Queen looks at Delilah putting on a backpack. “Hey spitfire, take care of my new buddy here.”
Delilah says. “If he’ll let me.”
Queen stands next David like she wants to get on the horse with him or maybe trade places. “This Boss, he sounds like a self-made pervert, but no one is beyond redeeming. Fucked up times make you do some fucked up things, plain and simple. You got my blood pressure going, get.”
David says from his horse. “Goodbye, my Queen.” He gets a gut-punching feeling of missing her and never seeing her again, like she’s one of his tough-loving aunts, plus he feels like a hypocrite in the exact same moment for telling Delilah over and over, that no one catches feelings in days. He acts casually indifferent to leaving Queen by not looking back and repeats past mistakes of not telling people how he feels about them before they’re gone forever.
She lets the horse pull away then slaps it on the ass. “Yaaaa.” David speeds away, longingly looking back at her. Queen cups her mouth. “I always wanted to do that.”
Chapter Nine
1
I see that David and some of the others are writing, it’s my luck to be traveling with English Lit. Majors. Or maybe, they’re onto something. Worth a shot, right? I had to write endless stacks of official police reports that no one ever read unless someone sued the department for negligence. Maybe I should start writing poetry to seem deeper. Nah, too much work. I’m a meat and potatoes kind of guy, what you see is what you get. Not the smiling type in pictures. I’m a tired old nomad that don’t give a shit about your plight. I don’t pick good or bad sides I choose to help people or not. Heroes and villains both don’t feel good because they both have to wake up to this world. DNA or God made me this way, I have no power over either, so why stress out. Not every story has a dumb-downed moral and not everyone is meant to be great.
KISS: keep it simple stupid.
With a lot of time to myself, I find myself thinking of the bizarre what-if and not so much about the present. For starters, would it be immoral to create an exhibit for the different types of living dead creatures or do they deserve rights like the animals we ate and displaced in the past. In the exhibit, there could be a Siamese creature, a two-headed monster, and a hermaphrodite being. To name a few. It could be a neo-freak show designed to entertain and educate future generations. The only “living” record of the event. At least it’ll be better than having to read my poetry.
The thoughts are flowing now; I had to flex the old brain muscles.
I’m a forgiving person with no friends or family. Make of that what you will. The Boss will squeal like a chink girl getting fucked when I’m done with him. What? Racist comments and jokes are fine as long as they’re not about my race. Thought by every person. Get thick skin, it makes it easier to live with your faults especially when others call you out on them. People judge constantly, but are always surprised and upset when they too are judged. This coming from the man who had to arrest colored kids in jigaboo parts of the city. Criminals love to throw race in your face as the excuse as to why they’re in jail, but brush over the fact that they were caught with a ton of narcotics. I don’t need anyone telling me about people, I dealt with scum everyday, some look like me, some look like you.
People use their differences as the reason why they shouldn’t be judged. A get-out-of-jail-free-card, applied to illegal and immoral behavior. They shift the discussion from bad behavior to being a victim of “hate targeting” which they use to do whatever they like in this world. Before you start crying lies, think about how many times where your actions were excused because of your gender, race, or nationality and you took advantage of the situation. Women crying wolf and putting men in prison for sexual assault who didn’t want to marry them. Men taking over every CEO job in this country, including nonwhites, most with half the experience as women. Minority groups will step on other minority groups to reach prosperity, it’s easier than earning it. The hypocrisy in the search for equality. The fear of being offensive led to more offenses from bad persons of every race. Saying or thinking racist thoughts is not wrong, basing actions, good or bad, off those thoughts is wrong. I’m allowed to think and say whatever I want, with no exceptions or I’m not me. Exceptions equal control, I accept law and order, not the thought-police.
Self-hatred is a powerful motivator, I regret not being the one killed by the Boss, my brother was a better man than me everyday of the week. I will kill this sinister trinity, the Boss and his two goons, for raping my friends and burning my only family at the stake.
Every living person who has attacked me over the years may have had a “mental disorder,” that excused their behavior and should’ve of been examined on a case-by-case basis to determine justice. Yeah right, if I gave a shit. I tell you this, they won’t ever bother anyone else, I should be thanked by every single person I meet on the road. I won’t hold my breath.
My past criminal acts are pardoned through the removal of the justice system. All of us have been granted clemency and have been pardoned to restart. I was never a good person according to society’s standards, but why should I be. Societies are not accountable because they are an anonymous notion. How can an abstract idea hold sway over a man’s life? I never agreed to be an ideal person and it never agreed with me. Societies have infected every place on this Earth; no one could even take a piss outside in their own yard with breaking some law. I should know I was a cop, remember. Societies evolved in the wrong direction and were kept going by powerful men who didn’t give a fuck and it led to humanity dying miserably. Preaching for a perfect society is just as damaging as one who wants to destroy the old society. Now there is but a fleeting number of societies following the same mistakes of their old lives because it feels familiar, not right. My brother was the leader of our society and I know he would of wanted me to take his place, but if I never try, I’ll never fail him.
I’m free from the old shackles of conformity. Life is simpler now, but grueling and dangerous, there’s always a Catch-22, no one can ever have it all. This free association writing is not that bad, but I don’t think it’s for me. I miss my mind-numbing reports, each had a beginning and an end. There’s comfort in having certainty of a conclusion.
Lou
2
Phillip enters through the door like a gilded husband with a casual aura about him.
Sora’s stretching by the carrel in the corner like a student after an exam. “I’ve been watching your girl, the Boss is talking about shipping me to his other camp, mostly for expecting mothers to assist his doctor. I thought I was going to leave today.” Giving him a litany of the latest news like a loving wife.
She continues. “But I guess the Boss has other plans.”
Phillip pretends to punch the wall. “Like fuck me good until I become docile. Pendejo (asshole). ”
Sora has a coy smile, Phillip grabs her shoulders, pinning her against the wall, she says. “Get off me.”
Phillip says. “Do you understand Spanish?” Idiot, too self-absorbed to ask on the first night.
Sora’s forefinger and thumb almost touch. Un poquitin (A little bit). “It was my minor in college. If I knew all this was going to happen. I wish I wasted my money a better way.” She looks down at the paper on the desk. Phillip grabs it as she writes, crumbles it up, and throws it.
“What gives?”
Phillip closes his eyes and taps his forehead. “Ok I will talk to you in Spanish from here on out.” He speaks Spanish. “Hopefully they can’t understand us, if they’re listening. They know we don’t love this place, but they don’t need to know our escape plans. I will get close to the Boss and kill him. You lock the exit door so no one can get out. Once I’m done killing everyone on the outside, I’ll talk to you in Spanish to let you know I’m not being held prisoner.” He rolls his tongue on every other word like a seller in a bustling flea market.
Sora closes her eyes and raising a hand. “Slow down. What?”
Phillip says. “Do
you what to escape this place?”
Sora says. “That’s a stupid question.”
Phillip says. “They knew where we both lived, we can’t go back home.”
Sora hangs her head low. “I didn’t think about that. Where would we go?”
Phillip says. “Not sure, not important. It may take me a few weeks until I learn the routine of these soldiers. I rather kill my daughter than have her become a sex toy for these delusional pricks.”
Sora enthusiastically says. “First, you’ll need to take out Thaddeus and Matthew, his bodyguards/butt buddies. And I reckon there are at least two dozen soldiers that I know of and over two dozen hostages, some of them are my people. I overheard someone saying that they like to throw an event at the end of the month. Some macho male-bonding bullshit. This may be the only time to take the Boss and his council out. His triumvirate. Hey, what do you know, I learned something in college. ”
Phillip says. “The best time will be to take them out the next morning, when they’re sleeping in late from partying.”
Sora says. “How will get to the outside?”
Phillip says. “We’ll have to figure that out or I could just sleep outside with the guys if they allow me to during the party. I hope alcohol is involved.”
Sora sidetracks, says. “Do you ever notice that everyone is always smoking and drinking like we’re in a neo-noire film?” Only talking to a kid all day, gives one a lot of free time to think.
Phillip says. “Get with the times, it’s to feel better and to forget, like in the old world. It’s still popular because it works.” His annoyance slips out a bit.
A refocused Sora says. “I don’t know about this plan, too many unknown variables, one small change and the butterfly effect with bite us in the ass.”
Phillip says. “I want to save everyone here, but there might have to be some causalities. For example, I will need you to get a hold of an assault rifle and kill every male who doesn’t partake in the festivities. Can you use a gun?”
Sora says. “That’s a stupid question.”
Phillip says. “Even if a guy grabs a hostage as a shield.”
Sora says. “How do I know if I can even trust you?”
Phillip says. “You don’t, you’ll have to take a chance on me and I’ll have to do the same with you. You could be the Boss’s concubine/spy.”
Sora says. “His men killed my husband in the attack to get my people. There’s no love lost between us.” She wrings her shirt with her hands imagining it’s the Boss’s throat.
Phillip twists his wrists in her face. “Worst case scenario I could snap all the hostages necks and let them eat their captors. It would be divine justice.”
Sora says. “More like mass murder. I don’t want to sell my soul to leave this place.”
Phillip says. “I’m just thinking out loud, the perfect scenario, I kill the Boss and his men drop their weapons and flee.”
Sora picks up Phillip’s empty gun. “That’ll never happen.”
Phillip says. “A middle of the road solution might be the only option.”
Sora puts the gun to her temple. “Like what?”
Phillip’s pacing. “I’ll have to kill them all or take off and return to kill the rest. If I die, can you kill my daughter for me?” He’s given this idea many restless nights. To sacrifice his only child to God like Abraham. To spare her a life of sin. He rather kill himself. If that was an airtight option for her safety, he would gladly accept it. This is the first time he has said this idea out loud and now it’s real to him.
Sora slumps down, handing the gun to Phillip without looking at him. “...I...no.”
He sits down beside her. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but you need to promise me this or I won’t do anything and just become another minion for the Boss. Stockholm syndrome, my ass.”
Sora shakes her head. “I can’t…tell the Boss you want me to stay.”
Phillip says. “Why, you’re no help.”
Sora’s face and neck get hot, she points in his face. “That’s not fair. You just ask me to sacrifice my friends and to kill a little girl. Can I have a minute to wrap my mind around this dark shit?”
Phillip says. “It’s simple, you can help me or die.”
“You sound like the Boss.”
3
“Come on in.” He waves from across the room like an old pal from his service days.
Phillip’s taken back by the familiarity of the man; he closes the door and is alone with the Boss in his office. It’s organized differently from the last time. Fastidious obsession.
Phillip places all his weight on the chair with one hand. “Why are you treating me like the belle of the ball. I want to be with my daughter. These tedious chit-chats are wearing thin, sir.” A barb meant to cut deep.
The Boss looks at the chair and Phillip gets the hint and sits looking around like a kid in a candy store. The quicker he gets off, whatever is on his chest, the quicker I get to leave.
Plastered on the wall are multiple maps of different states with red dots over each like chicken pox. Columns of books and vinyl records are stacked in the corners in alphabetical order. There is a mahogany desk, but its chair has been moved around the desk, a few feet from Phillip’s smaller collapsible chair. Hanging up above, the pairs of fluorescent bulbs shine as bright as a hospital hallway. Soft humming is the only sound.
The Boss grabs a bottle of liquor and two glasses next to a humidor, he pours one glass, two fingers worth, he looks at Phillip. Who looks away and the Boss gets the hint. He says. “Taking the edge off is finally a real reason to indulge.”
The Boss leans over in his chair, it rolls forward, he stretches his hand to Phillip. “John Blas, nice to finally meet you.”
Phillip hesitates on the edge of his chair.
John says. “Handshakes are not a sign of defeat, it is what it is.” Phillip grips the Boss’s hand as hard as he can and pumps their fists twice. John slaps Phillip’s shoulder. “Atta boy. Even enemies can show respect towards each other.”
Phillip mockingly salutes “So what’s with the whole Boss and sir crap.”
John says. “I regal them with my old war stories and even after all they’ve seen recently they’re still impressed.”
Looking at the liquor bottle, Phillip says. “All of y’all can’t be military.”
The chair rolls back. “Most of us are from the various branches and the rest earned their place by fighting in the greatest war everyday rather than most of the soldiers of the past who looked at computer screens all day and were given the Purple Heart medal by the President for getting Carpal Tunnel.”
Phillip says. “What is with these talks? I’ll join you for my daughter, the end.”
John says. “Because it feels good to socialize and pontificate with people who don’t know you, but think they do after a handshake.”
Phillip yawns a hearty yawn.
John says. “What did you do for a living?”
“I was a salesman, convincing others to invest in me, not a product.”
John takes a sip. “And?”
Phillip says. “And what? What does it matter? I will carry my weight around here, you’re just going to have to trust me like I have to trust you not to put a bullet in my head when you get bored.”
John says. “Fair enough. Down to brass tacks. Help me for seven months and I’ll make you in charge of a different campsite.”
“Why?”
John says. “Why not? Seven months is a long time to prove yourself and I can’t do it all by myself. Some of these men live for the thrill and I need a man who can sit back and lead.”
“What about this Jacob guy? You’re over it just like that.” Phillip makes a washing hands gesture like Ava.
John takes a sip of liquor. “Jacob is gone, one way or another. Your home and wife were burned to the ground, and you used your reason and wits to keep you and your daughter alive. I hate to use the phrase Even-Stevens.” Tilts head. “Growth onl
y comes by working through challenges.”
Phillip says. “It’s just you and me. Air and opportunity. I could snap your neck before your men come in.”
John smiles, looking at the bottom of the glass. “You can try, but you won’t, you have too much pride to admit this, but this is the best chance for your daughter to live a full life. You would put your hatred aside for me for the love of her. A man can’t be all emotion or all reason, he needs to the right amount of each at the right time and I’m willing to bet you can do that.”
Phillip stands up looking down at the Boss, who’s sitting down cross-legged with each arm on the arm rests.
He says. “Did you kill my wife?”
John puts down his drink, stands up, and looks Phillip in the eyes for a moment. “I did not order my men to do that. The men who captured you, came straight here, you know that. Reporting to me of black smoke in the desert near where they found you.”
Phillip says. “I was unconscious.”
John dismissively shrugs his shoulders. “Either another group did it or Paul had a hand in it, he came back with your daughter then left, he’s not back yet, but will be shortly.”
Phillip turns and walks for the door.
John is siting in the middle of the desk. “Matthew will let you see your daughter…Call me John if you like.”
Phillip says. “Until next time, Boss.”
The Boss raises his glass. “A man lives by his word.” Referring to their first deal of killing Paul for Abigail.
4
A hint of dusk fills the skies and Phillip watches Abigail kick a soccer ball against the car door. The Boss walks up and catches the soccer ball midair, kneels down to the little girl. “Here you go, Abigail. Go play inside, it’s getting dark.” She says in a high-pitched voice, “my ass,” then looks up at Phillip, who’s checking a car engine. He nods and says. “Go inside, baby.” He watches her kick the ball, giggling and chasing after it.
Genesis Virus Page 35
