Disaster Inc

by Caimh McDonnell

  Smithy looked over Cheryl’s shoulder. “Sadly, that isn’t the case.” He pressed a button on the phone lying on the blanket in front of him. “Heads up. They’re here.”

  Marilyn Jessop was trying to make the best of a bad situation. She was in New York for a week with her friend Becky and it was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. They were freshmen at Penn State, and when this idea had first come up, it had felt like an amazing adventure. In Marilyn’s defence, New York was amazing, it was just everything else that was a disaster.

  She’d met Danny a couple of years ago at a debate camp. They have camps for everything: Christian camps, fat camps, baseball camps, band camps. If you looked hard enough, there was no doubt a camp to assist weight loss through baseball, percussion and Jesus. Yes, debate camp may have been a bit nerdy, but it had been a chance for her to get out of Laguna Falls for a couple of weeks, and back when she was in high school, she’d have done anything for that.

  Danny was a year older than her, and she’d thought he was possibly the most interesting guy in the world. He was into bands she’d never heard of, authors she’d never read and philosophies from countries whose takeout wasn’t even available in boring old Laguna Falls. At the time, most boys Marilyn’s age had been monosyllabic and only interested in trying to get their hand on a boob. What was it with men and boobs? Jesus, they’re just devices to deliver milk to babies, get over it! Danny had been different: he’d been deep, he’d been artistic, and he’d been so engaged with the larger world around him, while, admittedly, having his hand on her boob. Still, it had been special.

  It had been almost two years and they’d stayed in contact. They hadn’t been pen pals, because it wasn’t the 1980s, but they’d texted, WhatsApped and twice FaceTimed. It had been a very casual thing. Marilyn had given herself panic attacks while playing it cool. She’d obsessed over each message received and studiously waited the required time before replying. Danny was her high school crush, unobtainable and miles away – and even further once he’d gone to NYU. Of course he had; he was so damn cool. He was studying architecture but considering dropping out to focus on his poetry, and besides, conventional education was so restrictive. He’d invited Marilyn out for a few days, while his roommate was away. She’d brought Becky because, well, she wasn’t some kinda easy girl. Besides, Becky had an aunt upstate and they’d agreed she could go visit her if sparks flew.

  Sparks did not fly. Danny was going through a “natural” phase, so he didn’t wash his hair and only bathed in the rain. In the thunderstorm a couple of nights ago, he’d stepped out on the fire escape naked, to become one with nature. A neighbour had hit him with a beautifully tossed pineapple. In the eighty-nine hours that she’d been back in his company, Marilyn had realised what that neighbour already knew: Danny was a pretentious ass-hat and quite possibly the dullest man on Earth. Reality had come crashing down brutally fast – so much so that Marilyn viewed the version of herself who’d got off the plane ninety-one hours ago as a naive idiot. That had been bad. Then they’d all got drunk and Becky had made out with Danny.

  Why they were in Madison Square Park at that moment sitting on a bench beside the fountain was because she’d spotted a shout-out on social media and leaped on it like a life raft. She had wanted to have a unique New York experience and this was her chance. She’d seen a tweet about a special event happening here after one of the girls from her sorority had retweeted it from a girl who was a presenter on one of the channels that was like MTV but not MTV – cooler than MTV – although it had turned out to be owned by MTV. The point was, it was a chance to be part of something other than the embarrassing love triangle that’d become her trip. Danny could not ruin this.

  Danny was trying to ruin this.

  “Yah, I mean these things started as kind of a social experiment but then, y’know, popular culture got hold of it and ruined it like so much else. The first one actually happened right here in Manhattan. It was organised by an editor at Harper’s y’know as, like, an ironic thing. But then…”

  “Shut up,” said Marilyn. She ignored Danny’s smug little look of outrage, which she now hated more than anything else in the entire fucking universe, and instead went back to looking at happy couples walking by, wondering which one it was going to be.

  Matt took a look over his shoulder and saw Cole exactly where he’d been for the previous few blocks: ten feet behind him. Cole stopped and raised his hands in an “everything is cool” gesture.

  Matt’s mind was racing. Running over everything that he’d said to the big man. It turned out that the most important meeting of his life had happened in a toilet stall. All they’d agreed was that Matt would find a way to hijack the money transfer and then refuse to do anything until they’d let him see and talk to Jennie in the flesh. He’d thought of Madison Square Park just because it was nearby, but it was also where he had met Jennie the one time he’d convinced her to come to New York. They’d been off to see a Broadway show. Matt had skipped out in the intermission, saying he had stomach cramps, and then he’d gone and got high. She hadn’t visited again. Christ, he had been such an asshole.

  The big man had told him to get her to the park and he’d take care of the rest. Matt was putting his and his sister’s fates in the hands of some wild-eyed lunatic he’d never met before, whose name he didn’t even know. All he knew was that he matched the description of the guy who’d flash-fried Brad’s balls. As references went, it was a pretty good one. Brad, like Matt, deserved everything that he had coming, as far as Matt was concerned. Matt knew that he had been numbing his conscience with drugs and whatever else for months now, but the last few days had acted like a shakubuku – a swift spiritual kick to the head that alters a person’s reality. He wasn’t sure it was a real thing; he may have just seen it in a movie. Right now, his only concern was Jennie and getting her away safely. She was an innocent in all of this. He and Brad, on the other hand – they’d made their deals with the devil.

  Finally, Matt ran through the words that the black kid outside his office with the “The End is Nigh” sign had shouted at him on his way by. The big guy must have needed to get a message to him, even if the message itself made no sense.

  Matt stepped into the park.

  Here goes nothing.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Cheryl nodded across to the other side of the park. “That’s her.”

  “How do you know that?” said Smithy.

  “Because I googled her. Damn, did you people not even do that? I need to be in on the planning meeting next time.”

  “I don’t think we’ll be making this a regular thing.”

  Smithy turned his body as if opening a beer, which allowed him to glance in the direction of Cheryl’s nod without looking obvious. It was true that he didn’t know what Matt Clarke’s sister looked like, but he didn’t need to. He could have just looked for the girl who looked utterly terrified. She wore a yellow fleece and jeans, her hair tied back in a ponytail. She had just entered from the Broadway side of the park and now stood in the middle of the path, flanked on either side by an admittedly smoking hot Latina woman and a large white guy with tightly cropped red hair, who was cute enough but not really Smithy’s type, although he did have a thing for redheads.

  Smithy looked in the other direction and saw Matt Clarke walking towards the fountain. The expression on his sister’s face when she saw him was hard to miss, and her legs nearly went from under her. It reminded Smithy of some footage he’d seen on the news of a woman who’d been freed after two days buried in the rubble of a building that had collapsed in an earthquake. Jennie tried to move towards her brother but was held back by her guards.

  Matt marched forward and stopped beside the fountain, looking carefully at the sunbathers, benchwarmers and picnic-ers, fearful of some kind of trap. About fifteen feet behind him was a black guy. Smithy assumed this was the man Bunny had tussled with previously.

  The trio took a step towards Matt Clarke, but he held
out his hand to stop them. Then he pointed at his sister. The redhead glanced at the Latina, who gave the briefest of nods, and they both released their grip. Jennie rushed towards her brother, tears in her eyes.

  Smithy and Cheryl carefully got to their feet, like a real couple who’d just finished the real picnic they had been having.

  “Here we go,” said Cheryl. “D’you think Diller got him the message OK?”

  “We’re about to find out.”

  “Remember,” said Smithy, “you promised me that, no matter what, you’d get the hell out of here.”

  “But—”

  “You promised.”

  “Alright. But this is a bit like bringing a gun to a gun fight and still using a knife.”

  “I love you.”

  Cheryl did a double take. “Really? You pick now to say that for the first time?”

  “I’m unconventional.”

  “I love you too, you irritating son of a bitch.”

  Matt hugged his baby sister tight. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

  “Matt, I… I don’t… They wouldn’t explain to me. I don’t understand.”

  Matt gently pulled away and held her at arm’s length. “We don’t have much time.” He glanced around, noticing that there were more people than just Cole, Lola and the redheaded guy now looking at them. “Listen, Jennie, this is really important. Whatever happens, know that I’m so sorry that I got you involved in this. I got in over my head with some really bad people. Whatever you hear about me, know that I tried to make it right.”

  She gaped at him in confusion. He got an unwanted flashback of when he’d told her about their father’s passing and a little bit of his heart broke all over again. “I’m getting you out of this. Some people are going to help.”

  “But…” Jennie looked back at the people who had held her captive. “How are you going to—”

  “There’s no time. Just… just trust me and play along.”

  She nodded her head furiously. Even now, even after all he had put her through, she still trusted her big brother to make it all OK.

  As Matt had left the office, the black kid with the sandwich board had been hollering the typical nonsense. Initially he’d ignored him, but the dude had stepped directly into his path and pointed at him. “You, sir, repent your sins. Get down on your knees and propose to the girl. It’s the only way to save her. So sayeth the big man with the beard and the weird eye.”

  Matt had paused for a second and then walked on. The kid had turned and harangued a woman walking by in the other direction. “The end is nigh, madam. Gobble ye not the hot dog of Satan…”

  He took one last look around at the park full of people enjoying the sunshine and then fell to his knees. He looked up at his sister, the only person left in the world he cared about. “Will you marry me?”

  Jennie looked down at him in confusion. “What?”

  Before she could say anything else, a voice roared from somewhere behind him. “SHE SAID YES!”

  Then a world that had seemingly lost all reason really went totally fucking crazy.

  Once the shout went up, Marilyn was up and on her feet and running towards the happy couple. She was doing it. Ever since she’d first seen the videos on YouTube, she’d wanted to be part of a flash mob – and now she was finally doing it! Much to her relief, other people all around her were on their feet too. The thought of how mortifyingly embarrassing it would be if she were the only person to join in had occurred to her, but she pushed herself through it. It was really happening. Forget Danny. Forget Becky. She was doing it. The tweet had been really clear in its instructions.

  Flashmob!! I’m proposing to my girlfriend just after 4pm tomorrow by the fountain in Madison Square Park. Please be part of a massive group hug & make the best moment of my life even more special. Join in when you hear SHE SAID YES!! #GroupHug #SpecialMoment #FlashMob

  “What the fuck is happening?!”

  Miller screamed it at the picture on the laptop. Suddenly, the world had gone insane. Most of the people in the park had simultaneously stood up and begun running towards the Clarke siblings. She watched as the pair were engulfed in a sea of humanity. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

  Jorge, with his 10% hearing, entirely misunderstood this too.

  Marilyn had run track in high school so she’d been the second one to reach the happy couple. “Congratulations!” she’d hollered in a near scream. The first person there was a redheaded woman with a Texas drawl. She was weird. Even as people were charging in from all sides to join the congratulatory group hug, she grabbed the bride-to-be and then spoke to the groom. “I’ve got her. That way – go now!”

  “But—”

  “Go!”

  Marilyn found herself in the middle of a mass of humanity. It was like a mosh pit, only not at all, seeing as it was so friendly. People were cheering and shouting their congratulations. Somebody attempted to start a sing-song. “All you need is…”

  And then there were three loud bangs and people started screaming.

  Cole looked across at Lola, who had her gun pointed in the air. Goddamn her, she’d never been a fan of the subtle approach. Miller was screaming in his earpiece: “Lola, secure the primary. Cole, get the sister.” People were running every which way, in any direction that took them as far away from Lola as possible in the shortest amount of time. A fat guy in a “Where’s Maggie?” T-shirt nearly bowled Cole over. New Yorkers four days after a terrorist attack were always going to be a powder keg of tension, and Lola had just casually tossed the match.

  Cole looked around, trying to locate Jennie Clarke’s yellow fleece amidst the chaos. There, running into the park. A woman was guiding her away, but Jennie had stumbled and fallen in her panicked state. As the other woman picked her up, she looked back to see Cole running towards them, the look in her eyes one of terror. People were scrambling for cover around him, forcing Cole to bob and weave. The two women took off running again, heading towards the centre of the other wheel. Cole was gaining fast, Jennie Clarke’s yellow fleece almost within touching distance. He had just begun drawing his Glock from the holster under his right armpit when something crashed into him, sending him hurtling into the bushes and the gun flying from his grasp.

  Cole regained his footing fast, because everything in his training had always taught him that only dead men, or those destined to soon join them, stayed on the ground. The bearded Irishman was similarly getting himself upright just a few feet away.

  “How’s it going?”

  “I’m getting really sick of you.”

  “To be honest with ye, I hear that a lot.”

  Cole hurled himself towards the man, sending them both pinwheeling over a park bench and sprawling to the ground once again.

  Lola scanned the crowd. Behind her, Baxter was on the ground, while a stocky child seemed to be kicking him in the head. Lola did not have the time nor the inclination to care.

  She spotted Matt Clarke rushing out the exit at the corner of East 23rd and Broadway, one amongst many in the fleeing crowd. She stopped and trained her sights on him. Miller screamed in her ear. “Alive, Lola! We need him alive.”

  With a snarl of frustration, she pulled her gun up and started running towards the exit. Clarke reached the sidewalk and stood there like a rabbit in the headlights. Lola was closing fast. She could see the delicious terror in his eyes. Forty feet away… thirty… twenty…

  A cop on horseback moved in front of Clarke and blocked him from Lola’s view. She slowed her pace. This was a problem. Shooting a policeman was certainly doable, but it would be inconvenient. Then she looked again and corrected herself. Policewoman. Lola redoubled her pace as she saw Matt Clarke climb up behind the policewoman and into the saddle. Lola lunged at the horse, narrowly missing it as the cop kicked and the animal took off down the pavement at a canter, sending pedestrians hurtling out of its way.

  “Goddamn it!” screamed Miller in Lola’s ear. Lola trained her gun on Clarke’s rapidly d
isappearing back. “Alive!” screamed the voice again.

  Lola pulled up her gun and looked for something to kick. Then she noticed something that gave her a much better idea.

  Miller pressed a button to flip through her feeds.

  “Ms? Excuse me, Ms…”

  Miller was far too busy to notice, but at some point she had clamped her legs together, trapping the masseur at the wrist. She had very strong thighs for a woman her age.

  The bird’s-eye view of Madison Square Park filled the screen. “Eagle One, shoot the horse.”

  “Say that again?”

  “Shoot the horse!”

  She watched as the angle of the video feed jerked and then zoomed in on the horse and its two riders, currently galloping along the East 23rd Street side of the park.

  All Amy knew was that she couldn’t stop, so while people screamed all around her, she had to keep moving forward. She dug her heels into Mabel’s flanks and spurred her on. “C’mon. Good girl. Good girl.”

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Matt had his arms wrapped around her waist so tightly, there was a real chance he could break one of her ribs.

  On the sidewalk in front of her, she was confronted by three mothers with strollers rushing straight at her, away from where they seemed to assume the danger was. Amy cursed under her breath and tugged the reins to turn Mabel out onto the road and into the bus lane, causing an oncoming X12 Staten Island Express bus to judder to a halt in a squeal of outraged brakes and hydraulics. Mabel reared up on her back legs and neighed in terror. Amy’s years of experience allowed her to ride it and Matt’s sheer desperation kept him clinging on. The world seemed to slow as Amy saw the outrage on the bus driver’s face. His mouth formed a large O, ready to shout some abuse that never came – his outrage turning to disbelief as his front windscreen exploded.