The Sovereign Era (Book 2): Pilgrimage

by Selznick, Matthew Wayne

  Jason’s dad’s big Bonneville was in my driveway. With Jason behind the wheel. Curious, I stepped outside. Jason leaned out of the driver’s side window.

  “Come on!” His eyes were full of mischief.

  “Two secs!” I went back into the house, grabbed my sweatshirt and backpack, went back out, locked up, and slipped into the passenger seat.

  Jason nodded to me. “What’s up!”

  I looked around. “Since when does your dad let you drive around in the family car?”

  “Since never!” He shifted into reverse and backed into the street like he’d been driving for years instead of months. I was a little envious. With my senses and reflexes, I was sure I’d be totally fine driving on my own, but my mother was sticking to the letter of the law. I wasn’t allowed to use the car unless she was in it.

  “Since…huh?”

  He grinned maniacally. “I stole it!” He maneuvered away from the house and turned at the corner, headed out of the neighborhood and down to Los Gatos Parkway. “Technically.”

  “You stole your own family’s car.” This was totally Jason. I was feeling better already.

  “Technically.” He laughed lightly. “My folks had to leave town—my aunt is having a kid, and the guy who knocked her up isn’t around, so they’re helping her out for a few days. I’m supposed to watch Reggie.”

  Reggie was Regina, Jason’s twelve-year-old sister. “I bet she’s stoked about that.”

  “She’s got a new boyfriend.” Jason shrugged. “They’re playing Intellivision.”

  “Sure they are.”

  Jason wrinkled his nose and bunched his shoulders. “Gross, man. It’s my sister.”

  “Yeah. And when did you lose your virginity, again?”

  “I was fourteen.” He smiled and sang, “Frances Gallagher…”

  I didn’t know who she was. No one did. Jason claimed she went to Dana Cove High. Now and then, Mel and I teased him, telling him she might as well be “from Canada.” But I could tell: Jason wasn’t lying.

  I didn’t really hold it against him, but the fact that he’d lost it so long ago and I still hadn’t done it with my steady girlfriend of nearly a year brought me down.

  Jason drove a few blocks until he must have noticed my silence. “Something up?”

  I sighed. “I—yeah.”

  “Is it the thing with Lina? Have you talked to her yet?”

  “Yes. And no.” I turned my head to look out the passenger window, then turned back to face front. “I saw the guy. Eric Finn.”

  “No fuckin’ way. What’d he—no, hold on. I want to hear this with no distractions. Hold on.”

  “He’s—"

  Jason took a hand off the wheel to wave it at me. “Wait! Wait-wait-wait!”

  I waited. He turned left at the next light and headed back the way we had come, but instead of making a left toward my house, he went right, up to Romita Park. He parked at the curb, turned off the ignition, and pulled the parking brake.

  “Okay.” He shifted on the bench seat to face me. “Hit me. Hit me.”

  I told him about Sunrise Import Shop, about how Eric Finn was all…adult, and stuff. I didn’t tell him about my little meltdown in the park.

  “Dude sounds like a putz,” Jason said helpfully.

  I huffed. “What was she doing with him, when she was, like, fifteen years old? He must have been almost eighteen! What if he was eighteen?”

  Jason nodded sagely. “Statutory rape, that’s what.”

  A rush of unfocused anger flowed in me. “Except, not, right? If he never went through with it.”

  “Right.” Jason scratched his temple. “You ever talk to that one chick? The one you said pulled this asshole off of Lina?”

  “Crystal? No. I didn’t get the chance at their last practice.”

  “Oh. Huh.”

  “What?”

  “Well…dude, I don’t want to be a dick, but…maybe that’s not how it went down, right? Maybe the guy…sorry, but maybe the guy really did it, and Lina doesn’t want anyone to know. Especially, like, you.” He made clawing motions with his hands. “Considering.”

  “Considering…what?” My guts shook. “Considering I’d kick his ass?”

  Jason sat back and looked out the windshield. “Fuckin’ A. I would.”

  Was he judging me?

  “You think I should…go after him. Like, really. Go after him.”

  “Dude.” Jason turned back to me. “You are…you, man. Who gives a shit if this fucker’s all whatever you think he is? You’re a fuckin’ Sovereign—"

  “I am not a Sovereign.” My voice was a little louder than it needed to be. Jason knew better than to put that on me.

  He pushed. “You might as well be, dude. You know those guys would back whatever you wanted to do. You’re untouchable.”

  I laughed. He was crazy if he thought that. “Seriously? You haven’t been watching the freak show I’ve been living since last year? Dude…seriously?”

  He shook his head. “Huh-uh.” He held up his middle finger and flipped off the world outside the window. “They’re going through the motions with that bullshit, man, you ask me.”

  Jason had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. But there was some kind of sense, sort of, around what he was saying.

  I said, “I’m so fucking sick of it.”

  Jason looked at me for a second. “You should be, dude.”

  We sat in the car a few minutes.

  “I mean…if she was with that guy…what’s she doing with me?”

  Jason shook his head. “Nope. Don’t even.”

  “Makes me wonder.”

  “My ass. She digs you.” He smiled. “Fuck knows why, seein’ as how she met me the very same time as you…but Lina’s lousy taste aside, the situation’s the same. It’s MYOJ time, dude.”

  Was it?

  Could I?

  “You think so?”

  “No doubt.”

  “What about Lina?”

  “What about her?” Jason scoffed. “That fucker did her wrong, and it’s obviously totally fucked her up. You’re the guy who’s supposed to do right…right? MYOJ. Totally MYOJ.”

  Eric Finn’s Stray Cats knock-off male-model Sha Na Na reject face floated in my mind. I wondered what he’d look like scared out of his mind.

  “I…I fought monsters.” I looked at Jason. “I mean, they were like monsters.”

  “And here you are. And where are those monster guys?”

  “You know.”

  “Tell me.”

  “They’re dead.” They died horribly, in fact. “But I didn’t—"

  “They’re dead. And here you are,” Jason said again. “You’re a fucking badass, dude.” He shook his head and laughed. “I never got why you don’t just get that.”

  It was hard to.

  I considered. “I wouldn’t even really have to do anything, right? I mean, I could just freak him out. Scare him. Make him know…someone knows.”

  “Someone who could fuck him up,” Jason said, “any time you wanted.”

  I shifted on the seat. “I was just thinking, someone who could turn him in, any time.”

  “Either way. It’s MYOJ time.”

  I thought about it.

  Eric Finn was just a guy.

  Eric Finn was just a fucking bully.

  Eric Finn…was just human.

  I took a deep breath.

  “You think it is?”

  “Totally.” He nodded. “You do, too. Say it. MYOJ time. C’mon.”

  I looked out the window at the movie in my head of Eric Finn blubbering at my feet.

  “Okay.”

  “Say it.”

  I took another deep breath.

  “It’s make-your-own-justice time.”

  Marc Teslowski – Six

  The restaurant next to the hotel had a dim wood-paneled lounge that was nearly empty. It did not have a television or a jukebox. That suited Marc fine.

  Two hours ago, he
had found the corner farthest from the entryway to the restaurant and set himself up in a booth. He gave his credit card and instructions to the waitress: set him up with a steak, french fries, and a new beer and fries every time either one was depleted.

  So equipped, Marc proceeded to kill his hunger and sobriety. He heard activity in the main restaurant rise and fall through the dinner hour, but the lounge never attracted more than a few old men, who sat at the bar, and a few tourist couples, who came and went.

  They all seemed human, not that that made any difference anymore. What was happening to the world?

  It was three days until Declaration Day. A little over two weeks later would be the anniversary of Byron going to the Donner Institute.

  “Not ‘going,’ damn it,” Marc muttered into his beer. “Taken. Taken.”

  He wanted to punch himself in the face. Was he starting to believe what everyone else wanted him to think? That Byron wasn’t the victim of a Sovereign kidnapping and propaganda campaign…that he just…left?

  “Taken,” he said again, probably louder this time, as an old-timer at the bar looked curiously over his shoulder at Marc.

  Marc ignored him, putting his attention solidly on the ruins of his dinner. He picked at his fries. Where was the waitress? The damn things were soggy and cold.

  He sensed someone near the table. He looked up.

  It wasn’t the waitress. It was a couple of guys, one older, one younger.

  Great. Someone had recognized him.

  The older guy took off his white cowboy hat and extended his right hand. “Mister Teslowski, my name is Ray Greene. This is my boy, Arby. We’d very much like to buy you a drink, sir.”

  Marc straightened, bracing himself with one hand on the booth bench. “No, thanks.” He put a horrible french fry into his mouth and chewed, looked away from the pair and at nothing.

  “I don’t mean to disturb you,” Marc heard Ray say. “We’re…well, Mister Teslowski, I guess you could say the boy and I are fans. Wanted to say thanks.”

  Marc put his focus back on them with a tinge of difficulty.

  “Thanks?”

  “Yes, sir.” Ray gestured at the empty bench across the table from Marc. “You mind?”

  Marc squinted at them. “Whatever.”

  Ray slid in, resting his cowboy hat on the booth next to him. Arby sat on the edge. Under the table, Marc shifted his legs to avoid those of his guests.

  “Appreciate it,” Ray said. He looked at Arby. “Go fetch us some beers, kiddo.” He turned to Marc. “What’re you drinking? Miller?” Marc nodded, and Arby went for the bar.

  Marc looked at the man across the booth. Ray Greene looked to be a little older than Marc, maybe in his early fifties. His face was deeply tanned and on its way to weathered. His swept-back hair was mostly pepper, headed for salt. He wore a red and black flannel shirt with a bolo tie with a turquoise and steel steer’s head at the collar.

  “How’d you know I was here?”

  Ray looked apologetic. “Local news mentioned what happened.”

  Marc grimaced.

  “Don’t misunderstand,” Ray said quickly. “We don’t care what the news says. I got a boy.” He looked over to where Arby was carefully counting money to pay for the three drinks and inclined his head tolerantly. “I know I’d do just about whatever needs doing to keep him safe. So we…I have a great respect for what you did today.”

  Marc snorted. “Well, Ray, it didn’t do a hell of a lot, did it?”

  Ray shrugged. “Got my attention. Probably some other folks’, too.”

  Arby returned with the three steins of beer just barely held in his two hands. Ray took one and put it down in front of Marc. Arby set the other two down and slid back into the booth.

  “Damn near spilled Mister Teslowski’s drink,” Ray said to his son. “That wouldn’t have done nobody any good, boy. We’d be done before we started, you might say. Have a care.”

  “Yessir.” Arby kept his eyes low and deferential. Marc thought that said something about Ray’s skills as a father, something Marc approved of.

  “Thanks,” he said to both of them. He lifted his stein.

  “Hold on.” Ray held up his own glass. Arby did the same. Ray lifted his a little higher. “To…Homo sapiens. And brave deeds.” He nodded to Marc.

  Sounded a little formal and weird, but, hell, Marc wasn’t paying for the drinks anymore and was all out of give-a-damn. He clinked his stein against the other two and drank.

  Ray smacked his lips. “That’s been my go-to toast these days. It’s never been more appropriate than right here and now, though.”

  Marc wasn’t an idiot. He knew this guy was flattering him. He’d seen a lot of this when the college recruiters courted him his senior year of high school. But after the day he’d had, he didn’t care what kind of bullshit the guy was shoveling. Right now, it smelled just fine.

  So he played his part.

  “I don’t know about brave deeds. I was just…fed up. You know?”

  “You bet I do,” Ray said. “The way I see it: that’s how most things are. We get tired of it; everything else is all played out…what’s left? Sometimes…you just have to take it into your own hands.”

  “That’s…yeah. That’s right.”

  “I get it.” Ray sipped at his beer. He put a finger on the low stack of extra napkins next to Marc’s plate. “You mind?”

  Marc dipped his head. Ray took a napkin and dabbed at his mouth.

  “I get it,” he said again. “And here’s what else: it doesn’t even matter if you succeed.”

  Marc remembered his humiliation at the hands of the Visitors Center guards. “I don’t know about that.”

  Ray lowered his eyes, pursed his lips, and shook his head. “No, sir. It doesn’t matter. Because even in failure, we can inspire others to greatness. To…risk, even.”

  Marc laughed. “What’re you, a preacher?”

  Ray’s eyebrows arched. He smiled and looked at Arby, whose lips curled slightly. Ray looked back at Marc.

  “Oh, hell… no,” he laughed, “no, I’m no preacher. I do a little writing, a little organizing. I help bring…I guess you could say I help bring like-minded folks together.”

  “They pay you for that?” Marc smelled a pitch coming. What the hell. He didn’t have anything else going on. They could keep plying him with compliments and beer. He’d return the favor by humoring them until he closed the place down. Might as well.

  Ray laughed again. “Well. Sometimes. I have a little put away.” His face leveled out. “My wife passed a couple of years ago, so there’s the insurance.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Obliged,” Ray said. “Anyway, I don’t do it for the money. Some things are more important.”

  Marc tipped a mouthful of beer down his throat. “Gotta have money to do the important stuff, though, right?” He thought of the lawyers and all the money he’d wasted on important things.

  Ray grinned. “Sometimes it’s enough to surround yourself with the right people. Hell, sometimes that’s better than a boatload of money.”

  Marc waited.

  Ray’s grin widened a little in acknowledgment. “Yeah, okay. You’re waiting for the pitch. You’re not an idiot.”

  “You’re buying, Ray, so I can be polite.”

  Ray laughed and slapped the edge of the table. “So I am. So I am. And I appreciate it.” He leaned forward a little. “Look, Marc—you all right with my calling you Marc?”

  Marc sat back and waved his hand at the drinks Ray had bought. “Sure.”

  Ray laughed again. “Right. Look, Marc, I wish I’d known you were coming to Missoula. I have resources. We could have helped you some.”

  This wasn’t what he’d expected. “How?”

  “Well, for one thing, had I known, you never would have paid for no rental car. You sure as hell wouldn’t be staying in no hotel. I wouldn’t have it.”

  Marc shrugged. “How would that have made anything turn out differ
ent today?”

  “It’s all about appearances, Marc. All about it. That’s the thing. I told you—and I mean it—that we respect what you tried to do today. But, I’ve got to be honest with you, there’s no way it would have turned out any different so long as it’s just you headed up there and just, well, just telling those Sovereigns you want in.” He smiled sympathetically. “One doesn’t just walk into the Donner Institute.”

  Marc figured he better drink up. This was getting old.

  “You think you coulda got me in?”

  Ray shrugged. “I think we could have worked up a little attention beforehand. Talked to KPAX and KGVO ahead of time—we have some sympathetic folks over there—so if there was going to be any news coverage, we could have a little influence in that regard. You follow?”

  Marc shook his head. “You want me to hire you as a…what, a publicist or something?”

  Ray laughed again. Even Arby chuckled, looking at the table.

  “Oh, hell, Marc. That’s not it. I’m telling you: we want to help you.”

  “Sorry, Ray,” Marc didn’t feel at all sorry. “I’ve had a lot of people say they wanna help. Usually ends up with a hand on my wallet.”

  “I told you. I don’t need any money.” Ray seemed a little frustrated. That was fine with Marc. “Look. I’ve got ‘pert near seventy acres. A nice house. A little business—but here’s the thing, Marc: it’s not just a business. It’s a mission. And it’s your mission, too.”

  “All I give a shit about is getting my kid back where he belongs.”

  “Sure. Sure. But I know it doesn’t stop there for you. I know it. This whole thing—doesn’t it offend you?”

  “What whole thing?”

  “The Sovereigns, Marc.” Ray sighed. “The damn Sovereigns. What else?”

  “Fuck ‘em.”

  Ray shook his head slowly. “It’s not as simple as that, though, is it? They’ve set themselves up just a few miles from my land in their…compound.” He sneered. “Do you know their Institute, that it’s on the site of the old Garnet Ghost Town? Damn, I used to go there all the time as a kid, thinking about how things used to be, all the miners and saloons and gunfighters and whatnot.

  “Now…now it’s ground zero for those…I don’t know what they are.”