by Ernest Hogan
The folks in the shabby costumes surrounded and stuck close. Ralph and Xochitl weren't aware, but Zobop saw that Caldonia was looking at the crowd, checking them out as her El Lay street smarts kicked in.
Suddenly a tall thin woman wearing an ill-fitting print dress and fish-like monster mask grabbed Xochitl, pulling her away to be instantly surrounded by cowboys and angels. Caldonia immediately slapped the paper moustache off a cowboy, and made her scooter make the loudest noise it could. Zobop tried to shoulder his way to Xochitl as ski-masked businessmen and glitter-masked workers tore at her clothes.
Ralph was horrified and perplexed. Xochitl had been nice to him, so he moved closer to help. A short man in a mask with red, oversized eyes and teeth punched Ralph in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
Before Zobop or Caldonia could get close enough, a tattered angel tore away Xochitl's borrowed T-shirt – the one with the god-simulating chip in the sleeve – then the angel and the rest of the attackers dashed off in different directions, blending into the writhing, chaotic throng.
Xochitl covered her small breasts – she wasn't wearing a bra because Caldonia didn't have one small enough – and started screaming, "Ay, Dios mío!" and other things in rapid-fire Spanish.
Ralph removed his Aztec calendar T-shirt and handed it to Xochitl.
"Don't worry, Xochitl," said Caldonia, "Took out a few juicy chunks of them before they went away – besides, those little chi-chis of yours are kind of cute."
Phoebe glared at Caldonia. Coming on to that xau-xau Mexican girl! Everyone seemed to have completely forgotten she was alive!
"No, oh no," Xochitl said as she slipped into Ralph's shirt. "No you no understand. They have it. The chip! The program!"
"What?" said Ralph.
"We better get out of here, fast," said Zobop. "They weren't just Dead Daze troublemakers. They were communicating with each other and someone distant. And they didn't have phones."
*
Special action group reporting. Mission accomplished. Found the nanochip attached to the left sleeve of Xochitl's T-shirt. We have the god-simulating program. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
When they had reached the office/conapt on Hollywood and Vine, the infosystem was clattering away and Tan Tien had a fresh pot of Oolong tea brewing. She also had a kimono for Ralph to put on.
"Thank you," said Ralph, who was shivering. "It doesn't get this cold this time of year in Phoenix."
"Cold?" said Caldonia, sneering. "You think this is cold? Why in Oregon this would be skinny-dipping weather!"
Phoebe sulked in a corner. Only an hour before she had been the center of attention, and she missed it.
The infosystem buzzed and rattled.
"A lot is going on with the Tezcatlipoca phenomenon," said Tan Tien.
"Texatly what?" asked Caldonia.
"It's Smokey Espejo's real name," said Zobop, taking off his high-tech sunglasses. His eyes were a dark, warm, red-brown, extremely clear and intense.
"I guess we all have things to talk about," said Xochitl, sitting down and contemplating her tea.
"That we do," said Tan Tien, settling into the workstation chair.
"At least we're safe here," said Ralph, tying up the kimono. "And nobody will be listening in on us."
*
Xochitl and her fellow conspirators have arrived at the Hollywood and Vine conapt. We have deployed listening devices to monitor their conversations and have confirmed that our hack team has accessed their infosystem. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
Tan Tien sat crosslegged in the tall, roller and rotator equipped office chair, her tiny bare feet peeking out of her kimono; she took a delicate sip of tea with the handle-less cup in the fingertips of both her hands. The infosystem shaked, rattled and rolled, but her presence made the room seem silent. She took another sip, then said, "This investigation has been interesting." She took yet another sip. "Truly disturbing, but interesting."
"That's all very dramatic, dear," said Caldonia, who had slugged down her tea in one gulp and was now playing with the empty cup. "You deserve an Academy award. Now cut the bullshit and start transmitting the data."
"Thank you Caldonia." Tan Tien remained calm, smiled, and took another sip of tea. "What we have here is a case of an artificial intelligence taking possession of a human being, and trying to take over the mediasphere."
"Possession?" said Ralph. "Is this supernatural?"
Tan Tien smiled, looked deep into his eyes and made him feel like an idiot. "That depends on how you limit your conception of nature."
"Traditionally," Zobop stepped in, holding the delicate teacup in his gigantic hands, and somehow not crushing it, "the supernatural has been perceived as anything that humans cannot explain with their knowledge of nature."
"Nature is full of mystery, and chaos," said Xochitl.
"And things that we humans, even with the scientific method and advanced information-processing technology, cannot yet explain." Tan Tien relaxed into her informal lecture mode. "However, possession is something that has been documented and studied."
Caldonia sneered. "You mean demons and spirits, that kind of mumbo jumbo?"
"Wow," said Phoebe, warming up to the conversation, despite her hurt feelings, "how sumato!"
"Those terms can be used to explain this phenomenon, but there are other terminologies we can use," said Zobop.
"Possession can also be called a dissociative state of consciousness," Tan Tien continued. "A condition where the human mind separates from the personality and starts operating in a different way, as if the someone else, or something else, was in control of it. It is the basis for magic and religious practices all over the planet."
"Hey," said Caldonia, "I can see how a loco xau-xau like Beto could end up with his mind split from his creepy personality." There were knowing smiles and nods from both Phoebe and Xochitl. "But how the hell did this AI-thing get control?"
"This artificial intelligence," Xochitl said. "Come from my program to simulate the personalities of gods."
"Why would you want to make a thing like that?" asked Caldonia.
"Scholarly reasons," said Xochitl.
"And there could be spiritual ones, too," Phoebe said, her blue eyes rolling skyward. "It would be so sumato, to talk to the gods . . . and goddesses." She looked at Xochitl, frowned, and asked, "Hey, Xoch, just where do you know Beto from . . ?"
Xochitl opened her mouth to answer, but Caldonia kicked her in the shin and said, "Tan Tien, Zobop, how could an AI take over a human brain?"
Tan Tien's and Zobop's eyes met. There was instant understanding. Then Tan Tien spoke:
"The technique of interfacing with a computer with a video screen lends itself to hypnotic effects. And with the recent developments of cranial implants, there are possibilities for even more direct connections." She nodded to Zobop.
After a few knowing keystrokes from Zobop, a still video picture of Smokey/Beto from a recent street performance appeared on a monitor.
"You will notice that in the middle of his forehead – " Tan Tien nodded, Zobop did some more keying, and the image expanded until a digitized closeup of the implant filled the screen. “ – There appears to be a state-of-the-art cranial implant, of the kind made and distributed by an underground corporation known as Outlaw Implants."
Xochitl said, "Ay, dios mío!"
"Looks real sumato!" said Phoebe.
Ralph gasped and choked, and almost said Aarrgh!
Phoebe's face lit up. "Smokey and Beto are the same person! He really does love me! How sumato!"
Caldonia just frowned.
"The question is," said Zobop. "What do we do about it?"
Suddenly, a blast of static interrupted the clattering of the infosystem. The image on the screen was torn to shreds by jagged stripes of visual white noise, and the static then formed a voice that said, "There's nothing you can do! It's already too late! I, Tezcatlipoca have taken co
ntrol of your precious technology to reestablish my godhood! My divine chaos now rules the world! I will take all that is mine! That includes you, Phoebe!"
Phoebe's smiled exploded into a classic shit-eating grin.
The others were uniformly horrified.
*
So, now we know what we are up against. Pagan hackers have conjured up Satan himself in the form of an Aztec demon-god. We must take immediate action. Units closing in on the Hollywood and Vine conapt are to take the place with extreme prejudice; reinforcements are being dispatched. Other units should be sent to the Alberto Orozco conapt. We must also locate the Smokey Espejo manifestation and destroy it. Lethal force has been authorized on all levels. We must get our project with the god-simulating program running as soon as possible. All Heaven and Earth are at stake here. May God have mercy on all our souls.
*
And now, here on mythic Sunset Boulevard, we have a group of young people who have tied their hair up Aztec style and painted their faces with the same thick, blue and black stripe that Smokey Espejo wore in his video, which is already the number one hit of this Dead Daze. You kids must really love Smokey.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!"
"We all love Smokey!"
"Woooooooooooooooie!"
"He's a god! A real god!"
"He's our god!"
"The kind of god we need in the trimili era!"
*
Oscardo, Macha, Pit, Kitty-Kitty, Pirañha, and Snork all sat dejected over their iced ginseng energy-boost tea in one of the more popular Elmo's on Sunset when all their phones rang at once, much to the distress of the hookers with gigantic neon bouffant hairdos, the personage in the plush violet crustacean costume with a strawberry milkshake in one claw, and a group of hung-over Elvis impersonators carboloading in preparation for another night's drinking.
The guards and enforcers all exchanged fearful looks then checked their phone screens.
It was Smokey.
"So, you failures want a chance to get back on my good side?"
All the guards and enforcers groaned at different points on the harmonic scale.
Smokey frowned hard. "Do you want to live past this night?"
The guards and enforcers all snapped to an almost military attention stance, saying, "Yes!" in sharp unison.
"Good," Smokey paused, then smiled; but it was a cruel smile. "I've found out where Phoebe is. If you go there, get her, and bring her to me, I may, just may decide that you are worthy to live."
The guards and enforcers hesitated, then grumbled.
"What is this? You don't want this second chance?"
The guards and enforcers burst into a cacophony of affirmative verbalizations. There was desperation in their eyes. As they pleaded their loyalty, their voices kept slipping into a pleading tone.
Smokey was satisfied. He grinned with divine cruelty. "Good. Then go to the offices of Ti-Yong/Hoodoo Investigations in the old Bank of America building at Hollywood and Vine. Get Phoebe. When you have her, contact me, and I will dispatch transportation to my location . . ."
"Yes Smokey!" the guards and enforcers shouted in perfect unison, like a military unit trained to deadly perfection.
As Smokey vanished from the phones, the other customers at the Elmo's applauded.
"Do you actually know Smokey?" asked the little asio waitress with the Farsi accent.
"We work for him," said Macha, running a stubby finger along her mustache, shooting the waitress a flirtatious wink.
"Really?" the waitress's voice turned into a high-pitched squeal. "Have you ever met him, live, in person?"
Oscardo showed his blue, metallic teeth and tried to look blasé. "Yup."
Macha touched the waitress' arm, and said, "He calls all the time."
"We work for him," said Pit, flexing his scarified biceps.
Pirañha and Snork postured with pretentious coolness.
Kitty-Kitty smiled, crossed her arms and delicately ran her diabolical nails from her shoulders to her breasts.
The asio waitress squealed.
The Elvises bellowed a melodic, "All riiiiiight!"
The violet crustacean took its drink in claw and gave a toast in Quechua.
As Oscardo and Macha paid for their teams' drinks with their corporate/gang credit cards, the bouffanted hookers got up and intercepted them. Each hooker picked a guard or an enforcer, or a guard and an enforcer when the numbers didn't match up, and not caring who was what sex. After all this was Hollywood, and who knew which gender the hookers were, either?
A tall, painfully thin euro hooker with basketball-sized breasts, whose orange lips matched her glowing hair, skillfully approached Oscardo so that those artificially-enhanced breasts locked onto his chest like a double-barreled docking apparatus with pink nipples peeking out of a gold lamé mesh blouse.
"Hiya," she said, "love those blue teeth."
"Uh!" Oscardo was torn between duty to gang, corporation, and Smokey, and a chance to take advantage of this overflow of the groupie effect.
"Look," said Macha, "look you . . . 'girls' are really cute, and we can see you're in the mood to give out freebies . . ." A short, mannish afro hooker with a sizzling electric blue bouffant put her hand on Macha's muscular arm, " . . . but, we got some work to do. You know, important stuff for Smokey."
The hooker licked Macha's neck.
Macha sighed.
A big, light-skinned afro hooker with a fire-engine red bouffant ran her pudgy fingers up and down Snork's scarified biceps while squeezing Kitty-Kitty's drum-tight ass.
A stocky, androgynous asio hooker with a shocking pink bouffant took Pirañha and Pit's hands, and put them on her hard, bullet-shaped breasts.
Suddenly, all the phones in the Elmo's – even the old-fashioned ones attached to the walls – rang.
The guards and enforcers shuddered.
Everyone looked puzzled, and answered their phones.
The crustacean had to remove a claw.
To the terror of some, and the delight of others, Smokey appeared on everybody's phone screen.
"There's no time for this fooling around!" screamed Smokey, his eyes burning. "Get Phoebe soon, or die!"
As he vanished, the Elmo's went dead silent.
The hookers politely disengaged themselves from the guards and enforcers. Variations on "We'll finish this later," were exchanged.
Oscardo and Macha led their teams out the door, onto the street, toward Hollywood and Vine.
The oldest of the Elvises stood up, said, "Smokey is the new incarnation of Elvis!" and started singing Stuck on You. When the others joined, it sounded more like the Residents' version of the song than Presley's original.
*
A special tactical unit is being dispatched to the offices of Ti Yong/Hoodoo Investigations at the old Bank of America building. Lethal force has been authorized. We are dealing with Satanic enemies of God. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
Finally Los Tricksters got all the way through the new, improved, Smokeyized (so that Lobo didn't recognize his original "Tezcatlipoca Blues" composition) version of "Smoking Mirror Blues" without any mistakes. As Smokey's growl and Tommy's rattling paradiddle faded, Tommy's eyes, and Lobo's, Kenny's, and Ella's, grew wide with awe. The recording crew looked like ecstatic zombies. There was a long, dead silence that nearly drowned out the roar of the nearby San Bernardino freeway.
The only person who wasn't looking stunned was Smokey. He looked so satisfied, it was horrifying.
After a small eternity, Lobo said, "My god, Smokey, you're a musical genius!"
*
Tezcatlipoca was delighted with "Smoking Mirror Blues;" it had the right hypnotic effect that would make listeners unable to resist his influence. If they were under the influence of a drug like Fun, the effect would be increased. They would become his slaves, his tools, agents of his marvelous chaos.
His chaos would soon control the world.
He immediately contacted
several bootleg music nets, and leaked copies of the song to them.
*
A special tactical unit has joined the surveillance agent watching Alberto Orozco's conapt. The Los Olvidadoids inside have not noticed us. We will be able to act when ordered. May God have mercy on their souls.
*
This just in! You probably won't take our word for it, so we'll play you the message – but, honest to all the gods, Smokey himself called us up here at Nite Flyby Muznet, and downloaded his brand new, hot-out-of-the-secret-recording-studio inspiration, for us to play royalty free, just to give us all a tantalizing taste of what he's brewing up with Los Tricksters for a fantabulous, recomboizing-the-world global pay-per-view satellite concert that will be the grand climax for this Dead Daze, and maybe even this sad, scary opening act of a decade of the new millennium! It'll make people totally forget about last year's riots! You don't believe it? Watching the surrealistic El Lay street scenes of the last few days got you burned down to brainpan fallout cynical funk? Well, my dead-eyed little recombozos and recombozoettes, I'm just gonna let Smokey do the talking, then open your ears, your mind, and your sweet little soul for the song that's gonnatransmorgrify your life . . . 'Smoking Mirror Blues!'"
"Yes, it's me, Smokey. You know it's me. You recognize my voice, my words. You have always known me. I've been tricksterizing you for thousands of years. Alien spirits were brought to our world by the invaders. You lost track of my song, my message, my blues that have been sung in the form of coyotes, jackals, monkeys, rabbits, ravens, and other trickster beings, all over the planet. I twist the truth, but it often makes reality clearer. You poor, inadequate humans can't trust your limited points of view. You need me to sing the blues for you. To jolt you out of the prison you call your self. To heal you. To allow you to dance the ecstatic, chaotic dance of life. I could talk for hours about it, but talk lacks the beat, the rhythm, the deep, dark magic to make these blues work; so I made this song, with the help of my band, Los Tricksters. Get ready Nite Flyby Muzenet, here comes 'Smoking Mirror Blues' . . ."
*
Simultaneously, Tezcatlipoca gave the same message – though specialized for each receiver – to music and entertainment nets all over the world. As a mediaspheric god it was possible, but it took all his power. He had to think things through logically, not just dive in and let the trickster magic happen. He became fatigued.