Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

by Frank Klus

  “It was another flashback,” she exclaimed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Yeah. I keep having them. Something about that guy triggered one just now, but I can’t make sense of it.”

  They sat down and had some of the pizza when Sandra, lost in thought, suddenly realized something. “Fernando!”

  Eugene just looked at her. “Fernando? What about him?”

  Sandra wasn’t sure. She just remembered something. “A package,” she said. “A package from Fernando.”

  Eugene just stared at her, and then realized something. “Sandy, I asked Ray to see if he could find out something about Fernando. This was a while back and he never got back to me about it. Maybe this would be a good time to check in on him.”

  Sandy and Eugene went to Ray and Cassandra’s room, and confronted them about Fernando.

  Ray invited them in and the four sat around a table. “I decided not to tell you, Gene,” Ray said.

  “We decided,” Cassandra said. “Something awful happened.”

  “You couldn’t do anything about it,” Ray said. “We thought it better not to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?” Eugene said.

  “Yes, please tell us,” repeated Sandra.

  “I’m sorry, Gene, but your worst fears were realized. I heard it from Judy. They did take him to a Hell House, like yourself.”

  Ray relayed all that he heard from Judy, which was based on the formal report delivered to the Commandant. Then he told him what he’d done to Grifton.

  “Good for him. That bastard,” Eugene said.

  They were all silent when Eugene spoke up. “Why did they stick Fernando in there? Jesus, I get it with politicians, journalists, Populist agitators—I mean, it’s wrong—but I get it; but Fernando?”

  “Eugene, when Fernando was released from Joliet, he wasn’t taken to Hell House. His boss wanted him back at work. He just wanted to frighten Fernando into working off the loan.”

  Eugene was confused. “Then how did he get to Hell House, and how did he get into the Fortress?”

  “Getting in wasn’t difficult.”

  “Yeah,” Sandy said. “I just remembered. They called me asking me if I was expecting a package. I told them to let him in because Jay was always getting packages.”

  “Okay, but what about Hell House?” Eugene asked again.

  After he was released from Joliet he didn’t go back to work. He went looking for you, Sandra. Somehow—and I don’t know how—he found out that you married Jaydan Casimir.” Ray stopped briefly. He looked reluctant to go on, but Eugene and Sandra wanted to hear more.

  “He found the commandant’s address, and went over to your house,” looking at Sandra. “He had a messenger’s uniform on and a package in his hand when he rang the doorbell.”

  “That’s what I was starting to remember,” Sandra said. “He showed up at my door and tried to come in. He was talking crazy and I screamed. I didn’t know who he was. He told me, but this was before my dreams started. Oh, my poor Fernando. I scared him away. He dropped the package and ran off. I told Jay about him and what he said to me, and he told me he’d take care of it. That was all I remembered.”

  Eugene was upset. “I still don’t understand how he ended up in Hell House or how he got in. Because he looked up Sandy?”

  “Partly. And getting in to the Fortress isn’t that difficult. Delivery people come and go all the time.”

  “Yeah, they called me up and asked me if I was expecting a package. Jay gets packages all the time so I told security to let him in.”

  “Anyway,” continued Ray, “Casimir called up Martinez, and Martinez told him to 86 him.”

  “86?” Sandy said.

  “Execute him.”

  “What?” Eugene said. “Oh, come on.”

  “That’s about what the prosecutor said. Even with Squad justice they weren’t going to execute a man for approaching the commandant’s wife. Still, Casimir had a problem. Even if they put him back in Joliet, he’d talk. Some nosy Populist blogger might pick up on it. It’d be all over the media. ‘Casimir steals man’s wife and jails man for it.’ Something like that. Martinez couldn’t have that. He had to find a way to get rid of him, and then the opportunity came.”

  Ray stopped and took a swig of his water; then he continued. “Well, Casimir got a call from the Hell House in Joliet. They’d just treated a lefty blogger, and wanted to know if they should close the place. Casimir said no because he had another ‘patient.’ His word—not mine. Well, you know the rest.”

  Sandra and Eugene got up to leave and then Sandra stopped; realizing something she’d forgotten. The other three just looked at her.

  “The package. I just remembered. After I told Jay about it, I opened it up. It was a bracelet. It was cruddy looking. Later on, I had a dream about that bracelet.” She stopped and began crying. “He just wanted me to remember him.”

  Terry Foote was in Armstrong’s Suburban. His partner, Jack Wrenn, was in Ray’s car; and both were watching the motel parking lot. They saw a man they didn’t recognize approach Pamela’s car, walking around it. He had fished around in his pocket for something when Foote yelled out, “You there! Come over here.”

  The man just froze when Foote got out of the car and motioned him to come over. Wrenn yelled to him, “You better do what he says.”

  The man walked over to Foote. “What’s in your hand?” Foote asked.

  “Nothing.” Foote forced his hand open. It was a tracker.

  “Who do you work for?”

  “I work for the motel,” he stammered.

  “Why do you want to put a tracker on?”

  “I was just told to put this underneath this car.”

  “By who?” Foote was angry now and glared at the man.

  “A man named Colderon.”

  “He’s dead. Did he promise you a reward?”

  “Yes, sir,” the scared man said. “Two thousand dollars. Every night I come out here and look for any new car that met his description.”

  “Well you can stop looking now. There’s not going to be any reward.”

  “Okay.”

  “Get out of here.”

  The man bolted out of there and Wrenn came over. “Hey, Terry, shouldn’t we call Armstrong and let him decide what to do?”

  “There’s nothing to do,” Foote said. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s just in it for the reward he’s never going to get anyway. He’ll probably try to call Colderon, but we both know Colderon isn’t going to be answering. Look, we got about forty-five minutes, then Ray and Cassandra relieve us and we can get some much needed shuteye.”

  Everybody was off at the crack of dawn. They stopped at a roadside fuel and restaurant. Eugene went inside to grab some groceries. When he came out he went to Sandy’s car, but she was gone. The fuel pump was still in the gas tank. That’s strange. Let me see if anyone knows where she went.

  He walked up to Armstrong’s car. He was still fueling up, but he was gone too. They must have gone inside. Eugene was headed for the restaurant when Ray came out.

  “Ray, is Sandy inside?”

  “No, I thought she was with you.”

  Eugene went inside and found everyone else, but no Sandy, and no Armstrong.

  Foote went to the station attendant, but the attendant stuck his head out of the window first. “Hey, you looking for two people?”

  “Yes, did you see where they went?”

  “Two guys went to each vehicle, and a man and a woman got out, and got in a black sedan.”

  “Did you get the make and model? See their license plate?”

  “No. It was a pretty new sedan; maybe a limo, like a Lincoln. I didn’t see the license plate.”

  “Which way did they go?”

  “There’s only one way to go—west.”

  Foote got in Armstrong’s car while Cassandra drove Sandy’s car. There was no other choice. They had to find them. Another needle in a haystack, Ray thought.


  Eugene and Pamela followed them. Pamela could see that Eugene was worried. Since Sandy showed up she and Gene seemed to become close traveling companions. “Are you concerned about Sandy?”

  “Of course. Armstrong too.”

  Pamela smiled. “You care for her.”

  Gene looked surprised. “I guess there is a certain amount of attraction, but it’s more than that. She reminded me of Fernando. You should have heard the way he talked about her; how loving and kind she was. Her change was not her fault. They stuck her in that awful place. They changed her.” He paused and thought a moment.

  “Something else too. I can’t put my finger on it, but she reminds me of someone I used to know.”

  “An old girlfriend?”

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” He was quiet for a little while and then cleared his throat. “She made me think of Catherine before Casimir got to her. How many lives has that bastard ruined? I shudder to think that he would do that to her again. I only spent about two or three days there—though it felt a lot longer—”

  “It was,” Pamela said. Gene just stared at her incredulously. “According to Ray, they drugged you and brought you to Hell House on Saturday. It was Friday before they rescued you.”

  “Friday? I know I was pretty much out of it at the time, but I thought it was only about three days.”

  “Gene, you were there for almost a week.”

  “Even a week can’t compare to the months that Sandy spent in there. I can’t imagine the horror of undergoing the brain probe hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and even month after month.”

  “At least she’s with Armstrong.”

  “Yeah,” said Eugene who then turned toward Pamela. “Why are things so fucked up? I understand the academic explanation, but I just can’t get my head around why this is happening. Why do people put up with it?”

  “Why did you, Gene?” Eugene was taken aback by the remark and glared at Pamela. It was the second time she shook him up, but Pamela was unshaken. “What was your reaction to the things Cassandra was telling you?”

  “That was different. She wanted me be a part of their revolutionary plan. I talked to Professor Zinney and he told me to get as far away from them as I could—Dennis too.”

  “I know, Gene. And I don’t fault you for it. I’m just saying that if you want to know why no one is standing up for the promise of America, instead of what it has become, then ask yourself—before all this started happening to you—did you want to be a part of any meaningful change yourself?” Eugene knew she was right, but the criticism stung, nevertheless.

  “How about that job offer you told me about? A quarter million dollar offer would have been difficult to turn down. Now, answer me honestly, Eugene. Would you have taken that job offer if you never met Cassandra or everything was fine with Catherine?”

  Eugene hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

  “You told me at Jeff’s motel that you would have. You knew what was happening to business. You knew about business expansion into things the Mafia used to be involved in, but you didn’t quit your job. You worked for the promotion offered to you.”

  “Please don’t bring up that incident at the motel. I was out of my mind. I don’t know what I would have done.” Pamela looked at Eugene like she didn’t believe him. Eugene looked downcast. He knew Pamela was right to be suspicious of him. “Okay, I would have.”

  “It’s okay, Gene. Anyone would have done the same.”

  “No. Ray and Cassandra wouldn’t have. Neither would Armstrong or his sharpshooters.” Then Eugene looked over to Pamela. “And you too. Why didn’t you go over there? You said you don’t really make much money taking people to New America, and you don’t need the money anyway. So why do you risk your life doing it?”

  Pamela didn’t answer right away. She looked pensive, and then glanced at Eugene. “Because I have to.” Eugene was perplexed. “I have to, Gene.” She looked sad, and Eugene began to worry he had opened some old wound.

  “Gene, my brother, Redd, whom you remember so fondly, died because of me.”

  “What?”

  “For what I did.” She looked so forlorn, but Gene wanted to hear the story.

  “Tell me, Pamela.”

  “I was married to the man who assassinated him. We were young and in love. Then he started drinking and got really jealous of my brother’s success. He hated Redd. The irony is that my brother cared about him. He wanted to help him, but he wouldn’t or couldn’t help himself. We ended up divorcing, but his obsession with my brother only intensified. He wanted him dead. One day he succeeded.”

  Eugene felt sad for her. He’d heard the story of Redd Piper’s assassination, but never realized that man was Pamela’s ex-husband.

  “So, rather than have a nice life in the New World, I had to do penance—wanted to. My brother sacrificed his life to make a better world. Now I want to continue his work by bringing people over. I do it, Eugene, because I feel it’s my duty.”

  Eugene could understand, though he felt bad that he always looked to others to be the heroes, while he just wanted to be happy and comfortable. “I just wish things were….”

  “Gene, I know how you feel about things. I know you want the world to be like you always remembered it, but it wouldn’t last, and I have to believe that deep down somewhere you know that to be true. Please understand that this country has no future. It little understands its past. Your company has no future. It is with this country today. We’re being consumed by all the rot of its voracious, all-consuming appetite for power and control. NOGOV is squeezing the life out of this country. You see it every day in your business. It used to be that companies looked to expand; then, when they couldn’t expand anymore, they focused on cutting expenses—conserving and protecting what they had. But they couldn’t. They tried to keep wages as low as possible, eliminating the minimum wage law some twenty years ago. They made unions illegal. It kept profits up, but not for long. People with little money to spend aren’t buying enough to keep the profit flow going. Now those same companies are using drugs, gambling, and prostitution to keep going. Your job is to help them into these areas, and to figure out how to find new markets and innovative ways to make it work. And you would have, because you are very talented. But when you’ve squeezed the last drop out of that market, what’s left? Slavery? You’d be laid off, and your company would cease to function. I don’t know when this will happen, but it will.”

  “So you’re saying that even if none of this happened to me, I’d still lose out in the end?”

  “Everything that I just said occurred, not because of bad choices, but because they had to happen. Once you can’t expand, you have to protect what profits you have. To do that, one creates the very conditions that lead to this dead world. There is no future here, Eugene. There isn’t one for your father. There isn’t one for your uncle, and there isn’t one for Bo. At some point you’d be looking to make this journey. You’d make it or be swallowed up by the stink of a rotting nation. Ray and Cassandra knew that.”

  “So why doesn’t society erupt? Why do they put up with it? Why isn’t there some journalistic investigation? Christ, you don’t even get the conspiracy nuts talking about it. ‘The government uses a brain probe to change your politics’. ‘A secret organization takes over the government.’ I mean something like that; but nothing. That idiot on TV just takes the damn thing, and uses it on kids to make money off it.”

  “I know Professor Zinney, too, Eugene. He was my brother’s best friend. I asked him many of those same questions. He told me people erupt all the time. They demonstrate. They once seized the capitol building. The news never covered it. The police did, however. They beat the hell out of them, arrested them, and charged them with terrorism. Many of the leaders are still in prison. How many more people do you think want to copy them?”

  Eugene realized that everything Pamela was telling him was true. He was supposed to be the business expert, but he never saw the long-term picture. P
amela, Ray, Cassandra, and the others did. While he mourned over a dead world and a life he could never have again, they were risking their lives to change it. He watched people sacrifice everything he refused to sacrifice, and knew that maybe he needed to do something too, instead of just complaining.

  But would I do something? I can’t help it. I want my comfort back. I want to sit in my overstuffed leather recliner, sip my wine, and listen to Bach while Catherine makes dinner. I want her back. I want her to share my jokes about the pundits, and reassure me that everything is fine. I know those days are gone forever. I’ve accepted that. I’m going to New America, but I miss my old life. Oh, this is nonsense. I’m dreaming again. Why do I feel such comfort in a world gone to crap?

  Eugene began sobbing. He couldn’t think about Catherine without depression overwhelming him. She glanced over to him. Part of her wanted to pull over and give him a big motherly hug, but she said nothing. She had to find Chad and Sandy.

  Pamela’s phone rang. She listened with glowing satisfaction. Eugene looked at her and saw her smile. “That was Foote. Armstrong just called him. They’re safe; just a little ways down the road.”

  Ten minutes later they were all at the side of the road by a black Lincoln. Sandy was clearly agitated. “Christ, is this the way it’s going to be all the way to New America? First, the shootout at the motel, and now being kidnapped. I wish sometimes I never found out who I really was because I got to tell you guys, I don’t know if I can take this much longer.”

  “I know how you feel, Sandy,” Gene said.

  Ray walked up to them. “Okay, Chad, let’s hear the story.”

  “They searched me, but missed the knife in my shoe. They didn’t bother to tie our hands together, but the guy in the passenger seat was supposed to keep an eye on us. He was waving his pistol while flirting with Sandy. With just enough distraction, I knew I could make my move.”

  “I thought he was going to kill me. I just kept seeing the barrel of that gun aimed at my head. Then Chad grabbed the steering wheel and held a knife to the driver’s throat.”

  “What did the guy with the gun do?” Eugene asked.