Book of Bravery

by James Burke

  ‘What has he been doing?’

  ‘The same. Just drawing.’

  The hipster-look alike had been drawing aplenty. Littered on the table were piles of drawn-on paper and used sketchbooks.

  ‘Has he said anything?’ Marx asked.

  ‘Nothing beyond general courtesies,’ she replied.

  Marx looked at Kristen’s generous and pretty face for the first time that day. He knew she was a decent person and that made him wary of her. She’s a hundred percent Middle America, he thought. Typically, he hired people on the darker side or recommended by the coven but for her he made an exception. She was useful to him for other reasons.

  ‘Have you talked to him?’ he enquired.

  ‘No, you asked me not to. He’s just been sketching like always.’

  Marx left her and went back into his office. He shut the door loudly behind him, leaving Kristen wondering how much longer she could last in a job with such an unsettling boss. She looked at her watch; it was time to get the sketcher some lunch.

  More About Mystical Timers

  Kristen was oblivious to the hustle and bustle of orders being taken and delivered in her favorite Lower Manhattan café delicatessen. She was too busy dealing with the million and one thoughts running through her mind as she waited for her own take-out order to be made. Her workplace was understandably upsetting her. It was a bizarre office to be a part of. More than once over the past six months while working at Black Crest the 29-year-old told herself she should get back to Texas where her family were.

  Her boss was the biggest and rudest jerk she’d ever met. Not only did she have to endure him but there were his two security consultants: Vacher and Irfan. They all gave her the creeps, particularly the Frenchman who sent shivers down her spine. This fact alone disturbed Kristen. In essence she was a no-fuss type who generally got on well with others, no matter their creed or color. She didn’t like not liking people but in these three she saw little to admire.

  She also found it odd that Vacher and Irfan were the only two Black Crest employees who Marx allowed into his office. The hundreds of others working in the building’s lower levels never ventured up or directly dealt with their director and employer. What’s more Vacher and Irfan acted more like bodyguards half the time.

  Such oddities resulted in her researching online about Marx, Black Crest and the subsidiary Black Crow. What she found wasn’t flattering. Parts of it were downright disturbing. Go to Hell kinda stuff. How much of it was true or false though she was unsure.

  Now adding to the weirdness of working at Black Crest was ‘Ivan’ camped out in Marx’s boardroom. Kristen didn’t know much more than he was Marx’s cousin who needed somewhere to stay, which she judged a falsehood given her boss owned apartments throughout Manhattan. She didn’t see the two men interact much, and they certainly didn’t look related. Ivan looks positively Arabic, but at least he ate whatever I brought him, she thought as her deli order arrived. As she took the bag of tuna and avocado sandwiches, a staff member turned up the volume of a television mounted on the deli’s wall.

  Some customers and staff called for people to be quiet.

  Kristen paused, wondering what the fuss was about.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asked a young guy next to her.

  ‘It’s Chuck Goyette, the cult leader who predicted the tsunami that hit Italy,’ he told her.

  Someone shushed them to be quiet.

  She looked to the deli’s television where ZBS hosts — Robert and Anne — were interviewing Goyette.

  ‘So just to be clear Mr. Goyette, you’re suggesting an additional earthquake will hit, one bigger than what caused the Venice tsunami?’ Robert questioned.

  Goyette nodded and then spoke with confidence.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything. Let’s not weasel around, I’m specifically telling you that Death will strike again in Italy and at 8 p.m., that’s Pacific Standard Time, Rome will crumble,’ Goyette said.

  ‘Tonight? Rome?’ Anne said checking her watch.

  ‘Correct, you got a scoop. Death will shortly set her mystical timer there and soon it will cease to exist,’ Goyette said. ‘Of course, the Vatican will be reduced to rubble as well. There’s been little genuine contrition for sex abuse cases or sodomy scandals in that subverted institution. These so-called shepherds have led so many of the faithful into the gates of Hell.’

  Despite sniggers of disbelief in the deli, most eyes remained glued to the TV as Goyette went on to describe what would happen to Rome. Summed up, it sounded awful.

  Then came the kicker.

  ‘The catastrophes will, soon enough, move westwards and in less than a week what we will see in Rome will occur in New York.’

  ‘Say what?!’ someone in the deli shouted.

  In the TV studio, Robert interjected.

  ‘An earthquake in New York City in less than a week?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Yes, Death will arrive in New York in advance of that date to again set her mystical timer which will seal the city’s fate,’ Goyette explained.

  It was Anne’s turn to cut in.

  ‘Excuse me, did you just say Death is a woman?’

  Goyette smiled, nodding.

  ‘I did but she could take the form of a rabbit if she wanted to but that would hardly be dramatic, now would it?’ he said.

  He noticed Anne frowning at him.

  ‘Or, if she so chooses to, she may self-identify as a Labrador,’ Goyette said laughing at his own folly. ‘But let’s just call her Death for old times’ sake, shall we?’

  Another customer in the deli yelled at the TV.

  ‘This fat jerk is nothing but a fraud,’ the customer shouted. ‘Turn this junk off.’

  Others told him to be quiet, they wanted to hear Goyette describe how Death operates.

  ‘Being in human form Death has to travel wherever she needs to get to by whatever means she can,’ he explained. ‘It’s a part of the challenge the four face and they do face challenges in what they are doing. It’s the nature of this realm.’

  Anne, now wide-eyed, squirmed in her seat.

  ‘Can you describe her for us?’ she asked.

  ‘I can but I won’t,’ Goyette said.

  There was stunned silence in the deli. It seemed like an eternity for Kristen and others watching before Anne asked another question.

  ‘Many of our viewers may not be so familiar with the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, can you at least briefly describe them for us? It’s Death, Famine, War and the Antichrist, isn’t it?’

  Goyette rolled his eyes.

  ‘Look — Death, Famine, War and the Antichrist or whatever you want to call them — they aren’t human but they’re neither demons, nor divine beings,’ he said. ‘They have been assigned this purpose; the destruction of humanity, or at the very least they volunteered for it. But really the biblical term the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse is just a reference point for them. Strictly speaking they’re not the four as described in the New Testament. They may have been inspired by these old things and from it taken a form that mankind can accept, so they have borrowed these ancient things.’

  By now Robert had had enough.

  ‘Okay so they’re like a cover band?’ he joked sourly.

  Goyette gave Robert a look of disapproval.

  ‘It’s to help you understand. That’s all. Hell, I’m not even a Christian,’ Goyette exclaimed. ‘I’m totally moral free. Sodomites, liars and thieves are all welcome. My sole worry is that I may be infringing on some copyright issues, but my lawyers assure me I’m not.’

  Anne was perplexed.

  ‘So, what is your Temple Science Ministries about?’ she asked.

  ‘Survival. Nothing more, nothing less,’ Goyette replied. ‘And I’ll take anyone with me who has the cash.’

  Robert folded his arms, shook his head in disbelief.

  ‘Well Mr. Goyette, that’s heartening to hear. Now the agricultural crisis in Australia I presume is due to Famin
e, one of the four you have been referring to right?’ Robert asked.

  ‘Yes, but he is very slow and not living up to expectations,’ Goyette said.

  ‘Could what we see there in Australia just fizzle out then? You know not eventuate to much?’ Robert asked.

  ‘That is conceivable.’

  ‘So, if Famine goes to the wayside, becomes a bit of a Mr. Do-Nothing and makes a mess of it all, then obviously things aren’t set in stone, right? And so, presumably, these great disasters you’re speaking about can also be averted. Am I accurate in presuming that, based on what you have just said?’ Robert said with a large dollop of mockery in his manner.

  Goyette then waffled on for half a minute explaining why that it is possible but improbable.

  ‘If Famine falls short the other three will simply take up the slack. It’s just hard to see any other outcome apart from the end that I have seen which I will speak about more at a suitable time.’

  ‘Probably on another network,’ Robert said.

  ‘Probably,’ Goyette replied.

  Anne butted in.

  ‘So, what gender is Famine? And what about War — girl or boy?’

  By now Kristen had seen enough. This is bonkers. Either the world or ZBS has lost the plot, she thought.

  Kristen exited the deli and ten minutes later she gave the tuna and avocado sandwiches to the odd bearded guy in the boardroom, the guy known as War to some and Ivan to others.

  CHAPTER VII

  Reno Arrival

  When Quintus killed Chivington and the mad twins, Reno had just come into existence. Today it’s known for its casinos and the nearby great outdoors. It may have been well over a hundred years since Quintus was last there, but I’d be lying if I told you he wasn’t a bit unnerved as he arrived at the city’s outskirts.

  During his drive, he recognized some of the countryside where he rode that stolen chestnut horse to escape the law. In a bid to avoid such recollections, he mulled over how he’d have to again alter his identity within the next five years. A process that increasingly was becoming difficult and complicated.

  His current Canadian identity was Quintus Bremmer. Going by the date of birth on his fake passport, and all his other counterfeit documents, he was a young-looking 42-year-old. His internet research, at his last place of work, told him he might have to go as far as Thailand to acquire quality replacement forgeries.

  Such a scenario had him toying with the idea of visiting nearby China for old times’ sake. He’d earlier used Google Earth to find what he once knew as White Dragon Mountain which was situated near what is today called the Toudou River, not far from the city of Leshan in Sichuan province. Google Earth even showed him where he believed the sanctuary was and how two blurry blobs, that he thought were probably very large boulders, had slipped and lodged where the terrace once was. He calculated that the sanctuary might be a two-day walk from the nearest road as shown on the internet.

  For several minutes, Quintus mulled over his master’s words: ‘When the time is right, you will return to White Dragon Mountain.’ He just wasn’t sure what he teacher said was still valid.

  But as he drove towards the city’s center he pushed China and any doubts from his mind. Instead, he focused on finding a hotel to book into before finding somewhere to eat, something he hadn’t done for several days.

  The Pale Horse

  Reno’s Last Great Diner was old-school Americana. Elongated and spacious with large glass windows and slide-in booths. Built in 1962, you know the type.

  Inside it, the diner’s manager, Bill, a large friendly-looking 38-year-old with a wild mop of red hair, worked an espresso machine at the counter’s end. The kitchen phone rang behind him. Someone picked it up and called out.

  ‘Excuse me Bill, it’s Lauren, she is calling in sick.’

  Bill, steaming a pot of milk, mumbled something about millennials before offering a reply.

  ‘Okay do me a favor and call Tina, her number is above the phone. See if she can work today,’ he asked.

  The doorbell chimed but he didn’t look up at the elderly couple who exited the diner. Outside, Quintus held the door open for them and once they were through he entered. He cut through the near empty eating area and sat himself on a swivel stool at the counter.

  A young black guy named Lance, who was halfway through a late lunch, was seated next to him and scrolling through a cellphone.

  A waitress, Gabriela, approached with a ‘what will it be’ smile and a menu.

  ‘An Americano coffee to start with please,’ Quintus said as she handed him the menu.

  A minute later he gave a food order.

  Three minutes later Bill delivered the coffee.

  ‘And there you go, one Americano for you sir,’ he said.

  ‘Many thanks,’ Quintus said.

  ‘You’re welcome. You’re Canadian? Your accent gave you away,’ Bill said in a friendly manner. Speaking with customers was the highlight of his working day.

  Quintus nodded.

  ‘You’re living in Reno now?’ Bill asked.

  ‘Maybe, I’m seeing a guy tomorrow about a job, so I may be here for a while if all goes well.’

  ‘What kinda job? Casino work?’

  ‘No, helicopter pilot.’

  ‘Alright. Awesome.’

  The two men talked for several more minutes. Quintus learnt Bill was married to a woman named Erin. They had two kids and were originally from Kansas.

  Their attention was eventually drawn to the walled TV behind Bill showing images of cult figure Chuck Goyette.

  ‘What do Canadians think of this clown?’ Bill asked.

  Before Quintus could reply, Lance, the other customer, offered an opinion.

  ‘The dude makes doom an’ gloom sound like Disneyland,’ Lance said with a half a mouthful of food. ‘You be doing us all a favor Bill by leaving the TV on mute.’

  Bill nodded.

  ‘Well his credibility hangs on what occurs in Rome tonight. I hope he’s BS. I don’t want to see Rome go to Hell, it’s an awesome city,’ he said.

  The mention of Rome naturally caught Quintus’ attention.

  ‘What’s happening in Rome?’

  Lance, grabbing a napkin to wipe his mouth, looked sideways at Quintus.

  ‘According to the overweight dude, Rome is going to be wiped off the map by an earthquake,’ Lance said. ‘He also predicted the same for New York City, which by his account has got less than a week before its gone-bye-bye.’

  ‘He the same guy who predicted Venice?’ Quintus asked.

  ‘The one and only. Man, where you been?’ Lance asked.

  ‘Living on a mountain with no TV or internet,’ Quintus replied.

  ‘And no smartphone?’

  ‘No smartphone.’

  ‘Man, I should try some of that, I’m addicted to this thing,’ Lance said referring to his device.

  It was Bill’s turn to chip in about Goyette.

  ‘Mainstream media have gone made him a rock star,’ he commented nodding at Goyette’s image on the TV.

  ‘That’s ‘coz they’re in cahoots with him, probably got shares in his religion or whatever it is. What else has he prophesized?’ Lance asked.

  ‘Something about the killing of crops and livestock in Australia,’ Bill said.

  ‘Yeah and I guess there’ll be some skinny, starving Aussies soon enough,’ Lance said.

  ‘I heard something about it on the radio yesterday,’ Quintus added.

  ‘Much earlier there were other predictions about the last election,’ Bill said as he looked up at the TV, which was showing Goyette getting into his limousine. ‘That was enough for my sister-in-law to join his cult, not that there is much to it apart from taking a chunk of money from her,’ he admitted. ‘She did it all over the internet. Now she’s trying to convince me to do likewise before so-called Judgment Day arrives.’

  Lance pushed his now empty plate away from him.

  ‘Goyette is milking it; he’s
ripping off the Bible and the media is spoon feeding it to us all,’ Lance said. ‘Even I can see that man.’

  Bill nodded agreeing.

  ‘He was quoting the Bible earlier, but I flunked Sunday school. So, who are the real Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse anyhow? I know there’s Death, that’s at least one,’ Bill said.

  ‘Then there’s Famine, War and taxes. Altogether, that makes four all up if I count correctly,’ Lance joked. ‘And out of all of them, taxes are the worst. But seriously, I have no freakin’ idea who the fourth dude is.’

  Bill shrugged, he didn’t have a clue either, but Quintus did.

  ‘It’s Conquest. Some see him as the Antichrist,’ Quintus said.

  Lance clapped his hands.

  ‘Damn right. Yeah, the false messiah!’ he cried.

  Bill took Lance’s finished plate from the counter.

  ‘At least he hasn’t mentioned a plague of zombies yet. You wanna drink or some desert or something else?’ he asked Lance.

  ‘No, I’m good but this dude Chuck Goyette he’s just making up his BS as he goes along,’ said Lance. ‘He’s battier than Bruce Wayne’s basement. Just looking for attention. So-called mystical timers or no mystical timers, the world isn’t ending. Hell, what is a mystical timer anyhow?’

  Bill shrugged, and Lance continued.

  ‘I’ll be here next year Bill, eating your burgers, sweet talking your waitresses and drinking your coffee.’

  Quintus had by now finished his first cup of coffee.

  ‘And I gotta say it is superb coffee,’ he remarked.

  Bill nodded in thanks.

  ‘Made from the finest Fairtrade coffee on the planet, from northern Thailand to be exact; suggested by one of my staff. Just enjoy it while you can,’ he said.

  ‘Better make me another one then,’ Quintus replied.

  The Gift

  It took Tina Phetung around 15 minutes to ride her mountain bike from her shared-student house to the diner to fill in for the waitress who called in sick. Due to her easy-going nature, the third-year college student was more than happy to help out, especially seeing Bill was okay with her returning to Sacramento to spend time with family for a month or so during college break.