Annihilating the Past

by Benjamin Broke

2nd Civil War

  Annihilating the Past

  Benjamin Broke

  Copyright 2014 Benjamin Broke

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  Contents:

  Annihilating the Past

  About Benjamin Broke

  Also By Benjamin Broke

  Contact Benjamin Broke

  Annihilating the Past

  My intention was to write a short intro and then just insert a transcript of my interview with Trevor Brushton. What I have done instead is to insert myself into the story. I didn’t do this as an homage to outmoded forms of journalism, I did it because I may have become a part of the story of Trevor Brushton’s subsequent death.

  I’m not sure.

  When word came down that I had gotten the interview, but that it would have to be in person, at his villa in Baja, people around the office reacted the same way they would’ve if I were being sent into a warzone. They said ‘be careful down there,’ or ‘I hope you have a solid escape plan,’ or simply, ‘are you sure you want to do this?’

  The name Trevor Brushton held such menace that spending a week with him and his family in a converted resort in Baja was comparable to risking life and limb on the front lines. Even my editors were a little weary. ‘Don’t question any inconsistencies in his story,’ one of them told me, ‘just get his side of it and get out. We’ll fact check it later.’ This was the same editor who, when I interviewed an anarchist accused of murdering 26 people, told me, ‘don’t let the bastard off the hook.’ He gave me photographs of the dead to show the guy.

  But I knew that whatever the dangers might be, and I already suspected that they were overblown, I had to do the interview. This man created the first annihilation sorties. What other living human being could say they had a hand in creating a form of art that instantly made everything that came before it look old-fashioned?

  (I know there were others involved, and that there are many conflicting stories of how the first sorties came about, but every story features Brushton as a main character, if not the driving force. His testimony must, therefore, be essential. The participants in that early scene, the ones who lived, all have axes to grind and legends to burnish. The stories they tell are suspiciously self-serving, and Brushton’s is no exception. You can choose whichever story you like and believe it completely, but you can’t believe all of them, so the origins of annihilation have to remain a mystery.)

  I said goodbye to my cat, gave my cacti a little extra water, made sure my life insurance policy was up to date, and got on a plane to Mexico. All I brought with me was my small-screen and a bag. I wanted to travel light in case I had to get away quickly.

  Trevor Brushton will not give his address to anyone, including a reporter coming to interview him, but his publicist assured us that someone would meet me at the airport. I can’t say I was surprised when I arrived at Los Cabos International and no one was there. I tried the pick address I had, but no one answered. I left a message.

  Luckily, if Cabo has nothing else, it has hotel rooms, and since SoundWords was paying for it, I got myself a nice one. I ordered a large meal from room service and fell asleep watching American cartoons dubbed into Spanish on the big-screen.

  I woke up six hours later at 4:30 in the morning and there was still no response to my message. I went for a walk on the beach, got some breakfast and then called again at nine. I left another message and ordered a bloody Mary. I felt certain that the whole trip would be a bust.

  I was well into my second bloody Mary when a beautiful American with black hair and severe bangs came over. She asked if I was alone. “Yeah.” I said. “How about you?”

  “No, my friends are still sleeping upstairs.” She looked like she was maybe 25. She had a prominent nose, and intelligent eyes. “Have you ever been to a dog race?” She asked me.

  “Sure, all the time.” I said.

  “There’s a great dog track here in Cabo. My friends and me are heading out there today. Maybe you’d like to join us?”

  “How would we get there?”

  “I have a car.” She said. “Rented. I come here for work two or three times a year, it’s a great town. I always try to show other Americans around.”

  “I’m Canadian.” I said.

  “Good, I hate Americans.” With the vodka warming my bloodstream she seemed charming and attractive. “I’m Lillian.” She said.

  “Efrain.” I said. “I’d love to go to the track with you and your friends.”

  “I don’t really have any friends upstairs.” She said. “I don’t know why I lied.”

  I laughed.

  If you’ve never been to the dog track I highly recommend it, and I hope your ability to pick winners is better than mine. Lillian told me she managed the property holdings for a Chinese company and I told her I was in advertising. I don’t think either one of us believed the other. We smoked a joint on our way from the track, and we decided to stop off at a roadside taco place. While we waited for our order to come up I decided to try my luck. “Do you listen to annihilation sorties?” I asked her.

  “Not anymore.” She said. “I used to get annihilated every weekend, but these days the sorties are too commercial. Why, do you?”

  “Sometimes.” I said. “I heard a rumor that Trevor Brushton lives down here. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, he’s got a ranch up the coast. It used to be a resort, now he’s got his pigpen in the old tennis courts. He’s just as crazy as everyone says.”

  “Could we go up there and check it out?” I asked.

  Her eyes were heavy and red but I could still see the curiosity there. “I guess.” She said. “It’s not much to look at from the outside.”

  “I think I could get us in.” I said. She said okay, but I could tell she didn’t believe me. After we ate our tacos we started the long drive to Rattler Ranch. She was fun and beautiful but I wasn’t there to meet fun and beautiful people, I was there to get an interview. I knew I’d have to ditch her if I had a chance to get into the compound. I felt bad about it, but I couldn’t bring some random trick with me on an interview. Unprofessional.

  When we got to the turn off that led to the ranch Lillian’s small-screen went dead and the car rolled to a stop. She said Trevor had jammers and blockers set up all around the perimeter. Apparently it had caused a local kerfuffle when people’s small-screens stopped working every time they drove by Rattler Ranch, but Trevor had enough money to do pretty much whatever he wanted in Mexico. Now everyone just knew that on that stretch of road you wouldn’t get a signal.

  Lillian switched to manual and took us up the dusty road, past signs that said: Private Property, No Trespassing, and You Are Now Being Monitored by Sequential Time Scanners. In the middle of the vast expanse of nothingness, among the brush and rocks, a high chain link fence appeared in the distance. When we arrived at the locked gate we got out of the car and looked at an enormous sign that read: ELECTRIC! INSTANT DEATH! The fence was at least twelve feet high with a spiral of razor wire along the top. Lillian laughed. “I guess we’re not getting in.” She said.

  “You think they know we’re here?” I asked.

  “The signs said we were being monitored.” She said. “I have no reason to disbelieve them.”

  “Maybe they’ll send someone to see what we want.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.” She said. She pulled out another joint and lit it and handed it to me. “What makes you think you can get us in there?”

  “Don’t
worry about it.” I took a hit and handed it back.

  She took a long hit and leaned back against the hood of her car. “I got you all figured out already.” She said. “I can see it in your face. Your mama told you that Trevor Brushton is your daddy, huh? You came all the way down here to try to meet him, thinking he’ll welcome you with open arms. Shit, this is breaking my heart.”

  I took the joint and hit it a couple of times. I’ll say this for Lillian, she smoked some good weed. “You don’t think he’ll be happy to see me?” I asked.

  “I don’t know one way or the other.” Lillian said. “But I’ll tell you this, you’re not the first person who’s come scratchin’ around Rattler Ranch looking for a family reunion…”

  “You calling my mom a liar?”

  “I wouldn’t know,” she said, “but it’s been known to happen. A little boy asking who his daddy is over and over and eventually mom just says ‘see that man on the big-screen? He’s your daddy.’ She picked the right person, it’s almost impossible to contact the guy. Also it’s got the added benefit of making you feel special, ’cause you’re running around thinking your dad’s a genius and you’ve got genius blood running through your veins.”

  “Look at my face.” I said. “Are you honestly telling me you don’t see a resemblance?”

  “Hmm,” she said, “maybe the nose.”

  I laughed, but I couldn’t laugh long because there was a truck coming up the road on our side of the fence. The driver slowed down and stopped about 20 feet away from us. A woman stuck her head out the window. “Private property.” She said. “I could shoot both of you dead and it would be legal.”

  I told Lillian to wait and approached the truck. The woman was frowning at me. She looked like she was in her late forties, of Italian decent, with short black hair and intense dark eyes. “My name is Efrain Zimmer, I’m from SoundWords up in Vancouver. I’m here for an interview.” I said.

  “You were supposed to be here yesterday.”

  “Um, yeah, sorry about that.” I said. “I’m here now.”

  “Who’s your friend?”

  “Just someone I met in town.” I said. “She gave me a ride.”

  “Well, get in.” The woman said. I waved to Lillian and shouted out my thanks and got in the truck as the gate opened automatically. Lillian had a curious half-smile on her face as we went by. “I’m Tiny.” The woman said.

  “Tiny Tresaro?”

  She nodded.

  “I’m a big fan.” I said. “Your sorties meant a lot to me as a kid.”

  “Uh-huh.” She said. “You can’t see Trevor today. He just got back from a long trip and he’s been in the studio working.”

  “He’s working on music?”

  “Nah, he’s doing sculpture.” She said. I wasn’t sure if she was kidding and she looked at me shook her head. “Yeah, he’s working on some music. Anyway, he’ll be too tired for an interrogation today.”

  “I’m not going to interrogate him.” I said. “I just want to ask him some questions.”

  “About the past.”

  “Of course.” I said.

  “You think talking about the past will help you learn something about it?” She shook her head.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I can’t go back in time and live it, so I have to hear about it second hand.”

  “I don’t think it’s worth much.”

  “What’s the harm in trying?” I asked.

  “I don’t expect someone just out of diapers to understand, but the past aint a happy-place for everyone sweetheart.”

  “He practically invented annihilation sorties.” I said. “That’s an amazing achievement, you’d think he’d be happy to talk about it.”

  “Even a so-called amazing achievement can be a painful memory.” She said. The big house was coming up in the distance, with the ocean sparkling behind it. “I was against the interview, but our lawyer said it might help. We’re supposed to be getting him up on a pedestal as a cultural icon. For the first ten years what he was doing wasn’t even considered music, now they’re trying to turn him into an elder-statesman of the arts.”

  “It’s not a bad idea.” I said, checking out the columned terrace overlooking the cliffs that spilled down to the sandy beach below. “He’d need a pretty comprehensive image rehab if he wanted to move back to the states or to Pacifica.”

  “It’d be nice to have the option.” She said as the truck pulled next to a parked car and stopped. “The war can’t last forever.”

  A couple of half-naked children ran up to the truck screaming and Tiny gave them some candy out of one of the grocery bags in the back. She told me to take some bags and we went into the industrial sized kitchen through a side door. She said to leave the bags, and that Rosella would take care of them. She led me into a sunken living room space, where two guys in their early thirties were screaming at a football match on the big-screen. “That’s Carlos and Tes.” She said to me, “those were Carlos’s kids out back. Tes’s wife Becca and their girls are around here somewhere.”

  “You have a daughter don’t you?”

  “Pia’s away at school.” She said. “And Shara, Carlos’s wife, is still in the hospital. Usually there are more people here. Let’s go see Candice, she’ll be glad you made it.”

  She led me up a wide staircase to an open sitting room with a big window that overlooked an expanse of the Pacific Ocean. Candice Perra was deep into something on a curve-screen, but she shut it down when Tiny and I entered the room. She stood to shake my hand. She was in her mid sixties, with maybe some subtle surgical tucking or injections. She was wearing a retro neon camo-print skirt and a simple black top that showed off a colorful tattoo that snaked from the back of her hand all the way up to her face. She looked at me warmly and asked why I hadn’t come the day before.

  I explained to them that I hadn’t been given the address and that the publicist had assured me that someone would pick me up at the airport. The apologies started flowing, and we sat on the large couch together as they tried to figure out who had dropped the ball. “It’s fine really,” I said, “I stayed at a nice hotel at SoundWords’ expense.”

  “It’s just as well,” Candice said, “Trevor couldn’t have done the interview today. He’s been in the studio since he got back and he’ll have to sleep eventually. You can probably talk to him tomorrow.”

  “I’ll get Carlos to take you into town to get your bags after dinner.” Tiny said. “You can stay in one of the guest bungalows.”

  “Thanks,” I said, “you said Trevor just got back from a trip? Where did he go?”

  They shared a look. “He takes long boat trips.” Candice said. “He likes to be out on the open ocean. It’s elemental.”

  “Part of his creative process.” Tiny said. “He comes back and goes right into the studio.”

  “That’s funny,” I said, “he hasn’t put out a sortie in years. I’m glad to hear he’s working again.”

  “He never stopped working.” Tiny said.

  I asked if I could interview the two of them, and they seemed surprised, but agreed. I got my small-screen out, and as I set it recording and transcribing Candice was explaining why she hates talking about herself.

  -BEGIN AUDIO TRANSCRIPT-

  Candice (cont.)

  …and then I keep talking and when I’m hearing my own voice I get more interested in making it a good story than saying what I was trying to say. When I read it later I think I’ve been misquoted, but no, I wind up misquoting myself. (laughs)

  Me

  Let me know if you think you’ve done that and we can get it straight before I leave.

  Candice

  That’s why it’s good that Tiny’s here. She knows me better than anyone, she can rein me in if she has to.

  Me

  When you all moved down here to Mexico there was a lot of speculation that you were running from legal troubles. Is that true?

  Tiny

  No, not at all. If we were ru
nning from legal troubles we would’ve left a lot earlier. We’d been fighting all sorts of court cases for years, there was no end to it. Besides, if we were running from the law we wouldn’t have come to Mexico. Mexico has an extradition treaty with the U.S. We could’ve easily gone somewhere that didn’t.

  Me

  Most people think that you left when they were going to charge Trevor with bigamy.

  Tiny

  That’s bullshit, they never had a case against us…

  Candice

  They were searching for anything they could use against us at that point. The party hadn’t co-opted the sorties yet, so they were acting out of fear.

  Me

  But the three of you are married?

  Tiny

  Yes but it was always a spiritual marriage. We weren’t trying to make it legal.

  Me

  It’s an unusual union, and the fundamentalists were ascendant at that time in the states. Can you give me a brief history of how the three of you came together?

  Tiny

  We never planned it…

  Candice

  Trevor and I had already been living together for ten years when I fell in love with Tiny. They had been collaborating on sorties so I met her socially and the chemistry was just (inaudible) We knew it had to happen. We had to be together. It was an amazing time and within a year Tiny and I were married.

  Tiny

  Candice and I are legally married.

  Me

  If it’s not too personal, how did Trevor respond to your relationship?

  Candice

  He was happy for me. He’s not the type of person to feel threatened or anything, and Tiny was a close friend. If anything he was just worried that I was going to move out. He made it clear that he wanted us to stay, and I certainly didn’t want to leave him, so we all lived together very happily.

  Me

  This was all before the end of the world?

  Tiny

  Yeah, we’d been living together for a few years before money turned to shit. Trevor was one of the few people who was actually prepared for it. We used to think he was paranoid, buying guns and platinum bars and putting those huge water tanks on the compound.

  Candice

  People thought he was nuts.

  Tiny

  Here was this guy with two wives and a bunch of guns, living behind big walls. They thought he was one of those fundamentalist Mormons!

  Candice

  (laughing) It never occurred to anyone that it wasn’t a story about a man with two wives, it was a story about a woman with a wife and a husband.

  Me

  I understand someone in a relationship falling in love with someone else, but I don’t see how that turned into a trio. What happened?

  Tiny

  We were kind of a family right off the bat. Trevor and Candice had Tesla and Shara, they were five and seven at the time, and they both took to me right away.

  Candice

  They call her mama T and I’m mama C…

  Tiny

  Eventually Candice and I wanted to have a baby and it was