“Uh-huh, Terrence, but of course if the folks in the state legislature just might believe that a long leisurely march by armed troops upriver in their general direction just might be meant as a warning.…”
“They might believe that, J. B., but I couldn’t possibly comment.”
“No political intent, huh, Governor Hathaway…?”
“Not unless carrying out my officer’s oath to obey my last orders from a legally constituted civil authority and my moral duty as a Christian to pick up the righteous torch struck from the hands of that martyred lady and carry it forth counts as political intent.”
That much I am sure was and is 100 percent sincere. But political intent or not, there sure were political consequences, what with the legislature backing down and turning turtle, the State Supreme Court twiddling its thumbs, trials, and appeals, and appeals of appeals, and constitutional battles, and so much legal confusion and political battles that for four fondly remembered whole years until the next gubernatorial election, the only functioning law was martial law, and the de facto head of what government existed was the Commander of the National Guard and administrator thereof, Colonel Terrence Hathaway.
“I never intended to run for governor,” Terrence Hathaway kept insisting with a straight face during the election campaign. “All I intended to do was my sworn duty to preserve the necessary rule of law and order under the rules of engagement given to me by Governor Mama Legba.”
“And threatening to invoke eminent domain under martial law if the Loan Sharks didn’t start negotiating down mortgage debt and monthlies, Colonel Hathaway?”
“My Christian duty to complete the righteous deed that MaryLou Boudreau was martyred to keep her from fulfilling. And Christian or not, and whatever else she may have done in life, I believe that Jesus has cleansed her soul for that one brave and noble deed, and if there is a Heaven, and I do believe there is, she is in it. How could I do less than pick up the torch from that fallen heroine? The Bible condemns usury, does it not? Jesus ejected the money-lenders from the temple, did he not? Could I do less if I had the power when entrusted with the power?”
And even now, I still believe him. Who wouldn’t? Who wouldn’t want to believe him? Even a card-carrying cynic like me finds it impossible not to believe that Governor Terrence Hathaway has always been and still is a sincere Christian, even if I’m not and never have been.
For four years, Louisiana was under what the upstate Bible Belters started calling Christian martial law. For four years, under the People’s Police no victim, no crime was the law in New Orleans, and for four years, under Terrence Hathaway’s Christian martial law it was the law in the rest of the state, too, as he continued to carry out Mama Legba’s so-called rules of engagement.
For four years, Terrence Hathaway, incorruptible Christian soldier, was the de facto go-along, get-along ruler of what folks like me started calling the Free State of Louisiana.
Elvis Gleason Montrose got elected mayor of New Orleans on schedule, campaigning to formally make what was now called the Eternal Mardi Gras permanent. He graciously allowed Dick Mulligan to resign as police superintendent before he appointed Luke Martin to replace him to the delight of the People’s Police and the police’s people, maybe under pressure from Big Joe Roody.
Mama Legba’s former one-shot Mad Mardi Gras, rebranded as the Eternal Mardi Gras by yours truly, went yearwide except for the Hurricane Season, a big, big boost, for the tourist industry, which, thanks to increased tax money take by Baton Rouge as well as New Orleans, even began to help the upstate economy.
Under Hathaway’s threat of eminent domain, the banks started grudgingly bargaining down mortgage principle numbers and therefore monthlies to prices the mortagees could afford in return for clearing titles.
About that time, with the help of Charlie Devereau, some of his big-time Chamber of Commerce buddies and my small-time ones in the French Quarter Pissing and Moaning Society who we let in on the deal, we put together a syndicate to buy up a big piece of the eastern Alligator Swamp piecemeal.
Then, what with the profits being racked up from the Eternal Mardi Gras by lesser outfits, and a cock-and-bull story that heavyweights from Bollywood and Shanghai had already approached us with plans for the world’s first X-rated theme park, I didn’t have too much trouble convincing the Mouse to buy our swampland from us at a fat profit and add a “Eternal Mardi Gras Land” as an X-rated adults only addition to Big Easy Disneyland.
Of course, Disney being Disney, they did screw us a little on the deal by not telling us that they were going to hire the Dutch to put up those mighty Hans Brinker twenty-foot seawalls and giant solar-electric windmill pumping stations to turn what they bought from us at what turned out in the end to be a cut-rate price and turn it it into primo real estate for a lot more than a Disneyland.
The rest is show biz history, as the X-rated saints and sinners came marching in with one hand in their pants and the other reaching for their wallets.
By the time of the next gubernatorial election, the Republicans and the Democrats were fighting with each other like cats and dogs to get Hathaway to be their candidate for governor.
Terrence refused both of them but finally allowed himself to be drafted as an independent, promising to do as much as was necessary and as little as possible, and as he actually put it, “continue to let the good times roll.”
Of course, he won in a landslide.
And that’s how the Eternal Mardi Gras, with its sex, and drugs, and retro Dixieland, with its corporate financed Hollywood and Bollywood budget floats, its year-round days of wine and roses, raised New Orleans out of the muck and mire to its present fame, fortune, and glory as the Born-Again Big Easy.
And that’s the story of how little and how much goodness had to do with it. J. B. Lafitte has enough enjoyable sins on his soul without adding the sin of false modesty, and I claim my share of the credit, in dollars, euros, pounds, and all major credit cards.
But for my money, and these happy days I’ve got plenty of it, as far as I’m concerned, as General George Washington was the father of the United States of America, so was Colonel Terrence Hathaway the father of the Free State of Louisiana.
And that says it all.
Or does it?
I saw that Voodoo Queen Float again yesterday. I’ve seen it more times than I can count, whoever’s ever been to the Big Easy these days hasn’t? It circulates through the city every day of the year except during Hurricane Season. It’s got naked girls and boys galore tossing Mardi Gras throws and plastic Mardi Gras doubloons good for free drinks, fucks, spliffs, and shows at participating venues. They say Disney owns it, or at least built it, because of the state of the art double life-size audio-animatronic Mama Legba in Voodoo Queen stripper’s gear taking it all off every half hour, but the Mouse, he ain’t talkin’.
And every half hour, when she’s down to her nipples and pubic hair, she tosses a few of the very special coins, the ones that get a dozen or so lucky people out of the crowd and onto the float if they dare, to take part in the audio-animatronic voodoo ceremony replete with audio-animatronic dancing headless chickens, and to allow some kind of wizard loa virtual reality program to dance them around like like happy horses on Jimsonweed.
Maybe.
But this time around seeing the show got me thinking.
What if there is no program?
What if it’s the real deal?
Mama Legba has gone to wherever Terrence Hathaway may think she is, but her Supernatural Krewe boogies on in New Orleans forever?
What if this Eternal Mardi Gras is just what the loas intended?
Wasn’t that the deal Luke Martin made with Mama Legba and her Supernatural Krewe live on television?
If they’re riding their dancing horses on that float, they exist, don’t they? If they exist, haven’t they gotten just what they want? If they exist, and they showed up to take it, wouldn’t we give them the key to this city?
If they exis
t, maybe they had it all the time already.
If they exist, isn’t New Orleans and its Eternal Mardi Gras their party too? If they exist, they sure are getting along in proper improper Big Easy style, so why not go along and enjoy being their rides?
Does that mean you have to believe in voodoo?
Who gives a swamp nutria’s ass?
No one wants to rain on anyone’s Mardi Gras parade in the Big Easy.
Y’all come down and see what I mean.
BOOKS BY NORMAN SPINRAD
The Solarians
Agent of Chaos
The Men in the Jungle
Bug Jack Barron
The Iron Dream
Passing Through the Flame
Riding the Torch
A World Between
Songs from the Stars
The Mind Game
The Void Captain’s Tale
Child of Fortune
Little Heroes
The Children of Hamelin
Russian Spring
Deus X
Pictures at 11
Journals of the Plague Years
Greenhouse Summer
He Walked Among Us
The Druid King
Mexica
Osama the Gun
Welcome to Your Dreamtime
About the Author
Norman Spinrad is a science fiction icon and the author of more than twenty novels, which have been translated into more than a dozen languages. His 1969 novel, Bug Jack Barron, was a finalist for the Hugo and Nebula Awards, and his short-fiction collection The Star-Spangled Future was a National Book Award finalist. He has also written screenplays for American television series, including the original Star Trek. He lives in Paris.
normanspinradatlarge.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/norman.spinrad
Twitter @normanspinrad. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Books by Norman Spinrad
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE PEOPLE’S POLICE
Copyright © 2017 by Norman Spinrad
All rights reserved.
Cover design by Michael Graziolo
Cover elements © 2016 Shutterstock.com
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8427-0 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8429-4 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9780765384294
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First Edition: February 2017
The People's Police Page 24