by G L Rockey
He stopped. How the hell did she get in there? He put his pencil down. Concentration lost, thoughts of Mary bouncing like dropped ping-pong balls on a cement floor, he had learned over many years that when the concentration was lost to do something else. It was that time. He looked at his watch—6:50 p.m. Ten minutes to Armstrong’s speech.
He thought he might as well get a head start on Monday’s desk cleaning. He pushed around a pile of overdue invoices, read a dozen letters-to-the-editor, threw away gobs of junk mail, looked at his confused date book, savored the pictures of palmas and blunts in an old cigar catalog and generally arranged things into different mounds on top of his desk.
Nearing the end of his procrastination rituals, he glanced at his watch—6:59 p.m. “The divined moment is upon us.”
He picked up his remote, turned the TV on and, to avoid the commercial network’s gibberish, clicked to cable’s C-SPAN 4.
Seeing a wide shot of Armstrong behind his White House Press Room desk, he said, “And there he is. Looking more and more like a TV news show, Benny.” Zack leaned back, sipped some coffee and watched a slow zoom-in to the President’s seasoned leading-man face. “Hair’s a little less gray, Ben. Grecian Formula or Just For Men?”
The camera zoom stopped at a medium shot of Armstrong. Dressed in a navy blue suit, white shirt and red tie, the President flashed what reminded Zack of a “tent-crusade smile” then, as always before speaking to America in his soft up-from-the-Piedmont South Carolina baritone, said, “May we have a moment of silent prayer?”
Zack shook his head. “Unbelievable.”
Armstrong bowed his head and clasped his hands on top of the TV-style anchor desk. The desk fronting the White House’s version of a TV news set, in the background, twenty silent television monitors flickered video from around the world, round clocks displayed earth’s twenty-four time zones, and a four-by-eight red-white-and-blue sign, dominating the background, proclaimed WHITE HOUSE NEWS CENTER.
“White House News Center,” Zack shook his head, “is that a joke or what.”
Armstrong ended his silent prayer, looked up and smiled at the camera.
“Amen and amen,” he said.
“Me, too.” Zack popped a stick of Juicy Fruit in his mouth.
In a medium close-up, Armstrong began: “My brothers and sisters in democracy, a pleasant good evening to you. Well, here we are, another anniversary of our declaration of independence, on what should be a proud and continuing celebration of America’s two and a half centuries of service as a good and decent world citizen. I am especially pleased with the achievements we have made in the little ol time of my administration. (Pauses, wipes upper lip, then continues).
“But on the other hand I am chagrined. Chagrined by the cowardly acts of terrorism especially of the past few months. You know of what I speak. The senseless attack on the citizens of Paris was bully cowardice. Shame, shame. As to the French leadership, we must lead them into the light of the twenty-first century. But that aside, tonight I am grieved to tell you we have classified reports that this senseless terrorism, feared to happen, is about to strike again at the very heart of America.”
Zack, moving his Juicy Fruit gum between molars and cheek, drank some coffee and observed that the famous Armstrong smile was turning ominous. “Uh-oh.”
The President continued. “Fellow citizens, America, not of her own choosing but by the weight of her being the most blessed nation on earth, has truly been ordained the trusted architect of mankind’s future. It is not a role that we cherish but one that has been thrust upon us by a divine providence.”
At Armstrong’s pause for a drink of water, Zack made a note thrust upon us by a divine providence “Hummm.”
Armstrong sighed and went on. “Fellow Americans, there are evil forces in the world who would see our great America destroyed. Yes, my dear friends, these dark forces would rob us of our God-given destiny.”
The President paused to wipe his upper lip, Zack jotted god-given destiny
The camera tightened to a close-up of Armstrong. “These beasts are driven by one thing—America’s destruction. But I want to remind them tonight, all you nations who harbor terrorists (wags finger)—and you know who you are. I remind you, freedom is absolute and equality is certainly not true of everyone Democracy is a divine right, and America will guarantee that that divine right (thumps desk) shall prevail”
“Hell you say.” Zack scrawled a note America guarantees divine right, spit his gum in the wastebasket, mutered, “What happened to the original guarantor?”
Armstrong proceeded. “Let me explain. In the annals of humankind there have been many forms of governing, from kings and queens to fascism to communism to democracy. And they all have failed but one. One, dear friends. And that hallowed one is democracy. And why do you think democracy has buried the others?”
Zack frowned, “I have a feeling you’re going to tell us,” and popped a fresh stick of Juicy Fruit.
Armstrong finished a drink of water and smiled. “But of course. A free market. Yes, a free market, bathed in democracy, guarantees freedom. America, democracy and the free market, they are one and the same.”
“That’s news to me,” Zack said.
The President went on. “We Americans, you and I, in all modesty, blessed of God beyond millions of other human beings to be born on mother earth, are a chosen few. And let me humbly say as your leader, I am myself assuredly divinely destined to help my fellow man.”
“I’ll be the son of a potato farmer.” Zack cracked his gum and longed for a cigarette.
The President moved his hands forward in a reaching-out gesture. “Dear friends, let me get to the point of tonight’s little chat. I have reflected on the current international crisis, and a basic realization has been shown to me.”
“One has been shown to me, too.” Zack burped on his spicy rice and shrimp dinner. The TV camera zoomed out to a medium shot of Armstrong.
“As you all know, I have been praying dusk to dawn and I can tell you this. Right and wrong moral issues are God’s law. But right and wrong political issues, here on our earth, must be decided by men favored of God. In short, it’s plain as the nose on your face. We are a favored nation. To protect that favoritism we are free and accountable to no one but ourselves.”
Zack blew a little bubble then sucked it in. “I think there’s more in that glass than water.”
The President placed his outstretched palms on his desk: “Let our action be judged only by our superior inheritance.”
“What in hell does that mean, or did I miss something, or did he switch gears?”
Zack noticed Armstrong’s left eye begin to twitch as he continued, “Let me digress for a moment (chuckles). My Presidential opponent, Senator Beno, in addition to offering up pap in order to get elected—things like guaranteed annual incomes, free medical care for every Tom, Dick and Harry on a freight siding, even if they don’t work, (agitated) and where will the money come from to pay for Sister Beno’s little shopping spree? I’ll tell you where—billions in tax hikes on our loyal corporations. Thank you very much. Those are the people who keep this country running, who create the jobs. And the nail she puts in our coffin—get this—she proposes eliminating the Marine Corps Aaand the Coast Guard Imagine. What will be left to protect this great nation?”
“How bout the Army, Navy and Air Force?” Zack put his hands behind his head. “That bugger did switch gears.”
Scowling, the President shook his head. “And what I was getting to earlier, the latest gem we hear from the distinguished Senator from Vermont. In the face of a threat to the very foundation of our society, she says, ‘Let’s talk to terrorists, negotiate with them, they’re just human beingssee if there is a common ground.’ (Bangs desk) That’s like telling the fox you’ll let him eat all the eggs if he’ll just leave your chickens alone” He scowled into the camera. “Fuzzy thinking, my friends, fuzzzzy.”
Zack confirmed his prior be
lief. “Benny is nuts.”
Armstrong’s scowl turned to a smile. “Let me say it is not Sister Beno personally I am opposed to. It is the insanity of that left wing socialist position that sours all thinking. We must protect our basic structure of economics from these confused thinkers who would return to some kind of communal mode of social engineering—redistribution of the wealth, as they call it. The planet has become too small to pander away the resources on failed, worn-out social experiments like that Beno bunch is proposing. And, God forbid, negotiate with terrorists”
Zack flipped a page and made some quick notes: social position sours all thinking/communal mode of social engineering/god forbid.
Calmed, Armstrong continued. “As to the international threat that I mentioned earlier, this is a serious situation that must be dealt with immediately. This rogue-nation lawlessness has converged to force a time when it is ripe to, in the words of my dear departed mother, ‘clean house.’”
Zack folded his arms. “While you’re at it, how about the White House.”
The TV camera zoomed out to a wider shot of Armstrong.
Armstrong: “So, I come to you tonight with a stern warning to America’s foes both within and without. We will act decisively to preserve a way of life that is America, democracy and capitalism. Our divine destiny shall prevail”
Zack scribbled those last words at the bottom of the page: divine destiny shall prevail.
Armstrong waggled his finger into the camera. “Make no mistake—dark forces threaten our very American way of life. The interests of private American capital, which fuels that way of life, is at stake.”
Zack pulled an earlobe. “We’re in trouble.”
Armstrong paused for water. “Let me say as honestly as I can, there may never be repeated a moment in history when, under God, a chosen people can eradicate the evils of the earth and unite one and all under an American umbrella of global democracy.”
“He switched gears again” Zack shook his head and scratched a hasty note, infantile feelings of personal omnipotence and grandeur, paranoid
Armstrong: “We shall never allow anyone to threaten the foundation of America with phony giveaway programs. And we shall never allow ourselves to be held hostage by the bully beast dark forces of the world.”
Zack noted the President is not only nuts he is a narcissistic asshole
Armstrong: “So, our objective is clear. We will, in the coming months, for the sake of the American economic way of life, for the sake of democracy for all humanity, impose a visionary conclusive solution to international outlaw chicanery and tomfoolery with our market places. And make no mistake, our calling is no less important than the preservation of two centuries of progress in the evolution of the economics of humankind.”
Zack made another note, visionary conclusive solution
He printed in large letters JOE CASE RECORDING??? BENNY CERTIFIABLE
The President began to wrap it up. “My partners in freedom, this is my pledge to you tonight, on this solemn anniversary of the birth of this great nation: The first thing I vow to you is to make the streets of America safe again for freedom-loving Americans. The second thing is to end the insane darkness that is ripping the world apart.”
Vigorously chewing his Juicy Fruit, Zack bit his tongue.
Armstrong raged on. “Take heart, fellow Americans. The coming months may bring some unpleasantness but I urge you to stay strong. There may never be another moment in modern history when one nation can move in a global way to fulfill the dream of the centuries—freedom for all. And I, with divine direction, am ready to forge ahead under America’s military superiority. A thousand years of peace and prosperity has come to the edge of fruition, God’s own Pax Americana”
Zack pinched his wrist. “Nope, he said it.”
Armstrong clasped his hands. “Oh, friends, take note—this time is much more momentous than Hannibal’s decision to cross the Alps. Beyond Columbus’s discovery of a new land. Eclipses Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. This is more akin to those days immediately before God created everything.”
Zack looked up. “God, with all due respect, I wash my hands of this guy. He’s all Yours.” He popped his gum.
Armstrong opened a Bible. “In closing, let me read to you the words of Psalm Forty-six, verses eight and nine: ‘Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made in the earth. He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burnest the chariot in the fire.’”
“We’re in deep doo-dah-day.” Zack cracked his gum.
Armstrong smiled as the camera zoomed out further. “And now, I leave you, knowing that I am humbly God’s servant here on earth. May God bless you all, and may God bless America with a millennium of universal tranquility. Thank you, and goodnight.”
Zack clicked the TV off, burped and spit his gum into the wastebasket. He turned and looked out his window. The sky had turned a majestic purple. He reflected. “Bullshit, Benny- Just plain bullshit.”
Chapter Eight
Eight weeks later
5:30 p.m. EST
Thursday, August 28, 2020
Bare feet propped on his desk, the Labor Day edition of The Boca ninety percent ready for tomorrow night’s six o’clock printer’s deadline, Zack felt his taste buds commence their late afternoon activity, beginning with the tempting, now only a memory and unavailable palate delight—Joe Case’s famous arroz con camarones.
“Living will never be the same,” he whispered.
Disturbing him more than the loss of the shrimp-and-rice delight was Case’s unexpected departure from the Miami scene. Strangely, without a word, nobody knew why, he and Kim had disappeared. The Bimini Road sold, a pronouncement from the new Chinese owners, Jay and Mindy Xzing, “Case moved to Bimini Island, that’s all we know” is a book with the last chapter missing, Zack thought.
The Bimini Road gone, the old cement block building the same but now home to The Tea Company, the new restaurant featured, along with Chinese beer and a fresh sushi bar, Shanghai cuisine. The inside dump-ambience remained the same except that the booths were now painted bright cardinal red. No Bohemia beer a problem, the Tsingtao okay, but the three foot gold embossed red posterboard menus, pick one from column A, two from column B, brought a frequent lament from Zack, “I can understand religion being complicated, but this is ridiculous.”
He pushed back in his swivel chair, sat up, and, having falling off the nicotine wagon, peered at, rising out of four days of clutter on top of his desk, a pack of regular Camel cigarettes and a pack of MORE. He contemplated a Camel then shifted his eyes to the pack of MORE.
Just had a MORE.
He took a Camel, lit it and reasoned to himself, These things will probably kill you and chewing sugary gum will rot your teeth, but I loathe bozo bureaucrats telling me what I can and can’t do. Five-hundred-dollar fine for lighting up on the beach Nuts to that
He slipped back into his chair and anticipated his planned Labor Day weekend aboard Veracity. Charting the course, he figured he would run out to Sands Key, anchor near there the first night then head east, get in the stream, just drift forwhatever. Then again, perhaps he’d take a run to Bimini, maybe find Case—fifty miles, piece of cake—and on that little patch of mangrove and sand finding a character like Joe Case ought not to be that difficult, he thought.
He leaned farther back and imagined being on the water, put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. In a moment, he was bobbing on Veracity’s aft deck, the shoreline gone, blue sky and water surrounded him.
Smelling the salty sea, he switched the engines off and listened to the ocean swells slapping the hull.
Then it was there again. It was always there, the old nagging, and he thought, Where are you hiding and why? Forget the wherehow about why
“How many steaks can you eat a week?”
He opened his eyes. He swore he heard the words. The blades
of the ceiling fan stirred the air. He spoke to Jocko. “You know, Jocko, sometimes you punch below the belt.”
He turned to the office window behind his desk and looked south to the distant sprawl of greater Miami. Wondering about that Joe Case “profit has no home” thing, Senator Nancy Beno came to mind. She led that snake-handler Armstrong in early polls, but Ben was slicker than the snakes he handled, he thought. Beno has to KO that insane sonofabitch.
Zack turned in his chair and propped his bare feet on the windowsill.
Pondering a series of support-Beno editorials, he heard someone enter his office. Immediately, he recognized the fresh Ivory Soap smell of Mary O’Brien. Savoring the moment, he anticipated her familiar pristine voice.
It came. “Boca, you just got another call from the President’s media guru.”
He turned and watched Mary slide onto the Naugahyde sofa. She wore her usual outfit—faded Levis, lavender V-neck polo shirt and tan tennis shoes. No socks, no jewelry, no makeup. A black-banded silver Timex slid loosely on her wrist.
“I did?” Zack said.
“Yes, you did.”
“How did I get a call if you took it?”
“Telepathy.”
“Oh, let me guess what Dr. Lande had to say”
“Same complaint as always.” Mary stretched her tanned arms over her head and pushed her slender legs out. The stretch was a tall one considering her willowy body was just short of six feet. She touched the front of Zackary’s desk with the tips of her tennis shoes and fluffed her shaggy dishwater hair.
Zack shook his head and smiled.
“What?” She flashed.
“All comfy?”
“Yes.” She flashed again and stretched farther.
“That’s good.”
She rubbed the bridge of her wide, but not too wide, nose. “How’s Boca’s day going?”
A half-smoked Camel hanging from the side of his mouth, he decided to ignore the Boca remark, preserve the mood. Studying the fervor in her blue eyes, he said. “What did you tell her?”