Jim bent over and threw up on the floor. He looked at Tina’s father and shrugged. “Anyway, we flew up here and bribed the postal authorities to give us any mail with grease-ball stamps on it. Then we zipped down to Mexico and tracked you maniacs down by air by using the postmarks as your trail.”
“A Beech-18,” I croaked.
“Right José nearly shot us down with his fucking Thompson.”
I could feel the bedrock of my Worldview crumbling beneath me.
“We knew that if all else failed, we could always intercept you loonies at this address. We sort of guided you here with the ads in the Trib.”
I let out a groan. A Subatomic Groan if ever there was one.
“What was all that garbage about the underlying, ah, whatever of reality?”
“Garbage,” I repeated mindlessly.
“We couldn’t let you and ol’ José go off the deep end like that, buddy. You guys are our brothers.”
“Flapgolbadwok!” Robert yelled from the living room. He had whipped out a couple more grenades and was doing his juggling routine. José was chug-a-lugging Robert’s Grand Marnier.
I found myself staring at a fruit bowl in the middle of Tina’s family’s dining room table. There were two apples in there, along with an orange, a peach and a radioactive banana. I tried to remember what the half-life of a radioactive banana was, but my memory failed me.
I then thought briefly of the old Indian, Señor Rodriguez, Colonel Menendez, and Tom and Gary. I glanced at Rafer, God bless him, then at Tina, Tina’s mother and, finally, Tina’s father. I wondered where Tina’s sister, Ruth, was and if she was always left out when it came to family gatherings. The thought crossed my mind that, in the final analysis, Ruth was probably at the bottom of all this.
I felt very alone.
Jim jerked his thumb in the direction of Tina’s father. “And who the fuck is this dude?” Jim shook his head. “We’re gonna have to straighten you guys out, me and Robert.”
Jim dumped a few grams of coke on the table and flicked open a switchblade. He started chopping, then tossed me a thick, pungent joint. “Fire that sucker up,” he said.
Flash was chasing High Pockets and Aileron around the living room.
Tina was staring at me malevolently. I had to look away. Whatever she was thinking, she was probably right.
Rafer was still passed out. He started to snore.
Tina’s father was staring at Jim, his eyes pleading. I was completely disillusioned with the man. Even the electrons had abandoned him.
“Grantalaraw!” Robert yelled and threw something into the kitchen.
José staggered into the dining room, fell onto the table and passed out.
“At least José’s coming to his senses,” Jim said. “You’re next.”
As it turned out, it was a live grenade that Robert had thrown into the kitchen. At this point it went off. I was struck by flying debris and lost consciousness.
Epilogue
I feel that I have some explaining to do.
As I already mentioned, two months or so have elapsed since the Sausalito escapade and I have only recently recovered from the mental trauma that resulted. Though I’ve managed to put quite a few things in their proper perspective, I still have a ways to go.
I am writing these words from the veranda of our villa in Riohacha, Colombia. The view is spectacular and we are all ridiculously wealthy again.100
I am still a student of the cosmos, but the conclusions I was forced to come to that night in Sausalito have taken the wind out of my subatomic sails. (Notice that I don’t capitalize “subatomic” anymore.) I had taken everything much too seriously and was therefore devastated to find out that I was a clown in a larger, less comprehensible circus. It had been the height of arrogance for me to consider myself the ringmaster of anything. I suspect that as the circuses get bigger (or smaller), they become less and less comprehensible and probably goofier and goofier until only God gets the joke. Trying to comprehend the underlying nature of reality is an example of this in one direction, and trying to comprehend man’s place in the universe is an example in the other direction. I don’t try to do either of these things anymore, but I enjoy discussing them because it makes me feel intelligent.
As a result of this attitude, I have ceased feeling foolish about being a clown. One thing that amuses me about most people is that they resent the idea that they’re clowns.
The life I lived prior to becoming obsessed with the new physics is an example of a life that was in tune with this circus atmosphere that makes up the human condition. This is the wisdom of Robert and Jim. They are true Zen clowns. I have proof of this. Here it is: If I try to explain any of this to them, they laugh at me.
The essence of wisdom is probably not to think about it. Rafer, God bless him, has always known this. He’s here with us in Riohacha, by the way, and is also ridiculously wealthy. He has proven to be an invaluable asset in planning our criminal activities, and he is also a master at putting things in their proper perspective. When things don’t go exactly as we plan, he smiles stoically and says, “Wee-oow.”
José says, “Ahh.”
I usually say something like, “Shit ass rat fuck.” I have a lot of catching up to do.
I should probably explain how we all got back here to Riohacha and became ridiculously wealthy again. I’ll just give you the basic facts. Here they are:
Jim and Robert didn’t spend night one in jail after being overrun by federal agents in Miami. Robert had been holding a serious trump card for years and chose to play it at that time. It had to do with some documents and tapes he had swiped from the State Department when he was working for Nixon and his gang of creeps. He had stashed copies of the material in various safe deposit boxes, which were to be opened upon Robert’s death or incarceration. Everyone in Washington nowadays is very concerned about Robert’s health and well-being.
As I more or less suspected, it was Robert and Jim who had informed the authorities about my imaginary terrorist activities, inadvertently causing José to have his Colombian Empire pillaged by a malicious Rival Dope Lord. They had done this as a joke, of course, not foreseeing any ramifications down the line. As the astute reader will already have sensed, this mindless prank was a crucial domino in a chain reaction that led to uncountable weird occurrences in the lives of uncountable people. José’s mugging of Tina’s family, and all of its ramifications, (possibly an infinite number of them) is only one example.101 I tend to reflect back on this whenever I have the audacity to think that I have anything to say about anything.
Anyway, Robert demanded the return of our Learjet and split the $890,000 we had in the back with the agents who had apprehended Jim and him. This is standard procedure, and neither the cops nor the crooks consider this sort of thing a bribe. It is more a reward for a game well played.
Robert and Jim then spent a few days partying with the Feds and Eduardo in Miami. After going through most of the remaining cash, they hightailed it for the Cayman Islands, where they managed to remember what bank our two million was stashed in. After making the withdrawal, they began searching for José and me. It ended, of course, on that awful night in Sausalito.
After Robert blew up Tina’s family’s house (for some reason, no one was seriously injured), we made good our escape from Sausalito and found Harry and the Lear waiting at an airport in nearby Novato. (I was still unconscious, so this information is secondhand.)
We then flew to New York and looked up George again. George had moved to another warehouse, but it was business as usual. And we were lucky. He was having a special on Mac- 10 machine pistols, AK-47s and all rocket launchers. We bought nearly a million dollars’ worth of armament and began planning an all-out Bandito Assault on Riohacha in order to recapture José’s Empire and return him to his rightful position of Full-Blown Dope Lord.
Meanwhile, Flash and Aileron had flown down to the Bahamas to pick up the DC-4 the boys had bought for transporting whatever merch ne
eded transporting.
As it turned out, recapturing José’s Empire was a piece of cake. His rival had turned out to be a Creepy Dope Lord. Everyone in Riohacha missed José, who was widely considered a Mellow Dope Lord. We raised an army of several hundred Guajiran Indians and Disgruntled Banditos and marched into Riohacha unopposed. The Creepy Dope Lord ran like a thief and has not been heard from since.
Flash and Aileron made several successful runs for us in the DC-4, and I became Admiral of our own little Marijuana Navy.
Things have more or less returned to abnormal. José and I hold informal seminars on the new physics for those Banditos who care to attend, but as I said, we don’t take it so seriously anymore. It’s better to simply live a subatomic sort of lifestyle than to go off half-cocked about it and not get anything done. This, it seems to me, is the problem with most so-called philosophers. They never get anything done.
I sent a substantial amount of money to Tina’s father to cover the cost of rebuilding their house and to pay for psychiatric care for Tina’s mother. By coincidence, Tina’s mother now occupies a room that adjoins Tom’s in a private mental hospital in Marin County. I know this because I am footing Tom’s bill also. Nobody in Tina’s family knows anything about Tom being in the hospital or how he got there.
I dropped poor Gary a note explaining everything and apologizing for any inconvenience I may have caused him. I told him that if there were ever any psychiatric or medical repercussions of my visit to San Francisco, he should put an ad in the International Herald Tribune addressed to “Mr. Quark” (why not?), giving the name of the doctor or hospital and the amount of the bill, and I would cover it. I then said that José sends his love (a lie, of course) and signed off.102
If the reader finds it incredible (and possibly immoral) that this tale has a happy ending, he is not the only one. I, too, am astounded. For those who feel that my associates’ and my criminal antics are a perversion of everything that is right and good, take heart. There is an excellent chance that I will come to a ghastly end. (I suspect that my demise will have something to do with Robert and his interest in high explosives.) But for the reader or me to become obsessed with this probability would mean that we have missed something somewhere along the way, although I have no idea what.
I should probably mention that I do not know specifically what the message here is, if indeed there is one. If anyone out there has a theory, please contact José and me through the International Trib in the prescribed way. We would be interested in hearing from you.
When all is said and done, when all the shouting and philosophizing and moralizing is over, I suspect that this tale is simply another example of something.
The attempt to understand the universe is one of the only things that elevates the human condition from farce to the elegance of tragedy.
—Stephen Weinberg, Nobel Laureate in Physics, 1979
Author’s Note
As mentioned in the Foreword to the New Edition, I recently spent two years in Central America. Assuming you were paying attention, you will also remember that I was down there looking for an old friend and sometime partner in crime who had disappeared a few years previously. And that while I was searching for him and wandering around, a lot of stuff happened.
I’ve written a book about it all: the search, the stuff, my shamelessly misspent younger years, you name it.103 In Search of Captain Zero is the title. Although the word memoir appears nowhere in or on the book, that’s essentially what it is.
It’s about as different from this book as its possible to be.104
I bring this up in case you didn’t like this book. See, if you didn’t like this book, you’re virtually guaranteed to like In Search of Captain Zero. They’re that different.
But: If you did like this book, you’re also virtually guaranteed to like In Search of Captain Zero. Never mind if this doesn’t sound quite right. Just trust me on it.
For proof of how different In Search of Captain Zero is from this book, or possibly any other book you’ve ever read, you can visit my Web site, www.aweisbecker.com. 105 A guided tour, with lots of photos, awaits you.
You’ll also find that this book is shamelessly touted on my Web site. I’ve even reproduced the Foreword to the New Edition there, which, presumably, you’ve already read.
You may want to read it again, just to make sure.106
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Not much is known about A.C. Weisbecker and A.C. Weisbecker wants to keep it that way.107
1 The events described in the Foreward to the New Edition should be completely viewed as more or less being at least partly true. In other words, as nonfictton.
2 You don’t wish to name the movie studio that caused your career to be going nowhere but it’s the one that has cartoon characters on its West Coast corporate headquarters front lawn and that is sometimes referred to as Mousevitz, or Duckenwald, for its Storm Trooper treatment of creative types, especially writers.
3 You will fail miserably, of course.
4 A related issue: You are currently trying to get the reader used to the excessive footnoting to come.
5 you will fail miserably, of course, but in this case with a certain panache.
6 In your writing, you have an overall cavalier attitude toward geographical veracity. You’ve given Bolivia a coastline, for example, because you needed a South American country name that starts with a B, to alliterate with the words bandito and burrito, yet has a coastline. Bolivia, of course, is landlocked.
7 The phrase complete crock of shit comes to mind.
8 Given the implications of the different branches of reality concept, the usual definition of the word fictional should henceforth (and, as a matter of fact, retroactively) be viewed as suspect.
9 Better phrasing might be the dog sitting beside you in this branch of reality.
10 The phrase twist of fate does come close, especially if you add the adjective bizarre to the front.
11 The phrase arrow of time occurs to you.
12 Once again, the phrase complete crock of shit comes to mind.
13 The fact that Cosmic Banditos is neither Science Fiction nor Fantasy would seem to be in keeping with all this.
14 I know: A lot of enigmatic characters already and we’re still only in the Foreword.
15 One reason for this enigmatic business has to do with the About the Author note I penned at the end of the tale, and which I’ve left intact for this New Edition. You may wish to glance at it now. (Don’t peek at the last paragraph of the text; you’ll ruin everything.) Back? Okay. I was trying to place myself on this side of the fine line that separates mysterious authors from unknown ones. Enigmatic was exactly what I was going for: I’d finally succeeded at something.
16 Still another enigmatic figure.
17 Also: No one has ever seen Pynchon and me in the same room together. Just trust me on this.
18 I’ve been waiting a long time for the opportunity to use this word.
19 It wouldn’t even be a coincidence, or a twist of fate, bizarre or otherwise.
20 lf you’re not following all this—or, come to think of it, if you’re annoyed by all the footnotes—I suggest you put this book down and forget about it—and me. It’s just not going to work out between us. If you’re quick in getting back to the bookstore, maybe you can get your money back, or at least effect an exchange—for some sort of self-help book, possibly. (If you bought this book via mail order, say, through Amazon.com or—especially—through my Web site, the phrase you’re out of luck comes to mind.)
21 Actually, I like this sentence very much.
22 It was lying dormant.
23 Also: The randomness of the plan appealed to me.
24 Just how widely is an important question, to which I will return. Anon.
25 Someone once asked me if there were any books to which I might compare Cosmic Banditos. Groping for an intelligent response, I finally came up with this: “Its sort of like that Russian novel, Crime and Pun
ishment, except there’s no punishment.”
26 I’d love to run an excerpt but in stripping down my life preparatory to my Central America bolt in ‘96, I accidentally threw out the box containing my Gulf War fan mail, having gotten it mixed up with my financial records.
27 The other thing that became evident was this: The author, this guy Weisbecker, me, was perceived as a godlike figure. I had apparently figured it all out.
28 and, in retaliation, dementedly, perhaps randomly, firing off shitloads of Patriot missiles.
29 At the risk of repeating the obvious: Somehow, simultaneously with my signature being of monetary value, the rumor would circulate that I don’t actually exist.
30 A somewhat tentative shot, based on the actually existing author’s nonexistent advance.
31 Which, come to think of it, is what it’s really about
32 By the way, the expression “point in time” that has become so popular is a redundancy Since reality is a space-time continuum, the word point also takes care of the concept of “time.”
33 Unfortunately, things didn’t work out exactly as Eduardo had planned. About two weeks after the Don Juan went down, Eduardo got himself into some very hot water with the rest of the Dope Lords in Riohacha. He got drunk one night and was caught in bed with a fellow Dope Lord’s wife. This is a serious no-no according to the Dope Lord Code of Conduct. Eduardo blasted his way out of Riohacha and, only slightly wounded, hightailed it for Miami, where he bought a condominium and controlling interest in a local bank.
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