by Matt Ruff
A hot desert wind blew in through the shattered door. Looking out, I realized that the power failure had killed the garden’s sprinkler system, so the plants were doomed, too. But it wasn’t the fruit trees I was worried about.
“We blew it, didn’t we?” I said, as Wise came up behind me. “They’re all going to thaw out.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in the resurrection.”
Wise crouched down, pulled the hood off Carlton’s moon suit, and laid a pair of fingers on Carlton’s jugular. “God damn it! I told you we wanted him alive!”
“He is alive. He’s just sleeping.”
“Yeah, sleeping like those corpsicles back there.”
“No…I had it on stun, see?” I turned the gun to show him, but the dial was on the MI setting. “Oh shit…”
“Oh shit what?”
“This must be his gun. I picked it up back there, and…Christ, I must have confused it with mine.”
“Good job.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It was an accident.”
“Yeah, you’re prone to those, aren’t you?” He stood up. “All right, let’s get out of here.”
“What about him?”
“Leave him. He’s useless to us now.”
“And what about…?” I gestured in the direction of the cryostasis rooms.
“Nothing we can do.”
“The organization doesn’t have some kind of crack repair team that could get the power back online? What about the Good Samaritans, isn’t this right up their alley?”
“Nothing we can do,” Wise repeated. “Now come on.” He stepped through the door into the dying garden. “We can’t stay here.”
white room (vi)
“ARE YOU READY TO TALK ABOUT what happened to Phil?” the doctor asks.
Yet another evidence folder lies open on the table, turned so she can read the top page of the police report inside. But she refuses to look at it. She hunches back in her chair, keeping her eyes downcast, fixed on the cuffed hands in her lap.
“Jane,” the doctor prompts her.
“It’s a free country,” she finally says. “You talk about whatever you like.”
“All right…Let’s start with what didn’t happen. Your brother wasn’t swept up in some comical marijuana raid. And despite what you seemed to be suggesting in our last session—”
“I didn’t suggest anything.”
“—he wasn’t in an accident. Your mother thought you had done something to him—that’s what she told the 911 operator when she first reported him missing, and it’s why she attacked you in the police station. But she was wrong, too. According to witnesses, your brother left the community garden in the company of a man whose description matched that of a recently paroled felon, a convicted child molester and suspected child murderer named John Doyle.
“A child molester,” the doctor says. “But I doubt the police would use that expression in front of a fourteen-year-old girl, particularly one who was wracked with guilt. They’d probably just refer to him as a bad man…or a bad monkey.”
She still won’t look up, but her lips curl in a bitter smile. “Theory number 257,” she says. “Jane’s psychotic break begins with euphemism.”
“Well you tell me, Jane: is it just a coincidence that all your missions for the organization somehow involve threats to children or young men?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Something else I found interesting…” He lays a hand on the folder. “The reporting officer: Buster Keaton Friendly. That really was his name…But you’ve been lying about yours, haven’t you? Or at least, not telling the whole truth. Charlotte is your middle name. Your full name is Jane Charlotte—”
“Don’t,” she says, at last raising her eyes to meet his. “Just don’t. That’s not my name. She made that very clear.”
“She?”
“My mother. Last thing she told me before she sent me packing, I wasn’t ever to use that name again. Which was ridiculous, since it wasn’t her name either, it was my goddamned father’s, and she hated him almost as much as she hated me…But that didn’t matter, she said. What mattered was it was Phil’s name, so it couldn’t be mine. She said she’d kill me if she ever caught me using it: ‘I’ll choke the life out of you,’ quote unquote. So no, I wasn’t lying.”
“OK. But the story you first told me about your brother and the marijuana patch. You do acknowledge now that that was false.”
Sighing: “Yeah, I acknowledge it.”
“And the other encounters with your brother over the years—his visits with you in Siesta Corta, and your relationship once you’d returned to San Francisco—”
“That stuff was all true.”
“Jane…”
“I mean, OK, he wasn’t really there, but the conversations we had, the advice he gave me…Look, I knew Phil. I might not have liked the little shit, but I knew him, he was my brother, and I know what kind of person he’d have grown up to be, if…So those conversations I told you about, they were genuine. They were accurate.”
“But he wasn’t really there.”
“Yeah, all right, no.”
“Because he’s dead.”
“No!” She bristles. “That’s not true.”
“Jane…”
“Even the police could never say that. They never found a body. They never found anything, and Doyle—”
“Jane, the man was implicated in the killing of two other children. I’m sure you want to believe your brother survived, but—”
“No! I mean, yes, I wanted to believe that, and for years belief was all I had, but now, now I know. Phil’s alive.”
“How do you know that?”
“For Christ’s sake,” she says, “what do you think this whole story I’ve been telling you is about?”
“You found your brother?”
“Yes.”
“In Las Vegas.”
“Yes…Only I didn’t find him, exactly, I mean I haven’t seen him, but I know he’s here. And I know what really happened to him.”
“And what did happen to him?”
“Well, Doyle took him. That part’s true. And it’s probably also true that Doyle wanted to kill Phil, the same way he killed those other kids. But he wasn’t allowed to.”
“Who stopped him?”
“The other bad monkeys, of course.”
“The other bad monkeys.”
“The ones who put him up to it,” she says. “The anti-organization. The Troop.”
Bad Monkeys, Inc.
TRUE WAS WAITING FOR US AT A roadside diner just outside the Vegas city limits. A waitress with a name tag that read HI THERE! I’M JANE! took us to his booth, then hovered while Wise decided between the blueberry and the chocolate-chip pancakes. I spun my wheels, impatient to ask the question that had been gnawing at me for the past three days; but when the waitress finally left us alone, True beat me to the punch.
“It’s time we had a talk about your brother,” he said.
“Fine. Let’s talk. Let’s start with the fact that you know about him. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?”
“Of course.”
“And you never thought to mention it? Like when you were recruiting me, maybe? ‘By the way, one of the reasons we think you’ll be really good at hunting down scumbags is because one of them took your brother.’”
“That is one of the reasons we thought you’d be good at it, as a matter of fact.”
“Then why not say anything?”
“If I’d told you we knew about your brother’s kidnapping, you’d have wanted to hear what else we knew. Then I would have had to lie, which I don’t like to do, or put you off, which would have made us all unhappy. You’re a difficult enough person to deal with when your wishes are being granted.”
“Why would you have to lie to me?”
“To preserve operational security.”
“You mean this operation? It’s got something to do with Phil?”
“Ye
s.”
“Then Phil is…He’s alive? He’s OK?”
“He’s alive.”
I must have blanked out for a minute, because suddenly Jane the waitress was back with our breakfasts. When she started talking to Wise about syrup flavors, I gave her the eyes of death and said: “Fuck off. Now.” She did, and I turned back to True: “Tell me everything.”
True prodded one of the eggs on his plate with a fork, dimpling the yolk. “Omnes mundum facimus,” he said. “We all make the world…And we, the organization, try to make it better. Have you asked yourself yet whether there might be another organization, devoted to the opposite goal?”
“What, a bunch of people trying to make the world worse? No. It wouldn’t make sense.”
The yolk broke and started bleeding over True’s plate. “Why not?”
“What would they get out of it? I mean, OK, it can be fun to cause trouble, and there are people who get off on destruction in a big way, but you can’t build an organization around that. When bad people work as a team, it’s for something like money, or power.”
“You’re saying that evil is a means to an end, never an end in itself. But what if evil was more than just a label for antisocial behavior? What if evil was a real force working in the world, capable of drawing people to its service?”
“I already told you, I don’t believe in God.” Then, anxious to get to the point, I said: “But what do I know, right? You’re saying this anti-organization exists?”
“It exists,” True said. “We believe it has always existed, in one form or another. In its most recent incarnation, it styles itself the Troop.”
“The Troop? Like a monkey troop?” I started to laugh, but then I remembered: “Arlo Dexter’s notebook.”
“Yes. Until we recovered the briefcase, we couldn’t be sure it wasn’t a coincidence, but it’s clear now the Troop recruited Dexter.”
“OK…But what does this have to do with my brother?”
“Not everyone who joins the Troop does so willingly,” True said. “The foot soldiers and support staff are volunteers, but in every case where we’ve positively identified a Troop leader, that person has turned out to have been abducted as a child.”
“Hold on…”
“The Bible says that if you train up a child in the way he should go, when he is old, he will not depart from it. It may be that the Troop shares that philosophy, and crafts its leadership from an early age in order to ensure loyalty. But we think the real reason they steal children and turn them into monsters is because it is such an awful thing to do.”
“You’re telling me my brother’s a bad monkey? That’s bullshit! Phil was a good kid.”
“Of course he was. Corrupting a bad child wouldn’t be nearly as evil an accomplishment…Your brother is a high-level Troop member, working for their equivalent of Cost-Benefits.”
“Well first of all, I don’t believe you,” I said. “And second of all, I haven’t forgotten my job description. If you think I’m going to kill my own brother…”
“We don’t want you to kill him. We want you to help us find him.”
“Right, so somebody else can kill him? Sorry, I pass.”
“Your brother has grown up to be a very dangerous individual, Jane. The Ozymandias operation—the murder of the clients, the sabotage of the facility—that was his handiwork.”
“No it wasn’t! That was your guy, Carlton.”
“Jacob Carlton was seduced by the Troop,” True said, “and perhaps we do share some responsibility for allowing that to happen. But he took his final orders from your brother.”
“Right. But you don’t want to kill Phil for that, you just—”
“We want him stopped. Your brother is one of the Troop’s most effective strategists. Depriving them of his services would be a major achievement. But we—I—would like to accomplish something more. I’d like to try to save him.”
“Save him…You mean like deprogram him?”
True nodded. “I have to tell you up front that the odds of success are slim. What we know of Troop indoctrination methods suggests that they are very thorough and very difficult to break. Your brother may prefer death to redemption. But because he didn’t choose the path he is on, redemption is still a possibility. I’d like to give him the chance.”
“What if he doesn’t go for it, though? Let’s say I bring him in alive, and he tells you to stick your redemption. What then? You let him walk?”
“No. If he’s truly beyond saving, we obviously couldn’t let him go. But we don’t have to execute him, either. We can keep him contained, indefinitely.”
“You mean lock him up somewhere? I thought you didn’t—”
“It’s not our usual policy with irredeemables. It ties up resources and creates a security issue. But we can do it, if circumstances warrant. So what do you say, Jane? Will you help us try to save Phil?”
Of course I was going to say yes. I just needed a minute to let my brain catch up, to process everything I’d been told. But I guess True read my hesitation as uncertainty.
“There is another factor you may want to consider,” he said. “We chose you for this operation because we believe you are uniquely suited to draw your brother out into the open.”
“You think I’ll make good bait, you mean.”
“Yes. And there’s already evidence that your brother is moving to take that bait.”
“What evidence?”
“The Ozymandias operation. I understand you were upset about the script.”
“That business about Wise and me having a son named Phil? Yeah, I was upset.”
“Yes, well, we didn’t write that. The two of you were meant to pose as man and wife, but the script we composed in Cost-Benefits said nothing about a dying son or a disobedient daughter.”
“So someone rewrote the script before Wise got it…And you think that someone was Phil?”
“More likely a deep-cover agent working on his behalf.”
“And what’s his point? What’s he trying to tell me?”
“Obviously he’s aware you’re working for us. This could be his way of letting you know that he knows. Perhaps he hopes to recruit you. Or…”
“Or?”
“You understand, the indoctrination process your brother was subjected to would have been extremely unpleasant. So while he may be a committed Troop member now, that doesn’t mean he’s grateful for being delivered into the Troop’s hands in the first place.”
“You’re saying Phil’s mad at me?”
“If he is, can you blame him?”
“I…No. No. But if he wants revenge, why wait until now?”
“Perhaps he felt the life you were living before you joined the organization was revenge enough. The point is this: we can’t force you to accept this mission. But saying no to your brother, whatever he has planned, may not be so easy.”
“Well, that works out just great for you, doesn’t it?”
“Don’t misunderstand. We’re not going to abandon you to the Troop if you turn us down. But your best and safest course is to work with us on this…There’s also the matter of atonement. I don’t know how much you care about that, but—”
“Atonement? I let Bad Monkeys Incorporated steal my brother, True. How do I atone for that?”
“By stealing him back. Will you do it?”
Like I even had a choice. “Where do we start?”
“With the man who took him. John Doyle.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Not for lack of trying on our part,” True said. “In the weeks before he kidnapped your brother, Doyle was the target of a Bad Monkeys operation. He survived one execution attempt, and then, after abducting Phil, he disappeared completely. That was our first clue that he was more than just a lone predator. In the decades since, he’s popped up periodically—usually on some mission for the Troop—only to vanish again before we could get to him. Then, a few days ago, Doyle checked into the Venetian Hotel on the Vegas St
rip…” True set a wrinkled newspaper, the Las Vegas Tipster, on the table. Under the headline CASINO GUEST AIDS IN MANHUNT was a face I’d last seen in a police mug shot twenty-three years ago. Doyle’s hair was white now, and he’d lost some teeth, but there was no question it was him.
My palms were suddenly sweating. “When did you spot him?”
“Almost immediately,” True said. “It is Sin City, after all: our surveillance coverage of the Strip is more comprehensive than the casinos’ own. Also, he registered under his real name.”
“Sounds like I’m not the only one being used as bait. You have his room number?”
“He’s staying in one of the penthouse suites.”
“OK, then. Let’s go see him…”
Wise, who’d been quietly eating his pancakes this whole time, put down his fork and cleared his throat. “Not so fast,” he said. “Before you go to the Venetian, we need to make a stop at Harrah’s.”
“What for?” asked True, looking annoyed.
“Love wants to meet her.”
“Who’s Love?” I said.
“I thought we agreed we weren’t going to have this sort of interference,” said True.
“I don’t know what you agreed to,” said Wise, “but my orders come from the man himself. Love isn’t happy with the way the Ozymandias op played out. Before we take this any further, he wants to be sure of her.”
“And he couldn’t have met with her yesterday, or the day before?”
“He’s got a full schedule. This is when he had time.”
“Who’s Love?” I repeated.
“The Trickster-in-Chief,” said True. “The leader of the Scary Clowns.” To Wise: “Very well. We’ll go see him.”
“Not ‘we.’ Love wants to talk to her in private. You’re welcome to wait in the casino, but she goes up to the Mudgett Suite alone.”
At that point, True got more pissed off than I’d ever seen him. He bitched at Wise about how totally unacceptable this was. Wise listened impassively, like he knew True had to complain for the sake of form, even though it wasn’t going to change anything.