“I’m a righty,” he held up his bandaged hand.
The doctor chuckled. “Do your best with your left hand then.”
West obliged and the doctor added, “They’ll probably discharge you later this morning. And Mr. Collins, try to stay out of dark alleys.”
“Hey Doc, just curious, why do you do this job with all the bullshit you have to put up with?”
“Believe it or not in the old days doctors made a bunch of money and we were generally left alone to take care of our patients, but now, well you know, everything has changed.”
“Why do you do it then?”
“Do you have any kids Mr. Collins?”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t understand then. I have two kids and it’s for them. I gave up being general manager of the world years ago. I can only take care of my family. That’s my job. And that is why I put up with idiots like you. Good luck Mr. Collins.”
West watched the doctor leave and he could feel the pain pill the nurse gave him beginning to dull his senses. He had a sudden overwhelming urge to go to sleep even though he knew he had to get out of the hospital but he couldn’t fight the inevitable and drifted off.
“Wake up. Wake up, West.”
He felt his shoulder being poked. He opened his eyes and saw Byron standing next to his bed.
“I see you had a bit of a rough night?”
“Yeah, how’d you know about that?”
Byron shrugged. “I’ve got my sources.”
West stared at Byron through foggy eyes. “You know I saw you standing next to JFK after he was assassinated. He was on the autopsy table and you were with Lyndon Johnson and the head of the Fed. That was you wasn’t it?”
“I think the trauma you suffered and the medication has affected you some. How are you feeling?”
“Like you really care,” West answered. “What are you doing here?”
“You’re lucky because the hospital didn’t enter your data into the system until a few minutes ago. If they had, you’d be up shit creek right now. I came here to help you leave before it is too late.”
West yawned. “Just leave me alone. I’m tired. I need some sleep. I’m not in the mood for your shit right now.”
“You’re in a precarious position. You have both DC and the Dracun looking for you. I’d get out of here before it’s too late.”
West knew he was right and forced himself to sit up. He was getting sick of Byron but his self-preservation instinct took over.
West sat up in the bed. “Yeah, I’m getting bored anyway.
Where are my clothes?”
Byron grabbed his clothes from a bin and handed them to West. “Good choice because your friends are probably either on their way, or are waiting for you outside of the hospital.”
He still didn’t trust Bryon but then again what was the alternative? Byron helped him up and West changed into his street clothes. Byron peeked out the door and motioned for West to follow. They hurried to the back stairs and left the hospital through the rear service exit.
West followed Byron down a few streets until a cab pulled in front of them and stopped. Byron opened the door. “Get in.”
West felt a shove and the door slammed. He turned and saw Byron standing on the curb.
“Howdy,” the cabbie said, then peeled away from the curb. He watched Bryon waving goodbye as the cab sped away.
“You need to go back and pick up that other guy,” West said angrily.
The cab driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. He was in his mid-twenties and was dressed in khakis and a crisp button down shirt.
“What other passenger?”
“The guy standing on the street with me.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about. I was instructed to only pick you up.”
West looked back and Byron was gone. He was too tired to argue and he slumped into the seat trying to figure out what he was going to do. They drove for a few minutes before West realized he hadn’t given the cabbie a location to go to.
“Drop me off at 110th,” he instructed.
The cab sped through a red light and veered onto a ramp leading to FDR Drive.
“Hey, where the hell are we going?” West asked.
The cabbie held up a pistol with a silencer on it. “Don’t worry Mr. Collins. I am a good guy. Your buddy Simon sent me to pick you up.”
“Where are we going?” West asked again.
“Right now your life is in danger and you need to get out of the city for a little while. Simon made arrangements for you to be flown to a safe location.”
“And where is that?”
“For your protection they don’t tell me that type of information. I was told only to get you to the air strip as fast as possible. That’s it.”
“Un-fucking-believable,” West cursed, sitting back in the cab’s seat.
They entered Holland Tunnel exiting into New Jersey. West sat back realizing there was nothing he could do at this point. At least Simon was the one who had arranged this.
“So what is your story?” West asked the cabbie.
“I’m a cab driver.”
“If you are in cahoots with Simon there must be more to it.”
“Before I started driving cabs I went to Brown. Graduated with a political science and corporate psychology degree.”
“What kind of job did you think you’d get with those bullshit degrees?”
“Yeah, I know. I borrowed a small fortune to pay for school because all the guidance counselors in high school and even my parents promised me that a degree from an Ivy League school would pay off. Now I know it was all a lie. My degree is basically worthless and I am indebted to the state for my entire life.”
“How do you plan on paying it off?”
“Are you kidding me? I’ll never pay it off. I was forced to join the Homeland Reserves. Yep, two weeks out of every month I get to go work for Homeland.”
“And on the side you work with the LT’s? That kind of makes you like a double agent.”
“I wish it was that exciting. Mostly, I just drive people around. I guess I shouldn’t complain, at least I got this job. I figure at my current pay scale and my weekend work for Homeland, I only have to work fifty more years, live in a one-bedroom rat infested dump and eat scraps every night to pay for my four years of political brainwashing.”
Another Ivy League cab driver. It was a joke that New York City cabbies had the highest education levels in the world. The job market had become so bad for college graduates that even the most menial job opening resulted in thousands of college graduate applicants flooding the prospective employer with worthless resumes.
Over the last couple decades, except for corporatists and federal employees, the only people who had steady, decent-paying jobs were individuals who had technical skills in mechanics, machinists, welding, or computer technology. These people were the new upper middle class but unfortunately for the country the new upper middle class was such a small percentage it made almost no impact on the economy. The liberal arts unemployable wage slaves dwarfed the new nouvelle rich blue-collar class.
The cabbie threw back a small paper bag. “Those are for you, Mr. Collins.”
West opened the bag, which contained a bottle of painkillers. “Thanks. Can you at least tell me what airport we are going to?”
“There’s a small airstrip in southern New Jersey. Near the Pennsylvania border.”
West leaned back into the seat and popped opened the medicine. He took double the dosage and resigned himself to the fact that he now had no control over his life anymore. Which begged the question, had he really ever?
Maybe it was the medication or maybe he just didn’t care anymore because West didn’t feel panicked or even scared. It was as if the cloud of fear that had ruled his life had been lifted. It was kind of liberating when you realize you’ve lost everything and had nothing more to lose.
“How’d you get hooked up with the LT’s?” West asked stifling a yawn.
<
br /> The cabbie looked into the rearview mirror at West. “I want to kill the bad guys.”
“And who are the bad guys?”
“I think you already know that,” the cabbie laughed.
“I wonder why everyone always thinks it is everyone else who are the bad guys. The only thing consistent about all of this is that we all think we are important. That our actions mean something. But for thousands of years humans have battled one another in various forms all over the world and I bet each time those people thought they were fighting for the fate of their civilization. This time is no different. Civilization will go on without us, one way or another. Individually, we really don’t matter that much.”
“You might be right about that,” the cabbie responded. “But maybe this time if the right group doesn’t win civilization might be doomed. What do you think about that?”
“I think you’re a nut job.”
The cabbie laughed. “So I’ve been told. We’ve got a couple hours of driving. Why don’t you get some rest?”
West slumped down in the seat and closed his eyes. He drifted off thinking about the sand from his dream.
“To learn who rules over you, simply find out who you are not allowed to criticize.”
– Voltaire
Chapter 16
A sharp jarring woke West from his drug induced dream. He stared out the cab’s window and they were driving down a dirt road cut through a dense forest.
“Where are we?” he asked.
“Coming up to the airstrip,” the cabbie answered. “It’s about as off the System as you can be.”
A small prop plane sat at one corner of the field with someone working on the plane’s engine. The man glanced up at the approaching car for a second then went back to work on whatever he was fixing or checking.
“This place looks more like a cow pasture than an air strip,” West said.
“Like I said, it’s off the System.”
The cab pulled up to the plane. “Good luck Mr. Collins. Maybe I’ll catch you back in New York one day.”
“Yeah, I guess you never know. Good luck to you too.”
West got out and the cab sped off. The mechanic who was working on the plane walked over.
“Howdy, Mr. Collins,” he said in a Southern drawl. “My name’s Kevin. We’re ready to go.”
“Where’s the pilot?” West asked.
Kevin laughed and West watched as the mechanic climbed into the pilot’s seat of the plane. West figured there was no use protesting so he climbed into the co-pilot’s seat thinking maybe dying in a plane crash might be his best option at this point.
Kevin handed him a headset. “We’ll be airborne in a few minutes.”
“Is there enough runway to be able to take off?”
“Most times,” Kevin answered.
West didn’t even want to think what “most times” meant.
“Where are we heading?”
“Montana.”
West buckled his seat belt while Kevin flipped the ignition and the propeller spun reluctantly to life. He spun the plane around then gunned the throttle.
West gripped onto the door handle as the plane gained speed on the grassy runway. The plane shook violently as it bounced along the ground. The end of the runway rapidly approached and the bank of trees just at the end of the runway grew larger and larger.
West’s death grip grew tighter as he willed the plane to gain lift. Just when he had given up all hope of surviving takeoff the plane lifted dramatically and cleared the trees with little to spare.
He looked over at Kevin, who smiled. “We’ve got a long flight. You might want to get some sleep while you can.”
West’s breathing had almost returned to normal so he took two painkillers and closed his eyes. It didn’t take long for the narcotics to kick in and once again he drifted off to never-never land.
• • •
West woke to find the plane banking steeply. Cold gray clouds stretched out over the horizon. West didn’t know if it was his imagination but it seemed the sun had shrunken in size over the last few years, almost as if some force in the universe was pulling it further and further away from Earth. The small dull yellow orb hovered low in the sky overshadowed by dark foreboding clouds.
“Did you have a good nap?” Kevin asked.
West yawned. “Yeah.”
“Must have needed it. You were out for almost three hours. How does your hand feel?”
“It hurts like hell,” West answered while popping another pill into his mouth.
“Well, you should consider yourself lucky. Few people escape from Dracun agents like you did. You were as good as dead.”
“How’d you know if they were Dracun or not?”
“Just guessed. No matter who they were, you’re still lucky.”
“Yep. I sure am lucky,” he replied sarcastically. “So how’d you get involved in all of this?”
“I suppose I had nothing better to do.”
“Seriously?”
“What the hell else is there to do? I was bored just getting by day after miserable day. Accomplishing nothing but living. I happened to meet a few people who pushed me in this direction but I did my own research and discovered the truth. So what else was there to do but to fight the Dracun? The funny thing is I didn’t even care if I was wrong about the LT’s, DC or the Dracun. Sometimes you just have to pick a side and go with it.”
“I guess. So what are you like the transportation division for the LT’s or something?”
“Nah, I’m just a bush pilot. After you meet with Tank Wilson I think you will have a better understanding of the big picture.”
“Tank Wilson,” West repeated the name and thought for a second. “You don’t mean the Wall Street trader who disappeared years ago?”
“Yeah, I guess. I never really kept up with that kind of stuff back in the day,” Kevin answered.
“So what did you do in your previous life?”
“I had a little real estate company. Specialized in appraisal work.”
“How’d you like it?”
“I loved it until DC-appointed bureaucrats fucked it all up.”
“What happened?”
“First, they made me join a union.”
“I guess you didn’t have any choice, huh?”
“Not if I wanted to work.”
“What happened after that?”
“The union started telling me what values to enter for my appraisals and how much I could charge. It got so bad I wouldn’t even begin the appraisal process, I would just call their real estate section and ask them to forward me the price they wanted on whatever project I was assigned.”
West shook his head. “At least you had work.”
“For awhile. It all ended when all the licensed appraisers were forced to join a collective.”
“I thought you were in a union, why’d you have to join a collective?” West asked.
“Here was the deal, I worked my ass off to drum up business but once I was forced into the collective, any contract I received was placed into a pool, then a bullshit union appointee would take all the work contracts and divvy them among the members.”
“Why would they do that?
“Because it was determined it was not fair to the less successful companies or individuals and the powers that be decided it was more equitable to spread the business around to everyone.”
“Fucking crazy. What did you end up doing?”
“I stopped hustling for new business and just completed the contracts I was assigned to.”
“Can’t say I blame you. Why work if you don’t receive the benefits of it. How long did you operate in that fashion?”
“Until I stopped receiving any new contracts or work from the Real Estate Appraisal Collective.”
“Why’d you stop getting contracts? I thought that’s why they set up the collective in the first place, to spread the work around.”
“Those systems always become corrupt and it
didn’t take long for the commission to start giving the bulk of the work to a few of their friends, family members or political allies. So I said fuck it.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It was for the best. Things happen for a reason. Anyway, I got my revenge.”
“What did you do?”
“I killed the bureaucrat in charge of dolling out the contracts.”
“You did what?”
“I followed him until I was able to corner him one night in an alley,” Kevin answered nonchalantly. “I stabbed him with a knife in the stomach so he would die slowly and in great pain.”
“Wow, I guess I’d better not do anything to piss you off. Did you really kill him?”
Kevin looked over at him. “This guy deliberately and maliciously destroyed my life. He took money away from me that I deserved. I had a four year old daughter that needed specialized medical treatment she never got because I didn’t have the money or connections. She died.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“And let me tell you another thing,” Kevin continued. “I killed that guy four years ago and to this day I have never had a second thought about what I did. These fuckers in control never stop and think about the consequences of their behavior.”
West tried to imagine what he would’ve done in Kevin’s place. He couldn’t blame him but he was not sure if he had the balls to do what he had done.
“I thought I remembered hearing Tank Wilson was dead?” West asked trying to change the subject.
“Well, he’s definitely not dead.”
West sat back in his chair and stared out the plane’s window. Tank had been one of the most successful traders ever. He had made tens of billions betting against paper assets in the stock market, the U.S. dollar, and U.S. and European government bonds, while simultaneously amassing a fortune in gold, silver, real estate, equipment, and other tangible hard assets.
West recalled that Tank’s mantra whenever he was interviewed was that if Uncle Sam liked it, then he was going to sell or short it. That simple strategy enabled him to make tens of billions of dollars.
The last time West remembered anything about him was during the great U.S. Treasury Bond squeeze. Tank had built a massive short position in government bonds betting that the world’s seemingly endless appetite for U.S. debt would dry up sending interest rates higher and bond prices lower. He had made five billion dollars in one single day now known as the Halloween Holocaust when the China/Russia confederacy dumped over two trillion dollars of U.S. government bonds onto the market in a single day.
The Unraveling Page 14