When they walked into the place, the entire joint was watching the TV and singing along the "My Beloved Emperor," the song preceding all ball games and Emperor's Addresses.
The patrons looked like mostly employees from next door: automotive coveralls were de rigueur. Some of them had to dry their eyes after declaring their fealty. A royalist crowd, to say the least.
The speech began:
"My citizens," began the Emperor, nose neat and trimmed short. "I stand before you because we cannot stand for any terrorist activity in our land."
"Yeah, and because you can't sit," laughed Nin.
"The terrorists need to resort their priorities and should only uphold the sort that is not traitorous."
"Huh? Oh, make him stop already, Nin."
"Shh!" Sam whispered. "Royalists! Sit here!" He sat down and abruptly pulled Nin and Nan down into a booth facing the giant screen face of Pinocchibush. "Copy their movements!"
When the patrons dropped to their knees, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. When the patrons swooned, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. When the patrons cheered, so did Nin, Nan and Sam. Well, maybe not Nan, who instinctively suspected any synchronized activity. But, even without being fully convinced, even Nan played along.
The speech droned on. "And so henceforth we shall seek death for all international terriers that try to get in our way!"
A couple of dog owners got up and hurried out of the place.
"Only terriers?" asked a reporter.
"Them and all those beasts that support them."
A few more pet owners got up, and among them was the shepherd. He hadn't noticed Nin, Nan and Sam.
What was really unfortunate was that this was the very weekend the World Terrier Championships were being held in the city. Dogs all over the place started acting strange. The terriers were being hunted. Sometimes packs of mongrels would turn them in.
The Emperor's popularity ebbed, especially in the new territory, but one would never have known that in the Crow Bar. Heck, that crappy Bruce Springsteen song "Born in the USA" was even playing on the jukebox.
"The Way of US or the Way of None!" read a biker's bottomrocker.
"Um, Nin?"
"Yes, Nan?"
"Did you see the direction he left in?"
"Don't worry. If he's hungry, he's going to be stopping at a restaurant soon," said Nin.
"That's right!" said Nan, relieved.
Chapter Eight: The 3rd Restaurant, the 3rd TV
"The Third Eye. I've been visited by something that doesn't want me to succeed."
"That's ridiculous, Nan," said Nin. "Superstitious hogwash."
"Like you'd know."
"Stop it, you two," intervened Sam. "It's bad when I have to be the mature one here. I'm a musician, damn it!"
"Wait! There's a flaw in the ointment!" interjected Nan.
"Meaning a fly?" interpreted Nin.
"Cut it out, you two," intercepted Sam. "I mean it. Or I'll have to intra-duce you two to my two dukes," he said, holding up a suspiciously-not-so-frail-looking pair of fists.
At this rate, by the time dinner's over, we'll have been to a dozen restaurants and Sam will be as large as
a bounty hunter? thought Nan.
or worse, thought Nin.
What's worse?
A stooge for the machine.
"And what evidence have ye?"
"Empirical, of course."
"Hey, guys," said Sam. "I know her," pointing to a corner table inside the Third Eye.
"That's a table, Sam."
"No—the woman who was sitting there a minute ago."
"Who?"
"You didn't notice her?"
"Not really, Sam. I'm not here to score with the Chicks of the System. We're here to get that shepherd."
"Don't worry. We got him. This time I got his distributor cap."
"If you had the right car."
"Of course I had the right car! Who do you take me for? A Pinocchibushy?"
"Okay. So he's here somewhere. This is a huge place."
"Well, duh. It's a casino."
They walked past an old patron at a slot machine who was so heavy into her addiction that she'd forgotten herself and had soiled her pants. Badly. One employee walked over to help, but a manager stopped him. "Not until she's finished betting, son. Then you can go get a mop and bucket since you want to be so 'helpful.'" And thank her for coming to Pinocchibushoil Casino, "where every handshake is greezy!"
They walked over to a roulette wheel looking for shoeblack.
The crap tables stank. Madam Comnist walked over to Sam, whispered in his ear, and took off.
"What was that?" asked Nan.
"Nothing. I couldn't even understand her. Nin, do you have a pen?"
"We're staying?"
"Let me just say I think I got us a room."
"Sam, you're okay," said Nin.
"We'll see," said Nan. Muttering.
"What?"
"Nothing. Sounds great." For you. I'll be left without a friend.
"Beth, here, will be your friend tonight, Nan."
"Cool. Hey, Beth. What's your favorite rock and roll band?"
"Ew. Maybe, oh, the Beatles!"
"Good answer. Okay. Now we've got something to talk about!"
Nin and Nan went up to the room, 369, just as they had said they would. And the room was open just as Beth had said. Unfortunately, Beth wasn't in it. That was sarcastic. Beth had to score some crank. But she had a room. And room service! Neither champagne nor caviar was too good for Beth!
"Get the Dom Perignon and make sure that's 100% Caspian Sea black sturgeon caviar."
"You got it! Thanks, Beth! Wherever you are! Hey, aren't we supposed to be looking for the shepherd?"
"No. That's Sam's job. We're just supposed to get drunk and pass out."
"Oh," and they did. The TV woke them. It came on automatically at 3:30 a.m. to share an urgent message from His Highness.
"But first a word from our sponsor, Makil Health Care. Now that Asian Bird Flu has been found in poultry in Turkey, protect yourself with a Makil flu shot. Payable in easy monthly installments of $29.95!"
"How did the poultry get eaten by turkeys?" asked Nan. "Are turkeys cannibalistic?"
"I don't know. Shh! Our illustrious leader is about to speak."
"Nothing up my sleeve. Presto!"
"Shush!"
"Maybe it's just the sick ones. Like those mad cows that were going around eating sheep."
"Don't tell that to the shepherd until we've caught him."
"Maybe we should disguise ourselves as a mad cow!"
"Oh, hush. Listen."
"And now! Live from the Empire City, His Highness!" Canned applause.
"Good evening, My Subjects. I have been told by my advisors that some of you have tried and failed and have deconstrued incorrectly what my earlier states meant, er, statements, er, meant. If you have assumed I have leveled a permanent ban on resorts and terriers, you have misapprehended me incorrectly. Though we need to guard against terriers' activities in our resorts, I of course am not suggesting we close our hostilitality industries. But let me not allay your fears one more second—every dog has his day.
"Now is not the time to take the streets in protest—"
Nin and Nan exchanged a glance. We took a street.
"Now is the time to reclaim the streets in the name of the Empire. Streetwashers, stop washing. Streetwalkers, stop walking. Give back what has always belonged to the people. The streets, sidewalks, and the gutter.
"Thus have I spaken!"
Man, though Nin. He just condemned the commoner to the gutter. If that doesn't stir them up, what will?
And the station broadcast the Makil Health Care advertisement again. People walking down the street, albatrosses on their backs, turn into the Makil Health Care Center, then come out a revolving door, sans albatross. Wait! One of those people! It's the shepherd. He goes in, but he never comes out. He didn't have an albatross on his back. Almo
st as if he'd just coincidentally decided to enter the building there just then. Of course, accidents don't exist, chaos doesn't exist. William Burroughs said that if you ever think chaos exists, look to see if anyone's profiting by it. Sure enough, someone will be, and you'll realize that chaos does not really exist. Nan was lost in thought.
"Did you see that?" asked Sam.
"That was the shepherd?"
"I think so."
"Nan? Did you see it?"
"Huh? What?"
"The shepherd going into that building."
"What? Oh, the shepherd. Where?"
"That was the Makil Health Care Center."
"Graceless," said Nan.
"Gracious," corrected Nin. Nan scowled.
"Graceless," repeated Nan, with emphasis.
"That's the first target, kids," said Sam.
"We're short, not young," replied Nan indignantly.
"It's designed as a huge cross, each wing dedicated to one speciality: hysterectomy, tonsillectomy, circumcision, and cosmetic surgery."
"How do you know that?"
"TV commercials, Holmes. Like everyone else."
"Which one do you think our shepherd would be involved with, do you suppose?"
"I suppose stockings. I don't know. What does he prefer: playing with his mouth, playing with his pud, playing with his neighbor's toys, or conceptualizing bodily perfection?"
Tough question. I don't even know if I could tell you for myself, even less for someone else.
Yes, that's me! "Even Less For Someone Else." Nin looked at Nan, who was falling asleep. I hope Beth has a sense of humor. Better order some more Dommy P. before she gets back. She's not likely to order it herself. Oh, well. She thought Nan was cute and I was clever. Madam Comnist knew them. From years ago. We don't talk about it. It's over and done with. It's in the pond in the park, and ducks down to use it.
Ducks drown to use it.
Chapter Nine: The Makil Health Care Center
"Of or pertaining to the uterus" is the definition of "hysteria." Thus, to cure women [note: only women exhibit hysteria, by definition] of their hysteria, doctors rip out their uteruses.
Whenever a typical doctor treats a woman and cannot figure out what is truly wrong with her, that doctor dismisses it as "hysteria" and cuts out her uterus.
Of course, the doctors caught on to the fact that the jig was up about the word "hysteria" and changed their prognosis to "premenstrual syndrome" and came up with expensive placebos to cure the imaginary ailment, or rather the single ailment that included thousands of unrelated symptoms.
Take these pills, Alice. They'll cure you. How dare you stand there and bleed all over the place?
I remember my insurance paperwork once stating, "Pregnancy will be treated like any other illness," i.e. as a disease only doctors know how to cure. Before doctors, women could not be cured of their pregnancies.
A man was arguing with a nurse at a nurse's station. His gestures were violent, his pointing finger a dagger in the air.
"My wife loved me before she came in here for this completely unnecessary operation, and now she won't have anything to do with me," he was saying. "And it's your fault."
"Sir, I wasn't even on duty that day."
"Not you. All of you. You greedy slimebags who'd rip out a woman's innards in exchange for memberships at the exclusive 'no-women, no-Blacks, no-Jews' country clubs. You hate women so much you can't even stand to have their innard-less bodies on your links. That's it, isn't it?"
"Sir, I wasn't there. And I don't golf."
"Of course not. They don't allow you to."
"Who?"
"The doctors. The greedy scum who cut out my wife's love for me."
"Sir, I'll get you a supervisor. Just a minute."
Nin watched her mouth the word "security" into the phone. Nin walked up to the man.
"Hey, man. I agree with you, but you'd better get the hell out of here. She just called security, and the rentacops will be here to rough you up in just a minute."
"They cut up my wife—"
"I know. And they'll cut you up, too. I think they're still conducting Mengele's phosphorous experiments on the behavior ward patients."
"What?"
"No joke, man. Go!"
"Thanks," and he ran. Nin saw him wave from his car in the parking lot just as the rentacops showed up.
"A friend of yours?" asked one of the steroidal rentacops.
"No—not at all. I was only telling him what the time was. I'm here to see a friend. A shepherd friend of mine who until recently had a beard checked in, and I want to visit him. Where's his room?"
"How should I know?" asked the rentacop.
True, thought Nin. Steroids have rotted your brain. You are way too stupid to be qualified for anything other than being a rentacop or a politician. At least two regions had, within, recent memory, "elected" (such a term could only be used lightly inside the Empire) steroid-befuddled former pseudo-athletes as their governors. Several others had hired empty-shelled actors to play the parts of their representatives. The worst, though, were incapable of discerning between ministers and "ministers of state," so they gave over their governance to whatever religious organizations had their boys by the balls.
Sam derailed this train of thought. "Excuse me, my good man," he said to the friggin' rentacop. It was embarrassing, conciliatory, submissive. A sort of Stepin' Fetchit routine. "I also am a friend of the shepherd. Whom may I make my inquiry of regarding his room location?"
The rentacop's head spun around three times and then exploded.
Another rentacop came over. "Model J42 just exploded. We need a replacement." Presumably he was communicating with someone.
The nurse said, "I just looked up our admissions. He's not here. Of course, this is mostly a women's ward. Have you tried Circumcisions?"
"Why?" asked Nan. "Aren't there women admitted there?"
"No! Female circumcision? How barbaric!" said the nurse, seeming shocked.
"But male circumcision?"
"That's for good hygiene."
"Oh. You know, toes have more infections and hygiene problems than penises do. Why don't you just lop off everyone's toes?"
"They might over in cosmetic surgery. I'm not sure. You'd have to check over there."
"Okay. Come on, Nan. Sam, come on. We've got to go to the circumcision ward."
"Why would our shepherd want a circumcision?" asked Nan.
"Who knows? Maybe he heard the voice of God," said Nin.
"And so he wants to cut off the head of God?" asked Nan.
"I have an idea," said Sam. "But we're going to need to find the hub of this place."
"Hub?"
"Yeah, you know. The physical plant. The communications center. The hub of the nexus."
"Here's the next ward. Ask the nurse."
"Excuse me. Where's your physical plant?"
"Mnnnbrngrnrbrngr..."
"What?" Nin and Nan exchanged confused glances.
"Oh," said Nin. "This is the tonsillectomy ward. They're pulling everyone's tonsils out, apparently. Even the nurses'."
"We'd better keep going. I need my tonsils. They protect me against infection," said Sam.
"Look—a poster for a bargain. Today only—they're doing free appendectomies with every tonsillectomy sold," said Nan, feigning excitement.
"As I said, we'd better keep going. I'm led to believe that stepping onto the hospital grounds is implied consent for experimental treatment."
"Here's a sign that says, 'no admittance.' This must be it," said Nin. "Here we go." Nin and Nan followed Sam into the communications center. He whispered something to the operator, who scurried away like a cockroach. Sam picked up the hospital's P.A. system microphone and switched the "all on" button.
"Attention, all hospital patrons. This is God. And I'm looking for the shepherd whose beard was recently shaven."
Sam covered the microphone with his hands. "You go out to the entrances and catch h
im if he tries to leave," said Sam. Nin and Nan hurried out. "I am your God, and I want you to prepare a sacrifice. Bring your son to the altar and sacrifice him to me." Sam was betting the shepherd had a son whom he had left in charge of the flock. "Should you so much as question my demand, and I shall smite all your descendents throughout all of eternity."
The shepherd, looking up at the loudspeaker, understood. However, he had no son. That he remembered. He sped out of the hospital, sheath intact, and hurried into the arms of Nin and Nan.
"Wait a minute, shepherd," said Nin. "Where are you hurrying off to?"
"I have to find my son."
"Oh, and where is your son?"
"I don't know." Just then Sam joined them.
"Hey, you, singer—I know you."
"Hello, old shepherd. Where are you off to?" "To find my son, but I don't know where to find him."
Nan began to say, "Leave him alone and he'll come home," but Nin elbowed Nan's ribs hard.
"Ow!"
Sam winked at Nan and Nin. "Hey, we were just talking about how we needed an adventure. How about my friends and I help you find him?"
"Really? I'd be grateful."
"Of course." Sam whispered into Nan's ear,
"We'll be able to keep a close eye on him now, at least."
Nin was thinking they'd take a long walk down a short beer.
Chapter Ten: The Happy Hunting Grounds
"I had a wallet made of foreskins. Whenever I rubbed it, it turned into a briefcase," said Sam.
"That joke is as old as the heels," said Nin.
"So's that metaphor," said Nin.
"Do not mock the Lord," said the shepherd.
"Man, you sound like Nan," said Nin.
"What's your name?" asked Nan.
"Said," said Said, the shepherd.
"Said?" asked Sam.
"Said," said Said.
"Said?"
"Said said, 'Said.'"
"Said said, 'Said'?"
"Said said, 'Said said, "Said,"'" said Sam chuckling.
Said said, "Said" again, for emphasis.
"That's your name?" asked Sam.
"Man, you sound like Nan," said Nin.
"Do not mock the Lord," said Said.
"And that saying predates the meteor that killed the dinosaurs," said Sam. "Want me to turn on the radio?"
"No," said Said, so Nan did. A woman was singing a song about society. Nan immediately was captivated by the timbre of her voice and the sloppy arhythmic drumming behind her.
The Unwelcome Guest Plus Nin and Nan Page 9