World Revolver

by Gina Ranalli

  The intersection I’m at is a busy one and I get a lot of catcalls, which I’ve learned to ignore. The nasty ones anyway. I also do a lot of waving, especially to little kids and pretty women when the cars on the street next to me have to stop for the light.

  I’ve yet to collect a woman’s phone number by doing some street flirting but I’m still hopeful. They can’t see my face under this ridiculous rat head, but you never know. That might work to my benefit. Chicks don’t care about looks as much as guys do anyway. With them, it’s all about personality. I’ve found that if you can make a woman laugh, from there it’s a very short stroll to the inside of her panties.

  Even as I’m getting my groove on, with quick breaks to sip from the Scrummy Burger cup, I’m trying not to let the cold gray day depress me. I miss sunshine and warmth in the worst way.

  The solution is to dance even harder, dance till I sweat and make the rat costume my own personal sauna.

  A car full of teenagers stops at the light and the kid in the passenger seat rolls down his window and shouts at me, asking if I want some cheese.

  Not the most original taunt I’ve ever received and certainly not worthy of a response.

  He goes on from there, telling me to watch out for traps and cats and poison and finally the light changes and they take off, laughing uproariously at his lame jokes.

  A black dude—most probably homeless by the looks of him—comes strolling up the sidewalk towards me. I’m kind of surprised to see he’s smoking a pipe and the sweet scent of Virginia tobacco approaches me faster than he does.

  I keep waving at the traffic and dancing my balls off for just over nine bucks and hour.

  The guy stops walking when he reaches me, smiling and showing off an impressively large gap between his two front teeth, the stem of his pipe clenched tight in the side of his mouth.

  He bobs his head in time with the non-existent music. My voice is muffled when I speak so I have to do so at a volume slightly louder than normal.

  -How’s it going, man?

  He smiles wider and I suspect he’s one of those sad souls who is not used to being acknowledged much.

  -I like your dancing, rat man. It is full of joy and all the glory in Heaven.

  Oh boy, I think. Here we go again.

  -Thanks, my friend.

  I don’t know what else to say so why not just take it like the compliment it is?

  The man pulls the pipe out of his mouth.

  -You don’t have to drink to celebrate the power of the Lord, you know.

  -Uh huh.

  I keep dancing for a couple seconds, vigorously, then I slow down. He can’t see it but under my rat head, my eyes have gone wide.

  -What?

  Looking at the cup on the ground, then back at him. There’s no point in denying anything. That’s not really my style.

  -How did you know?

  The dude puffs out a thick cloud of tobacco smoke and laughs.

  -Do you know who I am?

  -Uh…nope.

  -Take a guess.

  -I have no idea who you are, my man. Should I?

  -Hell, yes, you should! Look at me.

  I do and notice his eyes shimmering with flecks of amber in the brown.

  I decide to take a guess.

  -You’re Jesus, right?

  He laughs again.

  -You can’t prove I’m not.

  -True enough.

  -That’s why you should be kind to everyone you meet. You never know if he might really be Jesus. You believe that?

  It doesn’t take me long to think about it.

  -Sure. I guess so.

  -You guess so? You gotta do better than that, rat man. You gotta know so!

  -Okay.

  I do a spin and wave at the stopped traffic again.

  He sucks on his pipe and watches me.

  -You got the moves, son.

  -Thanks.

  Boogie boy could be my middle name. I should get a raise. Granted, I don’t know how many customers A-Tat-Tat will get due to my epic dance skills, but I bet people will remember the name when and if they ever do need an exterminator.

  My one man audience takes a couple steps to the side and kicks my drink over, spilling the contents onto the sidewalk.

  I immediately stop dancing.

  -What the fuck did you do that for?

  -Just felt like it.

  Speechless, I stare at him through the mesh eye holes in my rat head.

  -You don’t need that shit anyway, rat man. You got a light in you.

  I groan loudly, feeling pretty agitated now. My attempts at a good mood despite this lousy weather have been for nothing.

  -That wasn’t cool, man.

  He laughs heartily.

  -You’re the funniest rat man I ever did meet.

  -That’s terrific. I’m glad I could amuse you.

  -And I do thank you for that.

  He grins and I suspect he has no concept of sarcasm whatsoever.

  -Unfortunately for you, rat man, I can see clear as day that you got a rider in your head.

  I bend over and pick up my newly empty cup.

  -I should make you buy me a new soda, but I bet you don’t even have a dollar on you.

  -Boy, you hear what I just said?

  -Now I’m gonna have to wait till my next break before I can get another one. Lucky for you, I have the bottle of bourbon inside the building.

  He takes a step closer to me, leaning into my rat face.

  -You got a rider!

  -What the fuck is a rider?

  Backing up a bit, he examines his pipe, which has apparently burned out. Making a disgusted face, he looks up at me again.

  -A rider is someone from another dimension getting ready to hijack your mind and once that happens, it’s just a matter of time before they hijack your body and then—BAM!—your whole life.

  -Riiiight. And you say I don’t need to drink? I think I’m gonna call bullshit right now. It’s you who doesn’t need any more of…whatever it is you’ve been doing.

  -I got the sight, rat man. I see your rider plain as you see me.

  His eyes glitter gold as if catching sunlight, but there is no sunlight to catch.

  Since I can’t think of a response to that, I go back to dancing. Maybe I can burn off the frustration of having my beverage purposely spilled.

  -Lucky for you, rat man, your ride is weak now. He’ll move on and be stronger for some other poor bastard. I think you’re safe.

  -Oh, am I safe? That’s good to know.

  -This is no joke, rat man. Those riders are coming and I feel sorry for the ridees, if you get my drift.

  I don’t tell him that, no, I don’t get his drift. Just keep dancing and waving, whipping my rattail around and around.

  -You think I’m a crazy bum, don’t you?

  -I didn’t say anything like that, man.

  -You’ll feel it when it starts to go down big time. It’s already going down now but only certain people can see it.

  I take a shot in the dark.

  -People with the sight?

  -That’s right. And trust me, you won’t wanna be buzzing on spirits when it happens. You’re gonna need all your wits about you.

  -Are you talking about the rapture or something like that? Armageddon?

  -No, sir, rat man. Nothing like this was foretold in the good book. No, sir. More like Star Trek.

  He laughs, just as jolly as you please, and pulls a tobacco pouch out from his coat pocket. He shakes a little bit into his pipe, puts it away and lights up with a wooden match he produces from nowhere and sparks up with his thumbnail.

  After what seems like an extremely satisfying puff, he regards me with that smile again.

  -You know, I bet you dance too fast for that rider you got. He can’t get a good grip. Like riding a bucking bronco.

  Something about the phrase ‘bucking bronco’ jars me, but I can’t put my finger on why. I feel like maybe I recently had a dream where someon
e said the same thing.

  -Goodbye, rat man.

  He begins walking away and I can’t decide if I’m happy or sad he’s leaving me on the corner with only the passing traffic and depressing cloud cover to keep me company.

  He crosses against the light, somehow manages to not get hit by a car and I turn away, dancing my heart out for the sake of extermination.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—The Junkie (9)

  I don’t dream anymore. I only spin.

  Sitting in what Atropos calls the parlor, a fire place large enough to park a small car within it giving off enough heat to make anyone forget winter has bought its ticket and is on the way, I tell her everything I can remember from all my different spins.

  We’re sitting across from each other in over-stuffed mint green chairs, a coffee table between us carved out of a huge oak log.

  I’m drinking from a mug full of delicious vanilla coffee, anxious for this to be over.

  Atropos is still intimidating, her albino-pale eyes so startling in her dark face, and her stillness, her complete absorption in what I’m saying.

  I expect her to be surprised when I mention the man who could “see riders,” but she nods placidly, letting me know this isn’t the first time she’d heard of such a thing.

  When I’m finished, she turns her attention to the fire, apparently lost in thought.

  Nearly a minute passes, I finish my coffee, wondering if I’m being dismissed or what.

  -This world is collapsing, Eon.

  -Collapsing?

  -There’s not much good left beyond these walls. Soon—very soon—the human race will finish eating itself alive. We’ve already consumed everything we possibly could. I’ve heard stories of animals and clean oceans and forests where no man had ever walked, but all of these things ended before I was born.

  I place my empty mug on the coffee table.

  -There are still some animals.

  -For how much longer? I have only seen photos of dogs. Dogs! They say there was once as many dogs as there were humans and I’ve never seen one. Nor have I seen many other animals, with the exception of rats. I suspect they’ll be around much longer than we will. Once every tree has been chopped down and the only source of water comes from the sky, rats will somehow still thrive.

  I think back on the rat man, dancing on a sidewalk while buzzed on bourbon.

  -Rats get a bad rep. They’re not so terrible.

  Finally, she looks at me.

  -I suppose there is much to admire about them, yes. And much to emulate. We need to adapt to save ourselves, Mr. Eon. And do you know how we can do that?

  The man with the golden flecks in his eyes flashes in my mind but I shake my head.

  -We have to spin ourselves into another world and pray the one we land in is in better shape than this one.

  I shift in my chair.

  -Not sure I follow.

  -It’s just like the man with the pipe told you. We will, for lack of a better description, have to upload our consciousness into our parallel selves. The trick will be to not end up in a dimension worse than the one we currently occupy, such as when you were digging in rubble and reminiscing about dog food.

  -But…that sounds…I don’t know. Unfair.

  -To who?

  -Our…parallel selves. How can we just…take over their bodies? Their lives?

  -Don’t think of it as taking over. Think of it as more of a melding.

  I say nothing and it’s clear she can read the apprehension on my face. For all I know, she can read my mind.

  -Mr. Eon, you needn’t worry about them. They’ll only be aware of us for a very brief amount of time and then they’ll forget anything was ever…unusual about that day.

  I’m still more than a little skeptical.

  -How do you know?

  For the first time, she smiles ever so slightly.

  -I know.

  -You’ve tried it before?

  -In a manner of speaking, yes.

  The parlor doors open and Luna walks in. She seems surprised to see me before addressing Atropos.

  -I went back to Hoop’s bar like you asked, but I couldn’t find any Satellite. They must have taken it with them.

  Atropos gets to her feet abruptly and there’s no mistaking her emotion—she’s pissed.

  -Where could they have taken it?

  Luna shrugs.

  -Not sure but Circe is still out there searching for them. I think if we find Hoop without Halleck there’s a good chance he’ll tell us. But if he’s still with Halleck…

  She trails off, looking distressed, like she’s expecting a severe punishment.

  Atropos’s eyes darken a shade.

  -This is exactly why I told you to grab it when you rescued Mr. Eon.

  -But there wasn’t time. You said not to—

  -Kill them, yes.

  Atropos walks to the fireplace and stares at the flames as if she’s gazing into a crystal ball.

  -We can’t allow them to sell Satellite as if it’s a common street drug. You know how selective we have to be. If it gets into the wrong hands…

  She turns back, glancing at me and I have to wonder if I’m an example of ‘the wrong hands.’

  I clear my throat and stand up.

  -Maybe I should get out of your hair. Let you two have some privacy.

  -Sit down.

  Atropos commands without raising her voice.

  I do as I’m told, growing increasingly uncomfortable. In fact, I’m starting to wonder why I’m in this house at all and really, who the fuck are these people? Why did I just go along for the ride unquestioningly?

  Luna gives me a sympathetic look. It’s as if we’re siblings getting scolded by our mother, who is, incidentally, far younger than we are, and we’re not even sure what we did wrong.

  Atropos fixes her attention on Luna once more.

  -What are the chances Hoop will be with Halleck?

  -I’m not sure.

  Luna appears as if she’s feeling a tremendous amount of guilt for not knowing the correct answer and I can’t help but feel bad for her.

  I decide to pipe in.

  -Hoop and I used to hang out sometimes when we were younger. There’s a cemetery near his bar and we’d go in there sometimes to get high and drink. We took girls in there once in a while when we got older. There were vaults and shit. Locks smashed off. It was creepy I guess but we were kids. We thought it was cool.

  When Luna speaks, her voice is tinged with doubt.

  -That might have been a good place for children to hide, but grown men would—

  Atropos holds up a hand in a stop gesture and Luna’s mouth snaps shut. Atropos studies me intently.

  -How good is your memory of this cemetery?

  I’m puzzled by this question but answer honestly.

  -Pretty good. To tell you the truth, it hasn’t been long since the last time I was there. Hoop stopped going there when we grew up but I…

  I feel like an idiot but plunge forward anyway.

  -I never totally stopped. If I happened to be closer to the cemetery than to where I lived and I had drugs on me…

  Atropos nods and moves around the coffee table to stand directly in front of me. When she sits on the table, she holds her hands out to me, palms up.

  Luna comes forward, alarmed.

  -Atropos, I don’t think—

  -Quiet. Mr. Eon, please take my hands and close your eyes. I want you to focus all your thoughts on the cemetery. Every tiny detail that comes to you, bring it forth.

  -But…why?

  Her eyes on mine, beseeching, so close to pictures I’ve seen of frozen ponds.

  -Have you ever heard of remote viewing?

  -I…yeah, but…

  I blink.

  -I thought it was like…sci-fi bullshit. Something they did on that old show The X-files and shit like that.

  She remains still, hands in the same open position.

  -Please.

  I glance once at Luna, w
ho helps not one iota.

  Finally, I take a breath and do as Atropos has instructed, taking her hands in mine, closing my eyes and remembering the cemetery.

  I’m not sure what I’m expecting to feel. A jolt maybe? Something violent. But what comes is more of a tickling sensation, as if a tiny mite is casually strolling across the surface of my brain, its miniscule feet barely detectable but at the same time, wholly present.

  Concentrating on the landscape of the cemetery, I see myself slipping between two mysteriously bent wrought iron bars in the ancient fence surrounding the land. I see the old and crumbling tombstones, the gnarled trees, so spooky and somehow wonderful against a night sky, the sarcophagus I lost my virginity on and further back, the four tombs we used to go inside and smoke, shoot, snort or drop whatever we’d managed to score that day.

  Inside the largest, I see the dead leaves shoved into the corners by unfriendly winds, wrappers of various sorts, an old soda can, someone’s discarded knit hat, old works and a few used condoms.

  From there, I remember the other tombs, though we hadn’t used them as often and though they were smaller, nowadays their interiors were much the same. A single sarcophagus in each.

  Another scan of the cemetery grounds and I can’t think of anything else I may have missed.

  When I open my eyes, I discover Atropos has already opened hers. She lets go of my hands and straightens her back.

  -Well? Did it work? Did you see my memories?

  -I saw what you think are your memories but in actuality is how the cemetery looks now.

  I press my lips together, trying to comprehend, but the truth is I can’t and by the time I’m ready to ask her to explain the statement, she’s risen from her spot on the table and is talking to Luna again.

  -Hoop’s not there.

  -He must be with Halleck then.

  -Maybe.

  Atropos returns her attention to me, about to say something and then I notice her eyes widen a fraction. When she speaks, it’s actually to Luna.

  -He’s going again.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—The Soldier

  If there’s any one good thing about being confined to a wheelchair it’s that I’m on the perfect eye level to check out women’s asses and they can’t bitch about it too much. That doesn’t mean no one ever has bitched about it-one woman damn near slapped me once, but that’s probably more because I was drunk and got belligerent when she confronted me about staring at her butt.