Zanesville: A Novel

by Kris Saknussemm

“What billboards?” Roger frowned.

  CHAPTER 11

  Marriage Counseling

  “Would you like a cup of cocoa?” Eartha asked, examining the bump on the back of Aretha’s head from where he’d hit the floor.

  “I would . . . love . . . a cup of cocoa,” the linebacker-sized drag queen confessed—an admission that seemed to come from the depths of his being.

  “Okay,” his wife said with a firm gentleness. She handed him a cool compress and rose toward the kitchen.

  Aretha stared around. He was back inside his old town house except that everything was different. His marathon-running marketing executive spouse had stacked on a bit of nicely distributed weight and to his utter astonishment had become the priestess of a Vodou church. All around the once plush living room were paintings and ceremonial figurines—not to mention the odd alligator skull. Where there used to be crystal vases and brandy decanters, there were now gin bottles stuffed with plastic flowers and bowls of fried pork rinds.

  When Eartha returned with a steaming mug for him, she recounted how she’d taken a Comparative Religion course at the Columbia extension program. Later she’d visited Benin and had been initiated in Haiti. It was a development that he’d never considered—and listening to her prattle on about Papa Legba and Baron Samedi, he thought he had to be experiencing a pre-law-school drug flashback or some creeping new delusional disease. Was it possible? She even had a tattoo of Danbala the Great Snake! How could his wife have a tattoo of a snake? And on her bosom! Holy moly, he thought—I’m checking out my wife’s titties.

  She smelled sweaty and narcotic. It was the middle of the night—he hadn’t seen her in years—he hadn’t been alone with a woman in years—he didn’t know how to explain where he’d been and what he’d been doing since going underground—he didn’t understand all that had happened to her—and he was afraid of everything that lay ahead—and before he could think to stop himself he was kissing her—and she was kissing him. Then they went at it in every position that the loas of physics allowed until they fell apart exhausted on one of the banana-skin mats.

  “You prick!” Eartha gasped.

  “What about me?” Denzel groaned. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack! I’m out of practice with this stuff.”

  “Bullshit!” His wife laughed. “I haven’t been porked like that since Benny.”

  “Who’s Benny?”

  “Benny Hoo.”

  “That’s what I wanna know!” Denzel snapped, smacking her butt.

  “Benny Hoo—the guy who delivers Chinese. Remember him?”

  “Him?”

  “He knows ninja sex secrets. Besides, I was on the rebound from Monroe.”

  “Who in the hell’s Monroe?” Denzel huffed—and to his surprise he felt his rod begin to stiffen again.

  “Wide receiver for the Newark Neutrons.”

  “What are you saying? You’re doing younger men now?”

  “Only Monroe—and Lucas Trayne. Oh, and Murray, the super’s son.”

  “Little Murray?” Denzel gagged.

  “Ain’t nothin’ little about Murray.” Eartha winked, squeezing his shaft.

  “Wait a sec—have you turned into a ho?”

  “A ho? I’ll ho-ho-ho you!”

  They wrestled for a moment—and then they were at it again. Holy shit, thought Aretha—I’ve got to stop fucking my wife!

  Twice more they collapsed into panting heaps of bewildered pleasure, trying to work out what was happening to them.

  I’ve got to ask her about Minson, Aretha—Denzel thought. We’ve got to stop this crazy screwing and get down to business.

  “Are you going . . . ?” he asked. “To LosVegas?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “You didn’t think I was going to miss an event like this? That’s why we had the service—to ask for help from the spirits.”

  “You approve . . . of Minson boxing?”

  “Hell no. But I’m gonna be there for him. I’d a been there for you. Shit, I was there for you. All those years of you drinking.”

  “I know.” Denzel sighed, remembering.

  “I’m worried he’s gonna get his head caved in, but he says he’s gonna win.”

  “Really?” Aretha breathed. “You’ve spoken with him?”

  Eartha looked at him with surprise and sadness.

  “We meet on the phone every week and he comes up to visit often. I been down to see him, too. You could’ve been doing the same. If you—”

  “I know.” Aretha sighed.

  “All this time . . . I was so damn mad at you . . . so hurt when you came out. Not because you wanted to sleep with men or dress up like a woman. But because you’d lied for so long. Lied to Minson. Couldn’t accept him as he was.”

  “That’s because I couldn’t accept myself,” Aretha answered.

  “But I could,” Eartha replied. “I could be angry about it. I could be hurt by it. But I could live with it. It was the untruthfulness I can’t abide by. Now all these years—”

  “Does he ever talk about me?”

  “You stupid motherfucker! ’Course he does! You may have dropped out of sight but you haven’t been out of mind! He thinks you’re dead. The rumor was suicide.”

  “I thought that would happen.”

  “It was after the law review dinner.”

  “Yeah.” Denzel winced. “I was drunk.”

  “Drunk? You showed up in a peek-a-boo evening gown and stiletto heels. Justice Fulton thought you were one of the hookers he’d ordered! After that everyone believed you’d done yourself in, but I convinced Minson that one of your old cases had come back—wanting revenge. But me—I never thought you were really dead.”

  “What did you think?” Aretha wondered.

  His wife looked away. “That you were in prison—for the money shit.”

  “What money shit?”

  “Your CEO came to me after—produced evidence that you’d been taking bribes and secret commissions on settlements.”

  “They slimed me,” Aretha moaned. “No surprise . . . but shit . . .”

  “You’re not gonna lie about it, are you?”

  Aretha thought for moment. It would be difficult to explain how he’d been recruited by the Satyagrahi—and how Fort Thoreau was surrounded by a top-secret counterperception barrier—and although he was nominally in charge of the forces bivouacked there, the real guidance came from a woman named Parousia Head, a master saboteur whom no one had ever met. How could he convince his wife that Beulah Schwartzchild and the McDonald’s board members were doing penance among the psychically damaged and HIV-infected? What would she think when he told her that his associates included a vinegary dwarf with a massive IQ who’d been charged with treason, an encryptionist without ears, and a child-primitive lesbian who drove a lab-animal dogsled team through the tunnels under the city?

  “I’m not going to lie,” he said to her. “Not after everything that’s happened. I didn’t take any secret commissions—I never engaged in any criminal activity as a lawyer. But I did end up in a kind of prison. A mental institution. After I slipped up, they had me committed in return for the severance pay and the stock options. You did get those?”

  “The severance pay but not the options.”

  “Those lame-ass motherfuckers!”

  “Why didn’t you contact me?”

  “At first I was too screwed up and—too ashamed. I had to work through things on my own. Then when I tried—I found out I couldn’t. They had me sealed off. A private sanatorium in Connecticut. I thought I could leave whenever I was ready. I found out differently. I vowed to get away but that wasn’t so easily done.”

  “You escaped? Are they after you now?”

  “Probably. I sure can’t go back to being Denzel Fiske, corporate lawyer.”

  His wife didn’t speak for a minute. “For real? What are you gonna do?”

  “I don’t know. I know I want to see the Fight. I want to be there for Minson, whatever happens.
After that I can’t say.”

  “That’s why you came back here?” Eartha asked. “For my help . . . getting to LosVegas. Only you can’t just hop on a plane . . . even if I paid?”

  “N-no,” Aretha admitted.

  “Would you tell Minson the truth?”

  “Not before the Fight. He’s got enough to worry about. But later.”

  “All right,” Eartha said. “Here’s the deal. Monroe is flying me out tonight in his private jet. I’ve done him some Vodou help. We got a suite at the Sun Kingdom.”

  “I thought you said you broke up!”

  “I did. We have. But you know how it is when you gots the good butt. Anyway, you could put your makeup and wardrobe skills to use and come as my ugly-ass cousin.” Eartha grinned. “You get a free flight on a very private jet—and get to stay in a luxury suite in the same hotel where the Fight is. Nobody’ll get hip to the truth unless you blow it. You still on the booze?”

  “I’ve been sober since I saw you last.”

  “Good. One less thing to worry about.”

  “So I’ve got to go along, pretending to be your cousin—”

  “My ugly-ass cousin. My dumb, ignorant ugly-ass cousin from Alabama—who has just arrived in New York!”

  “And then—I have to sit back and watch you doing the hootchy-kootchy with young Monroe the jillionaire?”

  “You just may.”

  “All right. Whatever you say.”

  “Say that again,” Eartha whispered. “I like the sound of it.”

  CHAPTER 12

  Black Surprise

  A few blocks away Finderz Keeperz was calling the other leaders to IQ-HQ for a briefing on the latest crisis to rock Fort Thoreau. Everyone was a bit discombobulated—it had been a busy last few days. Exhausted in body, they seemed refreshed in spirit. The air was saturated with the scents of ozone and pollen. Honeybees were on the move and birds flocked. Not just robins and the usual sparrows and pigeons, but cardinals and scarlet tanagers, orioles, doves. Rainbow lorikeets swooped over the psych ward. A toucan was sighted on the roof of the HIV Lounge—and a bald eagle perched on top of the Information Station. No one knew what it meant but everyone was sure it had something to do with Clearfather.

  So it was an already woozy team of Strategists that Finderz summoned that morning to hear a startling announcement. The DataMaster had been mulling it over ever since he’d received the hotline from the drag queen—examining the options and the implications until he was sure he was ready to make his play. This development was almost too good to be true and he had to make the absolute most of it.

  “As you all know, we have had a traitor in our midst,” the dwarf began. “As terrible as it sounds, someone in a position of authority and respect . . . has turned on us. Now I’m deeply shocked and sorry to say I’ve found out that Aretha has gone over to the other side.”

  All of the faces suddenly sagged or wrinkled. They were all ears now (except Heimdall).

  “Aretha?” Natassia cried. “No fucking way!”

  “Way,” the dwarf replied. “I know it’s hard to accept—but late last night there was an attempt on the main datafile. Fortunately I’d laid a trap.”

  Finderz rotated a thinkstation around for them to view.

  “I traced the data tunnel back to Aretha’s terminal. I think you’d agree that it’s unlikely anyone else had access. The attempt failed—the alarm was triggered—good thing I’d been anticipating such a move.”

  “Wait a minute,” Broadband interjected. “Didn’t she”—he always referred to Aretha as she—“advise you to set that trap? She was the one who called our attention to the breach of security in the first place.”

  “A classic disintelligence ploy,” Keeperz retorted. “We were all fooled.”

  “Where’s Aretha now?” asked Lila. “Let’s see what he’s got to say.”

  “That’s just the thing,” Finderz said. “Our esteemed leader is gone. Vanished in the night. No forwarding address.”

  “I don’t believe it!” scoffed Natassia.

  “No.” Dr. Quail winced. “I went by his tent early this morning. No sign.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything!”

  “No?” said Finderz. “But with the attempted raid, we know there’s trouble.”

  “This is a serious accusation,” Lila pointed out.

  “We’ve had a break,” Finderz answered. “The man’s made his move and now we’ve got to do the same.”

  “So you’re calling the shots now?” Natassia glowered.

  The dwarf didn’t return fire. “I’m quite happy for there to be a new vote,” he said.

  “What do you propose?” Heimdall growled.

  “Shut down all operations. No telling how deep the infection runs.”

  “We can’t do that! There are people who need treatment. Plus there are campaigns under way. We’ve got three raids in progress and a major jam plus the stuff we’re coordinating with the Sophrosyne in Europe. The slightest hesitation undoes months of dangerous work!”

  “There has to be a reasonable explanation why Aretha would leave,” asserted Natassia. “And I wager it has something to do with Clearfather.”

  “That’s right,” Lila agreed. “How do we know he’s not on a secret mission like Parousia Head? Maybe he was sent off by her.”

  “Finderz is about to tell us that Parousia’s in on the plot,” Natassia said, grimacing.

  “Listen, my friends,” the dwarf announced. “This is a very black surprise. No one is sorrier or more distressed than I am. I, too, would like to think there’s an innocent explanation for Aretha’s departure—but even if there were—which we aren’t aware of—we’re left with the telling attempt on the main file. I’m afraid it’s the combination of these two factors that makes the accusation so regrettably compelling.”

  “What proof do we have that Aretha made that run?” Natassia demanded. “You say the link is to his terminal. So what? Couldn’t anyone smart enough to get in here have set it up to look like Aretha?”

  “If Aretha wasn’t behind the run, then the culprit would have to be someone who knew that Aretha was leaving—or they wouldn’t have been able to access his terminal. Now, what mission, however important, could’ve called him away at such a delicate time? Even if deadly secret, you’d think he would’ve alerted at least one of us. He certainly didn’t tell me.”

  “How do we know Aretha hasn’t come to harm?” Dr. Quail posed.

  “I thought about that,” Finderz returned. “And it’s an awful thought. But practically, it would be hard to hide a body his size for long around here. And then consider it in military/espionage terms. Why ice Aretha if your real target is the data? And if assassination were the objective—and if someone could get this close—why not take out the whole compound? No, I think if we take a cold hard look, we see that my interpretation is the scenario that most economically explains the sabotage of Dr. Zumwohl, the failed attack on the master file, and the disappearance of Aretha.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” grumbled Natassia.

  “This hinges on your word about the run on the master,” Heimdall pointed out.

  The dwarf kept his composure, although a close look at the right angle would’ve revealed an aberrant spark in his eyes.

  “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “But the technical evidence on that score is here for you to evaluate. Meanwhile, our esteemed leader is not. If the body turns up, I’ll gladly—sadly—revise my opinion, although the last thing I think we should do is get the camp into a panic searching for a corpse.”

  “What do you propose then?” Lila wanted to know.

  “I vote we press the PAUSE button on all activities until we’ve had time to check that nothing else is going to blow up in our faces.”

  “Might as well throw in the towel.” Natassia shrugged.

  “It’s called ‘a strategic retreat,’” the dwarf answered. “And sometimes—like facing up to unpleasant truths—it’s necessar
y.”

  “Isn’t this just what Vitessa would want?” Heimdall complained.

  Finderz narrowed his eyes.

  “If Vitessa had their way, this camp and everyone in it would be either vaporized or plugged into their theology. I think we should count ourselves lucky that we’ve had such a high level of infiltration and have sustained as little damage as we have.”

  “He’s right,” lamented Quail. “I don’t see that we have any choice.”

  “A drag queen!” Broadband grimaced. “A wolf in sheep’s clothing.”

  “Enough!” shouted Natassia. “There’s work to be done—undoing everything.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” the dwarf grunted. “Besides, I’m not sure much work’s been done around here lately. From what I can see it’s been marathon humping.”

  Dr. Quail had just slipped his hand between Lila’s legs without even realizing it. The remark from the dwarf brought them all back to the immediacy of their problem. Even Natassia, with her fiery lips and tireless hips. “All right,” she conceded.

  They trooped out into the spring sunshine that seemed wintry again now. The dwarf filed out last, heading back to IS. From behind a tree stepped Hermes. The DataMaster froze before a collision—but he was forced to confront again the annoying fact that the boy was a couple of inches taller. The albino’s cold stare reminded him of what an enormous risk he’d taken—how the sudden opportunity Clearfather had presented had forced him to move much faster than he would’ve liked. Indeed, he’d violated one of his basic operating principles—he had no backup plan. He glanced down the ladder of wristwatches on his arms. At least not yet.

  CHAPTER 13

  Dust of the Road

  Rolling out of Joplin, the Charisma Train was behind schedule, Jacob popping Grand Prixes like there was no tomorrow. Alongside the thruway, giant Choctaw eidolons advertising gambling resorts battled Baptist ministers forty feet high for attention, along with unmanned solar farms, strip malls, bunker-style condominiums—and off in the distance, dead towns of windswept Chinese elms and hubcap-covered husks of barns. Several communities advertised themselves as DRY or showed couples wearing full-body suits with messages like NO SEX IS SAFE SEX and KEEP IT CELIBATE. Others described the punishments that would be applied within their jurisdictions, from excommunication to chemical castration—or public maiming for homosexual encounters.