Smiggins sniggered and punched some numbers into his calculator. Flash Freddy dusted his shoulders and said, “The Boss only allows A-class citizens to own a vehicle.”
“The rest have to walk,” Santosa said, hooking down his oxygen mask. “Can you imagine how cluttered the roads would be if everyone had a Limo? Complete anarchy if you ask me. It’s better this way.”
Six billion Limos jamming the streets was a nightmare too frightening to even consider, Louis thought, glancing back to the sidewalk. The line for The Burger Boss had weaved around the rock the size of a Limo that had seemingly fallen from nowhere and cracked the sidewalk, then continued beyond the door of the neighboring shop, a mobile telecommunications store called LeMont Cellular One. Just as he had guessed. He congratulated himself and sipped his champagne. Five out of five so far. He looked out of the other window to the opposite sidewalk. It was exactly the same, a mirror image of this side.
“Everything is owned by LeMont International Enterprises,” Flash Freddy said. “Everyone living here is in its employment. The perfect corporation. Entirely self-sufficient.”
Santosa burped and said, “The Boss is an economic genius. He’s taken globalization to the next level.”
Louis was distracted for a moment by a Limo passing in the opposite direction. Its personalized number plate read: 4 ME. Yet another one close behind read: BIG BOY.
“His previous partner threw him off the board of his original company,” Flash Freddy went on. “Nasty piece of business. Takeovers usually are, as you well know. He ended up with nothing. Still, he was sufficiently savvy to form his own company, LeMont International Enterprises, and it’s grown and grown into what you see now, a massive conglomerate. He’s got more power now than he ever had before.”
Louis continued to stare at the passing shops, guessing each one before he saw it. Ties & Scarves. Sox & Jox. Head to Tail Accessories. Shooz-4-U, and LeMont 1-2-3, where he could get a suit for every occasion at a price that was Cheap, Cheap, Cheap. The line for The Burger Boss kept going. The Limo passed LeMont Real Estate and the Gadget Emporium, then the Union Bank and Route 666, a coffee shop that for a short time only was doing a large cuppachocafrappamochachino for the price of a regular. The line even went beyond the LeMont Travel Center, which had a special three-nights-for-the-price-of-two getaway weekend at a luxury spa resort (conditions applied).
“The spa belongs to the LeMont Country Club,” Flash Freddy said, following Louis’ gaze. “Best golf course in the city.”
“Damn difficult to get a round though,” Santosa said, and burped. “Have to be signed in by a member. I’ve been on the waiting list for over three thousand years. Problem is, nobody dies around here. There’s no natural rate of attrition. I have to wait until someone forgets to pay their fees, and that never happens.”
Smiggins sniggered into his champagne and said, “I’m a member.”
Santosa’s already bulging eyes nearly popped out of his head. Flash Freddy choked and all but spilled his glass. “How can a B-class rat like you be a member of the Country Club?” Santosa said. “It’s absurd.”
Smiggins sniggered again. “I do their books. Free membership comes with the contract.”
Louis turned his attention back to the sidewalk, keeping only half an ear on the conversation inside the Limo. The line up for the Burger Boss eventually stopped in front of a shop selling sportswear and camping equipment. Next to it was a betting agency offering odds on the upcoming derby between the Blues and the Reds. The Blues were hot favorites to win their seven hundredth and eleventh game in a row.
At that moment, a white rabbit hopped out of the LeMont Newsagent next door to the betting agency. Santosa, Smiggins, Tiffany and Flash Freddy didn’t so much as bat an eyelid. Even the jackal and ferret that had just joined the end of the line for The Burger Boss walked straight passed it, which was odd because the goddamn thing looked so completely out of place it was impossible to miss. For a start, its naked fur shone almost as brightly as the light through the archway at the end of Conduit Number 1. But that wasn’t even the half of it. The rabbit had wings. Goddamn wings!
As the Limo pulled away, Louis stretched his neck to see through the rear window over Santosa’s shoulder. The rabbit hopped across the road to the opposite newsagents, receding with every second. “Did… did… did you see that?” he said.
“See what?” Santosa said through his oxygen mask.
“A white rabbit! With wings!” Louis pointed out the rear window. Another Limo passed in the opposite direction heading straight for the rabbit and not slowing down. WHY NOT, its number plate read. “Look! There it is!”
Santosa, Flash Freddy and Smiggins burst out laughing. Santosa burped and slapped his thigh with the palm of his webbed hand. Nobody looked behind to see if Louis was telling the truth or not. “Good one, Louis. Good one,” the toad said, hooking down his mask. Tiffany Tidbits was the only one who kept a straight face. She stared into her champagne flute, then took a quick sip. Santosa turned to Flash Freddy. “Your friend’s a scream. Where’d you find him? He’s in the wrong job. He should be a standup.”
“I’m not joking,” Louis said. “Look. It’s hopped across the road. You can still see it.”
Now smaller than a mouse, the winged rabbit had just managed to hop onto the opposite sidewalk before being rundown by the other Limo. Only Tiffany Tidbits shot a glance over her shoulder. Then, seeing nothing untoward, returned to watching the bubbles in her champagne flute. Santosa, Flash Freddy and Smiggins were still chuckling.
“White rabbit!” Santosa said, shaking his head. Smiggins sniggered with him. “With wings! Can you believe it?”
Flash Freddy slapped Louis on the top of his shoulder, and said, “Nobody told me you had such a vivid imagination, Mr. DeVille.”
“Goddamn it. I’m not making it up,” he said, catching Tiffany Tidbits’ eye. She looked straight back down into her champagne glass. “Turn the Limo around if you don’t believe me,” he said to Santosa. “The rabbit went into the newsagent across the road.”
“To buy a flying magazine!” Flash Freddy said, and burst out laughing. Smiggins sniggered and Santosa threw his head back and slapped his thigh.
Louis shook his head in frustration. Again, when he met Tiffany’s eye she looked away, unable to hold his gaze for anything longer than a second. In an effort to push what had just happened to the back of his mind, he returned to gazing out the window and guessing which shops would appear next. He felt Flash Freddy pat him on the shoulder again in mock sympathy. He shrugged off the scaly claw and hitched his toga.
“It’s not that we don’t believe you, Mr. DeVille,” Flash Freddy said. “It’s… how can I put this? You’re exhibiting the classic symptoms of PTDS.”
Louis cocked an eyebrow.
“Post Traumatic Death Syndrome,” Santosa said, and laughed.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it,” Flash Freddy added. “It’s a normal part of readjustment to the After Life. We’ve all suffered PTDS as some point. Some more than others though.”
Smiggins sniggered again. Not for the first time, Louis had to fight the urge to claw his eyes out. “Are you saying I’m just seeing things?” he asked.
“Visual hallucinations are the most common symptom,” Flash Freddy said.
“But what about the graffiti?” he asked. “The White Rabbit Freedom Fighters. That’s real. I’m not hallucinating that, am I?”
Santosa burped, seemingly irritated, and told Tiffany to pop another bottle of Imperial Brut. “Nothing but troublemakers is what they are,” he said. “Outlaws. Crazies.”
Flash Freddy hooded his eyes, the smile on his face now gone. “Most cases of PTDS are mild and require no treatment,” he said. “Some require nothing more than a few weeks of medication. Few of the more extreme cases, however, are resistant to any treatment. They’re the no-hopers. The ones who continue to have hallucinations. The difference between you and them is that you know it’s not real
.”
The Limo pulled up at a red light at another intersection. On the corner was a 24/7 mini-market with WRFF sprayed to its wall. Santosa’s little helper began filling everyone’s champagne flutes.
“The White Rabbit Freedom Fighters believe they see rabbits with wings. You’re not the first,” Flash Freddy went on. “They also believe the sky-vault will fall on their heads. That’s how crazy they are.”
Louis hitched his toga, distinctly uncomfortable with the thought of losing his mind. “You’re damn sure the hallucinations will go away on their own? I won’t need treatment?”
Flash Freddy smiled his salesman’s smile. “That’s what usually happens.”
“And I’ve got nothing else to worry about?”
“Nothing at all, although you might hear voices telling you to do things. Just ignore them. They’ll go away as well.”
Santosa burped and sipped his champagne. “I know of one ferret who heard the voice of God telling him to crucify himself. Completely insane. He begged and begged the authorities until they eventually nailed him up. Still in the Chamber of Life, so I’ve been told.”
Smiggins sniggered. “I’ve heard of weasels throwing themselves into the Fires of Oblivion, claiming they heard voices in their head telling them to do it.”
“Fires of Oblivion?” Louis asked.
“The white light at the end of Conduit Number 1,” Santosa said. “Instant obliteration. Which reminds me,” and he turned to his PA. “Did you get that official’s details?” Tiffany nodded, and Santosa turned back to Louis. “You can see for yourself when we throw him in. I’ll make sure you get front row viewing.”
Louis recalled the weasel with the crucifix emerging from the Fires of Oblivion, but didn’t challenge the toad on the seeming contradiction: You can check in but you can’t check out? For the most part though, he decided to keep to himself and guess the sequence of shops until they reached the hotel. He was looking forward to putting his feet up and having a rest on a nice soft bed. After everything he had been through today, he could barely keep his eyes open.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Money Tree
THE Limo pulled off Boulevard 1 and into the first traffic jam Louis had experienced in the mega-city. Countless Limos were backed up around the Tower Piazza waiting to drop off or pick up from the LeMont Hotel, and they weren’t going anywhere in a hurry. He had seen parking lots busier than this.
He glanced at the hotel façade, a little disappointed. It wasn’t nearly as grand as he had imagined. From what the others had said, he had been expecting something along the lines of the Paris Ritz or the Vegas Bellagio. Something glamorous. Something luxurious. Something with a little more goddamn character than a drab eight-story shoebox straight from the archives of Sixties Communist Architecture. He certainly hoped the outside was no reflection of the state of the décor inside.
“What’s the holdup?” Santosa said through his oxygen mask. “I’m already late for my meeting.”
“It’s always like this,” Flash Freddy said. “It’s the most popular hotel in the city.”
Smiggins sniggered and muttered under his breath, “It’s the only hotel in the city.”
While they waited to move on, Louis passed the time by scanning the perimeter of the piazza around which the Limos had come to a virtual standstill. Fronting the square directly opposite the hotel was The LeMont Tower, which he tried not to look at for too long. Thankfully the roof of the Limo blocked out most of the upper levels, in particular the staring alpha-omega logo at the top. Somehow, though, he could still feel it trying to pry into his thoughts, as if a pair of invisible claws was scratching at the Limo’s roof to rip it off and get inside his skull. The others didn’t appear to notice anything untoward. Maybe, he hoped, it was just another hallucination, something to do with Post Traumatic Death Syndrome.
Whatever it was, the sense of attack felt incredibly real and he had to use all his concentrative powers to force his attention to the rest of the piazza. There were a few familiar shops he recognized from the boulevard: The Burger Boss (two of them, if you could believe it, each as busy as the others he had seen on the way here), LeMont Real Estate, Route 666, the Gadget Emporium, and even another Happythecary. There were also a few more eateries and alfresco cafés than elsewhere, he noticed, the tables and chairs spilling onto the piazza in neat rows of six or seven as if put there for an outdoor classroom. Closer still, and dominating opposite corners, were two huge cinema complexes, both showing the same film: PEARLS & SWINE, one he had never heard before.
Santosa hooked down his oxygen mask and nodded his head to the nearest cinema billboard. A larger-than-life ferret wearing a Stenson smiled down on them. “That guy’s got it made,” Santosa said. “Riva Sticks, the lead actor. Been with more women than I’ve had burgers at the Burger Boss.”
“I’ve heard he’s been dating the leading actress,” Flash Freddy said.
Tiffany Tidbits made to say something, but never got the chance. “Who? Vivian Vixen?” Santosa said.
The Limo crept forward one place. The driver, Louis noticed, had turned off the radio.
“Haven’t you seen the latest Hot Gossip?” Flash Freddy said. “They were photographed leaving the LeMont Hotel last week. Together.”
“Doesn’t mean anything,” Smiggins said, and sniggered. “I’ve heard he’s gay. He only dates women to maintain his image of a sex symbol. His agent has set up every relationship he’s had. Ever noticed how he starts seeing a new woman when he hasn’t been in the news for a while, or when ticket sales are slowing? Bet you a million dollars we hear they’re getting secretly married soon. Then, at the last minute, they’ll call it off. It’s always the same. Nothing changes.”
Again Tiffany Tidbits made to say something. “He’s still a lucky bugger, either way,” Santosa said over her. “Vivian Vixen is one foxy lady. I’d sell my dead mother to wear his hat for a day.”
“Why? It’s all a sham.” Smiggins kept punching numbers into his calculator. “They sign a contract stating the terms of the relationship. They only do it for fame and money.”
Flash Freddy flicked his tongue and licked his lips. “What’s wrong with that? Everyone wants financial freedom.”
Louis chuckled. “No such thing. Financial freedom’s a goddamn fallacy. If you don’t have a lot of money, you worry you’ll never have any. And if you do have a lot, you worry some other bugger’s going to steal it. Not much freedom in that if you ask me.”
The coldness that emanated from Santosa and Flash Freddy was as powerful as the force he could feel from the top of The LeMont Tower. Smiggins stopped punching numbers into his calculator and looked at him from the corner of his eyes. Louis wiggled in his seat and hitched his toga. “Of course… uh… there is a point where you have so much that you can do anything you like and don’t have to worry about a thing. I guess… uh… you could call that financial freedom.”
The atmosphere inside the Limo seemed to lighten. “You better believe it,” Santosa said. “Money is freedom. It gives you the power to have anything you want. Everyone knows that. The more you have, the more freedom you have. It was true before you died, and it’s even truer in the After Life.” He took a sip of champagne and pointed out the window. “See that Money Tree? It’s worshipped for that very reason.”
The Limo crept forward another space. In the middle of the piazza was a sizeable gray tree about as high as the LeMont Hotel and utterly bare. Its gnarly limbs reminded Louis of his grandma’s crippled fingers in the later years of her life when the arthritis had been at its worst. In fact, the likeness to a contorted hand thrust toward the sky-vault was more than just a little eerie. He couldn’t see anything to get excited about. He certainly couldn’t understand why the crowd of about a thousand or so had gathered around to worship it. Some of them were bowing. Some were on hands and knees. Some were holding placards like members of a disgruntled union: THE END OF THE WORLD IS NIGH, and MONEY WILL SAVE US. Still more were p
lacing slips of paper in a mound at its base or tying them to the bottom branches, the effect of which was to make it seem as if all but the lowest leaves had fallen to the ground and raked into a pile around its stem. Besides the absurdity of worshipping a tree, there was something else that was odd about the crowd, something he couldn’t quite pinpoint at the moment.
“It looks ancient,” he said. “In fact it doesn’t even look alive. Looks like it’s been carved out of rock like everything else in this city.”
Smiggins sniggered and Santosa said, “It’s an oak tree. The Boss planted it when he established the city. It was the first thing he did, and he made it law forbidding anything else to grow.”
Now that it was made obvious, Louis recalled seeing no other oaks or pines in the city, or any other tree for that matter. Not even a shrub, or a rosebush, or even a goddamn weed sprouting from a crack in the sidewalk.
“Legend has it that when the right conditions are met, the Money Tree sprouts cash-leaves and golden acorns,” Flash Freddy said.
“Problem is, nobody knows what the right conditions are,” Santosa said, and burped. “Load of hogwash if you ask me.”
Flash Freddy hooded his eyes and sipped his champagne. “Still hasn’t stopped you tying a lotto ticket to its branch every once in a while.”
Santosa toyed with his oxygen mask, then burped softly. “You never know your luck.” He looked up. “What about you? Never put a Scratch-It or bingo card on the pile?”
Now it was Flash Freddy’s turn to feel awkward. “As you so eloquently put it, Rocco,” he said, his eyes still hooded, “you never know your luck.”
The Limo edged forward again. As far as Louis could make out, they were still nine or ten car-lengths from the hotel. Without any luggage to worry about, it would’ve been quicker to get out and walk. As it was, despite his constant protests that he was late for his meeting, Santosa seemed to have settled in for the long haul. Another bottle of LeMont Imperial Brut was popped and the conversation turned to the recent hike in insurance premiums, something Louis really didn’t want to be thinking about at this point in time.
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