FantasticLand

by Mike Bockoven

  You ever seen that one movie … what was it … the one where Denzel Washington was trying to figure out who robbed a bank? I can’t remember the name, but one of the big twists at the end was all the robbers pretended they were customers and they all vouched for one another so at the end of the day the cops knew who did it, but they had no way to prove it because there was reasonable doubt built into the crime. You ever see that? Anyways, that was the case here. I know, for sure, that I have at least three murderers dead to rights. The evidence says it’s them, their enemies say it’s them, but their friends are all, “No, Bambi over here was so innocent and actually she was feeding deer and giving everyone hugs the whole time,” and suddenly you’re served a hot steaming plate of reasonable doubt that a jury is going to eat faster than my momma’s biscuits. It happened over and over. Me or one of my team had a good case, and her friends from FantasticLand, who were all celebrities at this point in one form or another, they got on the stand and cried and begged for their friend, and we would lose. Or, as I heard over and over again from my boss, we’d “blow it.”

  I’ll tell you the one the bugs the hell out of me, sir. The one that keeps me up at night, the one I hope I’m able to not think about when I have my proverbial dark night of the soul. Sophie Ruskin. The girl with the guns. I had two of the kids in the park, nice kids by all accounts but maybe tied up in some bad actions in the park, I had two of them tell me she shot them. That she would strut around the park showing off her guns, and then when the fighting started toward the end, she started shooting. Shot a bunch of boys in that park, killed a few of them, too. The boys from the … what was it … the Pirates, they all saw her and identified her and testified against her, the whole kit and caboodle. Then the defense brought up witness after witness after witness after witness, and they all had exactly the same story—it was dark, there was a shooter, and it was a man. A boy. A fella. It couldn’t have been her, because the shooter was some guy wearing a hooded sweatshirt no one could see. And you could tell, you could tell they were full of shit because their stories weren’t 100 percent straight. There were slips here and there, and they all used exactly the same language. I used that in my closing statement. “They all have exactly the same story, told in the exact same way,” I said. The jury didn’t care. No conviction. She shot a bunch of people and is free right now.

  At this point, most everyone from FantasticLand is going free. Pirates are going free, those gals with the bows and arrows, they went free, that guy with all the severed heads, he never made it to trial. We dropped it because it was hard to get at actually what he did, but a fella with that many tattoos is probably up to no good. But he was free. I’m getting yelled at on a daily basis, my boss just red-faced, screaming, saying, “We’re failing this office,” and “We’re failing the people,” and “Your ass is on the line, here.” Like I didn’t know that. I’ve had enough blowhard bosses to know when the shit is sliding downhill, and from what I hear the governor was involved in the yelling, which means I got it twice as bad when it got down to me.

  Politics being the bitch she is, I made my play. I promised, publicly, convictions of Brock Hockney and of Sam Garliek. They were the bogeymen of this deal in the media. They called Brock the “Pirate Monster,” and Sam, since he was supposed to be in charge and they found him hiding in an office somewhere, they called him “coward” and “weasel” and a whole host of other things. I remember seeing a T-shirt around town with his face that said FANTASTIC ASSHOLE on it. I admit, I smiled. It was cute. So that was the play. Convict both Brock and Sam or say sayonara to my legal career. So we got to work.

  To be honest, I thought Brock was going to be easy and Mr. Garliek was going to be the slippery one. Turns out it was the other way around. Whatever happened in that park, the people who were with Brock were with him till the bitter end, yes sir. He had people who were still fighting for him and calling in favors from their parents and all sorts of stuff. Mr. Garliek, by contrast, had been abandoned. No one was making any excuses, no one was fighting on his behalf, and there were T-shirts on the street calling him an asshole. He could have saved a baby from a burning building on national TV, and it wouldn’t have made a dent in how much people hated him. If he showed up on a desert island with a sandwich and a rescue boat, most people would try to beat him to death with the sandwich. People hated him. His lawyer, a really sweet fella named Roger Anderson who was in over his big bald head, told me as much. Told me, “There’s no way we’re getting a fair trial here or anywhere.” I told him, “Seems that way, what do you want me to do about it?” He said, “Cut us a deal.”

  I kinda chuckled at that because I needed both of them to avoid being taken out back and shot, and I told Roger so, but he was insistent. He said, “I have something,” and I pushed him, and you know what he had? He had video. Sam Garliek had set up battery-powered video cameras in three locations around the area where they had that big meeting, the … what did he call it … the Parts of the Council or whatever it was. They were small, and after all the blood had dried, he went back and picked them up.

  The consequences of this action are twofold, sir. First off, it cemented a win for me on Brock. No matter what else happened, the jury would see three angles of him shooting a cannon off into a crowd full of people. Once they saw that, game over. It was very likely they would convict him of killing Kennedy if I charged him with it. That was done, done, done, I don’t give a good goddamn what his cronies said on the stand. But that left the matter of Mr. Garliek. Cooperating with us boosted his character. It made him seem more in charge. His argument, “I did everything by the book, and no one responded like they were supposed to,” suddenly seemed a lot more leaky. The idea of him killing that Francis girl in the dark seems less plausible. Plus, ol’ Rog Anderson asked for immunity. I told him no way that was going to happen, so he asked for a deal that would reduce the charges against Mr. Garliek. I don’t remember off the top of my head what they all were, but there was wiggle room there. I was leaning toward saying yes, but before I did, I decided to go see Brock for myself, just to get his side of things. I knew Mr. Garliek was a coward, but I thought maybe this Brock character was misunderstood; he got a little excited and he deserved a chance. Turns out I was, uh, I was wrong about that.

  Brock got a good amount of media attention after everyone got out of the park, so he was removed from the general population almost immediately. His attorney, John Dahlstrom, he’s a friend of mine. We’d been golfing before and ran in the same circles, and while we liked each other outside the courtroom, we had a reputation for absolutely going for each other’s throats when it came time for trial. We both understood that and basically respected each other, so when I called and said I wanted to come and talk to him and Brock, he said that might not be such a good idea. I asked him why, and he said, “Brock isn’t very good with people.” I pressed him, and it turns out John was pretty sure Brock was one of those well-heeled psychopaths like you see in the movies. One who was real charming until they stuck you in the gut.

  But I pressed the issue. I told John something had happened that they needed to consider, which is Florida lawyer code for, “I probably have you by the balls.” So he sets up the meeting, and I drive down to Big Pine, wait in the waiting room, and after a bit, this broad-shouldered towhead comes in, sits down, and proceeds to stare at me until John makes his way to the table. It was maybe ten seconds, but that’s a long time to stare at someone. It wasn’t the greatest first impression. It creeped me out, to be honest.

  Mr. Garliek may have been a weasel, but he had the right idea. I should have brought a video camera, because I cannot, I mean, cannot do justice to our conversation. It wasn’t necessarily what was said, though that was bad enough, but how he said it. The tone, the way he stared, it was both … attractive and repulsive. I had gone into the meeting expecting a thug, and what I got was more Hannibal Lecter. He was creepy, I think was the best way of putting it. Creepy and totally convinced of his own righteous
ness and superiority. He treated his whole incarceration as an inconvenience and saw his actions in the park as a gift to mankind. I am not exaggerating, sir. And he would drop little violent rejoinders into the conversation. I remember at one point, I was playing a bit of hardball with John, telling him he didn’t have a leg to stand on, and Brock chimes in, “I’ve seen people without a leg to stand on. In my experience, there’s a lot more blood.” Then he sat back in his chair, all satisfied. I grew up in the church, sir. I’ve served communion and the whole thing, but I don’t think I’d ever been confronted with … well, I’ll just say it … with evil like that in my life.

  On the drive back from Big Pine, I really got to thinking. Since Hurricane Sadie slammed into us, I had gained twenty-five pounds, my darling wife and I were on the outs, we hardly talked anymore, and I was getting regular tongue-lashings from everyone from the governor on down. It was a rough patch, to be sure, but I really got to thinking. Some of these kids did terrible things. The stuff their attorneys told me in confidence, it would chill your blood. Yes it would. But why were they hurting each other? Was it out of self-preservation, as many of their attorneys argued? Were they in a situation where this sort of behavior was normalized? Or were they confronted with a monster and had to fight and stab and whatever else they had to do in order to survive that monster? And I came to a conclusion. I decided on my ride back that my career wasn’t as important as Brock Hockney going to jail. Forever.

  When I got back to the office, I let my team know what I was planning, and nobody threw up any roadblocks. I went to Rog that afternoon and I told him we’d take the deal, we’d reduce the charges against Mr. Garliek if he provided the tapes, and that would be that. Rog jumped at the chance, and forty-eight hours later, Mr. Garliek fought his way past an entire army of reporters, looked the judge in the eye, pled guilty to seven misdemeanors, and walked out with a huge fine and time served. When he walked out, the reporters were so shocked they almost forgot to ask questions. Mr. Garliek got in a car and was gone before too much of a hubbub could be made. Fifteen minutes later, I was in my boss’s office. I laid it all out. He asked for my resignation, and I gave it to him, yes sir, I did. And that was the end of my legal career. But they got Mr. Hockney. That video, which leaked after the trial, everyone sort of got it. Even John Dahlstrom. He gave it his all, but you can tell when a defense attorney’s heart isn’t in it. Besides, what defense do you come up with against video of your client shooting a cannon into a crowd? Tough defense, that one.

  I get asked a lot how I could let Sam Garliek go, and I want to speak to that just a bit, if you’ll permit me. I can say, now that I’m not an official anymore, that I flat-out don’t like that guy. John and Brock, they tried to sell me on the idea that Sam was the mastermind behind the whole thing, that he had a roving gang of thugs who did what he wanted and the whole “tribes” thing was a backlash against that. Personally, I don’t think Sam was that smart. I think he was a poor leader who was in over his head and panicked. Then he hid. Then he sold everything he had to save his own skin. That’s not a hero in my book, though you talk to him and he’ll tell you different. At the end of the day I had a choice to make: convict the coward or convict the monster. There’s no doubt in my mind I made the right choice. No doubt. I sleep like a baby. Plus, from what I hear, Sam Garliek is getting what he deserves in the outside world. I mentioned the T-shirts with his face on them, right?

  So, that’s that. Of course, I made out OK after getting fired. I got hired on TV as an “expert commentator” so fast it made my head spin, and I made enough money to make it OK. My wife, she’s a principal at a local middle school, she makes OK money too, so we don’t want for anything, really. I still comment fairly regularly. I had a producer tell me he liked my laid-back way of speaking, which I think is a nice way of saying I speak stupid enough for everyone to understand. I don’t care. I dropped the weight, I fixed things with Janet—that’s my wife—and I’m doing what I want. I don’t go to Chamber dinners anymore. I haven’t played golf in a year. I always hated golf. I’m starting to get involved in politics a bit, but on my terms and on the legal side.

  I’m not giving that bitch another bite at my behind, that’s for sure.

  INTERVIEW 22: BROCK HOCKNEY

  Character in the Pirate Cove, Leader of the Pirates.

  Author’s Note: I interviewed Brock Hockney at the Big Pine Key Road Correctional Facility, where he will likely spend the rest of his life. I have included the interview in its entirety, as Mr. Hockney was not willing to tell his story, like my other interviewees. However, I believe his responses to my questions shed light on the man many call the “Pirate Monster of FantasticLand.” Our time was also limited due to requests from his attorney.

  ADAM JAKES: Good morning, Mr. Hockney. I’m Adam Jakes, a reporter, and I’m writing a book about FantasticLand and what went on there. Thank you for meeting with me.

  [Silence]

  The best thing I’ve found to do in conducting these interviews is to let people tell me their stories. I can kind of jump in to clarify things, but what your lawyers and I would love is for you to just start talking and give us your side of the story. So, we can start before the hurricane hit. What did you do in FantasticLand, Brock?

  [Silence]

  Do you not want to tell me?

  BROCK HOCKNEY (to his attorney, John Dahlstrom): What is this?

  JOHN DAHLSTROM: I think this could really help, Brock.

  BH: Help what?

  AJ: By telling your story and letting people hear your side …

  BH: I understand the concept, you fucking sand mite. What I’m asking my attorney is what he’s thinking this will help. Will it make an appeal more likely? Will I get better privileges in here? What’s the endgame?

  JD: Public sentiment, Brock. We’ve talked about this.

  [Silence]

  BH: I don’t agree, but I didn’t finish in the middle of the pack at Florida State. Ask, then.

  AJ: The other people told me their story.

  BH: They did?

  AJ: Yes. They did.

  BH: And when they spoke of me, did they make me sound like “other people”?

  AJ: No, Brock, they didn’t. They made you sound charismatic and violent. They made it sound like you were the poster child for this whole mess.

  [Silence]

  AJ: How about we try this: what did you do when you started working at FantasticLand?

  BH: I worked.

  AJ: Worked doing what?

  BH: I dressed up as a Pirate and made little kids happy.

  AJ: Did you like doing that?

  BH: Yes. It paid well and it was rewarding.

  [Silence]

  AJ: Why did you sign up for Operation Rapture?

  BH: Money. And I liked the concept.

  AJ: What do you mean, the concept?

  BH: I mean I like the idea of being one of the people responsible for the park after everyone else ran. I like being responsible.

  AJ: I’m not trying to bait you, Brock, but you have to see how some people could see that as a contradiction, given your actions in the park.

  BH: Let me ask you, Adam, were you in the park after the hurricane? You were, what, a ShopGirl? A Fairy? Of course you weren’t. You weren’t in the park, so when you say something like, “your actions in the park,” you have to see how that would make me upset. Yes?

  AJ: Yes, Brock.

  BH: Also, we’ve never met before, Adam. I understand, Adam, that you’re trying to foster familiarity, Adam, but we’ve never met and we surely are not on a first-name basis, are we? Adam?

  AJ: I take your point.

  BH: So we’ve established that you don’t know me, and the only thing you think you know is because other people have called me names and made claims about me. If you were on the other side of this table, would you conclude, reasonably, that the person asking the questions was at best rude and at worst disrespectful and antagonistic? Like they were itching for a fi
ght, almost?

  AJ: Again, I take your point.

  BH: You take my point …

  AJ: Mr. Hockney.

  BH: Thank you. Ask.

  AJ: What can you tell me about your time in the emergency shelters as the hurricane was passing through?

  BH: I can tell you it was crowded and unpleasant.

  AJ: Anything else?

  BH: Oh, and dark. It was frequently dark.

  AJ: And that’s the story?

  BH: I’m answering your questions. If you have a specific question, Mr. Jakes, ask it.

  AJ: I have a lot of questions but not a lot of hard evidence. It’s not like anyone made it out of there with their phones.

  BH: Funny you should mention that.

  AJ: How so?

  BH: I would look into that angle if I were you. I’ve never been much of a social media person myself, but one of my biggest challenges as a leader was breaking that particular habit in my peers. When you are used to constant stimuli and then have it taken away with nothing to replace it, people act in all sorts of interesting ways.

  AJ: What sort of responses did you see?

  BH: The biggest thing I saw was a lack of purpose. Kids wandering around, not sure what to do with themselves. If I can say this without sounding like a cult leader, it made them far more susceptible to suggestion. Actually, I take that back. I don’t think it was suggestion, I think I was the one who found a way to harness the epic boredom of a hundred bored young people. When you’re used to expending a certain amount of energy presenting yourself to strangers, imagine the appeal of someone saying, “Come over here. Use that energy for something that matters.” The people who joined me, Mr. Jakes, were simply thrilled to have a place for their passion.