His name was ingrained in my memory, but I called him by his initials like I did everyone else. "J.L. It is truly an honor to meet you."
"I was just about to say the same thing about you." J.L. snapped his fingers--then shook his head. "Not really. But what's this I hear about you pitching in for the cause?"
I glanced at E.P. and M.J. "I haven't said 'yes' yet."
"Well, I hope you do." J.L. narrowed his eyes and locked onto my gaze. "This place needs a change, my friend. There's a lot of suffering going on here."
I looked at E.P. again. "They want me to do something pretty drastic."
J.L. nodded slowly. "There's a war on, isn't there?"
A thought occurred to me then, but I hesitated before saying it. It seemed wrong, arguing with someone of his stature. "I thought you were against war. You're all about peace, aren't you?"
"Give it a chance, I always say." J.L. smiled. "But sometimes you don't have a choice. Like England in the Blitz, yeah? Imagine if we hadn't fought back."
"But that was different, wasn't it?"
J.L. shrugged. "I did a song about a revolution once, Stag." He raised his eyebrows. "Well that's what we've got here. And I say we need it. If there's one thing I hate as much as war, it's tyranny." Stepping forward, he clamped a hand on my shoulder. "So what do you say? Are you ready to do your bit?"
Was J.L., one of the most famous peaceniks of all time, actually talking me into assassinating someone? I needed a reality check like you wouldn't believe...but all the reality I was going to get was standing there in front of me.
Could I say "no" to J.L. while E.P. and M.J. looked on? The holy trinity of music gods was calling in a favor; turning them down would have been like saying "no" to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.
"Okay." I nodded. "I'll try. But I'm no killer, so no guarantees."
"Can't ask for better than that," said E.P.
"You'll come through. I know you will," said M.J.
"Thank you." J.L. squeezed my shoulder and grinned. "If I had any jewelry on me, I'd rattle it in your honor."
"Great!" E.P. pushed forward and took me by the elbow. "Let's get you prepped. We're not sending you in empty-handed."
"Aren't you going to tell him the rest?" M.J.'s voice had an edge. "Aren't you going to tell him what else we're going to do to him?"
My guard went up instantly. Tensing from head to toe, I looked from M.J. to E.P.
"If we send you in without a mark on you, they'll think we turned you," said E.P. "They'll never accept you."
"Right." I was getting the picture, and it sucked.
"Sorry, Stag," said M.J.
"It'll only hurt for a little while," said J.L. "And no permanent damage, we promise. You'll be safe as houses."
"Well, that's okay then, isn't it?" I said with sarcasm.
"My advice?" said J.L. "Close your eyes and think of England. Or is that close your England and think of eyes?"
I shook my head, instantly regretting my decision to accept the mission. "Aren't you being redundant? Didn't you say I'll probably be tortured when I get there anyway?"
"That's true," said E.P. "But this way, you won't be killed when you get there."
"Well, when you put it that way..." I let out a heavy sigh. "Why not have my ass kicked by three of the greatest performers of all time? That's my idea of Heaven, all right."
J.L. laughed. "And if you get the job done, and we expose this place for what it really is, there'll be no Heaven." His face lit with a mischievous expression. "Imagine that!"
*****
Hours later, I trudged out of the jungle near the rubble of the bombed-out theater. The sun was just rising, painting the sky a pale rose. Hordes of tropical birds were going crazy with their daily dawn chorus, filling the air with every sort of song and cry.
As the first splash of daylight flowed over the landscape, I could see the bruises on my arms, already turning deep purple. Both arms were covered with them, as was my face and much of my body. E.P. had given me quite a beating back at the camp; J.L. had gotten in some licks, too, though M.J. had never touched me.
So that was how it felt to get a beat-down from legendary music superstars. That was how it felt to get smacked around by your heroes.
I had to hand it to them, they'd made it look good. Then, E.P. had flown me across the jungle on Thundercloud, dropping me off near the ruins of the theater. The rest was up to me.
Staggering through the debris, I glanced over my shoulder and thought about running the hell out of there. Maybe I could still catch Thundercloud before she took off.
I didn't want to face the job ahead of me. It was too dead serious for a movie guy, whatever the sins of my past. There had to be other work I could do to support the revolution without trying to be a hit man behind enemy lines.
But how could I look E.P. and J.L. in the eye and tell them I'd let them down? I couldn't imagine it.
So I just kept stumbling forward, tripping my way across the debris field. And eventually, one of the ubiquitous bald guys in white uniforms walked around a pile of rubble and looked my way.
He ran up, brows knotted in concern, and looked me over. "You need medical treatment." Jabbing a cell phone earpiece in his left ear, he summoned a rescue team, then helped me over to a big slab of wall or ceiling to sit.
"I thought we'd found everybody from the wreckage," he said.
"You have now, I hope." I said it in a hoarse voice, and then I coughed for effect. Time to put my acting skills to use--my Academy Award-winning acting skills.
"Help is on the way," said the baldy. "You're gonna be fine."
"Thank you." I let my face darken with a flash of deep emotion--sadness, pain, and exhaustion all wrapped up in one (with a touch of anger). "It's been a terrible night." I made my voice trail off, and then I choked out a couple of sobs.
"I know, I know." The baldy patted me on the back. "But it's over now. You'll be all right."
I rubbed my eyes hard and nodded. "Thank you. I can't thank you enough." Then a few more sobs for good measure. Not a bad performance, I thought.
So maybe E.P. hadn't been so crazy to pick me for the job, after all.
And maybe it would go more smoothly than I'd imagined.
*****
A few hours later, I woke up strapped to a table in a white-walled room. A woman in a lab coat, green surgical mask and cap stared down at me with dark brown eyes from behind thick goggles. She held a silver scalpel in front of my face, gleaming in the bright lights arrayed around me.
The last thing I remembered was getting in the ambulance back at the theater and having two paramedic types take my vital signs. They must have slipped me something that knocked me out, then brought me here.
And strapped me down. So much for things going smoothly.
"He's awake." The woman nicked the tip of my nose with the scalpel. "Shall we begin?"
"Yeah," said a familiar voice from nearby. "Let's get it over with."
The woman's face lifted away, opening up my field of view. Raising my head, I saw the voice belonged to Byzantine, who stood at my feet. Lillian stood beside him with arms folded over her chest, looking grimmer than ever.
"Hey there, Stagger." Byzantine grinned and waggled his fingers at me. "Glad to have you back with us, dude. Looks like you had a rough night."
I kept up the hoarse voice routine. "You can say...that again."
"Though I gotta say, bro..." Byzantine leaned forward and gazed at my battered body, which was now clad in a pale blue hospital gown. "It looks to me like you had a run-in with something other than a collapsing theater. Wouldn't you agree, Dr. Curie?"
Curie's face bobbed back in to block my view of Byzantine. "The pattern of bruising on the upper body is consistent with human knuckles and elbows." She moved off along the length of me, tapping my leg with the scalpel. "The lower extremities appear to have been kicked repeatedly."
"Hmm." Byzantine stroked his chin. "Would you concur that this man's ass ha
s been kicked?"
Curie nodded. "No question."
"Way cool." Byzantine chuckled, then threw his arms wide open. "So wha hoppened, bro? Who'd you piss off this time?"
E.P. and J.L. had fed me a story, and I rolled it right out. Better to stay as close to the truth as possible, they'd said. "Those guys from the hostage scene in the park yesterday. M.J. and the masked man."
"'M.J.'" Byzantine snickered. "You and your calling everyone by their initials, Stag. It's so hip, dude!"
Did he really have a "thing" for me like E.P. said? If so, he hid it well. "They picked me up after the explosion. Took me out into the jungle."
"No kidding," said Byzantine. "What then?"
"They asked me questions." I kept my voice steady and met his gaze...tried to sound and look as believable as I could. "But I didn't have much to say. I've only been here a day."
Byzantine nodded thoughtfully. "And did they try to sign you up for their 'revolution?'"
I nodded. "That's when they kicked my ass."
"Because you told them 'no?'" Byzantine cocked his head and raised his left eyebrow. "Because you're such a loyal and forthright citizen of Heaven?"
Though I was strapped to the table, I managed a shrug. "Honestly? I don't see why anyone would want to start a revolution in paradise." I shrugged again. "Even if you wanted to, how could you do it?"
"I know, right?" Byzantine smacked his head with the palms of his hands. "That's what I keep telling those morons."
"Exactly." I started thinking I might be all right. Byzantine seemed to be buying my story.
So why did Lillian still look so grim beside him?
"This is great, bro. It's awesome having you back, seriously." Byzantine leaned forward and tickled the sole of my left foot. "There's just one thing I can't figure out. Why'd they let you go? Why didn't they kill you?"
Suddenly, my radar started pinging. The lovefest was going off the tracks. But maybe I could still pull it back on the rails again. "They wanted me alive to give you a message."
"Is that so?" said Byzantine. "So what is it?"
"They said they're bringing the temple down in three days unless you surrender by sundown today."
Byzantine laughed. "Ooo, I'm so scared. Anything else?"
"That's it."
"Thanks, bro! I needed a good laugh today!" Byzantine kept cracking up, howling so hard tears ran down his face.
I watched carefully, wondering if he believed me. Wondering if it was enough to save me from what might be coming next.
At first, when he finally stopped laughing, I thought it might have worked. He was wearing a huge grin, and much of the tension had left his frame.
He even said this: "Get him off there, Curie. The bro says he's in the clear, he's in the clear."
But just as he headed for the door, and Curie started unstrapping me, he said something else. "On second thought, maybe we'd better be sure. Don't you think?"
"Absolutely, sir." Curie stopped unstrapping me and walked away. The next thing I heard was the sound of something rolling across the floor on squeaky wheels.
"You understand, don't you, Stagger?" Byzantine popped back into my field of vision with a grin and a wave. "We can't take a chance you might be lying."
I heard the rolling stop behind me...then the sound of switches being flipped and dials spun.
"Just tell the truth, and you'll be fine," said Byzantine. "This'll be over before you know it." With that, he grabbed the neck of the hospital gown and tore it downward, exposing my chest.
Then, he let go of the gown and walked away. Lillian lingered a moment longer, staring at me coldly, and then she left, too.
Meanwhile, whatever had been rolled up behind me was emitting a high-pitched whine that grew steadily louder. I tried to crane my neck to see what was back there, but couldn't.
Then, Curie walked around to where I could see her again, and I understood. In each hand, she held the metal clamp of a set of jumper cables--one red, one black--one positive, one negative.
She bumped them together, and a spark crackled between them. "Let's talk, Mr. Lincoln. Tell me the truth about what happened to you last night."
"Please, no!" I said. "I already told you!"
"Wrong answer," said Curie, and then she touched the clamps to my chest, sending streams of electrical current coursing through me...
*****
Chapter 7
Again, Dr. Curie touched the clamps of the jumper cables to my chest, and searing electrical current poured through me. My entire body galvanized from the impact, stiffening like a metal rod on the exam table--make that torture table.
Then, when Curie drew the clamps away with her black rubber-gloved hands, I slumped. I lay there, twitching, praying she wouldn't bring back the clamps for another round.
How many times had she shocked me already? Seven? Ten? I'd lost count. Each time, she asked questions in the same even tone, as if this were just another routine medical procedure without human suffering.
Seconds after the latest zap, she asked another question in the exact same tone. "Have you accepted an assignment from the Heaven Liberation Front?"
"No!" Even as I said it, I surprised myself a little. There I was, on electroshock treatment eight or eleven or twenty, and I still wasn't giving her the true answer. I wasn't telling her, Why yes, I've agreed to try to kill the boss of Heaven, Byzantine, in cold blood.
Thank you, Academy Award-winning acting chops.
"Tell me the truth, Mr. Lincoln," said Curie, "and I'll finally stop your suffering. Persist in your denials, and things will only get worse for you."
"Already told you...the truth." I knew she wouldn't buy it, she wasn't done yet, but I stuck with my story. I wasn't about to rat on my heroes E.P. and J.L., even if it somehow guaranteed my safety. Plus which, I was in the middle of the acting challenge of a lifetime. That was a great way to look at it, a way for someone like me to survive it.
Even as she brought in the clamps for another hardcore blast to the chest.
I stiffened yet again, teeth clamped tight like every other part of me. Every nerve roared with blazing pain, as if I'd just been set on fire. Just when I thought I couldn't take another second, she held the clamps to my chest another second.
My mind went away for a little bit, then. It just switched off. When it switched back on, the clamps were gone, and Curie was waving a penlight in my eyes.
"There you are." She nodded and flicked off the penlight. "You'll be happy to know we're done with the shocking now."
I didn't respond. I'd seen enough torture scenes in movies--acted in plenty of them--to know the other show was about to drop.
Sure enough. "The bad news is, I'm still not satisfied you've told me the truth." With that, she disappeared behind me and proceeded to bang around some kind of equipment. "Therefore, we're moving to a different technique. I'd much prefer to simply inject you with sodium pentothal, which would clear things right up--but Mr. Byzantine left strict instructions that no drugs are to be used."
So I'd feel every second of the excruciating pain, no doubt.
"Thus, we must resort to less...civilized methods." When she walked back into my field of vision, I finally got to see what she'd been banging around back there: a gold-plated power drill. As I watched, she pulled the trigger, and the skinny bit spun at high speed in the chuck. The sound of the motor whined in my ears.
And I started imagining what Curie might do with it.
Slowly, she lowered it toward my arm. "Are you an agent of the Heaven Liberation Front?"
I gave her the usual answer. "No! I've already told you a dozen times!"
"Twenty-three times, actually," said Curie. "Having trouble keeping track of your lies, are we?"
With that, she shifted the drill away from my arm and moved it to my forehead. As much as I'd been through already, I felt fresh panic surge to life in my heart.
As E.P. had warned, I clearly wasn't in the true Heaven, the one without pain
and suffering. If that was the case, who knew how far Curie would go, and how much damage she'd do to me?
For the first time, I considered telling her the truth.
Just then, just as the tip of the drill touched my right temple, I heard a door open and quick footsteps approach. Then, a familiar female voice. "That's enough!" The voice of my daughter, Lillian.
Suddenly, the drill stopped...though Curie kept it pressed against my temple. "You don't have the authority..."
"Take it up with Byzantine," snapped Lillian. "You've been at it long enough, and gotten nothing. You're just in it for shits and giggles at this point."
"Are you the expert here?" said Curie. "I am, and I say he's not finished."
"Screw you." Lillian stormed over and swatted the drill away from my head, then undid the straps on my arms. "This man isn't a trained covert operative with resistance to torture. If he was lying, he'd have told you by now."
Curie sighed. "Go ahead then. But I'll report this." She shot me a blistering look. "And you'll be back." Then, she strolled off and disappeared through the door.
As Lillian set to work on my leg restraints, I tried to sit up--but I only got halfway off the table. Lillian had to help me up, then help me slide around and put my feet on the floor.
As soon as I put weight on them, I almost collapsed. I was shakier than I'd thought while still on my back.
"I've got you." Lillian put my arm around her shoulders and supported my full weight. "Don't worry, Dad." Together, we hobbled across the lab.
And out the door, which suited me fine. Though Curie's comment that I'd be back kept rolling around like a loose ball bearing in the hollows of my nearly-drilled head.
*****
"Thank you," I told her as we worked our way through the building. "Thank you for getting me out of there."
"Sorry it couldn't be sooner," said Lillian. "But there are limits to what I can do. You understand."
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