Steve hears it; grins like a buccaneer. ‘Go get in the shower, Gatey — you stink. Then I’m taking yu out faw lunch — chicken enchiladas faw me, yu can ’ave the guacamole nachos. After that it’ll be time faw yu t’ make a phone call faw me, confirm something I suspect. By that time yu’ll’ve straightened up and the paranoia’ll be gone. Then, my friend, yu and I are in business.’
Me, searching for clean clothes and sanity: ‘I’m not fucking hearing this.’
‘Oh, yes yu are. Yaw two mates are gonna hear it as well: we need allies.’
[As shadows lengthen around the lake the eyes of our budding mutineers unseeingly follow the boats cavorting below them. The happy whizzing of engines, the faint whoops of the skiers, flutter up their hill … them seem to freeze as they strike the dread enshrouding BROWN’S new recruit.]
BROWN [quoting his cohort]: ‘Armageddon’. Yes, I couldn’t have phrased it better.
RED [shock yielding stubbornly to alarm]: There’s simply no way to sustain that kind of growth. It’s like building a tower higher and higher and higher … Jesus Christ! What are they doing about it?
BROWN [eyeing him sharply]: If by ‘they’ you refer to ‘the powers that preside’, what they’re doing about it is avoiding eye contact with mirrors and overdosing on the new opiates of the people — consumption and asset amassment.
[RED moves to speak; is overridden]
BROWN [loud]: Your question would be better phrased as, ‘What are we doing about it?’
[With a visible effort, RED seeks to match BROWN’s dissembling irony. Even so, when he speaks he’s helpless to disguise a tremor.]
RED: What are we gonna do about it? Pioneer some waterborne contraceptive and sterilise a generation or two?
BROWN: Lesson number two — or is it three? Who cares? Next lesson: exponential population growth isn’t the problem itself … it is simply one of its most dangerous reverberations. In the Third World especially, population explosion is an effect of poverty, not a cause.
RED: D–do go on.
BROWN [strident]: In its quest to save Mother Earth and humankind from humankind, the Brotherhood will face three enemies: the Fiendish Beast, the Quenchless Core and the Careering Juggernaut.
[Intrigue gradually reprieves RED from frigid thoughts.]
RED: They sound fearsome and worthy adversaries.
BROWN [‘indignant’]: ‘Worthy’? Oh, they are worthy, make no mistake. Worthy of sodomised ejaculation from ICBM warheads.
RED [ironic mask now re-donned firmly]: One takes it these forces feature not on your Christmas card list. Elucidate.
BROWN [grimly businesslike]: Right. The Quenchless Core is ancient, though not universal among us. The Quenchless Core resides in the breasts of most, a singularity demanding regular meals of assets and possessions, ‘achievements’ and ‘distinctions’. The satisfaction of these it absorbs without trace. Then nothing else will do but that it feed once more.
RED: You’re speaking of greed?
BROWN [snapping]: By god, man, I speak of the Quenchless Core and none other! Greed is a euphemism behind which the Core’s black evil might shelter.
RED: You say it’s not universal?
BROWN: I say it wasn’t universal. The Quenchless Core finds homes in only one animal, and even then, over the centuries, many of our societies were free of it also. On the few occasions it attempted infiltration into these, they were wise enough to recognise its true face; they dealt with it summarily.
RED: Societies like the Australian Aborigines? The Kalahari Bushmen?
BROWN: Precisely. And many others besides, some remembered by history, some remembered by none, for the past was penned by those who annihilated real men.
RED [postulating]: And now, like an uncontained super-virus, the Quenchless Core has colonised all?
BROWN [impressed]: Nice choice of words. You’re a quick learner. You could go far within the Brotherhood.
RED [extrapolating further]: The Quenchless Core found loam in the hearts of Europeans. And, of course, the modern world became Europe’s child.
BROWN: And grows more so by the day.
RED: What else? I think I’m getting a feel for this. What of our second enemy? Speak of the Juggernaut.
BROWN: The Careering Juggernaut is what became of Humanity when its Quenchless Core was converted to nitrous oxide, fitted with a supercharger, and appointed Lord High Sovereign.
RED: Again in English?
BROWN: From the tyranny and avarice of feudalism sprang the tyranny and avarice of capitalism. Then, as now, the fundament of capitalism was that it must grow or die, spreading through new markets, harvesting more and more resources, weathering financial fluctuations through diversification and expansion. From this need sprang the European drive toward imperialism, and, with ‘God’ as vindication, the New World was colonised, its people ‘delivered’, its resources and labour ‘made available for the economic good’. Through biblical sentiments of human pre-eminence over nature, the capitalists inscribed her looting onto society’s DNA.
Later, as the sway — and justifications — of Christianity wavered, capitalism even deified a new absolution: the Church of Economics. After World War 2, western governments with their neo-colonial foreign policies — anything from economic blackmail to the backing of proxy rulers to outright invasion — ensured that the world’s fledgling nations remained ‘free and open’ for market exploitation.
Over these times then, across the globe, capitalism, with its laws of production for production’s sake, undermined all local cultures, becoming more and more inexorable as its proceeds and power concentrated.
Brick by brick, mind by mind, the Juggernaut was begun … driven by many … steered by none.
RED: And now?
BROWN: Now, backed by its puppet, the state, capitalism’s teachings reign unhindered; are the basis of virtually every national society. Ignoring its fundamental incompatibility with life — the fact that without the perpetual acceleration of growth, consumption and population rates, a capitalist economy implodes — capitalism has humanity inhabiting a glittering house of cards. Economics plasters the walls in jargon we believe we’ll die without, as though GDPs and FTSEs are what we truly owe existence to, their equations and needs the very fabric of life. Profit maximisation has become a code of practice absorbed at the breast, buzz words in whose name abominations are perpetrated hourly, legally, morally. The entire planet, and all upon it, has become fuel for the utopia of growth.
Yes, according to Economics, Consumption is the new Salvation, for without it there can be no Growth … and without Growth and ‘Progress’, humans must be ‘mere’ animals after all.
And the Juggernaut crashes on.
RED [dry]: ‘Growth’: interesting term. But what is it they wish us to grow into?
BROWN [sneering contempt]: They have no idea. It’s just the done thing: economics demands it. And when a species reaches plague proportions — as ours has, living by codes necessitating expansion — it can be said that its environment — its larder, well and nest — becomes increasingly finite. Not good news for those with the courage to look beyond balance books.
RED [nodding]: And even those masses capitalism exploits most adopt its maxim of mindless acquisition, whole lives given to the race to become the wealthiest headstone in the compost heap.
BROWN: And capitalism’s PR man — economics — has become so slick, whenever in the world left-wing leaders attempt to slow the Juggernaut’s charge by placing life ahead of figures, a few graphs flashed at news time, a little ‘business disconfidence’ and the constituency bays for Red blood.
RED: With timing and timbre to rival trained seals.
BROWN: And the ‘free’ market proliferates; is pitched as a concept as essential as oxygen. And as, through globalisation, growth and consumption leap more and more firebreaks, the Juggernaut accelerates, building heedless inertia, preaching as it obliterates its own preconditions for life.
RED [struck by su
dden insight]: But no sane society would do this; would consume and expand for no reason than that a rich few assure it it must; to the point where its existence is threatened by its deeds. Fair enough, that we’ve gone too far is a relatively new realisation, but everyone knows the truth now. Yet we’re not stopping! We’re devouring faster! Fuck me, you and I are living in a world ruled and maintained by principles that are actually insane! The human race as we know it is driven by the mentality of cancer!
BROWN [drawling]: And the Establishment brands us delinquent?
[Neither of them speaks for some time. They gaze into space, betrayal in their eyes, disgust in their smoking.]
RED [pensive]: The sad part is that even as we speak, you and I are aboard this Juggernaut, aren’t we? Sharing the ride. Whenever we chuck some juice in The ’Dan here; every time we pick up some beer; chance food poisoning at McDick’s, the Juggernaut crashes on. Though we’re only schoolkids — and barely that anymore — we’re cogs of this fucking thing
BROWN [shrugging]: Don’t let that bother you. Our parents left us no other means of survival … for now. Besides, you’re overlooking one of the Brotherhood’s mottoes: ‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em … then poison the fuckers from the inside.’
RED: What do we target, then?
BROWN [lips skinning from teeth unconsciously]: Big business (and its state lackeys), the multinats, the corporate ‘elite’. Few realise it, and even fewer admit it, but all of us dipshit consumers are dancing to the tune of these executive arseholes.
Just look at the stats: ninety per cent of the world’s wealth is owned by the richest ten per cent of the population. Last year in the US, one-third of the country’s earnings went to the top one per cent! In whose fucking interest is it to maintain the status quo?
You see, because the bigger corporations can compete more effectively, capital has a tendency to concentrate. It also needs to diversify. So throughout its modern life-span not only has capitalism made sure its tentacles spread into all facets of life, and all regions of the planet, it’s also ensured that these tentacles became increasingly powerful, and originate from fewer and fewer nerve centres.
RED: Of course. And money equals power. And for what do these outfits exist solely? To make more money. Therefore their enormous power bases are brought to bear on nothing but the hunt for greater profit.
BROWN: Absolutely. Under globalisation, corporations are now free to give their ‘investment’ to the lowest-bidding government, thus attracting better tax incentives, reduced worker rights legislation, lower environmental controls, etc. This effectively means that a nation wishing to join the global village and ‘prosper’ must lower the living standards of most its constituents, and sacrifice more and more of its ecological well-being.
RED: And to ‘compete’ other nations must undercut these nations.
BROWN: Correct. [Darkening further] But we’re now witnessing the shadowy development of strategies even more menacing. As capital centralisation continues, power moves into the hands of fewer and fewer, the enormous clout the capitalists wield is symbiotically banded into organisations like business roundtables, chambers of commerce, trade organisations … And because capital is the life-blood of the world’s grow-or-die economies, these groups have more sway over the conditions of people’s lives, and the treatment of the Earth, than arguably any elected body. And for what do they use this power exclusively?
RED [not bothering to answer]: But what are they thinking? [His agitation grows with each sentence] These people already have an … an obscene amount of wealth. More than they could spend in lifetimes. And they must see where it’s all leading! In their heart of hearts they must! I bet if you pumped them full of truth serum, they wouldn’t be able to envision a world in which their grandkids aren’t screaming, ‘What have you blind bastards done to us?’ And yet the plunder goes on! Our good Earth, our miraculous mother, is on her last legs … and the rape continues. Unchecked! What are they thinking?
BROWN: When one strives to fix a numerical value to all things, one loses the ability to analyse as anything but a calculator. [A disgusted scoff] Besides, their propaganda apparatus is so slick, the capitalists are claiming the moral high ground. [A pompous falsetto] ‘Perhaps the system does have flaws — show me one that doesn’t? — but the solution is to forge ahead. Man’s only salvation is progress.’ [Back to bleak levelness] They neglect to mention that they’ve monopolised progress and can see no further than quarterlies.
RED [a while later, low]: This Juggernaut’s gonna kill us. It’s gonna kill everything. You realise that, don’t you? Someone has to make it see reason.
BROWN [dismissive]: It won’t listen. It can’t listen. It knows only consuming, nothing of living. To urge that it revise its consume-or-die values is to ask it to question its organs and flesh.
RED [in time, flat]: Then it must be slain.
4
Wednesday, 8 March, 8.17pm
We find them in the garage of the house Mick shares with his older sister and a couple of her friends. The hood’s up on The ’Dan, but both seem more interested in pool than mechanics. Between jobs up in the Smoke, it seems Barry’s been staying with Mick these past few days.
Barry, chagrined: ‘Sorry we ain’t been over all week, Gator. We were a bit worried you might be gutted with us, and …’
Me, clipping the back of his head: ‘Fuck you, man. You should know me better than that. You three saved my arse, plain and simple.’
I spend the next minute assuring them that being urinated upon hasn’t reduced me to a quivering pile of doubt.
Mick: ‘Sweet as.’ He seems genuinely relieved. ‘We were a bit worried the Fiend had knocked the fight from our chief cabalist.’
‘In your fucking dreams, pal.’
Barry: ‘I feel a celebration’s in order. Scored some nice skunk yesterday. Anyone fancy a bong or five?’
Me: ‘You might just wanna hold off on the blows a tick, Baz. Me and Steve’ve got a proposition we need to outline for ya’s.’
Something in my tone hooks their full attention.
‘We’re listening.’
I tell them of Vicki’s fate following our departure from the Rabble house the other night. ‘This tilts the scales for Steve and me: we’re keen to stitch these cunts up. What we …’
Mick, incisive: ‘Hang on, hang on, hang on!’ Alarm seems almost to have jolted the glasses from his nose; he takes a second to resettle them. ‘I’m sorry for that chick. Honestly. And what they did to you, Gator, that was well out of order. But let’s call a spade a shovel here. This has knocked your noses so far out of joint, you cats are actually proposing to wreak vengeance on the Rabble? Am I right?’
Steve: ‘Yep.’
As though we’re plague-carriers, Mick shrinks from us unconsciously. Head shaking: ‘Sorry, guys, but if you need help with this, you’ve come to the wrong …’
Barry: ‘Ease up there a touch, Mick.’ A stillness has claimed him. ‘I don’t know Steve too well, but after the other night I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he’s got more balls than brains. Our Gator, though, he’s a different proposition. This boy’s no prick’s fool. If he’s up for this I’m all ears.’
I’m a little uncertain how to take this … shrug it off inwardly. ‘Mick, I know on the face of it there’s not enough in this for you to risk getting on these guys’ shit list. I’ll tell you what, though, the risk is minimal, and, if successful, we’ll each walk away with more than just the sweet taste of ice-cold revenge.’
Mick: ‘Namely?’
Steve: ‘’Ow does a quarter share of 200 gs sound?’
Silence.
Long, loaded silence.
Barry breaks it at last. ‘That sounds better than a ripe bint with hands so small they make my cock look thirteen inches.’
Mick, restrained: ‘I think one of you’s’d better start talking turkey.’
Steve takes his cue. ‘I doan ’af t’tell yu’s not a word said
in ’ere tonight goes beyond these walls.’ His eyes tell us that anyway as he slips off his jean jacket, arranging a stool so that his back’s against The ’Dan, feet on an upturned bucket. ‘All right. Now yu all noe enuf ’bout tha Rabble t’ undastand what I mean by chapters? Good.’ He takes the time to spark up a fag. Draws a couple of puffs. ‘Yeah, well, anyway, most chapters are named after tha area they based in, right? Except faw one of ’em. Nefarious, it’s called. Even though it’s got its headquarters in Wellington, it’s composed of ’ard nuts from all ova the country. They’re led by a fulla named Donk. As the pres’ of Nefarious, this effectively makes ’im the head honcho of the whole gang — the chief cheese, the big man on campus. Anyway, Donk’s deputy recently got banged up faw a twelve-year lag, which means the “position became vacant”. That cousin’a mine ’u made such a lasting impression the ova night, Hemi, well ’e once did time wif Donk, and at a convention in Taupo a few months ago Hemi licked Donk’s arse so well Donk put ’is name on a shortlist faw the number two spot. But Hemi ’as t’ earn it … of course.’
He pulls an empty paint tin to him, flicking ash inside it. ‘Now, these Nefarious boys are into some heavy shit. Real gangster stuff. Gambling rackets, protection, drug smuggling, prostitution, chop-shops, fences: yu name it. They’re raking up big capital. And they’re federal — they stomp where they please, regardless of turf. Faw a patched Rabbler this is where it’s at. If Hemi was t’ go in there as number two, whatever pinga ’e’s used t’ scraping up round Vegas’ll suddenly seem like M’noply money.
‘Obviously, t’ land this job ’e’s willing to take risks. And ’e ’as. At the convention Donk told Hemi a story, a story ’bout a Nefarious member sent to Amsterdam round June last year, loaded wif Rabble cash. This cat was unda orders to score a coupla ’undred of the most primo outdoor skunk seeds money can buy. All legal, of course: yu can buy ’em over the counter there if yu got enuf ping. And because it’s legal those dope crazy Dutch motherfuckers’ve refined growing to a science. They got institutes devoted to it. If cultivated well, not only will one’a these seeds turn into some’a the most lethal blow in history, but it’ll give yu a yield of three or four pounds.’
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