He attacked the fireplace with a poker, hacking at the logs.
“Knock it off, Warren,” I said. He was quickly whittling his way through the room. I didn’t want to be around when he ran out of inanimate objects to abuse. “Leave the room alone, it can’t defend itself. You can get the beer next time, it makes you feel better, okay?”
Warren took a mid-rampage break, holding a potted fern over his head. He looked at Aubrey, bellowed with frustration, and flung the plant against the wall. “How could you do it, man?” he asked, scanning the room for something fragile to toss, his shoulders shrinking in despair. “Why didn’t you just tell us?”
“I didn’t want to be like Page, brother, I wanted to be like us,” said Aubrey. “This is all I ever wanted. The four of us, together. Food, conversation, the occasional burning. That’s why I, hey, not my music!” I ducked as a pressed-wood CD case flew above my head, accompanied by another Warren-yowl. “That’s why I hired Danae, it’s why I told Page to hire you two! I couldn’t come out and tell you I was your boss, it’d ruin the whole group dynamic.”
“Hey, wait, you let Emily go!” Warren exclaimed. “Why’d you do that, you could have kept her on, she was one of us.”
“You think I didn’t try?” Aubrey stood up. “I like Emily fine, but she was off her rocker! She was yelling at the customers! It was business, man! I tried to keep her on, but she never stopped!”
“And what was last night?” Warren yelled. The two of them were now almost nose-to-nose, or considering Warren’s dimensions, nose to chest. “Seems last night, what we did, that makes Emily look pretty damn normal. Why’d we do it, huh?”
“Because I had to!” Aubrey yelled back. “I sold out, you’re right! The place is destroying me, I had to fight back! I couldn’t let the fuckers win anymore! Every day, I got Munroe leering down at me. I got sane, intelligent people asking me when the next Munroe book comes out! I have kids looking for his approved comic books! He’s destroying a whole generation, guys! He’s killing us! I can’t back down, I can’t let Page win, I cannot do this anymore!” He stepped back from Warren, breathing heavily. “I can’t do it. I can’t fight anymore. Page wins. I quit.”
“Whoa, let’s not be hasty now,” I said, jumping in. “Look, quitting is not the answer, for any of us. I, for one, need the money, and the only thing worse than having a job is looking for one. I’m not quitting, no one here is quitting.” I looked to Warren. “You wanna quit?”
“Wouldn’t give that bitch the satisfaction.”
“Danae, you quitting?”
“No way.”
“And no way I quit. And if you quit, brother, Page fires Warren and me without hesitation. So you’re not quitting. Capisce?”
Aubrey heaved out a phlegmy breath. “Fine, brother, whatever. I’ll stay. We’ll all stay, it’ll be one big happy love-in.”
“It’s not that simple,” said Danae. We all turned to her. “You have to tell everyone, Aubrey. The Monkeys, if not the other employees. They need to know the truth.”
“They’ll hate me,” Aubrey said.
“Yeah, maybe, but they deserve the truth. We look up to you, Aubrey, we love you, but they need to know the score. Emily needs to know. This has gone on too long.”
“She’s right, brother,” Warren said. He took a step toward Aubrey, and buried him in his arms. “We love you, brother. It’ll be okay. Right, Thomas?”
“Uh, yeah, absolutely. But no more lies, okay? From either of you,” I said evenly.
“Lies are done with, brother,” Aubrey said, his voice muffled from his continuing forcible cuddle with Warren’s chest.
“No more,” said Danae. “No more lies, sweetie. From any of us.”
The next morning, Aubrey came clean to the staff. “I’d like to apologize to those of you offended by my subterfuge. It was never my intention to act as spy, and I want to assure you that nothing you have said or done in my presence has ever been taken by me at more than face value.” The employees look at one another in confusion. Page stood to the side, barely suppressing her glee at Aubrey’s disclosure. “You are all wonderful people,” he continued, “and it is my hope that we can maintain both our relationships as employer and employees, and our friendships.” Aubrey stood proud before the group as he said this, but his fingers twitched nervously. The tentacles wiggled in self-reproach. A moment of intensely awkward silence passed.
“Well, thank you very much,” Page said primly. She looked sympathetically at Aubrey. “I know that must have been difficult, and I’m sure no one here holds you any ill will for your deception. Now.” Page turned to the assemblage. “Does anyone have any questions for Aubrey?” Feet shuffled in embarrassment. “Anyone? A question? Nothing? Yes, Waylon?”
A small, weaselly man stepped forward. I didn’t recognize him. Did I not know anyone else in this place? “So, Miss Adler, will Aubrey be our boss from now on?”
“Well, he always has been your boss, Waylon. Isn’t that right, Aubrey?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Aubrey replied quietly.
“So we have, I have to do what he says?” asked the weasel.
“Please, Waylon, Aubrey is right next to me. You may address him personally, he won’t bite,” she tittered.
Waylon cleared his throat. “Well, Aubrey, so we have to do what you say now?”
“Well, technically, I guess that’s true,” Aubrey said. “But the day-to-day running of the store will still be entirely up to Page.”
“But, you are the boss now,” Waylon said. “We have to do whatever you say.”
“But I won’t be giving any orders.”
“But still, you’re the boss.”
Aubrey shook his head in annoyance. “No, Waylon, I’m not the boss, Page is the boss, I’m just co-owner. Page is in charge here, not me.” He looked helplessly out at the employees, some of whom were exchanging heated whispers.
“But, you could fire me, if you felt like it,” Waylon continued. “You could fire any of us, right?”
Aubrey thrust his hands into his mane and began to scratch. “I, I, I don’t want to fire you, Waylon.”
“But you could.”
A rotund little woman stepped forward. She worked in Self-Help, I think. “Did you fire Emily?” she asked.
“No, Page and I discussed Emily, and together —”
“You fired Emily?” another woman asked. The whispers were growing angrier.
“No, no, Emily had personal problems, I never wanted to fire Emily. I —”
“What Aubrey and I decided,” Page interrupted, “was that Emily was emotionally unsuited for the workload we asked of her. Emily brought her problems upon herself, and while Aubrey and I gave her ample opportunity to improve, in the end, we jointly, and I stress jointly concluded that Emily would be happier elsewhere. Now, I expect this to be the last we hear on this subject.” Page rubbed her hands together. “We have gotten off topic. If I may say so, I believe Aubrey has taken a brave step here in his acknowledgement of his position, an acknowledgement long overdue.” Page let a sly smile play at the corners of her mouth. “I would also like to apologize for my own part in Aubrey’s secret little fantasy.” Page darted a look of sublime grace toward Aubrey, a humble admission of her own fault that somehow managed to convey an air of utter moral superiority in the matter. “Aubrey, or should I say Mr. Fehr and I both ask your forgiveness in this charade, and I only hope you do not look upon us too harshly. In fact, Mr. Fehr deserves a round of applause for his courage.” Page began to clap, her vindictiveness coming through in every collision of her hands. “Come on, everyone! A hand for Mr. Fehr! Bravo!” Aubrey reddened and walked away, the back of his neck an iridescent ruby. He faded into the books. I hung back behind the group, blind with anger, as Page continued to applaud long after Aubrey had disappeared. I quickly dry-swallowed two emergency pills, willing my hands to stop shaking.
“Now,” Page said, Aubrey’s humiliation complete. “To business, everyone.”
/> Phil Collins, post-Genesis, pre-Tarzan.Yeah, that’ll motivate us to sell.
“You own READ?” asked Burt/Gandalf. “Holy shit!”
“I can’t believe this,” William/Valentine Michael Smith said. “What, all this time, you never thought to mention that?”
The Monkeys weren’t taking the news well, either. To soften the blow of Aubrey’s confession, Danae had brought marshmallows to roast beforehand. Tasty lumps of blackened sugar on a stick had only heightened everyone’s energy, unfortunately. They were keyed up and ready to burn. Emily/Hagar clutched an overpriced Britney Spears novella. Burt/Gandalf carried Digital Fortress under his arm. I made a mental note to prepare my outraged defence of Edward Bunker, his name poking itself out of Tracey/Lyra Silvertongue’s parka pocket, mocking me.
Muriel/Lady Fuchsia Groan was staggered. “Do you know how many books I have stolen for this? How many times I could have lost my job? This was your idea, and you were never in any danger?”
“Hey, yeah, he owns the books!” Gavin/Ford Prefect said.
Cameron/Ignatius J. Reilly looked petrified. “I’ll bet he’s a spy, guys. Y’know, for the cops? We could be on camera right now! We should strip him down, look for a wire.” This earned him a smack in the back of the head from Warren.
“I am not a spy, Cam,” said Aubrey. “I have just gone momentarily astray is all.”
“Sheep go astray, you liar, not the shepherd,” said Susan/Scout Finch. “You’re our leader. We look up to you. Can you understand how upsetting this is to us?”
“Oh, come on!” I said. That was a little much. “No one here was forced into this, Susan. We all do this because we want to.”
“Easy for you to say, you’ve never been at risk,” she said.
“Hey, I put my neck out same as you.”
“I bet Aubrey’s been covering for you.”
“That’s not —” I halted mid-thought. Aubrey grimaced as I looked over at him. “Aw, fucking hell, Aubrey!”
He bit his lip. “Sorry, bro, but you’ve never been very good at hiding it. I sometimes had to distract Page.”
“Me too,” Danae said. “Sorry, babe, but you really do suck at stealing.”
“I never said I was adept at stealing,” I objected. “And we’re getting way off topic here.”
Aubrey held his hands up. “Look, everyone. I can’t expect you to understand what I’ve done. But nothing’s changed between us, I’m the same person I was. All I can do is beg your forgiveness.”
Something thumped to the ground. “You fired me,” said Emily. The Britney had slipped out from her hands. She pointed a finger accusingly. “How could you fire me?”
“You didn’t give me a choice,” he said. “You were out of control.”
“I loved that job,” she whimpered.
“I’m sorry, Emily. You threw books at the customers, what choice did I have?”
“Oh, I don’t know, not firing me? You’re no better than I am.”
“I know. I’m trying to make it up to you.”
“You bastard.” She walked away into the dark. “You bastard!” she screamed. Her cries wafted into the air.
“I’ll go after her,” Danae said. “She’ll be all right.” She ran after her, Susan and August/Raoul Duke loping behind.
Aubrey sat down in a heap. “I didn’t want this.”
“We know that,” I said. I looked to the others. “Right, guys?”
“I’m going home,” said Tracey. “I need to think this over.”
“Yeah, I don’t know,” agreed Gavin/Ford Prefect. “This changes things. How can we trust you anymore, Aubrey?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t trust me, either, Ford. I understand.”
“It’s Gavin, not Ford,” he said dejectedly.
“So, are we all over now?” William asked. “Don’t we get a vote? I don’t want to quit.”
“No one’s quitting,” I said, alarmed. The thought of stopping our meetings pierced me deep inside. Out in the night, Emily’s cries could still be heard, Danae’s soothing noises underneath. “This is just a blip. We don’t stop just because one of us has a crisis. Everyone just needs to clear his or her head. Right, brother?” I asked Aubrey.
He looked up at me, gratified. “Amen, brother.”
“Next week, same time,” I ordered the Monkeys. “Business as usual. Anyone who doesn’t show up with a backpack full of ’tags better have a good reason.”
I should have dropped it there. Let it die its natural death.
Thomas
DOCUMENT INSERT: Verbatim FBI telephone call transcript. Speaking: FBI Detective Amanda Daimler (primary), Unidentified Speaker.
Daimler: Yes?
Caller: Hello? Is Detective Daimler there?
Daimler: Yes, Detective Daimler speaking. Who is this?
Caller: I have information concerning Munroe Purvis.
Daimler: Yes, you told the switchboard that. Could I have your name, please, Miss?
Caller: What do you need that for?
Daimler: Your name, Miss, please?
Caller: I don’t think I want to give you my name just right now.
Daimler: All right, then. Goodbye.
Caller: Wait. Don’t you want to know what I have?
Daimler: Not without a name. You know who I am, don’t you? I just want to know who I’m dealing with. Don’t you think that would be fair?
Caller: I don’t think I should. Maybe this was a mistake.
Daimler: Look, you got past the switchboard, so they obviously think you know something. Something that you couldn’t just pick up from a newspaper clipping. They’re trained to weed out the freaks, the idiots who think they’ll get famous, or a reward. They think you might have something, or are you just some lonely idiot who craves the attention?
Caller: That’s not me.
Daimler: So then. Give me something to go on. If not your name, something that proves to me that I’m not wasting my time here.
Caller: What do you want to know?
Daimler: You called us, remember? You have information we’d be interested in.
Caller: I don’t know.
Daimler: Fine, you don’t want to tell, fine. I thought you had something to get off your chest. Obviously, I was mistaken. Goodbye.
Caller: Wait, don’t hang up.
Daimler: Give me a reason not to, it’s been a long day, and I’m just about out of patience.
Caller: I —
Daimler: I have no desire to waste my time with some little Pollyanna who craves attention. Go home and cry to daddy, Miss, I’m going to get some sleep.
Caller: Books.
Daimler: What? What was that, books? What does that mean?
Caller: Books. We’d burn books, out in a field. There were fourteen of us. We called ourselves Shelf Monkeys. You didn’t mention that in your press release, did you?
Daimler: All right. You have my attention. Go on.
Caller: I’ll want immunity. For everything.
Daimler: Give me some names, and I’ll see what I can do.
Caller: Can we meet?
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
SUBJECT: Reprieve!
Dear Eric,
My faith in humanity has been restored! Take that, pessimism, you bastard! Back to the cave from whence you came!
I can’t tell you where I am, of course, but I have now free access to a computer and proper software, with no worry of police interruption.
I was travelling by bus, deliberating my next move. My head was down, hat brim pulled low, wide sunglasses hiding my eyes. Utterly suspicious in my attempt to look inconspicuous. A body sat down next to me. I didn’t look up, feigning the indifference of the average traveller. I saw a lap clad in cotton slacks, a pair of hands opening a book. I cautiously craned my neck over to get a peek at the title. Phew, no munroe recommends this! sticker. T.C. Boyle’s Drop City. I let out a cautious murmur of appreciation. Nonchalantly, I br
ought out Irvine Welsh’s Filth from my backpack, earning an approving grunt in return. I relaxed. The unspoken game of literary one-upmanship now complete, the Boyle-lover and I read to ourselves in companionable silence.
“I know who you are.”
I stiffened, crinkling the pages in my fingers.
“I saw you get on, Mr. Friesen. It’s okay, don’t panic. I won’t give you away.”
I looked up. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?” I asked innocently.
He grinned. “Aw, I knew it was you,” he breathed. “I’ve been looking, ever since they said you might be nearby.”
I fought to keep my voice steady. “I’m sorry, Sir, I think you must have me confused with someone else.” I bent back down to my book. Behind my shades, my eyeballs distended themselves in panic.
The man snickered. “Okay, I get it. Travelling incognito. Good idea. No worries here, my friend. Lips are sealed.” He went back to his book, taking a pen from his pocket and scribbling something inside the cover.
The bus was pulling up to a stop. “Have you ever read this?” the man asked, showing the book to me.
“No.”
“You really should, it’s a great book.” The bus rumbled to a halt. He stood up to go, placing the novel down on his empty seat. “I’m done with it. You can have it if you like. Enjoy.” He sauntered himself out the door, and walked away without looking back.
I picked up Drop City. Inside the cover was written a name, an address, and a short message: I am a friend. I believe in your cause. This is a safe house, if you need it.
I got off at the next stop. It was a risk, but I had nowhere else to go. If he wanted to collect the reward, so be it. I’m so tired of looking over my shoulder.
The man welcomed me at the door with a warmth I haven’t felt in months.
So, as I write this, the gentleman is off preparing dinner for two. He’s kind of a loner, I gather, and definitely an odd sort, being as he is the sort who will approach a fugitive from the law and offer him sanctuary. Like I said, odd. Could be a priest, could be a serial killer, could be both. No explanations needed, no gratitude on my part expected. I feel like I could stay here forever, just close my eyes and dream that I’m safe, but I know that’s impossible. I’m putting him at tremendous risk.
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