The Texas Twist

by John Vorhaus

  Radar sat completely still, listening to Adam’s footsteps fade away down the hall. In the silence that followed, he got up, threw the two remaining vests into Vic’s cargo bag, and zipped it shut.

  He smiled a wry smile. Now we’re getting somewhere, he said to himself. Now to go some batshit crazy.

  Radar returned to the ballroom, where the party was peaking, along with some of its more ecstatically dosed guests. A quick exchange of texts with Mirplo brought him to the Fool’s Rush Inn, a Gold Rush installation where Vic and Sarah stood over a trough filled with water and soil, trying their hand at panning for gold but panning, largely, for dirt. If they did happen to find color, an assayer and banker stood by, ready to get rich twice, first by buying their pokes for pennies and then by gouging them on food and supplies. Later tonight, an improv troupe would reenact a claim war that, in the nature of these things, would not be fully resolved until the miners banded together to torch the Chinese camp.

  It was a fun installation.

  But Radar barely seemed to notice. He trotted up to the two of them, looking edgy and nervous, actually on the point of hysteria. Sarah took quick and concerned note, for she’d never witnessed such cracks in his cool. “Radar,” she said, “what’s the matter?”

  He didn’t answer. He just clamped a clammy hand on Vic’s shoulder and said, “I can’t believe what that asshole did.”

  “What asshole?” asked Sarah, internalizing Radar’s agitation and reflecting it back.

  “Radar,” said Vic softly, eyeing Sarah with some concern, “maybe we should have this conversation in private.”

  “No, screw that,” said Radar. “Who cares?” He turned to Sarah and said, “Your boyfriend bailed on us.”

  “Bailed?”

  “Departed. Retreated. Took his toys and went home.”

  “Toys? What—?”

  Said Radar, exasperated, “It’s a metaphor, you nitwit. He called off the deal.”

  “Off?” asked Vic. “All the way off?” Radar nodded. “Wow,” said Vic, visibly stunned. “That’s a thing. Maybe a thing and half.”

  “Yeah, it is,” said Radar. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I can’t believe it. What a goddamn waste of time.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sarah.

  Vic explained impatiently, “Look, we figured Adam for a Texas Twist, a straightforward money hustle. We figured out how to hustle him back, but now he’s gone, so… no hustle, no Twist, no payday for anyone.” Vic turned back to Radar. “That’s weird that he backed out. How’d he wriggle off the hook?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I had him on the ropes pretty good, especially after he failed to show true green, but that wouldn’t—” Suddenly Radar blurted, “Oh, shitfuck!”

  “Radar, what is it?” asked Sarah.

  “God, I overplayed my hand. Christ, what a screwup!” Panic bloomed on his face. “Vic, we have to find Allie. We’ve got to get out of here now! Where is she? At the chapel?”

  “Probably.”

  Radar tried to push past Sarah, but she blocked his path. “Sarah,” hissed Radar, “get out of my way!”

  “Not till you tell me what’s going on. What did you just think of?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  “Well, Mr. Smartypants, it looks to me like you’re afraid. And if you’re afraid of Adam—my boyfriend, as you yourself pointed out—then I think it is my business, don’t you?”

  “God,” said Radar to no one in particular, “the scales on this one’s eyes.” Then he addressed her directly. “Sarah, look, first and foremost, a con game is a game. Practiced at the highest levels, it’s an art. Whatever you imagine Adam to be, to me he’s a practitioner of a pretty high art. We were playing a game, and he quit. I can’t make it make sense that he quit. Not while there’s still money on the table.”

  “But what’s the problem? If he quit, you win, right?”

  “Not while there’s still money on the table,” repeated Radar in a nearly feral tone that Sarah had not heard from him before. It seemed to her that Adam had him rattled—like all the way rattled, and that was new, too. It further destabilized her, for who had the power to flap the unflappable Radar Hoverlander?

  Vic, meanwhile, seemed to have fully digested Radar’s news, and he said in a dread-filled voice, “Radar, if he thinks he can’t get what he wants by wits, he’ll go to the other thing.”

  “The other thing?” asked Sarah, her breath bated.

  “Violence,” said Radar plainly. “He’ll have to. There’s too much cash not to.”

  “I told you we shouldn’t show true green,” said Vic. “That was a mook move.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” said Radar. “Flog me with that later, okay? Right now, we have to find Allie. We have to shade and fade, like pronto.” He turned back to Sarah one last time. “Babe, I still don’t know who you are to Adam in this—his moll or his doll or his dupe or his dope—but for the love of God, if you have any affection for me at all, or Vic or Allie—especially Allie—go to Adam and tell him we fold.”

  “Fold?” asked Sarah.

  “Quit. Surrender. While we still can. If we can.” Radar made no effort to hide his incipient hysteria. “Tell him he can have the money, all of it, no questions asked.” Then he said to Vic, “Come on, let’s find Allie!”

  They skittered off, and Sarah soon lost sight of them in the crush of gold rushers. Poor Radar, she thought. She went off to find Ames.

  Once outside the Fool’s Rush Inn, Radar and Vic came down from their fabricat panic. They worked their way methodically through the teeming installations back to the Midway, which was now so packed that it formed a solid, sluggish, surging two-way human traffic jam, impossible to cross. “Now what?” asked Radar. “Go around?”

  “Got a better idea,” said Vic. “We’ll surf it. Come on.” He walked up to the river of flesh, forced an opening with his bindle stick, and wormed his way into the flow. Radar followed, holding the waistband of Vic’s calzon flojos to keep from getting separated and swept away. They angled across the current, verging slowly but steadily toward the middle. When they got there, they simply reversed their field and surfed out on the other side, emerging almost directly opposite where they’d gone in. Ahead they saw a skeletal steeple rising to the rafters, topped with a pulsing red neon heart. They moved away quickly, following the neon beacon until they arrived at its base, where stood a cheesy sitcom version of a wedding chapel. At this installation, called Love Is on the Air! you and your insignificant other (laugh track!) could take each other to half and to whole (laugh track!) for better or worse—mostly worse (laugh track!) in sickness and in hell (laugh track!) for as long as you both shall last (laugh track!). Camera operators captured the whole scene, recording a digital video that you could take away on a souvenir data chip—of course for a price. A long line of couples stood patiently waiting their turn, laughing and playing grabass. It was romance at its most ersatz, not at all the sort of place that any thoughtful couple would choose to wed.

  Yet there sat Allie, alone in a pew, her gorgeous gown splayed out around her. “Hello, lover,” she said when she saw Radar. “Took you long enough.”

  “Traffic was murder,” he said. “Come on. We don’t want to be here when they arrive.” He took her hand and led her away from the tacky TV set. A few strides away they found a cleft of deep darkness made inky black by the back-shadow of strategically placed, impossibly bright halogen flood lamps. Stepping into this installation was like stepping behind a velvet drape. “What’s this one called?” asked Radar.

  “Black Hole,” said Vic. “We’re functionally invisible in here.”

  “And none too soon,” said Radar. “Here they come.”

  Peering out of the darkness, they saw Adam walking up to the sitcom set. Sarah was with him, holding his hand—clutching it, Radar thought. Trailing behind were two thick-necked, broad-shouldered goons in bouncer outfits of black suits, kick boots, earpieces, and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Mir
plo sneered at this hopelessly clichéd version of nightclub monkey men, saying, “Little on the nose, why don’t you?” Allie slapped his hand to shush him.

  Ames and Sarah searched the set, carefully inspecting the line of waiting daters, but of course not finding Allie and Radar. Adam circled the set again, then hand-commanded Sarah to stay put as he collected his sidewheels and headed back toward the Midway. Sarah stood there alone for a moment, watching the mock matrimonials before becoming bored and wandering afield. She passed close to the Black Hole installation but seemed to be safely moving away until Radar unleashed an ungodly (and wholly artificial) loud sneeze. Sarah’s head swiveled to the sound. She shielded her eyes from the floodlights and peered into the gloom. “Radar? Is that you?” She walked into the pool of darkness, where she found Radar sheepishly wiping his nose. “It is you!” said Sarah, delighted. “What are you doing in here?” Before anyone could answer, she said, “Hey, look, you guys, you don’t have to hide. I talked to Adam and he says everything’s cool.”

  “Everything’s cool?” repeated Radar, clearly skeptical.

  Sarah smiled and patted his hand. “That’s right,” she said. “I lobbied for you, mister.” She turned to Allie and said reassuringly, “And no, this has nothing to do with old crushes. Just a friend being a friend to her friends.” She turned back to Radar. “Honestly? Adam thinks you’re a little nutso. He said, and I quote, ‘I told him that it’s over and it’s over. Why is he bent out of shape?’”

  “I’ll tell you why,” Vic chipped in. “Because of the sidewheels.”

  “Sidewheels?”

  “Those beefy monkey men with Adam.”

  “What, they’re just friends of his. Look, you guys, listen: It’s all all good. There’s nothing to do now but enjoy the party.” She turned to Allie and smiled her best best-girlfriend smile. “So before I decide to get all handsy with Radar again, can someone please tell me: When are you two kids getting hitched?”

  Allie looked at Radar. Radar looked at Vic. It seemed to Sarah that all three of them let go of their anxiety together. That pleased her. It made her feel all mission accomplished. Vic opened his bindle and pulled out his Rabota. He poised his finger over a touch screen button and said to Radar, “Something like now?”

  Radar looked at Allie, whose eyes sparkled with anticipation. He looked back at Vic and gave him a nod. “Yeah,” he said, “something like now.”

  The Book of Mirplo

  Vic touched the button. At first nothing happened. Sarah watched the nothing happen for a moment, looking more perplexed than usual. Then, in ones and twos, members of a uniformed work crew began to drift in. They converged on the sitcom set and quickly struck it, disassembling the modular chapel walls, rolling out the cameras, and hauling off the pews. Vic pressed another button and an intricate play of laser lights sprang to life, creating within the former chapel space a forest of strong and slender birch trees: holograms, and very convincing ones, right down to the peeling papery bark and termite trails on the trunks.

  “Wow,” said Sarah.

  “I know, huh?” said Allie. “I always wanted an outdoor wedding.”

  The crew continued its alchemy, transmuting the chapel into a bucolic glen. They laid down a lawn of lush, fresh sod, arranged rows of hand-hewn wicker chairs, and erected an arbor twined with lily vines and white roses. Allie inhaled deeply, drawing in the heady scent of fresh grass. “Yeah,” she sighed, “that’s more like it.” The sound of chirping birds could be heard, and the distant thock-thock of a woodpecker. From somewhere a gentle breeze rose. Amazing what you can do with soundtracks and fans.

  Sarah stared at it all through Barbie-colored eyes. “It’s beautiful,” she sighed. Unconsciously, she took Allie’s hand.

  Vic clicked a couple more buttons on the Rabota, then said with satisfaction, “Okay, word is out. The guests will be here soon.” He turned to Radar. “Are you ready? Do you know what to do?”

  Radar grinned. “Absolutely,” he said. “This part is easy.”

  “Righty-right, then. We rock, we roll.” Vic walked off, whistling an air.

  Radar turned to Allie. “How about you? Ready to be my bride?”

  “Like you said, lover: This part’s easy.”

  They walked together into the birch forest. Though the trees were made only of light, they were careful to keep to the path created by the laser illusion. Sarah trailed behind, saying to no one in particular, “I’m sorry, but this is so romantic.”

  When they reached the glen, Radar came to a halt. Allie kissed his cheek and sailed off across the clearing, moving out of sight beyond the line of trees on the far side. Guests started filtering in, some counterfeits, some random invitees. Henry Wellinov walked in alone, wearing a stoic, stony look. “What’s the matter with him?” Sarah asked Radar. Before he could answer, she saw Kadyn walk in on Cal Jessup’s arm. How Kadyn had ended up there was not immediately evident, but the blow to Wellinov’s dignity was. Despite herself, Sarah felt sorry for the old man. She could practically see his heart breaking from here.

  For his costume, Jessup had gone for the General Custer look, fully authentic with vintage fringe buckskins, a wig of golden curls, and a thick blond moustache. Chewing on a piece of licorice root, he seated Kadyn, then walked over to Radar, his shiny black leather riding boots making soft shovel-heads in the living sod. On his head he wore a Union blue felt hat with a broad brim and a low crown.

  On his hip he wore a holster.

  The long snout of his weapon extended almost to his knee: the blued, tapered hexagonal barrel of an authentic period piece, fully eight inches long with an angled steel loading lever that looked like a pelican’s neck.

  “Pretty sharp hardware,” said Radar.

  “A Remington New Model Army,” said Jessup, proudly patting its walnut grip. “Of course it’s a black-powder gun, so it’s really just a heavy, expensive prop, but what the hell. It was Kadyn’s idea.” He waved a hand to indicate the totality of his outfit. “Most of this was. She’s quite a gal.”

  “Yep,” said Radar. “She’s a talent, that one.”

  Jessup suddenly loomed in close, close enough for Radar to see the spirit gum adhering his moustache and smell the licorice on his breath. Sarah watched, rapt, as Jessup muttered with constrained fury, “Ames says you didn’t show green.”

  “I did,” said Radar. “He didn’t.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, guess what? I believe him. But you get to prove me wrong.” Jessup shot a nod toward the arbor. “As soon as this damn skit is over, it’s you, me, and the money. Got it?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but gave Sarah a gentlemanly tip of his hat and went to sit down.

  “He’s not a nice man,” said Sarah.

  “I thought you said it was all all good.”

  “That’s what Adam told me.”

  “I’m starting to think he was fibbing,” said Radar, manifesting false bravado. He cast a wary eye at Jessup’s sidearm. “I wish Cal hadn’t brought the gun.”

  “What? He said it couldn’t fire.”

  “What do you think black powder is?” asked Radar.

  “I don’t know.”

  “It’s gunpowder, as in cartridge, as in bullet, as in bang, okay? It’s a real gun. It can fire.”

  “I don’t know, Radar.…”

  “Yes, you do, Sarah. Think it through. He and your guy are in business, and tonight their business is me.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He turned to face her, grasping her shoulders in his hands. “Sarah, listen to me: It’s not too late to wake up. There’s real danger here tonight. Real as in ‘real dead.’ Just remember that.”

  “Well, you’re wrong, Radar. You’ve been wrong all along.”

  “Fine, I’m wrong,” said Radar archly. “Enjoy the ceremony. My advice? Don’t stick around for the reception.”

  “Radar?”

  But Radar had already walked away.

  With an ouch, my feelings look, Sarah flounced down into a
chair. As Radar stepped to the arbor, he noticed Ames and his sidewheels standing among the trees—within them and across them, carelessly breaking the plane of the laser lights, disrupting the illusion. It lent them the appearance of being there and not there at the same time. Ames wore a tight-lipped expression, but to Radar’s practiced eye he seemed to be struggling to stay clamped down. How unraveled was he now?

  How much more unraveled would he need to get?

  At the arbor, Mirplo stood waiting. He had changed out of his Fool finery and now wore a flowing ochre dhoti, mystic medallions, sandals, and a skullcap, striking the lost chord of some sort of generic holy man. “Hello,” he said to Radar. “My name is Sri Mirplo Mirplo, I’ll be your religious practitioner tonight. How many in your party?”

  “Two.”

  “Ah, the perfect number.” His tapped his Rabota and music swelled to fill the glen, a soothing processional thick with flutes and violins.

  Radar leaned in and asked Vic in a low voice, “Do you see Ames?”

  “Uh-huh. And his bulky boys,” replied Vic without moving his lips. “They look pretty serious.”

  “It’s in the job description.”

  “So…sally we forth?”

  “Sally we forth.”

  Vic nodded to a spot in the trees. “Then here comes the bride.”

  Borne on the wings of the processional, Allie shimmered through the trees and strode with regal grace to a place by Radar’s side. She stood there, radiant, waiting for the ceremony to start. Her hand strayed to her belly and she felt the bulge. Finally, she thought, something to grab onto there.

  Vic’s medallions swirled around his neck as he turned to face the assembled guests. “Friends,” he said solemnly, “dear friends, welcome. Welcome into this—” with a sweep of his arm he took in the arbor, the chairs, and the holographic trees “—somewhat sacred place. In just a moment we will join this happy couple in eternal wedded bliss. But first if I may,” he said slowly and imperiously, “a few words from the Book of Mirplo.” He clicked open his Rabota with great ceremony, held it out before him like a scripture of substance, and began to read. “‘And it came to pass,’” Vic read or recited in stentorian tones, “‘that in the time of King—’ well, his name’s not important. ‘In the time of this king the rains came not, and the crops grew sere, and the seeds grew riven and died. Neither a tenth part of the people survived, nor a tenth of a tenth, nor a tenth of a tenth of a tenth, and those who lived became wild men, savage and without grace, visiting violence and destruction upon foe and friend alike.…’” He read on.