the lunatic shook a clenched fist and yelled towards the door. The shouting from outside came again, it sounded like a threat, but she couldn’t make out the words.

Suddenly the door exploded, splintering from its hinges and frame it fell to the ground. Her savior came charging through the opening. He was huge, and it looked as though a cape flowed around him. A superhero, maybe? None of this made sense but she now struggled to stay conscious.

The lunatic shouted something at her hero but it was too late. The giant grabbed him by his neck and threw him to the ground. The madman gasped as the impact drove the wind from his lungs; he then screamed in agony while his arm was wrenched behind his back, Nicky heard the snapping of bone, her attacker shrieked.

From behind her hero she saw an angel enter the apartment, an angel with blazing hair like fire. The angelic figure rushed over to Nicky and asked her a question, Nicky tried to respond but she couldn’t find her voice. It was as though she was falling down a deep hole and the beautiful angel was growing further away. Nicky tried to call to her but it was useless, the angel was too distant. The last thing Nicky heard was the maniac crying and then the loud thud of a fist on human meat. Her hero spoke but the words were unintelligible.  Nicky finally surrendered to the blissful darkness.

The small television that hung from the wall showed an attractive newscaster reporting on the most recent development in sci-natal technology. It seemed that doctors believed they could now locate and eliminate certain genetic triggers that increased a person’s risk of cancer. The report flashed to a portly scientist dressed in a stereotypical lab coat blabbering excitedly about the significance of this advancement. The scientist was followed by an older clip of a young man in a priest’s collar warning of the dangers of sci-birthing and the loss of God in the process. A roundtable of reporters then began discussing the virtues and pitfalls of sci-birthing.

Darryl smiled to himself. ‘pitfalls of sci-birthing,’ it was a ridiculous concept. Darryl himself was product of sci-birthing. He had never been sick a day in his life, his IQ was far above average and he was in fantastic shape for a man his age. The only danger Darryl saw was the danger of being too good!

A curvy brunette roused him from his thoughts as she walked past him. Nicky had been working at the diner for nearly three months, she had to be Darryl’s favorite. Her uniform fit snuggly in all the right places and she often left one extra button undone. Darryl was confident that this was done to purposefully draw his attention – it worked.

“Was everything alright Darryl?” Nicky asked in her chipper voice. Darryl knew she did not make an effort to know all the regular’s names. She went out her way with him.

“Of course it was,” Darryl smiled, “Now when are you going to let me take you to a real restaurant for dinner?”

Nicky shot him a bashful smile, “You know I live with my boyfriend!” She slapped him playfully on the shoulder and continued on to her other tables. Darryl rolled his eyes with frustration. He’d seen her boyfriend and Darryl wasn’t impressed. The guy was an artist of some sort, far from Darryl’s caliber. Nicky should have been flattered that a guy like Darryl was so interested.

Darryl watched the buxom girl as she tended to another table of one. An elderly man flirted with her openly. The man wore a bright green sweater and medical style beige shoes.  Darryl was shocked to see Nicky sit with him and hold one of his decrepitly, gnarled hands. The two laughed as they shared some inside joke. How was this possible, Nicky had never sat with Darryl or held Darryl’s hand. She was obviously just making the old fart feel good, but it was disgusting to watch her fawn over him. Darryl sneered at the sight of the two.

The old man laughed loudly at a few whispered words from Nicky. Darryl fumed. He could not rationalize why he was so angry, but he was.  The old man had to be at least ninety, NINETY! This was inconceivable. What did the codger think he was going to do? Pop three Viagra and pray he got it up? Disgusting! The thought of this frail old coot lying on top of Nicky huffing away made Darryl’s stomach roil.

Shaking his head Darryl attempted to clear his rising ire. It was silly, why did this bother him? Nicky laughed once more then rose from the booth seat. The old man stood slowly and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She laughed again and playfully pinched his weathered jowl. Grabbing his coat and cane the man hobbled out of the diner. Nicky walked past Darryl and winked at him. Slut!

Darryl watched the old man walk by the window and head down the block. Throwing a twenty on the table Darryl quickly slid out the door and strode in the same direction.

***

The dimly lit hallway of the small apartment building was filled with uniformed officers and forensics analysts.  Police tape cordoned off an area in front of one apartment door restricting access to the crime scene. Harker pushed past a few cops who nodded amicably at the senior detective. A tattered trench coat stretched across his broad shoulders, an old paisley tie hung from his unbuttoned shirt collar. Harker entered the apartment where more officers were logging evidence from the crime scene. Crime Scene Unit investigators snapped off countless pictures, flashes lit the confined room.

Near the kitchen Harker found his partner. A tall woman in a crisp navy pant suit was speaking Spanish to a smaller, bald man. A badge and sidearm hung from her belt. The bald man was clearly upset as he waved his arms and spoke rapidly in his native dialect.

“What’s the story Ostrich?” Harker asked the female detective. Maureen Ostrowski was a stunner. Tall, leggy with blazing red hair, she belonged on a runway, not at a crime scene. At the sight of Harker and the sound of the unappreciated nickname the female detective scowled. Harker smiled.

“Just like you to show up after the work has been done,” Ostrowski shot back.

“If you haven’t closed the folder on this, the work has hardly been done,” Harker barked flatly.

Ostrowski pointed to a body on the floor. An old man in a green sweater lay on his back. Blood pooled around his head. The man’s limbs lay askew where he had fallen.

“Mr. Ruiz,” Ostrowski motioned at the Hispanic man who began muttering angrily, “ is the super here. He found our DOA when he heard a commotion. By the time Ruiz got here, the killer was gone and Mr. Phillips here was dead,” Ostrowski explained.

“Blunt force trauma to the back of the poor guy’s head,” a voice behind the two detectives said. Ostrowski and Harker turned around to see a short, pudgy man in a Crime Scene Unit windbreaker.

“The weapon?” Harker questioned.

“It was something big, heavy and no longer on the premises,” the fat man said shaking his head. “The old fella never even saw his killer. From the position of the body and the proximity to the door, the killer probably followed Mr. Phillips in and grabbed the weapon and cracked him in one foul swoop.”

“That all?” asked Harker.

“Not quite,” the CSU Investigator sighed. He rubbed his thick hands over his fleshy face. “Without disturbing the body too much, I was able to estimate that the killer hit him a few more times about the cranium just for good measure. Who ever did this, really did not like the deceased.”

Harker turned back to Ostrowski then pointed to Mr. Ruiz, “He have anything useful to contribute?”

Ostrowski shook her head, “He said Phillips was a quiet, friendly old man. Kept to himself but always had a smile. No relatives to speak of, he had a steady routine that he rarely broke.”

Harker rubbed the few days of brown-gray stubble on his jaw, “A man with a routine is easy to track, let’s follow his day step-by-step and see what we learn.”

Ostrowski presented a sheet of paper. A numbered list was scrawled across it. “Way ahead of you. It seems Mr. Phillips ate lunch at a local diner every day. It would have been the last place he visited before coming home.”

The big detective smiled at the thoroughness of his comely partner. “Well, I haven’t had lunch today, have you?”

The two detectives left building, Harker noticed Ostrowski was quietly studying a small note pad she had pulled from her inner jacket pocket. She must have sensed him watching her because she shot him a sheepish glance then grabbed him by his big arm. The two stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, the tall red head turned to face the hulking detective.

“Just hear me out,” she started.

“Jesus, Ostrich, not this again!” Harker shouted as he raised his hands in disbelief.

“Stacy Harker! I’ve put up with your paramilitary bullshit for five years, the least you can do for me is entertain my wild hypotheses!” As much as Ostrawski loathed being called ‘Ostrich’, Harker hated his first name even more.  Most who called him ‘Stacy’ found themselves bruised and beaten, only Ostrich and his mother got away with it. Harker sighed heavily then hung his head.

“All I’m saying is that there have been 8 violent deaths in the past 3 months. We’ve never seen this much action.”

Harker glanced up at the other detective who had now defiantly set her jaw. “Each of these deaths have been totally unrelated, totally random,” He groaned. “We’ve beaten this horse to death, now we’re just pissing on its corpse.”

Ostrich wrinkled her nose, he loved disgusting her. “Nice dude, I’ve never peed on any animal, alive or dead. But what I have done is solved murders. We’ve had a 96% close rate up until these murders started three months ago.”

“Nothing started!” Harker shouted in frustration. “There is no pattern, none, zero! If we go back to the brass with some wild theory and start screaming serial killer, they’ll string us up!”

“Maybe the lack of a pattern is the pattern!” She pleaded. Harker enjoyed watching her try to weave her theories together, but she had been chasing this wild goose for nearly three months. “And I’m not saying it’s a serial killer, I’m just saying that where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“Now you’re not even making sense,” he whined. “And I am starving…and my head hurts, at least bore me with your Sherlock Holmes act over a greasy cheeseburger.”

“Fine!” She shouted, “But you’re paying.”

Harker shrugged his big shoulders, “anything to keep you quiet for five minutes.”

The tiny being floated in the thick fluid as if buoyed on a pillow of clouds. Immersed in the liquid, it received vital nutrients from a tube fused to its naval. For the past seven months it had grown and evolved in this perfect environment. Unaware of its surroundings, it fed and grew. Tightly closed slits concealed eyes that had yet to view a sun rise. Fingers, still forming, clenched tightly in a tiny fist. That fist would be needed some day, for this serene environment would not last forever, and it was a harsh world that the little one would soon enter.

Ferguson thought all of this as he watched the fetus float in the large glass cylinder. One of a thousand in this facility, the child was two months away from birth. “Birth”, the term brought a grim smile to his slender face. True births were becoming a rarity. Since the crisis nearly a half century prior, actual child birth had become truly dangerous. In about 2020, mothers started dying during childbirth at an alarming rate. Within a few years, the global birth rate had dropped drastically. Soon women were falling ill and losing their babies before even carrying them to term. Many women died mere months after becoming pregnant.

Nations across the world unanimously declared a global emergency. Expectant mothers were hospitalized for the duration of their pregnancies. Many still perished, their bodies unable to survive the seemingly common stress of child birth. Scientists and doctors postulated that environmental factors had weakened a woman’s natural ability to carry a child. By 2035, one in 50 babies was born alive. Of those few survivors, half of their mothers would never hold them.

World leaders met to address what seemed to be a global pandemic. Many considered it to be the end of humanity, nature’s way of eliminating a troublesome parasite that had done nothing but pollute and ruin its own habitat. Enter Eden Corporation: a global conglomerate with its fingers in everything from advanced weapons technology to massive real estate holdings. Eden Corp. had recently acquired a small genetics lab chock full of the brightest young minds in the industry. The original plan was to advance in-vitro fertilization techniques to assist seemingly sterile women otherwise incapable of carrying a child.

Much of the advancements during that time lead to the factory in which Ferguson stood. Eden Corp. took its new acquisition and focused the young scientists on solving the world wide birthing issue. Incapable of correcting  the seemingly unidentifiable problem within the mothers’ biology, Eden Corp focused on an alternative to the gestation/birthing dilemma. From this goal, the sci-natal wombs were born.  An artificial environment that mimicked a mother’s womb. Each infant’s nutrition, vitals, genetics, and brain activity were continuously monitored. The labs lost less than .5% of the children.

The first of this new breed of test-tube babies was birthed on June 17, 2048. Now, twelve years later, nearly three quarters of the births on the planet were run in similar facilities. Eden Corp, assisted by billions in international grants, controlled over three quarters of the planet’s pregnancy clinics. Millions had been born thanks to the technology, and millions were yet to come. Ferguson was the director of natal clinics for north eastern America. He had made a small fortune from his dutiful work for Eden Corp.

Many governments were making moves to ban traditional child birth. Deemed unsafe and a threat to civilization, sci-natal births offered all the benefit with none of the risk. It was a no-brainer. Last week Congress had introduced House Resolution 1212, a ban on all natural child birth. More contentious than Roe v. Wade, HR1212 had backing from many key figures, some of whom had lost loved ones during child birth. The effort was picking up steam. Political talking heads foresaw its passage within the next three to five months. Across the globe women who attempted traditional child birth were ostracized and in some cases attacked. The fear was irrational, but Eden Corp. promised an alternative to the violence and grief.

This posed a unique dilemma for Ferguson, his wife was 3 months pregnant, and by all indicators, both baby and mother were healthy. He wasn’t about to let the government rob him of his own flesh and blood or allow her to succumb to some crazed mob, but he had a plan to ensure that no one ever discovered his secret.

Carhartt puts out the fifth volume of their Brand Book, featuring the latest news and the stories behind their ongoing projects. Included in this edition is an editorial photoshoot with Jamie xx from the Brit band The xx. The editorial also includes an interview with insights from the music group. Also included is a restrospective on the artists involved in Carhartt’s illustration campaigns. Other features in this band book includes more interviews with Grotesk, Raphael Zarka and the architects Fred Naulin and Marianne Le Ster.

Visit: Carhartt

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Alpha Industries has been the authentic manufacturer of some of the most iconic flight jackets, field coats, and other military clothing throughout its existence. This book chronicles in various illustrations and over 200 photographs the history behind the brand. In fact some Alpha Industries garments have become valuable collectible pieces as well as highly sought after vintage Americana. Available at 111Vox.

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The Louis Vuitton Trunk is one of the most iconic travel accessories in the world of luxury and travel. As a way to capture the transformations and journeys of the trunk, a book entitled Louis Vuitton: 100 Legendary Trunks or Louis Vuitton: 100 Malles De Légende will be coming out this October. It chronicles such stories as the birth of the monogram trunk and other variations of this Louis Vuitton piece such as the trunk bed, the wardrobe trunk, the teabox, toiletry trunk, circus trunks, and more. It also reaches beyond just the item itself and extends to some of the prominent figures that were fortunate enough to own them.

In addition to the book, Louis Vuitton has also produced 30 reproductions of labels of the hotel’s private collection in a postcard format. Presented in the same type of box that of the book, the cards evoke much of the art of the travel as the grand hotels of the world. Hotel de Crillon in Paris and Mandarin Oriental in Bangkok are just some of the places that are represented in the tradition of sticking labels on the trunks.

The book will be available from October 13, 2010 to mark the opening of the exhibition “A Journey into the capital, Louis Vuitton and Paris” in the Carnavalet Museum (13 October 2010 to February 27, 2011 Musée Carnavalet 23, rue de Sévigné, 75003 Paris)

Source: De Jeunes

Ellen Von Unwerth’s upcoming book FRAÜLEIN pays homage to the female form and femininity. The likes of Carla Bruni, Eva Green, Kate Moss, Monica Bellucci, and more are photographed in the familiar sexual and sensual styles of Ellen Von Unwerth. Photographs of these iconic women include an air of romance and extreme desirability. Although some photographs might be a little kitsch (Kate Moss in a Baby Carriage), the point comes across that these icons own their sexuality and their feminine forms. Just 1,500 copies of this female fantasy book will be printed and signed by the author. It will be edited by Taschen and should be released soon.

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Photographer Michael Lavine traversed the Pacific Northwest to uncover the “Grunge” movement that dominated the first half of the 90s. In his second published book, “Grunge,” Lavine teams up with Sonic Youth front man, Thurston Moore, to detail their involvement in this phenomena/lifestyle that surged into mainstream cultures, but then fizzled out as the backlash of its popularity created a resentment by many of the participating artists. It’s a full spectrum of the era with intimate portraits captured by Lavine and personal testimonial from Moore that will make “Grunge” an intriguing read.

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Now entering its 11th year in publication, luxury fashion label Louis Vuitton continue to provide tourists with a taste for the fine arts with their city guides, aimed at tourists looking for the upper crusts of select cities. As opposed to the normal travellers’ guides unveiling historical and tourist hotspots, Louis Vuitton’s city guides continue their theme of providing informed commentaries on fashion, design, art, hotels, and the latest trends on 40 cities in total, which include Basel, Deauville, Mykonos, Malaga and Tel Aviv among the usual suspects such as London and New York City. Available for purchase on the 15th of October, the guides’ design was inspired by vintage luggage labels on holiday trunks.

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