Jennifer Government: A Novel

by Max Barry

  “I want to go home now.”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “I do. I want to get paid and go home.”

  “As I recall,” Holly said, flipping open her cellphone again, “I said your pay was an ExxonMobil matter.”

  “No, you—”

  “Sweetie, it’s nothing to do with me.” She pushed buttons.

  “Wait a second!” Violet reached out and took Holly’s wrist. Then ONE had his hand around Violet’s throat and was pushing her head into the seat. She choked and clawed at him.

  “What a funny girl you are, Violet,” Holly said. She looked amused. “You’ve got a lot to learn about how the world works.”

  Tramp, Violet tried to say, but she had no air. Holly knocked on the window and the limousine pulled over. ONE opened the door and shoved. Violet banged her knees on the sidewalk. She scrambled to her feet. The limousine was already moving again. “Bitch!” she shouted after it. “You—you bitch!”

  She was on a bridge, with traffic roaring past in both directions. It was already dark. The air was thick with fog. After a while, she started walking.

  The return ticket she’d received from ExxonMobil was still valid, and Violet got a flight for Melbourne the same day. Twenty hours later, she was stepping out of a cab at Claire’s house. It was eight in the morning but felt like ten P.M. She felt out of sync with the world.

  Hack would probably have moved back to their apartment by now, but that was okay: Violet could freshen up before seeing him. She had been short with Hack, she realized now: she had said some things he might have taken the wrong way. Hack could be sensitive. She would need to be careful if she wanted him to help her get her three million dollars.

  She still had a key, so she unlocked the front door and went inside. “Hello?” There was no answer, but she heard the shower running. And talking—Claire singing, maybe. Violet knocked on the bathroom door. “Hello?”

  Silence. “Violet?”

  “Yeah.” She rested her head against the door and closed her eyes. “I’m home.”

  “Oh, ah—how’d it go?” The water shut off.

  “Not so hot.” She felt abruptly close to tears. “Not so great at all.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Uh—just a second!”

  “I really need to talk,” Violet said, and swung open the door.

  Claire was wearing a towel. Hack wasn’t wearing anything. She stared at them. It was like a hallucination.

  Claire said, “Violet, before you say anything—”

  “What the fuck?” she screamed.

  “Violet, please, let me explain—”

  “How could you? How could you do this to me?”

  “Violet,” Hack said. “You left. You went away and said you didn’t want to see me again.”

  “That was an argument! I can’t—I can’t believe you’re having an affair!”

  “An affair?” Hack yelled. Hack was being surprisingly assertive for a man with no clothes on. Hack was being surprisingly assertive for Hack. “We’re not together!”

  “How dare you say that! We are so!”

  “You dumped me!”

  “Everybody thinks they can screw me!” Violet shouted. She felt tears prick her eyes. “Everyone thinks they can fuck me over!” Claire said, “Violet, I’m really sorry—”

  Violet slammed the door. The cab was still in sight, but only just. She ran after it, waving her hands. Its brake lights flashed. Violet hurried up to it. The cabdriver said, “Nobody home?”

  “No,” Violet said.

  The apartment was much cleaner than she remembered. There was no sign of her fight with John in the kitchen, and the crumpet toaster was gone. It made her feel like she was dreaming. She couldn’t help wonder if all this had really happened. Maybe if she went back to Claire’s house, Hack wouldn’t be…No, that was stupid. Violet pressed her hands against her face.

  Suddenly, shockingly, she started to cry. Great, wracking sobs burst out of her. She couldn’t believe it. She sank to the kitchen tiles and wrapped her arms around herself. She shook uncontrollably. She didn’t know if she was crying for Hack or for her lost three million dollars or out of jet lag or maybe all of it combined, but she couldn’t stop. It was a torrent. It seemed to drag out everything she had left.

  She cried and hated herself. This wasn’t meant to be her, this small, beaten girl. She was meant to succeed. Other people had taken it all away from her.

  She stood up and scrubbed at her eyes. She went into the living room and picked up the phone. Holly T.A. had said Violet had a lot to learn about how the world worked; well, she’d see about that. She’d see how fast she could learn.

  It took a long time to get someone, and then the someone sounded as if she weren’t taking Violet seriously. “Tell him it’s Violet,” she said. “Tell him it’s the person who watched him kill a man in London. You got that?”

  “Wait a second,” the woman said. “Did you say—”

  “Yes,” Violet said.

  “I’ll make sure John gets your message,” the woman said, and Violet hung up. She bit her nails. She was doing the right thing. She knew she was.

  63 John

  John had requisitioned a big table and spread a map of Los Angeles across it. It was covered with red ink, with words like “1stInf,” and “3rd Arm.” He was beginning to wish he’d used pencil; the thing was getting pretty confusing.

  “You are so the man,” the Pepsi kid said, circling. “I cannot tell you how cool this is.”

  “Tell me about the Liaisons.”

  “Most are full steam ahead. The campaigns these guys are rolling out, it blows your mind.” He peered at the map. “Is this artillery? Are you going to hit the Reebok office with artillery?”

  “Most of them?”

  “Aw, IBM still doesn’t like it, you know. And a McDonald’s store got attacked this morning in the Australian Territories. People are saying it’s a grass-roots protest.”

  “A protest? About what?”

  The Pepsi kid shrugged. “Consumerism, I guess.” “Consumerism? Since when did eating a burger become a crime?”

  “I dunno, man.”

  “Find out who’s behind it. I don’t want IBM or McDonald’s or anyone else to have a reason to start bitching about market backlash.” His intercom buzzed, startling him. “Quick,” he said. “Hide the map.”

  “John? General Li NRA to see you.”

  “Ah.” He relaxed. “Send him in.”

  The Pepsi kid smoothed out the map: he had creased it down the 110. “Can I stick around? I can give you good strategy.”

  “No,” John said. General Li stepped into the office.

  “Aw, come on.”

  General Li looked at the Pepsi kid. John said, “General Li, this is…” He realized he didn’t know the kid’s name. “The PepsiCo Liaison.”

  “A pleasure to meet you,” General Li said.

  The kid shook Li’s hand with enthusiasm. “Same, man. I love all this war shit.”

  “All right, now piss off,” John said.

  “I’ll be real quiet.”

  “Go!”

  “All right, all right.” The kid threw John a sour look. He closed the door hard behind him.

  “Tough day?” General Li said.

  John sighed. “Just a couple of Liaisons making trouble. Things were much simpler when I didn’t have to listen to other people, Li. Democracy is a pain in the ass.”

  Li sat. “In the military, we have always had a healthy disrespect for democracy.”

  “I can see why,” John said. “All right. Now let’s talk about tanks.”

  “Before we begin,” the General said, “I should bring a matter to your attention. You remember our failed assassin, Billy NRA?”

  “Is he dead yet?”

  “I’m afraid not. Billy was held on a Government base for several days. We’ve only just reacquired his location. He’s on a United Air
lines flight to L.A.”

  “Well, you take that little prick out,” John said, then stopped. “L.A.? Why is he coming here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If the Government was taking him anywhere, it’d be Washington…” He snapped his fingers. “Billy got away. He escaped!”

  Li cleared his throat. “I believe not. According to United, he’s traveling with Jennifer and Calvin NRA. We’re sure those are false names.”

  For a second he couldn’t speak. “Jennifer’s coming here?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Leave me,” John said. “I need to think.”

  Li looked at the map. “Sir, if you want to coordinate a military campaign, we need to—”

  “Out!”

  General Li withdrew. John pressed his fingers against his temples. How could she still be after him? The Government took months to organize a bake sale; with their top executives making an unscheduled splashdown in the Atlantic, they should be in chaos. How did they get two agents from London to L.A.?

  But he knew: it was Jennifer. He’d been kidding himself, thinking he’d done enough to protect himself. Jennifer would chase him to the end of the earth.

  There was a piece of paper on his desk, with a person’s number. He found it and studied it. “Violet ExxonMobil,” he said softly. “What do you want with me?” He thought it might be worth finding out.

  He didn’t get out of the office until eleven, and then he was so wired he stopped in at the hotel bar to unwind. He was staring into his scotch when someone sat beside him, brushing his arm. He looked up in annoyance. It was a thin girl in a light dress. She smiled awkwardly. “You’re John, right? John Nike.”

  “Who are you?”

  She hesitated, then stuck out her hand. “Vanessa Fashion-Warehouse.com. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

  He was tempted to tell her to get lost, but she was young and nervous and there was a possibility she might be about to offer to sleep with him. “Not at all.”

  “I suppose—you probably haven’t heard of FashionWare-house.com. We’re a content provider and on-seller for several major labels.” She searched his eyes.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I—we applied to US Alliance a few months ago, but they rejected us. They said they only took companies with revenues of a hundred million plus. But we’re new, and high-growth, and I was hoping you could…make an exception.”

  John felt amused. There was no way Fashion.com or whatever pissant company this girl ran out of her bedroom was going to be accepted into US Alliance. “You’d have to make a pretty good case.”

  Her smile stretched. It was almost painful to watch. “I might be able to do that.” Awkwardly, she pressed her body against his arm; he felt a small breast on his shoulder.

  “Sir? Excuse me?” the barman said. “Phone call for you.”

  John blinked. “Why are my calls coming down here?”

  “Reception noticed you were visiting the bar, sir.”

  “Oh.” The Sofitel was big on customer service; sometimes it could get a little creepy. “Who is it?”

  “Violet ExxonMobil.”

  “I’ll take it in my room.” He stood.

  Vanessa said, “Are you coming back? After your call?”

  He looked at her. “Sorry. I’m busy.”

  “But—”

  “Sorry,” he said, and walked away. He felt cheated. Jennifer was ruining his accomplishments, souring his victories. What was the point of success, if he didn’t have the time to screw a girl like that? He stared at himself in the elevator mirror. “What am I becoming?” he said, and his reflection looked back at him.

  “Violet.”

  “John.”

  “Let’s get something clear.” He pulled the phone to the window, so he could see the illuminated Hollywood sign. Columbia had bought it a few years ago and now there was a gigantic Pegasus above it; it was a big improvement, in John’s opinion. “If you’re hoping to blackmail me over one dead ExxonMobil CEO, save your breath.”

  “That’s not why I’m calling.”

  “Then maybe you want to apologize for sticking a gun in my face and putting my friend into a coma. Is that it, Violet?”

  “I knew I was right to call you.” She sounded excited, so either had a screw loose or was one of those people who didn’t know when to quit; either way, John was interested. He had uses for people like that. “We have a common enemy. Holly T.A. We can help each other.”

  “Last I saw you, you were sitting next to Holly T.A.”

  “She—she—” Her voice tightened. “She owes me a lot of money. She owes me a lot.”

  Uh-huh, he thought. He was tempted to ask Violet if she was nuts, but that was a dangerous question, and besides, he thought he already knew the answer. “You want me to collect your debts?”

  “I can give you information on Holly, I can tell you—”

  “Screw that. I don’t need help with Holly, I need help with Jennifer Government.” His life was filled with domineering women, he realized: if it wasn’t Jennifer, it was Holly.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t bullshit me, Violet, it would be very bad for our relationship. If your little friend Hack hasn’t spoken to Jennifer, I’m Ralph Nader. Ask him about her. Then get her daughter.”

  Pause. “You want me to kidnap someone?”

  “You got it first time. You get me that kid and we’re in business.”

  “I didn’t…that’s not…I thought I could just give you information—”

  “How much does Holly owe you?”

  “Three million. She owes me three million dollars.”

  “Well, that’s a lot of money,” John said. He made himself hesitate, as if he was really thinking about it. “Okay. Get me the kid, I’ll get your money.”

  “And—and when you get it, you’ll tell Holly it’s from me? Can you do that?”

  “Sure,” John said. “I’ll really rub it in.”

  “Okay,” Violet said, excited again. “Okay, I could probably do that. I don’t have to hurt the girl or anything, right?”

  “Uh, right,” John said. Yep: deluded. “Of course not.” He checked his watch. “One more thing. Don’t even think about betraying me.” He didn’t know why he bothered; they were probably each intending to betray the other and it was just a question of who would get in first. “You’ve got my number.” He hung up.

  No doubt, Violet was flaky, very flaky. But sometimes that was the kind of person who got results. Even an unsuccessful attempt to grab Jennifer’s kid would send a message, and maybe that would be enough. If he bought enough time, it wouldn’t matter how dogged Jennifer was. Li and the NRA would put her out of a job.

  64 Buy

  Two days and no reply from John Nike. Buy called the P.A. again. “Oh!” she said. “The flowers are lovely, thank you so much! Has John been in touch?”

  “No, he hasn’t.”

  “Oh, damn. Look, um, I shouldn’t do this…but do you want his cellphone number?”

  “That would be great,” Buy said, and wrote it down. “Thank you again.”

  He dialed John’s number. While he waited, he surfed the internet for Virtual Animalz. He didn’t know what these were, exactly, except that Kate was in love with them. She wanted downloads.

  “Hello?”

  “John Nike? This is Buy Mitsui, Assistant Liaison. I don’t know if you got my message, but—”

  “How the fuck did you get this number?”

  “Your P.A. gave it to me.”

  “That bitch!” John said.

  “Anyway,” Buy said. He had the feeling he wasn’t going to like John Nike. “I’m calling because Kato Mitsui, Liaison, has asked me to make myself of use to you.”

  Pause. “You want what?”

  “No, no,” Buy said. “I’m here to help you.”

  “Help how?”

  “I don’t know. Whatever you want done.”

  “Oh,” John said. “Well, um…where are you
, anyway?”

  “Melbourne, the Australian Territories.”

  There was a pause. “Okay, sure. Sure. Get in touch with the local McDonald’s office, find out who’s been throwing toxic sludge around their stores.”

  “You want me to help McDonald’s?” This was getting complicated.

  “We’re all one big happy family in US Alliance, haven’t you heard?”

  “Of course,” Buy said.

  “But no, I don’t want you to help McDonald’s. I want you to tell me if they’re playing straight. Find out who’s behind the attack: I want names, their plans, everything. I wouldn’t put it past those McAssholes to stage the whole thing.”

  “Okay.” He thought: Paranoid, too.

  “And never call me at this time again. It’s five in the fucking morning.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry—” Buy started, but John had already killed the call.

  Buy set up a three-o’clock to see Lucia McDonald’s, Marketing Director, which would let him pick up Kate from school afterward. McDonald’s main offices were in Sydney, but Lucia was in Melbourne for crisis management. She wanted to meet him at the store that had been attacked, so Buy wandered up Swanston Street and rode the escalator. The McDonald’s store was no longer under plastic: to his amazement, there were people eating in it. He entered, looking for Lucia.

  “Buy Mitsui?”

  He turned. A woman he’d mistaken for a customer was smiling at him, covering a cellphone with one hand. In front of her was a half-eaten cheeseburger and fries. “I’m Lucia. Have a seat. I’ll be one moment.”

  Buy sat and eyed Lucia’s cheeseburger. He hoped she wasn’t going to ask him to eat. He’d seen the news: they were hosing green stuff off the hot plates. Buy would sooner eat his briefcase.

  “All the food is cooked off-site,” Lucia said, catching him. She folded up her cellphone. “We’re positive there was no contamination, but it’s a good way to reassure our customers. We’re running hot delivery vans up and down Swanston Street.”

  “No contamination?”

  “It was a mixture of flour and food dye. Just a prank.” “Oh, I didn’t realize,” Buy said. He still didn’t want a cheeseburger.