She was talking to someone, but I couldn’t see his face. Just a stylish fedora peeking out over the top of Margo’s short dirty-blond hair. For a second, I wondered if she’d mistaken him for me because of the hat, but that was stupid. Even as I got closer, I couldn’t make out his face. He seemed to be hiding behind a newspaper with a banner headline reading, HERE WE GO AGAIN! There was a picture of a computer with one of those circle-slashes through it, which maybe wasn’t the best way to convey a government shutdown of the Internet at the hubs, but that’s a tough thing to convey visually. Also, journalism wasn’t my main concern. I wanted to know why Margo put me on the wrong side of the ferry while she talked to this prick behind a paper.
I kept walking and didn’t stop until I was standing in front of them both. He couldn’t see me, but Margo could.
“Aaron,” she said, looking more surprised than when I showed up unannounced outside her boyfriend’s place.
The paper came down slowly, and there beneath the stylish fedora was a face I knew very well, at least the eyes. The rest was somehow different. Leaner and more angular than the face from my memories.
“Gladstone?” I asked.
The engines kicked in and the ferry started to move. He threw his paper and broke toward the back of the boat. Margo grabbed him by the arm.
“I told you. He’s all right!” she said.
It was Gladstone. I could see by the way he ran, and I rushed to put myself in his way. “Besides,” I said. “This ferry’s in motion, so unless you’ve got an inflatable raft, I think you’re stuck with me.”
He glared back at Margo. I’d seen that look from many failed conspiracies. The accused staring down an informant in court.
“I was trying to tell you,” Margo said, “but some jackass showed up sooner than he was supposed to.” The last part was directed to me.
Gladstone stood up straight and stared at me, and I realized it wasn’t just his face that was leaner. He was in better shape than I’d ever seen him.
I took off the fedora I’d been keeping safe for him these many months. “Gladstone,” I said, holding the hat out, “I think that fedora’s maybe a touch too fancy for your T-shirt and flannel. I think I have a better one for you.”
“My hat?” he said, taking it from me.
“Yes,” I said. “I found it at LAX. Had it cleaned best I could.”
Gladstone sat down with the hat in his lap, running two fingers slowly across the crease at the top. I sat down next to him.
“Thank you, Aaron,” he said, “but you keep it. I mean, what kind of douchebag owns more than one fedora?”
He handed it back to me, almost relieved not to claim it.
“Where’d you get that new one?” I asked.
Gladstone seemed confused, and I turned to Margo, but she shared his expression.
The Opera House was in my peripheral vision and I turned to see its peaks and pitched egg spires up close. From pictures, I always thought the Opera House was a bunch of echo chambers designed for acoustics, but where I expected an opening, there was glass, designed to reveal what was being kept from you. I turned back around to Gladstone and Margo, and they no longer seemed confused. Now they were just a couple.
“You’re Parker?” I asked.
Gladstone nodded with urgent, open eyes, dictating discretion even though the next person near us was a good twelve feet away.
“I thought you’d realize that as soon as you saw him,” Margo said. “Or sooner actually…”
And now I felt like the fingered con. “Oh, I realized one thing,” I said to Margo. “I knew you weren’t telling me everything, didn’t I?”
“Don’t blame her,” Gladstone said. “I asked Margo to keep my secret. She always trusted you. I didn’t.”
“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “I’m that asshole from your stupid book. And by the way…” I pulled back my lips with two fingers on each side, sticking my clenched teeth in Gladstone’s face. “Take a look. What’s the problem?”
Gladstone laughed hard, his whole body shaking the silkscreen of Ziggy Stardust’s face on his shirt.
“Do you know how much shit I’ve taken because of you?” I asked.
“I’m sorry, Aaron,” he said. “I already apologized for that back in L.A. And the trust thing’s not personal. I have to be careful who I let in. Things have gone badly.…”
I turned back to the water. The Opera House was long in the distance, and all I could see was water and the skyline. Everything looked bright and clean in this country that seemed specially designed for second chances.
“I’m sorry about Romaya,” I said. “I know you had nothing to do with that.”
“Thank you,” he said.
Manly was coming into view, and I didn’t want to create another pressure that sent Gladstone running.
“First of all,” Margo said. “I want to apologize to both of you.” She stood up for added formality. “Aaron, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that I knew where Gladstone was, but it wasn’t my secret to tell. A person has a right not to be found.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Gladstone said.
“I know you did, Parker, and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I tricked you into meeting Rowsdower. But I had to get you out of, y’know, Gladstone.”
That’s when I realized what I was seeing on Margo’s face that day she left his place. Gladstone was supposed to go with her to Sydney. But they must have fought when he refused to leave.
Gladstone didn’t speak and he wasn’t looking at Margo, but I also knew he was listening. It seemed not listening to her would never occur to him.
“You’ve carved out a safe space, and I’m glad,” she said. “You deserve it. You’re in control of your life, living there and deciding what comes in and what stays out. I’m lucky you chose to let me in.…”
“But?” he asked.
“But … you’ve done enough mining there. It’s time to go.”
“That should have been my decision,” he said.
“Sometimes people need help doing the right thing,” I offered, but Gladstone just eyed the approaching dock.
“But I will say, in my defense,” Margo added, “I’m not sorry the two of you are together. This is right.”
It sounded like words a CEO would say, and rang in my ears like business-speak, but anyone looking at Margo could see her joy, and any cop could see what she was feeling: the relief that comes from ending lies. A relief felt only by people who value the truth. That’s when I realized I was the only one there with a secret, because I never told Margo how I felt, and now there was no point in doing so.
“We’ll be docking in a moment,” she said, “and I’m going to leave, but what I would like is for you boys to grab another ticket and ride back to Sydney.”
“Without you?” Gladstone asked.
“Yes, and then buy another in Sydney and come back to find me. You’ll need the time alone together. You need to figure out how you fit.”
When we pulled into the dock, Margo left ahead of us, keeping her departure brief and professional with a very tiny and platonic wave, equally distributed to Gladstone and me. I was glad I didn’t have to see a goodbye kiss, and as I watched her walk away I realized that restraint was a deliberate kindness for my benefit. There were no secrets anymore.
“Y’know, Gladstone,” I said, “you still dress like such a fucking asshole.” He laughed. “I mean, Bowie’s fedora, a Bowie T-shirt, jeans, and a flannel?”
“Don’t forget the Doc Martens,” he said. “Gen X rules.”
* * *
Gladstone didn’t run when we got to the Manly terminal, but he didn’t speak either. And when he pulled a wallet from his jeans, I saw the muscles in his forearm flex. I assumed his improved build was the result of his newfound mining occupation, but I couldn’t help feeling there was more to it than a more active vocation. It was like magic, especially because he seemed to have lost the ten pounds I’d gained. Now aside from the five-inc
h difference in our height and his atrocious fashion sense, we were more alike than ever.
We sat side by side on the way back, drinking our coffees instead of speaking. I thought it was important to let him initiate the conversation. To let him know he wasn’t my prisoner. Finally, he said, “It was kind of you to keep my hat. Thank you.”
“Well, y’know, it’s evidence,” I said.
“Unwanted evidence you got from a lost and found, and had cleaned?” he replied.
There was no use arguing. “You’re welcome.”
“Can I call you, Rowsdower now?” he asked. “Y’know, without the ‘Special Agent’?”
“Even better, you could call me Aaron.”
“Well, where’s the fun in that?” he asked, and repeated “Rowsdower” two more times, getting the most out of each syllable. “Rowsdower, Rowsdower.” Then he stopped. “Sorry, Aaron, but could you take off the hat for a second?”
Gladstone removed his, and I obliged when he turned to face me. We were closer without the brims in the way, and he stared at me for a very long time. It wasn’t invasive, because with that kind of proximity, he was revealing himself as much as he inspected. Finally, he whispered, “Hamilton Burke murdered Romaya.”
I’d heard Gladstone say insane things before. I’d seen him at his worst—drunk and delusional. But this time he was only haunted. Still looking for monsters, but from a safe and sober place. Only the content of his speech was unhinged.
“How do you know?”
Gladstone didn’t blink or take offense. “Hamilton Burke blew up the Hollywood sign.” He was slightly louder.
“Why would—”
“Hamilton Burke blew up that trolley at the Farmers Market.”
“Wait, you’re saying that—”
“Hamilton Burke is the one who first shut down the Internet.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, standing up. “You know all of this for a fact?” I stared down at Gladstone, who was still as calm and immovable as the Bowie fedora sitting on his lap.
“Why were you looking for me, Aaron?”
“Because I had a hunch,” I said, retaking my seat.
“Yes?”
“That you’d seen something awful. That it had driven you away. And that it was also all tied up with the Internet somehow.”
He twitched with incredulity. “Yeah, well, you were right. About all of it. Good for you. So what are you running from?”
“I’m not running from anything. I’m evaluating the evidence. What’s this based on? Not a confession, because Burke certainly didn’t reveal his plans when you met him in New York—unless you left that part out of your journal.”
“No, he didn’t, but I met him again at the Playboy mansion in L.A.”
I made a face.
“It happened,” he insisted.
“A confession?”
“Well, no, it was more like he was bragging, and it wasn’t at the mansion…”
Gladstone had lost his momentum, and I was getting annoyed, but he wasn’t lying. He was stalling. He was ashamed.
“Hamilton penetrated Anonymous,” he said.
“What does that mean?”
“Remember Quiffmonster42 from the book? That was Hamilton the whole time.”
“What are you talking about? Anonymous got Tobey and Jeeves out of jail. They hacked the security footage I told them about. Fuck, they helped you too. You’re on that film clearly not blowing up the sign.”
“I know that, and that’s Burke’s helicopter. The same one he used to kill Romaya. I’m not saying he’s all of Anonymous. He penetrated it, but Anonymous is not one man or one thing, and it’s hard to tell the good because, y’know”—Gladstone waved his hand in front of his face—“they wear masks!”
Gladstone got up to defuse some of his energy, and I thought again about what Professor Leonards had said about miracles and disasters.
“He had my confidence the entire time I was in L.A. He was popping up, getting information, putting me on missions.”
“Oh, really,” I said. “I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.”
Gladstone stopped pacing for a moment. “My letters?” he asked.
“Yeah, your letters. Mind telling me what you had me doing? Running around to ICANN key holders like your errand boy?”
“First of all, you weren’t my errand boy, and I’m getting to all that.”
“Well, maybe you could reach your point before we hit Sydney. Why would Hamilton Burke be after a guy like you? You tweet something about his mom?”
“I don’t remember you being this funny,” Gladstone said. “Anyway, it wasn’t personal. It was business. I was in his way and I’d gotten too big to kill.”
Gladstone could see I didn’t believe him. He was a Gen-X kid who had spent the last several years basking online in a Millennial mentality. Pushing forty and still somehow thinking he was special.
“I know I’m not important, Aaron,” he said. “But it was the book. You saw. It got big. I was getting a following. If he killed me, I’d be a martyr and then I’d really be a messiah.”
Gladstone sat back down, knowing I’d make him go through it all again. I felt bad because I knew telling things to another person, face-to-face, makes them real, but I’d labored long enough without all the facts.
“He played me. When I was locked up at the Veterans’ Affairs Building, he was busy discrediting both me and Anonymous. The bombings at that movie theater and the Farmers Market that happened near the Messiah Movement symbols? That was just the start of him muddying the waters. He led me to that Hollywood sign and blew it up too. He wanted my friends arrested. He wanted to make me look like a terrorist. But that wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even enough to kill Romaya. He framed me for that too.”
If any man were powerful enough to effect that level of corruption, I knew it would be a billionaire, so that was the means, but I still had no motive for Burke to do any of these things.
“He got me my passport and my last three thousand dollars and put both in my hands while I was still wet with her blood,” Gladstone said, and now he was shaking. A quiver in his voice, his lower lip. “He even drove me to the fucking airport.”
“To shroud you in disgrace? To drive you to suicide?”
“Ya think?” Gladstone barked.
“I believe you, Gladstone, but I’m not seeing a lot of motive here. And now, because of Anonymous, you’ve been cleared of the Hollywood-sign bombing, and frankly it seems law enforcement would rather forget that homicide ever happened than pin it on you.”
“I don’t want them to forget about it. I want Burke to pay.”
“Then what are you doing hiding in Australia? Playing house with Margo? I don’t see Burke paying. I see him running for president.”
I decided to stand up. After all, I could see Fort Denison coming up in the distance. I recognized it from the hotel pamphlets the night before. Locals called it Pinchgut Island because the prisoners were marooned there with limited rations. Soon this ride would be over and once we got off this boat I might have to start all over again.
Gladstone got up too. “Do you know why you never found me, Aaron?” he asked.
“I did find you,” I said.
“Yes, eventually. But even after reading the love letters and spending all that time with Margo, you were still surprised to find me with her.”
I could make out the fort more clearly, its circular stone base rising into a squat tower.
“You were looking for a broken man,” he continued. “But I’m not broken. I work now. I’m loved. And I am planning.”
“That’s great, Gladstone,” I said. “Except I did find you. I’m here. And what’s more, if you’re not still broken, then why are you hiding on the other side of the world? You’re even working in a mine for chrissakes.”
Gladstone laughed. “You think it’s like a cave, with a flashlight and pickaxe? It’s the twenty-first century. I drive a truck and move minera
ls around. I’m outdoors and everything.”
“You know what I mean,” I said.
“Yeah, I do, but go fuck yourself because I’m not hiding, I’m becoming more than me. I’m becoming an idea. You see the signs? The slogans, the masks? I’m making myself something too big for Hamilton to kill.”
“No, I don’t see that. I see Margo promoting a movie. Are you growing a movement or a brand? You’re not planning from your castle. You’re in exile. You might as well hop on another raft and paddle away to this penal colony.”
“Wow, you’ve become such a poet since I’ve seen you. Two more years out of work, maybe you’ll be me.”
“I’m already you. Doing your job and running around wherever you tell me. How much longer can you stay here?”
“I’m not leaving until I can destroy him.”
“And when’s that?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t understand what he’s doing with the Net. I sincerely believe he took it away because he could. What he told me in New York seemed sincere. He was fucking with it, almost magnanimously.”
“That stuff he said about technology only increasing the expectation of productivity?”
“Right, but then I think he saw an angle. A way to return it for profit, and I don’t know the details, but the government became complicit at some point. They had to. It’s too big for one man to take down, and he knew it would come back in a new form.”
“And it has.”
“Right. And the government’s shut it down again, but he’s also running for president, railing against them, so I don’t have it all worked out.”
Reports on the Internet Apocalypse Page 11
