by Paul Neuhaus
“I understand that, but I really need you to do me a solid. I need you to convince a villain-type person to stop his… villainy.”
Steve’s second sigh was much deeper than the first. “Pandora…”
“Call me, ‘Dora’.”
“Dora we just met. I don’t know you from Adam. Your idea of a villain-type person might be very different than mine. And yet you want me to go with you and put the telepathic whammy on him. Can you can understand why I might hesitate…?”
“I can. Totally. Have you ever been used for nefarious purposes before?”
“Did you ever see The Lone Ranger?”
“The new one? The one where Johnny Depp’s got a bird on his head?”
“The very one. Somebody had to greenlight that turkey. Enter the hierophant.”
“Yikes.”
“I know, right?”
“Okay, okay. I see why you’re a little gun-shy, but I’m not asking you to get involved in anything anywhere near that heinous. Long story short, Prometheus got loose from his rock. Apparently, the whole bird-eating-his-liver-thing-forever-and-ever thing really soured his disposition. He has a real grudge against Mankind and the modern world. He changed the whole planet back the way it was in the old days. He also let all the Evils out of my jug.”
“‘Jug’? I thought it was a box.”
“Everybody thinks that. Anyway, I don’t think Prometheus is done yet. I think that was just the opening act for something way, way worse.”
“Where is Prometheus now?”
“Probably at church headquarters in Hollywood?” I replied.
“Church headquarters? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When he got here in the fifties, Prometheus started his own church.”
“Which one?”
“The Church of Reciprocity?”
“The guys with the haircuts?”
“Right. The guys with the haircuts.”
Steve made a shivering sound. “Those looneys give me the heebie-jeebies.”
“Me too.”
“So, what? You wanna take me in to see Prometheus and hypnotize him into laying off the dastardly deeds?”
“That is exactly what I wanna do.”
“Mmm,” replied the hierophant. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it? I don’t wanna be rude here, but we’re on Prometheus time. He may do something especially nasty before you’ve even made up your mind.”
“But you don’t know for sure. I mean, he didn’t monologue you and tell you his plans, did he?”
“Well, no, but— “
“So, he may do something especially nasty in twenty minutes or never. Technically, I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“I’m not sure I agree with your math there.”
“Okay, but I’m not wrong necessarily.”
“Not necessarily, but— “
“This isn’t something I like to go into lightly. Not since Johnny Depp with the bird on his head.”
“I understand, but— “
“So, give me a little room, Dora.”
I scowled. “How much time do you think you’ll need?”
“What kind of question is that? Do you give yourself a deadline when you have to make up your mind?”
“No, but it’s a question of priority. I might hem and haw when I’m deciding on Pizza Rolls versus Hot Pockets, but I don’t have the same problem when I’m trying to decide whether I should save the world.”
“Pish. Don’t give me that.”
I’d been keeping my temper in check until then, but he had finally lit the fuse. “Did you just say ‘pish’ to me?” Right then, somebody leaned down next to the driver’s side window and gave me a questioning look. No doubt they were wondering why a grown woman was talking to her own necklace. I kept my eyes on Steve and flipped the bird to the looky loo. I even pressed my hand against the glass for emphasis.
His tone when he answered had the auditory equivalent of an eye roll. “I’m sorry. Is ‘pish’ a no-no word?”
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Pissing him off to the point where he wouldn’t talk to me would’ve been counterproductive. The truth was, if I could sweet-talk him into doing what I needed him to do, I was fully prepared never to speak to him again. One crockery-bound entity was all I needed in my life. “Okay, okay, okay. I know this is coming out of left field for you, and I understand why you wouldn’t be as invested in it as I am. You just woke up, and you have no idea what’s been going on. I don’t see a way of impressing on you just how serious this situation is. That in mind: Is there any way we can negotiate?”
“Negotiate?”
“Yeah. Kind of a you-scratch-my-back-I’ll-scratch-your-back thing.”
“Sex?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. No, not sex. I thought you might want something more tangible. Something a little more ‘you specific’.”
“What if I want sex?”
“Do you want sex?”
“No, not really. I’m not even sure how something like that’d work.”
I exhaled sharply. The line of conversation was especially creepy given the age the sound of his voice implied. (I’d say no more than twelve.) The guy was really getting on my nerves. “Are you saying there’s nothing I can help you with?”
“Umm… No, not that I can think of. You know, not every mythological character has a mythological problem. I’m not Sleeping Beauty over here, waiting for true love’s first kiss. My life is pretty run of the mill. Every so often, some joker comes along wanting me to dupe a poor schmuck into gods know what, but, other than that, I keep it on the DL.”
“Help me out... What would you do if you were me?”
The hierophant laughed. “Nice try. You know, there is one thing I could do if I were me (which I am) …”
“Which is what?”
“I could put the whammy on you to make you stop pestering me.”
“You don’t have to have someone suggesting whammies to you.”
“No. I’m not a genie. I’m not working the whole Aladdin thing.”
“I have a suggestion…”
“I’ll die if I don’t hear it immediately.”
I ignored the sarcasm. “We’re in Glendale right now. Prometheus is probably in Hollywood. Why don’t you think about it on the way over there and you can tell me your decision in the parking lot of the Church of Reciprocity.”
“No need. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t wanna do it.”
“What? Why not? Did you not hear me with the changing the world and the releasing the Evils and the potential for bigger disasters still to come?”
“I heard you. And all that sounds bad. I don’t wanna do it because of you.”
“Because of me?”
“Yeah, you’re way too eager. If I’ve learned one thing in this life, it’s that eager people are usually up to something.”
I put my forehead down on the steering wheel and tried not to cry out of sheer frustration. Then a notion hit me. “You said you didn’t have any mythological problems, but how would you characterize your centuries living inside a tiny clay figurine?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean has it been lonely? Have you ever longed for real companionship? The touch of another creature like yourself?”
“Why? Do you have another creature like myself?”
“I might just.”
“And you’re willing to pimp her out just to get what you want. What is wrong with you?”
That was a totally fair question. He was right. I might’ve gone too far to get a resolution. Hope was my friend; she wasn’t a bargaining chip. “You got me there,” I said. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I was just fucking with you,” he said, mirth (and maybe a little lust) in his tone. “What’ve got? We are talking a broad here, right? I only go in for broads. Is she cute?”
“She’s ad
orable,” I said with a hard swallow. I was right back to pimping in the blink of an eye. “If you help me out here, I’ll introduce you to my girlfriend. No promises, though.”
“No promises necessary. I am what they call ‘a playa’.”
“Uh huh.” I put the Firebird in reverse and backed out of the parking space. “Just get ready to whammy, playa.”
I had dropped Steve so that he hung down between my breasts. As I pointed us toward Hollywood, I had just one more question. “What do I need to do? Just point you at the target and say, ‘sic ‘em!’”
“No, you gotta say three Hail Marys and count backward from ten. In Latin.”
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but you’re a dick.”
“It’s been remarked,” he said.
The trip wasn’t a long one. I wove in from Glendale until I passed Universal Studios and merged onto Cahuenga. From there it was a straight shot past the Hollywood Bowl and into the town proper. I don’t wanna burst any balloons here, but the town proper is kind of a shithole. There’s only one true film studio in Hollywood now (Paramount) and the famous Boulevard is seedy. When we got to there, I took a left at the light and headed for the famous “cathedral” slash recruitment center. I found a metered spot in front of the building and parked. I had a thought. “Hope—the girl I’m going to introduce you to—can sense other mythological figures nearby. Can you do that?”
“No, but I can totally sense Uranus.”
“Good one,” I said, not meaning it even a little bit.
The lower floor of the Church of Reciprocity building was open on three sides and active twenty-four hours a day. Inside that open-air lobby were well-dressed, smiling drones with weird haircuts. They were there to talk folks in off the street and give them an Eval. An Eval involved being hooked up to a little machine with grippy bulbs like the kind that’re attached to blood pressure cuffs. On the front of the thing, there’s a little meter that’s supposed to tell you… something. I don’t have a working knowledge of your finer sham religions, so forgive me. Beyond the lobby were huge oak doors leading to the building’s inner chambers. Only the faithful were allowed inside, so that presented a momentary problem. Fortunately, the Boulevard was, like I say, a seedy place.
You’d expect such a world-renowned tourist attraction to have lots of nice restaurants and shops. You’d be disappointed. There’re tattoo parlors, stores for stripper paraphernalia and an Army surplus place. Good thing for me the wig shop was still open at that time of night. I ducked in, bought a deep black Dutch boy wig and a pair of safety scissors. I had myself a space hippie wig in a matter of seconds. After that, I had just one more problem: my t-shirt had been shredded in my encounter with the Arae. Again, no big deal. A couple of doors down from the wig shop, there was a store with the tackiest bootleg tees you’ve ever seen. I first I thought I was going to have to settle for Biggie, Tupac or Tony Montana. I was delighted to find a black shirt of Taylor Chriss running his little heart out above the Improbable Pursuit logo. Wig and shirt in hand, I was good to go.
I strolled right into the lobby of the Church of Reciprocity and was generally ignored. Those who saw me—the ones who shared my wacky haircut—nodded and smiled vacuous smiles which I did my best to mimic in return. I walked unhindered to the big oak doors and passed through. On the other side was a wood-paneled hallway with deep purple carpeting and tasteful brass appointments. It looked more like the inside of a venerated financial institution than the headquarters of a cult. I guess, in some ways, it was a venerated financial institution. The space hippies probably owned more Southern California real estate than any other entity.
Fortunately, there wasn’t anyone else walking the halls right then, but I did a quick scan of the environment anyway. I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible (before someone either killed me or converted me). Along the left wall, there was an elevator and that seemed like my best bet. Upper management would probably be on the top floor and Prometheus was definitely upper management. I slipped in and was immediately disappointed. There was only so high I could go. The absolute top of the building could only be accessed with a key.
Okay, not the end of the world. The ghost of a plan was already forming in my head. After the elevator door closed, I picked up Steve and said to him, “This thing you do… Is it quick or is it like some involved ritual kinda thing?”
“It’s quick,” he replied. “One word to hypnotize followed by the phrase of your choice.”
“The phrase of my choice?”
“Yeah. Like ‘you’re a chicken!’ or ‘gimme all your money!’.”
“Do you say the phrase, or do I say the phrase?”
“I say the word. The hypnotizing word. After that, you say the phrase.”
“Okay. You put ‘em under and I’ll tell ‘em what to do.”
“Alright.”
I punched the button for the highest floor we could reach and took a deep breath. I had a funny feeling the dress code would change the higher up in the structure you got. Even space hippies need accountants and middle management. That meant ties and dresses. It also meant my outfit would be less effective as I got further away from the ground. Whatever I was planning to do, I needed to be quick about it. “When the elevator stops, I’m gonna move fast,” I said. “Whenever I point you at anyone, just do your thing.”
“Gotcha.”
We had to put the process to the test immediately. As soon as the doors opened on the tenth floor, we were faced with a woman in a red dress with bobbed black hair with the Flock of Seagulls point in the front. I snapped Steve up in front of me and he said, “Hupakouo!” That’s a Greek word and it’s pronounced “hoo-pa-KOO-oh”. IT means “obey”. As soon as he said it, the raven-haired woman went glassy-eyed. Well, more glassy-eyed. Somehow, I thought there’d be more to it than that. Of course, I realized it wasn’t just that Steve said that particular word, it was also that he had the power to cloud men’s minds.
Wasting no time, I said, “Give me your key to the eleventh floor.”
“I don’t have a key to the eleventh floor,” Ms. Red Dress replied.
“Fine. Go to sleep.” In an instant, my first victim fell to the ground, deep in the arms of slumber. I brushed past her and looked both ways. To the right was a dead end with a sculpture affixed to the wall. It depicted two crossed gladii with a burst of fire between the points. To the left was a short hall leading to the floor proper. Fortunately, there weren’t many people about since it was fairly late in the evening. One such person was a thirty-something man with a shaved head and a gray suit. I say he had a shaved head, but he did have one vestige of his old hair—a point in the front like Flock of Seagulls. He said, “Hey. Is there something wrong with Willa?”
Willa was obviously the woman sacked out on the floor. I snapped up the hierophant and he said, “Hupakouo!” Baldy stopped dead in his tracks.
“Give me your key to the eleventh floor,” I said again.
“I don’t have a key to the eleventh floor,” Baldy replied. “Carl Shier got the promotion instead of me, and, ever since, I’ve been— “
“Go to sleep!” I said and Baldy dropped not far from Willa. “I didn’t realize they could still be chatty once they were hypnotized,” I said to Steve.
“I can’t change their basic personalities,” he replied. “I bet everybody hates that guy. He seems like a load.”
The hallway we were in ended at a little lobby. Running off to the right from the lobby was a long passage of offices. Fortunately, a secretary was sitting at the desk in the lobby. I had to fairly run to her since she was looking at the floor and the two recently k.o.’ed space hippies. “What did you—?” she said, but I raised the charm around my neck before she could say any more.
“Hupakouo!” Steve fairly shouted.
Just like the others, the secretary’s expression changed. She looked like she had a nice buzz on. “Give me your key to eleventh floor,” I said.
“I don’t h
ave a key to the eleventh floor. I wouldn’t— “
“Where is Carl Shier’s office?”
“First one on the left,” she said pointing.
“Go to sleep.” I felt a little bad since her head thunked onto her desktop pretty hard.
“Good thinking,” Steve said.
“Yeah, let’s just hope Shier’s working late.”
He was working late. He was also, to the best of my recollection, the first African American space hippie I’d ever seen. The Dutch boy-shaped afro with the curl point in the front was surreal. He looked up from his computer and said, “Who are you? How did you get— “
Up came the hierophant. “Hupakouo!”
Shier became much more amenable. “Give me your key to the eleventh floor,” I said to him. I almost expected him to have some kind of excuse, but he stood without comment. With a smile on his face, he took out his keyring, peeled off a particular key and handed it to me. “Okay, great,” I said. “Sit back down.” He complied. “Now put your head down.” He did. “Go to sleep.” Before we were back outside of his office, we heard him snoring quietly.
With our task complete, we retraced our steps back through the lobby toward the elevator. The secretary, Baldy and Willa were all still asleep. I pressed the call button and, before the elevator arrived, I strode over to the dead end and pulled one of the gladii off the wall. “Isn’t that thing strictly decorative?” Steve asked.
I ran my thumb along the top edge. “I dunno,” I replied. “It feels like it might get the job done.”
When the doors opened on the eleventh floor, I was greeted with a strange tableau. The entire floor was open. In the middle of the space was an enormous rock—much like the one Prometheus had been chained to for thousands of years. This rock differed from that one because it had a square space cut into it near its base. That made it into an enormous throne. Sitting on the enormous throne was, of course, Prometheus himself. He was wearing a toga but no sandals. At his feet, also wearing a toga but no sandals, was Taylor Chriss. Chriss had a bowl of water and a rag and he was studiously washing his boss’ feet. As soon as he saw me, the action star sprang to a standing position and charged me.
