by Nat Kozinn
“Wait a minute. I didn’t agree to this. I’m not lifting any weights,” David said as loud as he could whisper.
“What’s the big deal? You pop off a couple deadlifts and the crowd goes wild. It’ll be five, six hundred pounds tops. That’s all my guys can carry out here.”
“Five or six hundred pounds isn’t going satisfy the crowd. They’ll just keep asking for more. I’m not lifting anything.”
“Are you being serious right now? I’m paying you double and this is how you treat me?”
“I never asked you to pay me double. I just want to do our normal deal where I shake some hands and you get a few sign-ups. I didn’t agree to any of this.”
“Are you kidding me, man? This crowd is going to go nuts. I’m going to be lucky if they don’t tear the place apart,” Eddy said.
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m not lifting anything,” David said and shook his head.
“This is unbelievable. Fine, get the hell out of here. I’ll tell them you got sick or something. But for the record, this is bullshit. If you want to stick your neck out there, you better be ready to deal with the fallout. I’m going to pay you what I originally agreed, too, tomorrow. But that’s only because I’m a stand-up guy. Not that you would know anything about that. You can leave through the gym.”
Eddy nodded toward a door a few dozen yards away, down the side of the stage. David looked toward the floor and shuffled off toward that escape.
“Where is he going?” the crowd demanded in a multitude of expletive-filled phrases.
“I’m sorry to announce that there will not be a demonstration. The Savior has been skipping his days at the gym and doesn’t have it in him. What can I say? They tell you to never meet your heroes. This is why. Don’t be like him. Sign up for Muscle Time Fitness, where if you put in the time, you will get the muscles. That’s a guarantee that won’t disappoint—unlike other things in life.”
And with that last parting shot, David slinked off, serenaded by jeers and boos.
10
“They put their hands up and walked out of the building. The police were waiting outside to take them into custody. The entire gang was charged with…” Harry said and let out a massive yawn. He was reading from the latest issue of the Seattle Times.
Alexis and Harry were both leaning back in comfortable leather office chairs. They were sitting at a wooden desk that only had a few loose papers sitting on it, and Harry’s newly redesigned office had a door. Swanky.
“I know, Harry. I know. But what do you want me to say? It’s been four months. We’ve tapped the well. I managed to get two weeks out of his infrastructure projects. I think that’s pretty impressive,” Alexis said.
“You might have to wait on your Pulitzer. This issue sold four thousand less copies than last week. And that’s before they read this latest thriller. The air is starting to come out of the balloon. Time to fill our pockets as full as we can on the way down. That means it’s time for the twist. What the story is missing is a villain. Good news: you get to make even more friends in the government.”
“You’re just worried that Mr. Fox is going to start wondering how much your new office cost once he sees sales are down. I think you sank all four months into the desk,” Alexis said and knocked on the desk to show it was real wood.
“I was planning to blame it all on you fat cats out there in the bullpen with your fancy half-walls. In either case, it’s time.”
“I don’t know, Harry. The more I learn, the less I think it’s the government’s fault. Hell, they gave him two million dollars and he just let it get stolen by his scumbag cousin. He didn’t even try to get any of it back. I’ve been sitting on the interview because it makes him look like a yutz. If they had given him another check, he’d have lost that one, too. I checked in on some sources at Ultracorps, too. They probably did blacklist him or something like that. But that was twenty years ago. Whatever hurt feelings there were have long since healed over. My ‘friend’ told me they’d welcome him with open arms. It’d be a huge PR win for them. Hell, she was even fishing to see if I could set up a meeting.”
“Do I have to tell you how to do your job now? This was your plan all along. I read the notes from your interview about the cousin. Sure, you could make it sound like the Savior was an idiot. Or you could make it sound like he was an ambitious—if a little naive—young man who wanted nothing more than to help people and was taken advantage of by a degenerate drug addict. You tell them the story about how Ultracorps wouldn’t even offer him a job. Who cares if that isn’t true anymore. Should those bastards get a pass because time heals all wounds?”
“It doesn’t feel right,” Alexis said.
“You’re kidding. Save your journalistic ethics for that garbage contract corruption yawner you’re funding with these interviews. Besides, even if he is an idiot, he’s a goddamn hero. We can afford to let him blow another million. And I say this as a man who, without fail, lets out a slew of curse words when I see my tax deductions ever single payday. The guy took a nuclear bomb for us. The least we can do is make sure he doesn’t have to live in some rathole apartment I wouldn’t even stick my mother-in-law in,” Harry said.
“He’s not going to like it. True or false, he doesn’t see himself as a victim, and I don’t think he wants other people to see him that way either. It’ll probably mean the end of the interviews.”
“I told you we’re losing steam. We can split up what we’ve got into a few stories. Then that’ll be it. It wasn’t going to last forever. We should be thankful for what it got us.”
“You mean Rebecca Vorhees,” Alexis said with a roll of her eyes.
“Precisely. She hasn’t even started yet and the LA Times has already sent out feelers for how much it’ll cost them to syndicate. And they aren’t alone; all those think.Net syndication fees they used to get in LA are going to be ours now.”
“Wow, so when do we start the Big Foot search unit? And I hear Kimberly Davis’s new baby’s father is secretly an alien. We may as well go all the way if you’re going to turn us into a tabloid, Harry.”
“As long as we’re a profitable one. Do you want to be employed or do you want to stick to your journalistic ethics? Because if you go with choice two, you’ll be handing out copies of your newsletter on a street corner.”
“Okay fine,” Alexis said with a heavy sigh. “But before we go with the new angle for the Savior, there’s one more story I need from him. And I think I know a way it won’t cost us a dime.”
◆◆◆
“I don’t want to do this anymore. It’s too much. You were right. I was happy in my little rut and I’d like to go back,” David said.
He was standing while Alexis sat at his kitchen table, notepad and pen at the ready.
“Wow, just like that, you want to quit? But we’re still telling your story. People want to hear it. You know that,” Alexi said.
“Cut the crap. You don’t care about these articles any more than I do. You know it’s fluff and you hate it. The question is, why don’t you see any problem putting your name on these articles? Doesn’t your name mean anything to you?”
“Woah, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed. You agreed to these interviews; I didn’t twist your arm. I offered you a few bucks and you jumped at the chance. Don’t you go getting all holier than thou on me. I might be the pimp, but you’re not some naive young girl. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. You knew that the interviews would lead you under the spotlight. That’s why you ran from it for so long. I’m sorry that I was the one standing here when you became desperate enough to give in, but if you’re disgusted with anyone, it’s obviously yourself. So you can shove that attitude right up your ass. I’ve got plenty of my own crap to swallow. I’m not taking a bite of yours.”
“I don’t care what you think. I’ve sold enough of my dignity. We’ve got a head start rebuilding the church. I’ll just have to find another way to pay for the rest. I don’t need the
money that badly anymore.”
“Is that so?” Alexis said and took a small sip from her flask. “I know why you needed that money so badly last week.”
“I don’t believe you. You’re bluffing,” David shot back.
“I know it’s hard to believe, but I used to be a journalist. It’s been a few years, but I exposed some intrigue in my day. Some of it was even tougher to uncover than the fact that your mother lives in a nursing home on the east side under the name Vivien Leigh. I take it she was a Gone with the Wind fan?”
“There was a theater nearby that brought it back every year. She’d always see it at least twice,” David said and stared off for a moment. “Okay, so you know my secret. Is that a story? Lots of people have old mothers in old folks’ homes. I’m pretty sure even my biggest fans assumed I was born of the flesh. And I’m not the only kid struggling to pay his bills at the home. If they kicked out everyone who was behind, the place would be empty.”
“It isn’t a big deal except that you refuse to talk about her. And from what I was able to glean from the staff, you also refuse to talk to her.”
“And you know what? I’m not going to talk to you about it either. Why don’t you go ahead and show yourself out,” David said and pointed to the door.
Alexis did not flinch. This was not her first game of poker. She slowly and deliberately took another sip from her flask.
“If you sit down and agree to keep doing this interview, the Seattle Times will pay for your mother’s care for the rest of her life,” Alexis said without looking at David.
“Excuse me?” David asked.
“You heard me. We will pay her bills until she passes away. You won’t get any letters or have to do anything at all. You’ll never have to see her or think about her again if you don’t want to.”
“And all I have to do is this one interview? That’s quite a raise you’re offering.”
“Things have taken a positive turn for the Times. Even still, I’m going to be straight. A regular interview won’t do it for this. I don’t want any refusal to answer my questions. You don’t have to talk about Carter specifically, but I want to know how it affected your mother. That’s non-negotiable. Why don’t you take a minute and think about what I’m offering before you respond?”
David stood up and went to the window. He looked out and saw Lieutenant. He was dragging a large slab of wood back toward his corner. Was he going to use it as a bed? What if Saint Mary’s church wasn’t able to get fixed up and the city closed it down? Where would Lieutenant eat? He was using an old slab of wood as a bed; he didn’t have many options in life. If David didn’t have to pay for his mother’s care, that would free up a whole lot of money for other things. He could afford to fix up the church and maybe even do a lot more for the Heights.
“I’ll do it,” David said and sat back down in the chair.
“Are you sure? I don’t want to waste my time and have you quit halfway through,” Alexis said.
“I get it. Now let’s get this started,” David said through clenched teeth.
Alexis took the cap off her pen. “Okay, let’s start with you telling me about your mother.”
“Well, she’s in a ‘retirement community,’ which is really an old folks’ home, and she’s in the memory ward. Alzheimer’s is not pretty.”
“Okay, well that’s the end of her story. I want you to tell me the whole thing. Did she grow up in Seattle?”
“Why would anyone want to know my mother’s life story?”
“Have you been reading the articles I write? This is how it works. I ask you a bunch of questions and then print the interesting parts. Your mother’s life story probably isn’t all that compelling, but maybe parts of it are, and I don’t trust you to know what those are, so you just go ahead and answer.”
“I haven’t read your articles as a matter of fact. I tried with the first one, but I couldn’t take it. It made me too self-conscious.”
“That’s odd, because if I recall the first time I came in this apartment, it was covered in newspaper clippings detailing your many and varied accomplishments.”
“Those were different. It was what other people were saying about me. That’s easier to take because I know they were trying to sell a story. But when it’s my own words, it just seems like bragging. I don’t know…”
“We’re going to save the free therapy for another day unless it’s talking about your mother. Was she from Seattle?” Alexis asked. She was not about to be derailed now that she had an opening to the off-limits zone.
“She was from Eugene, Oregon—or a farm thirty miles away from town to be more precise,” David said. “They grew berries and alfalfa, I think. Anyway, it wasn’t much of an operation, and whatever money they did make, my grandfather squandered. My mom and Grammy never said it out loud, but he was a drunk and spent any money they had on foolish ideas and booze. Anyway, Grammy, my grandmother, wasn’t going to let her one and only daughter’s life be ruined by her poor choice in mate. She pushed my mom to work hard in school. And my mom did just that—well, enough to get into Lewis and Clark University. And Grammy, well, somehow she managed to squirrel away some money, and she used every penny of it to help my mom pay for school. Not that my mom didn’t work herself. Full time all through college to pay the bills. She was a woman on a mission. She wanted to be a teacher, but she ended up off-course because of something she never bargained for: my father.
“He came from a family that also owned its own business, too, but a much more lucrative one. My grandfather owned three car dealerships and was a pretty big deal in Seattle in the sixties. My dad was unlike anyone my mom had ever met. He had all new clothes, a new car—a Camaro—and he didn’t have to work while he was in school. My mom said she felt like she had met a rock star. He graduated a couple years ahead of her, but she was determined to stay in school until she earned her degree. Then she moved out to Seattle, to a house my father had already bought with his dad’s money. She got a job as a teacher, and Dad took over one of my grandfather’s dealerships. Then, a few years later, she got pregnant with me and quit her job to be a housewife like was always the plan. Dad’s plan anyway.
“There was one major roadblock to the plan: my father was a massive piece of crap. Turns out my mom ended up marrying a guy a lot like her own dad. That’s what Freud says happens, right? I guess my father was a little different; he was a druggy, not a drunk. Cocaine to be precise. And he loved it more than my mother, or me, or my brother, who was in my mom’s womb. He loved it so much he stole money from his own dealership to pay for his addiction. I don’t remember my grandfather all that well, but he got a purple heart in World War II. He was a real war hero. And he didn’t get soft after he got back to the states. He called the cops on his own son, and they dragged him out of the dealership. My mom served him divorce papers while he was waiting for his trial.
“He ended up pleading out. Got fifteen years. The dealership bought cars wholesale from other states or something, so it was a federal case. He hadn’t paid his taxes in years either, so that got piled on, too. Once my dad realized his own father was going to testify against him, he was willing to take whatever deal they were offering.
“We only saw him once when he was in prison. Let’s just say he wasn’t on track to turn his life around. We ended up leaving after he called my mother a bitch, me a Nancy boy, and said Carter looked nothing like him and accused my mom of cheating on him. A real class act. He never asked to see us again, and I never asked to go back. Carter never even remembered him, luckily for Carter.
“Dad died when the Plagues first started going, back before we even had a name for what was happening. The plumbing gave out at the prison, and that left them with dirty water that caused a cholera outbreak that killed most of the prisoners. I read once that like seventy-five percent of the prison population died during the Plagues. Considering all the tragedies in the nation, I don’t think anyone was shedding tears for them, and I can’t say me or my mom di
d either when we heard about my dad.
“By then, mom was the only parent we knew. She never dated after my dad went to jail. She didn’t have time between taking care of two young sons and having to make ends meet for the family. I don’t mean to make things sound desperate—I mean, sure, it was hard—but it wasn’t the usual single mom sob story. We didn’t see much of Grandpa, but he made sure we were well taken care of. Shame forced both of those responses… You know what I do remember? Her going out on a date once. She sat us down and talked to us beforehand, and we just made fun of her. I think she would have kept trying, but then the Plagues got really bad and romance was the last thing on everyone’s mind.
“The thing no one remembers is that the Plagues didn’t strike. We didn’t wake up one day and the world was ending. They kind of just snowballed. First, the crops started failing, and they blamed it on some weird beetle or some new fungus. Then the pipes started failing and they blamed it on mini-earthquakes or something like that. Then the power started going out and they blamed sunspots. Nobody knew what was happening; we didn’t know it was all caused by the Plagues—caused by Cabot—until a few years later. Anyway, it took a while for things to get bad for us. Like I said, Grandpa took care of us. We lived in Pioneer Square, so things stayed relatively quiet there for a while.
“But nowhere was safe from the Plagues. It wasn’t long before our upscale neighborhood was targeted by thieves and looters. We had three break-ins; then my mom got her hands on an old shotgun and started staying up all night. She fired a warning shot a few times but never hit anybody, and we were never robbed again. She left me with the gun while she went to go wait in the relief line—the day the bomb hit. I was in charge.”
David’s eyes suddenly went wide and his look became transfixed on the floor. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“It’s okay. Focus on your mother. This is about her. After the bomb hit, how did you find her? Or did she find you?”
