Eric followed. “It’s hot as hell. Be happy you’re not in DC. It’s supposed to hit one hundred today.”
Jacob nodded, still annoyed.
“You know what your problem is?”
“I’m assuming you’ll tell me.”
“You take things too personally.” Eric took a puff of his cigar.
“Hundreds of people died in those fires, Eric. And I’m to blame.”
“That’s bullshit. That’s like blaming the president for a shitty economy.”
“Maybe.”
“Even if Housing Trust goes under, you’ll be fine. Dad will set you up somewhere.”
“I’m so sick of my life being determined by him. The only reason I’m the CEO of Housing Trust is because of him. I never wanted the job. Probably why I’m not very good at it.”
Eric took another puff and shrugged. “Then quit. I’m sure you’ve saved enough money by now.”
Jacob nodded, trying the idea on for size. “We’d be fine, depending on how the market fares.”
“You went to bed early last night.”
Jacob shrugged as if to say, So?
“I’m not sure if you know this yet, but it’s been decided. Rates are going higher. It’s time to purge the weak hands. We’re in the process of positioning defensively. I suggest you do the same.”
43
Summer and Nine Months
Summer sat on the couch with a groan, bracing her back with one hand, the other on her bowling ball belly. Connor sat on the opposite side of the couch, flipping through streaming options. She struggled to remove her engagement ring from her swollen finger, finally dislodging it and setting it on the coffee table. Not having the wedding band was the only positive point to still not being married. She leaned back and put her swollen feet on the foot rest.
“Just decide on something,” Summer said.
“What do you wanna watch?” Connor asked, still browsing.
“I don’t care.”
An urgent knock came to the door. They both turned. Connor stood and walked to the door. He checked the peephole and opened the door. Mark barreled inside, sweaty, red-faced, and out of breath.
“Shut the door!” Mark shouted.
Connor did as he was told, then approached his friend. “What did I tell you about coming over unannounced?”
“It’s an emergency. Put your phones and tablets in the fridge.”
Connor sighed and grabbed Summer’s phone from the coffee table. He grabbed the tablets from the bedroom, went to the kitchen, and put the electronics in the fridge. He returned to the couch, his face annoyed but unconcerned.
Mark grabbed a chair and sat across from Connor and Summer, also blocking the television.
“Javier was arrested,” Mark said.
Connor sat up straight, his eyes wide open. “What?”
“Javier’s brother called me. He said he was arrested for some online posts. You remember when he wrote about how the bankers own everyone and everything, including the government?”
“They can’t arrest him for that. It’s an opinion.”
“It’s the wrong opinion, and it wasn’t just that. He posted stuff about false flags. The Lusitania, Operation Northwoods, the Gulf of Tonkin, 9/11, Iran. The last thing he posted was about Psycho Island and how they send antigovernment activists there, not just psychos.”
“He might get busted for hate speech,” Connor said, “but he’s never been arrested before. They won’t put him in prison for a first offense. They’ll probably just delete his social accounts and give him an SCS penalty.”
Mark shook his head. “They’ve classified him as an Unlawful Enemy Combatant.”
“That means they can do whatever they want to him,” Summer said, her speech urgent.
“That’s exactly what that means.” Mark looked at Connor, serious as cancer. “They could torture him and find out about the video. They could send him to Psycho Island. They could send us to Psycho Island.”
“Hold on,” Connor said. “We didn’t do anything.”
“We illegally recorded a Roth trying to bribe a congresswoman.”
Connor pointed at his friend. “You and Zoe did that.”
“Relax. I know that,” Mark said, showing his hands in surrender. “If I’m arrested, I won’t tell them about the copy that you hid. As far as I’m concerned, you two have nothing to do with this. If you’re arrested—”
“Arrested?” Summer said, suddenly feeling ill, her eyes bulging.
“It’s unlikely but possible,” Mark said. “It’s better you two know what to do in the unlikely event. Just be cool, and do not under any circumstances mention the video. As far as I’m concerned, you know nothing about it.” Mark pushed his glasses up his nose and rubbed his eyes. “I deleted you guys from my social media. You should do the same. I don’t think we should see each other until this blows over.”
44
Naomi and Get Out
They sat in the back seat of their electric Toyota, the car driving them on the two-lane road through upstate New York. Dark trees crowded the roadsides, with the bright moon and their headlights providing the only illumination.
Vernon: I’ll miss you this weekend.
Naomi: Me too. I’m still thinking about yesterday.
Vernon: There’s more where that came from.
Naomi: I hope so. Next week at the Mandarin?
Vernon: Definitely.
Naomi: I can’t wait.
“Who are you texting?” Alan asked.
Naomi looked across the back seat to her husband. “Vernon.”
“What about?”
Naomi mock frowned. “Aren’t you a nosy Newman. Campaign planning, if you must know.”
Alan smiled back. “I have to keep you out of trouble.”
“I’m black, female, and a socialist. I’m the definition of trouble.”
He laughed. “You’re right about that.” Alan let out a sigh as his laughter dissipated. “I’ve been looking forward to this weekend. I really need a break from the city, and I think we need some quality time. I feel like I’ve barely seen you over the past few months.”
“A presidential campaign is a grind. Expect it to get worse before it gets better.”
“All the more reason for a break from the DC swamp.”
The car turned onto their driveway. Their ten-acre property was mostly wooded, creating a buffer of privacy. As they approached their stone cottage, Naomi’s blood began to boil. A dozen vehicles were parked haphazardly in front, many of them on the lawn. Lights were on in every room.
Naomi turned to her husband and said, “I might kill him.”
“This is my fault,” Alan replied. “I forgot to tell Blake we were coming.”
“That doesn’t matter. I told him specifically no parties.”
The autonomous car stopped, unsure where to park. Naomi parked the car on the edge of the driveway. She marched inside their house with Alan in tow. The music was loud, bass pumping. Twentysomethings and even a few teens smoked e-cigarettes loaded with marijuana. Couples groped each other, making out on the furniture. A few were in various stages of undress.
Beer bottles and Naomi’s crystal wine glasses littered coffee tables and end tables and even the floor. Footprints and red wine soiled the white carpet. The partygoers didn’t acknowledge Naomi or Alan.
Naomi approached a fully clothed couple in conversation. She tapped the young woman on the shoulder.
She turned to Naomi with a scowl and a full glass of red wine. “I didn’t give you consent to touch me.”
Naomi scowled right back. “I didn’t give you consent to come into my house and drink my wine.”
“I don’t need your consent. Blake invited me.”
Naomi clenched her fists, the urge to take a swing overpowering. She took a deep cleansing breath and said, “You have five minutes to get the hell out of my house.”
Alan mouthed Sorry to the young woman.
Naomi glared at Alan,
then marched to the control panel on the wall. She turned off the music, everyone suddenly aware of the quiet. Naomi stepped to the middle of the now-quiet living room and announced, “I’m calling the police. If I were you, I wouldn’t be here when they show up.”
Someone said, “Fuckin’ bitch,” under their breath, but the unwanted party guests began to leave.
“Where’s Blake?” Naomi asked one apparently sober man on his way out.
“I think he’s upstairs,” the man said.
As they climbed the stairs, Naomi said, “If anyone’s in our room, I might lose it.”
“Calm down,” Alan said. “You don’t want to be videoed acting unhinged.”
“At this point, I don’t give a shit.”
Four partygoers loitered in the upstairs hall outside the bathroom.
Naomi announced, “Party’s over.”
The group looked at her, perplexed.
“The police are on their way,” she added.
That lit a fire under their asses. The four inebriated “guests” hurried downstairs.
Moans and grunts and box spring squeaks could be heard behind the guest room door. Naomi knocked.
A man responded, “Go away.”
Alan said, “We should give them some time to …”
“To what? To finish having sex?”
Alan blushed.
“No. We’re not doing that.”
Naomi tried the handle, but it was locked. She removed a hairpin, inserted it into the tiny hole on the knob, popped the lock, and opened the door. On the bed, a curvy woman was on all fours, naked, a thin man behind her, thrusting.
Naomi stood just inside the room. She pointed at the open door and said, “Get the hell out. Now!”
The couple scrambled for their clothes, the man still sporting an erection. They left, red-faced and half-dressed.
Naomi turned her ire on Alan. “Do you plan on doing anything? Or do I have to be the bad guy as usual?”
Alan looked down, like a scolded child. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do what you always do, which is nothing.”
“Because you have to be in control.”
Naomi blew out an exasperated breath and stomped to Blake’s room. She knocked, and a man said, “Come in.” Naomi entered the room. No Blake, just five people doing drugs. They were gone as soon as Naomi mentioned the police.
Naomi didn’t bother knocking on her bedroom door. She popped the lock with her hairpin and entered her room, with Alan skulking behind. Blake sat up in the bed, glowering, ready to punish the intruder. Two girls were in bed with him, the covers concealing their bodies but not their faces. The girls looked very young, maybe fifteen or sixteen.
“Get up,” Naomi said.
Alan stood, his mouth an O, and his eyebrows arched high.
“You shoulda told me that you were comin’,” Blake said, not moving a muscle.
“I’m sorry. I forgot to call,” Alan said to Blake.
Naomi turned to her husband with a look that could kill. “Go downstairs and make sure nobody steals anything.”
Alan left.
The girls fumbled for their clothes. Half-dressed, they hurried from the room. Blake still didn’t budge. He leaned against the headboard with a shit-eating grin.
Naomi approached the bed. The room smelled like weed and sweat and sex. “The age of consent in New York is seventeen. Did you know that? If you’re not careful, you might find yourself in prison.”
Blake grinned and threw the covers off his naked body. His keg-size gut jiggled as he climbed from the bed. Blake stood, his chin up, and his fists on his hips like an obese Superman.
Naomi raised one side of her mouth in disgust. “For God’s sake, put on some pants.”
Blake took his time locating and grabbing his sweatpants from the floor. He slipped on the pants without any underwear.
“I’ve had it with you,” Naomi said. “I’m done. I want you out of my house right now.”
His mask of arrogance broke with the crease of his forehead. “Where am I supposed to go?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.”
“Dad wouldn’t let you kick me out.”
Naomi smirked. “Who do you think makes the decisions?”
“Fine. I’ll go to the press and tell them how you let me and my friends have drug parties at your house. A scandal would ruin your campaign.”
Naomi chuckled. “Oh, now you’re trying to blackmail me? You do know where I work, don’t you? Go right ahead and call the press. I’ll call the police and tell them about the drugs and those young girls. How old were they, Blake?”
“Old enough to suck this.” Blake grabbed his crotch.
“You disgust me. Get out of my house!”
Blake rubbed his neck beard, a wry smile on his lips. “I’m not leavin’.”
“We can do it the hard way if you prefer.” Naomi removed her phone from the jacket pocket of her pantsuit. “The police can remove you.”
“What if I told Dad about you and Vernon?”
Naomi stiffened, like a deer in headlights.
Blake cackled. “I’ve been holdin’ that secret for a long time. Waitin’ for a rainy day. I guess it’s rainin’.”
“I expect you to clean this house,” Naomi said, her voice quivering enough to reveal her impotence.
45
Derek and Closure
Derek ran on the sidewalk, government-funded apartments to his left, the street to his right. His T-shirt was soaked with sweat. His breath was elevated, and the temperature was in the triple digits, but he pushed harder. Two miles later, he reached a dilapidated playground. As usual, he was the only person at the park.
Here, he did three hundred sit-ups, two hundred push-ups, and one hundred pull-ups. Then he ran back home, pushing past the fatigue in his legs and the burning in his lungs. With no job, no money, and no family, he’d started exercising to exhaustion, partly to do something, partly to feel something, anything, even if it was physical pain.
Thirteen minutes later, he arrived at his four-story apartment building. He bent over, his hands on his knees, dripping with sweat, recovering his breath. He spit in the grass, his saliva thick from a lack of water. Once his breathing and heart rate regulated, he went to his apartment and showered. The shower was purposely cold, to cool his skin and to quench his thirst simultaneously. After showering and changing, he sat at his kitchen table, opened his old laptop, and read through the MSNBC headlines.
Black Monday 2051
Another Scorching Summer
Stocks Limit Down
Robot Love and Marriage
Europe Burns in the Heat
S&P 500 Down Ten Percent
A knock came at Derek’s door. He answered. A four-foot tall aluminum FedEx robot held a nine-by-eleven envelope, not with hands but grippy rubber knobs at the end of its arms. The headless bot walked on two legs, vaguely resembling a human gait.
“I have a package for Derek Reeves,” the bot said. “Please scan your chip here.” In place of a head, the bot had a flat cylinder on top, almost like a stubby neck. This area flashed. A sticker was attached to the bot’s chest that had four arrows pointing upward and read SCAN HERE.
Derek scanned his chip card at the robot’s neck stump.
The bot handed the envelope to Derek and said, “Have a nice day.”
Inside, Derek sat back down at the kitchen table and examined the envelope. No return address. He opened the envelope, revealing a letter and a tiny flash drive.
Derek,
April Murphy is dead and has been for some time. I believe she was murdered by Bank of China CEO Zhang Jun. He is known to abuse American girls, often choking them in the act. Ms. Murphy isn’t his first victim.
Unfortunately, like before, the police were barred from conducting a thorough investigation, given his status and power. According to multiple witness statements, on the night of 11-23-2050, Ms. Murphy was taken against her will to Zhang Jun�
��s penthouse hotel room.
Camera footage showed April entering The Regal Hotel on the night in question, but it did not show her leaving. It did show two of Zhang Jun’s security guards depositing a carpet-wrapped body into a black SUV registered to Zhang Jun. As they placed her body into the vehicle, her right hand and ring were visible. It was the same distinctive ring worn by Ms. Murphy when she entered the hotel.
During the investigation, this camera footage was suppressed and deleted, but I’ve enclosed a copy. I’m sorry for your loss. I hope this information brings you closure.
Sincerely,
Anonymous
PS: When Zhang Jun is in DC, he stays at The Regal Hotel, room 60. His black SUV has diplomatic plates YA-013. He employs two bodyguards at all times. One stationed outside his penthouse suite, one inside.
The name Zhang Jun hit Derek like a freight train. During the foreclosure process, many form letters he’d received from the Bank of China had the man’s jagged signature. Granted, it was a copy. Intellectually, Derek understood that Zhang Jun had no idea who he was or that the Bank of China had foreclosed on his farm. The funny thing was that he’d never borrowed from the Bank of China. He’d borrowed from the Bank of Virginia, but they’d been bought by the Bank of China.
Derek grabbed the flash drive with shaky hands and inserted it into his laptop. He watched April enter the hotel, looking classy in a calf-length tailored dress and flats. The sight of her nearly took away his breath. He’d seen her in that dress before. Why would she wear flats? She always wore heels with that dress.
Whoever edited the video zoomed in on her right hand, her Claddagh ring facing outward, as if she were single. The video cut to two large men in suits carrying a rolled-up carpet from a rear hotel exit to a black SUV. The video zoomed in on and paused on the diplomatic license plate. As the men deposited the carpet into the SUV, her right hand was visible for a split second. The video paused and zoomed in on the hand again, revealing the same Claddagh ring.
2050: Psycho Island Page 17