Be Nice

by David Portlock

  John Tom and Abe didn’t budge.

  “Y’all deaf?” Big Larry grunted.

  John Tom and Abe walked off.

  The second conference room was dimly lit. Blue Colorado members lifted free weights in the shadows. They stood as Wallis and Janey walked in with Big Larry.

  Big Larry entered his office, a shack with no front door. Wallis and Janey took seats on a pair of bar stools. Big Larry clicked on a set of flash wands that had been duct taped together and directed them to an atlas map tacked to the wall. Black and blue stick pins were placed in every country.

  “Okay,” Big Larry said. He pointed to Europe, Russia, China and the Mid-East. “Now Frank’s got the numbers, but I’m with the war boots on the ground. So, look, the blue pins, they’re the big cities…those’re all our people. But the black pins, they’re the small towns and counties mostly out in the burbs. The problem? More people live here in the cities, so that means we got a lot more crazies to deal with. But, in the burbs, not too many people, so there’s not so much craziness. And that makes all those people wanna stay real close with Be Nice.”

  Wallis touched one of the black pins. “But the burbs, they’re just kids that didn’t wanna deal with their parents when they stopped takin’ their meds.”

  “You lookin’, m’man, but you ain’t seein’.

  “The black pins,” Janey said, “they’re all around us.”

  Big Larry pointed to California. “She’s right. Black pins everywhere. We’re surrounded. But we still got the bigger numbers, so I ain’t worried…but I am worried if we can’t get more bodies down here to deal with the people who’re always effin’ up—”

  “What about the Protect-and-Serves?”

  “Girl, please, they’re with Be Nice because of that beat down they took when we first got here. I mean, we’re holdin’ our own an’ all, but unless we finish this, all Be Nice has to do is sit back and wait us out.”

  Wallis eyed the map.

  “If we can’t get our kids to calm down, their folks, they’re prolly gonna end up goin’ back with Be Nice.” He showed a stack of paperwork. “Every time someone acts up, I get a report. Outside San Fran down to outside Diego, people’re goin’ at it in the open with the free talk, the hate speech. Some people goin’ at each other cuz they believe in God, they don’t believe in God, they hate black people, they hate white people, they hate brown people—”

  “Forget it. We ain’t goin’ back,” Wallis said. “This is how it has to be.”

  “Man, I ain’t complainin’…I’m just tellin’ you the way it is.”

  Covered in grease and sweat, John Tom collapsed on his bed. He yawned and stretched before opening a small laptop. He could see his mother and father in their living pod. They live-streamed from a surveillance camera hidden above the fridge unit.

  There was a knock at John Tom’s door.

  “Who is it?”

  No answer.

  John Tom cursed and rolled out of bed.

  He opened the door. “Yeah, what?”

  A note was on the floor in the hallway.

  Wallis nursed a drink on the balcony. Sitting in the living room of their penthouse suite, Janey wrote in her notebook.

  Wallis entered and pulled a cigarette from behind his ear. He sat in one of the soft leather chairs and smoked. He eyed Janey, trying to get her attention. He finally said, “Well, what do you think?”

  “What do I think?”

  “About what Big Larry said.”

  Janey closed the notebook. “What did Joe Joe and Tyler say to us?”

  Wallis snuffed his cigarette in an ashtray.

  “They said things were gonna change—”

  “But if we can’t get our people under control out there, we’re gonna have to—”

  “The only reason we’re havin’ problems is cuz a lot of kids don’t like their parents off the meds—”

  “There’s always gonna be mutants.”

  Janey gave him a look.

  “People who don’t fit in. Remember what Beams said?”

  “Yeah. I remember. But we’re not him.”

  A knock at the door.

  Janey got up and answered. Frank stood in the doorway, holding a selli. He looked past Janey to Wallis and said with urgency, “You got a call.”

  The paddleboat broadsided against the dock. John Tom cut the engine, hopped out, and jogged in the direction of the Thirty-Third Street Promenade.

  The Promenade was bustling. Shopkeepers, salesmen, and Santa Monica residents crowded the peddie walks. John Tom was surprised to see that most of the people were over-thirty-fives. They were laughing and talking loudly—wide awake and med free.

  Mr. and Mrs. Martinez stopped eating when they heard the H-mobile’s engine. Startled, they dabbed their mouths with their napkins and rushed to the back door. When they opened it, John Tom blasted out of the garage. His H-mobile peeled out to the street.

  The H-mobile cruised down Sunset Blvd. John Tom had the note from the hallway clenched in his right hand. He looked at it, crumbled it, and tossed it out the window. He leaned down and reached for a shock wand under the driver’s seat.

  Big Larry barged into the penthouse. Wallis, Janey, and Frank looked up from Janey’s laptop. Frank’s selli phone had been plugged into it.

  “We gotta situation,” Big Larry said. “It’s J.T., he took off.”

  Wallis shut the laptop. “He what?”

  “The boys guardin’ the dock told me. Couple others saw him take off from his folks’ pod in an H-mobile.”

  John Tom parked across the street from the Cedar Medical Center.

  Over-thirty-fives packed the emergency room. Amazed, they looked at John Tom, recognizing him as he marched past to the elevators.

  John Tom strolled down the third floor hallway. He came to the last room, confirmed the number on the door, and kicked it open.

  The majority of his body in a cast, Mr. Dylon turned to the doorway. His breathing tubes hissed and wheezed his fear.

  John Tom calmly entered the room.

  Eyes wide, Mr. Dylon whimpered, terrified.

  Grinning, John Tom walked to his bedside and slowly ran his fingers over the mass of breathing tubes. “I got a tip you was in here. Even found out you used a fake name.” He placed his shock wand to Mr. Dylon’s left eye. “We got our spies on the inside. They just pretendin’ they with Be Nice.”

  Mr. Dylon cleared his throat. Oddly confident, he said, “And we also have spies.”

  John Tom frowned.

  “And our spies, they like to drop off little notes to sucker dumb-ass fuckers, like yourself, out of their safe hiding places.”

  Taken aback, John Tom stepped away from the bed.

  Mr. Dylon’s voice box laughed.

  Before John Tom could make it to the door, eight men wearing Be Nice masks rushed into the room.

  Mr. Brennan spoke into a selli screen on his apartment balcony. His wife was seated at his side, upright in a lounge chair. Her eyes were closed. A cracked martini glass and an empty bottle of meds rested by her right arm.

  Mr. Brennan lowered the selli when Ms. Fallings and a group of sec guards unlocked the front door and entered the apartment.

  Standing at the balcony windows, Ms. Fallings stared at Mr. Brennan’s deceased wife. She noted of the empty bottle of meds and the broken martini glass.

  Mr. Brennan opened the balcony windows and took a step back. “Well, what do you think is more appropriate? Et tu, Ms. Fallings…or…why?”

  Ms. Fallings reached into her jacket. She pulled out a garrote and let it hang at her side.

  “I’m afraid you won’t have the pleasure.”

  Ms. Fallings stepped out onto the balcony.

  Mr. Brennan rolled backwards over the railing.

  Mr. Dylon vi
ewed a wall of telescreens above his bed. The Indian investor, the Arab investor, the Asian investor, and the African investor greeted him.

  Mr. Dylon cleared his throat. “While The Blue may have superior numbers, we have order and discipline. After tonight, your real estate holdings in the Southwest and Midwest can be assured.”

  Two laptop screens were set on Big Larry’s desk. Big Larry and Wallis concentrated on eight windows of ethnic faces: young men and women, Asian, African, Russian, Arab, European, Indian, white American, and African American.

  Wallis adjusted a mouth mic. “Now I know it’s crazy out there, but all of you are holdin’ up.”

  The eight faces expressed concern.

  “Okay, listen. I just got a call from someone on the inside. They said Be Nice is gonna make some kinda move, and soon.” He pressed a button on one of the laptops. An atlas appeared. Eleven red dots pulsed in several countries. “I’ve sent y’all locations and, when I give the word, I want you to get your people together and take over these eleven spots.”

  An African American boy onscreen said, “We got Flits comin’ in every minute. Kids are actin’ up, the over-thirty-fives are actin’ up…”

  An Arab woman onscreen said, “I hear the Jewbrews and the Mussies, they’re fighting with one another out in the desert.”

  “It’s ice. Just leave `em alone,” Wallis ordered.

  “It’s gonna get tight out there fast,” Big Larry said. “Things we can’t get into right now. But when Wallis gives the word, y’all move out. And no one lifts a finger in the meantime. Are we clear?”

  The eight faces nodded their compliance.

  The fight broke out in the main conference room. One group of kids held another group of kids back as Abe and Frank went at it.

  Abe had Frank on the ground, pummeling him in the face.

  With a shock wand in hand, Janey pushed through the melee.

  “What the EFF?” she screamed.

  Wallis and Big Larry rushed in behind her and shoved the kids aside.

  Silence.

  Janey fanned her shock wand in a circle. “Okay. Who started it?”

  Abe pointed at Frank. “This bitch told me the toilets were all effed up! Said he wanted me to go fix `em!”

  Janey squared off with Abe. “Boy, I swear to—”

  “It was only us, Janey! It was only us before! We was runnin’ things in this town! Bitch-ass Mother-I fucked you’s like Frank, they wasn’t doin’ a got-damn thing!”

  Wallis gripped Abe by the back of his neck. “No more of this! You hear me? I’m tired of it! We don’t have time—”

  Abe whirled around and shoved Wallis to the floor.

  Big Larry caught Abe by both arms and pulled him back.

  “Oh, it’s like that now?” Abe shouted. “This big-ass gorilla, he’s your nikky? Me and John Tom, we been around since day one, but you got us doin’ the W Line bullshit!”

  “You little, bitch-ass, horn playin’—”

  “Janey, shut up! First you was fuckin’ J.T., now you’re fuckin’ Wal! Girl, you ain’t nothin’ but a ho!”

  Big Larry caught Janey before she could use her shock wand.

  “Yeah, you best hold her!” Abe spit on the floor. “And let me tell you somethin’ else, it ain’t only me! Lots of us sick of eatin’ crap food, shittin’ and pissin’ in got-damn plastic tubes—”

  The paddleboat horn startled everyone.

  The boat cruised into the lobby, bumping the other boats from the entrance. A girl in the wheelhouse had tears in her eyes.

  Two boys lifted John Tom’s body from the deck. They carried it past the escalator barricade and laid it on the stairs. John Tom’s face had been shattered. Streaks of blood, as if he’d been whipped, striated his chest. His legs and arms were bent backwards, broken.

  The paddleboat driver said from the wheelhouse, “This big buncha Be Nice dudes, they came up and threw him in the boat.”

  Frank’s selli beeped. He answered, listened, and ran to the main conference room.

  Wallis, Janey, Abe, and the other kids looked at John Tom.

  Abe shook his head. “That’s it. I’m done with this.”

  Wallis and Janey turned to him.

  “This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.”

  A group of kids, fifty to sixty, gathered behind Abe.

  Janey leveled her shock wand. “What the eff are you—”

  Abe took off down the escalator stairs. The dissenters followed behind him.

  “Abe! Wait!” Wallis cried out.

  Abe led the dissenters into the paddleboat. They attacked the driver and tossed her into the water.

  “Give me the say so,” Big Larry grumbled to Wallis.

  Abe started the paddleboat.

  Frank poked his head out the conference room. “It’s on!”

  Abe turned away and steered the paddleboat out to sea.

  Big Larry’s crew blocked the entrance to the main conference room.

  Inside, Frank operated from his command center of laptops, sellies, and telescreens.

  Wearing headphones and mics, Wallis, Janey, and Big Larry worked laptop keyboards and sellies alongside him.

  An anchorman spoke from one of the laptops. Viddi of oldies being arrested played on a screen to his right.

  “Be Nice officials moved swiftly in what many in the media are now calling, “The Day of the Reckoning”. Top Be Nice officials, including the founder of the Brennan Learning Centers, Jonathan Brennan, have been taken into custody.”

  Viddi of white supremacist groups in the deserts being flushed out and arrested.

  “Be Nice has also moved to eliminate the numerous hater groups that flourished under their rule, unbeknownst to them!”

  Viddi of thousands of Be Nice kids on the march in the Southwest. Rev. Brown’s desert compound was under siege.

  “Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our Be Nice forces are also valiantly fighting to finally wipe away the remaining vestiges of the crazed God freaks!”

  Viddi of Be Nice members assembling in small towns and big cities.

  “And in communities worldwide, Be Nice members have heard the call! The call of frightened citizens who no longer wished to follow the naive and hateful ideologies of terrorists!”

  Images of Be Nice members gathered on sidewalks and on street corners around the country.

  “It was clear to many that The Blue could no longer maintain order! There are reports that during the past three weeks alone, physical assaults by over-thirty-fives on the young have risen over one thousand percent!”

  Viddi of people placing Be Nice flags on their living pods and their front lawns.

  Big Larry cupped his mic. “Our people are pissed off!”

  Frank looked over from his telescreens. “Flit to Bleep, all the sites are blowing up! Everyone wants to know what we’re doing, why we’re not fighting back!”

  Big Larry said, “Be Nice, they just took over Tokyo!”

  “I got some Africans in the Congo and in Egypt who are goin’ effin’ ba-listic!” Janey yelled.

  Frank threw Wallis a selli. “It’s for you!”

  Wallis snatched the selli and put it to his ear. “Yeah!”

  Mr. Dylon cleared his throat. “So how’s it going, HERR DIREKTOR?”

  “Who the eff is—”

  “You should’ve seen your friend, John Tom. He begged and pleaded for his pathetic life.”

  Wallis put the selli on spkphn.

  “They never wanted freedom. All they ever wanted was food, security, and a clean place to lay their heads. Oh, sure, Wallis, you and Janey put a dent in things, and I commend you on that, but I’m a student of history, and when you let loose the dogs of hate, ignorance, and religion—”

  “Listen to me! We don’t need Be Nice! We can run
the world together, we can all work together—”

  “No, son. You see, this time, you’re the problem. You’re the cancer. And once we’ve cured the world of you, order and discipline will return, and the chaos of freedom—”

  Wallis disconnected.

  Frank’s laptops linked to newsfeeds of Be Nice officials in other countries. He turned up the volume on a laptop showing Ms. Fallings.

  “These past three weeks we, as one world, have endured much,” she began. “We have witnessed a terrorist group grow to unacceptable proportions and threaten the lives of so many of you. The Blue, they promised the return of the old ways, and you watched as your beloved cities degraded into chaos.” As Ms. Fallings went on, the other Be Nice members’ lips moved, communicating in their foreign tongues, repeating her words. “…and, yes, it’s true, we were not aware of the oldies who were hidden away, the ones who continued to pull our strings. But they have been dealt with. And, in the days to come, if the threat of The Blue is not eliminated, the LOC is reporting that many of you will be denied the goods and services that you and your families have come to depend on. We have one planet, we must maintain it, and we must discipline ourselves if we are going to survive.”

  Wallis turned to Frank.

  Frank typed on a keyboard.

  The eight young, ethnic faces materialized on a telescreen.

  Wallis plugged his mic into the screen and said, “Now!”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Promenade burned. The shops and restaurants and fashion outlets and the SNACK-O-RAMA ROM and the BURGER BURGER BURGER splintered and fell apart under whipping tongues of yellow and orange flames.

  The fighting had shifted east. The under-thirty-fives, most of them under-twenties, and the over-thirty-fives, the ones who liked the idea of being med-free, battled one another on the streets of Beverly Hills.

  Back at the docks, two paddleboats moored beside the paddleboat Abe had left behind. Frank peered out the wheelhouse of the first boat. He eyed Big Larry, Wallis, and Janey on the second boat.