Wicked Messenger by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 19
Becky and Grandpa were sitting on the living room couch.
The news was on the TV, but only Grandpa paid any attention to it. Becky was lost in the most recent issue of “Screen” magazine which contained a story about how Rita O’Sullivan, the newest starlet, got into the movies. Rita was quoted as saying that as soon as she turned eighteen, she left home and went to Hollywood. She almost eked out a living by getting parts as an extra, where she met young Under Assistant Director Roy Montgomery. Roy wrote and got a chance to direct “Point Blank,”
on a miniscule low budget, with her as the female protagonist.
It was a hit and she continued to act in Roy’s next three films, which had no trouble finding backers. Rita said; “I’ve been extremely lucky. There are so many other competent young women out there.” Asked if she and Roy were an item, she said; “Right now work is the center of both our lives.” Becky was encouraged and thought; “While she says she was lucky, she also says she works at it. So will I.”
The phone rang and Grandpa kept one eye on the tube and answered; “Ecumenical Funeral Service.”
Joshua recognized his voice and replied; “Hi Grandpa. It’s Joshua. I’m in your neck of the woods again. I guess you’ve been watching the news.”
“Yeah, something’s going to explode.”
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“You’re thinking in Earth terms. Maybe things will just disappear.”
“Maybe both. Hey, why don’t you stop over.”
“I’m not that close. I just landed in Dallas.”
“Dangerous place.”
“Maybe I’ll make it even more dangerous.”
“Ever since you guys came here the place is getting more dangerous all over.”
Joshua knew that Grandpa meant that as a playful joking remark, but he couldn’t help also recognizing the truth in it, and consequently felt guilty; not for anything he had individually done, but for the negative effect of his species’
existence. He said; “But not in Esperanza, I hope.”
“No, not yet. And I’m not worried, because I have that
‘silver bullet’ and I’ll just plug ‘em.” He laughed.
Though he always considered it a strong possibility, for the first time Joshua was certain that Becky had given the
“silver bullet” to her Grandpa. Despite Grandpa’s laugh, he didn’t consider the remark funny, but simultaneously realized that it was no different from what he was intending to do in Dallas, which he had previously found amusing in a wicked way.
He couldn’t think of anything relevant or bright to say, so he merely forced a return laugh.
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Grandpa said; “I bet you want to talk to Becky. It’ll do her some good as she’s sitting here getting lost in movie magazines. I’ll put her on the phone.”
Joshua heard a clang, some ruffling of papers or wings, and then Becky’s animated voice; “I was just reading about Rita O’Sullivan in ’Screen.’ She’s all the rage you know.”
Joshua wasn’t sure who or what she was referring to, but he thought that the most obvious guess would seem to suffice in this case. He said; “Hi, Becky. Are you one of her fans?”
“Oh, yes. I’m going to be just like her.”
“Is she a big star?”
“The biggest. Don’t you know anything?”
Joshua chose to make the most truthful reply and said; “No.
........... But, give me a chance. I haven’t been here all that long.” He said it jokingly for Becky, but after recent events, didn’t consider the statement a pure jest.
“Sorry. But, everyone knows her. Haven’t you seen any movies?”
“Sorry, but no. I’ve been people watching in Manhattan.
I’ll bet you’ve seen enough for both of us.”
“And Grandpa too. .... Mom. ... Dad. ... The kids at school.” She giggled, then added; “I guess you could call me a fanatic.”
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“Enthusiast sounds better to me. I think it’s great that you can get so excited about something.”
Becky drew a blank, as Joshua’s last remark suggested that some people didn’t and for her it seemed the most natural thing in the world.
Joshua sensed her hesitation and added; “Elis don’t get excited about anything; at least on Eli they didn’t.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“That’s a long story. Fear of disappointment is a large part of it. A wish to be completely rational is another.”
“Sounds boring.”
“I’m not going to defend it beyond saying that war on Eli no longer exists.”
“Sure, you brought it here.”
“Have you been watching all the nonsense that is going on?”
“No. I know everything will be okay because you promised me that.”
Joshua was genuinely surprised, flattered and speechless.
He recognized that he had said something from which he knew she would take that meaning. He recalled his precise statements; that he would find another way and that he’d keep them (Becky and Grandpa) out of trouble. Momentarily, thinking logically, he recognized that he really wanted to stop the war and tried the best he knew how. But he saw that the current events were out of
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his and everyone’s control and they seemed to be headed in a terrible direction. There was wiggle room in his precise pronouncements. He could fulfill the letter of the law even if war broke out. He didn’t think Becky would take her loose interpretation of his words as a given. A tear came to his eye as he realized that he was again thinking like those he wished to thwart and of how little control he had on world events. He knew he had been out of Esperanza too long. But, more than ever, he wanted to keep his promise; the way Becky understood it. He chokingly said; “Right you are. There will be no war. You have my word on that. Keep dreaming and the next time we speak I will have seen some Earth movies so we can have something interesting to talk about. Bye, Becky.”
“Don’t go yet.”
“To keep my promise there is work yet to do. Keeping promises isn’t easy, you know.”
Becky dejectedly said; “All right. Bye. Be careful.”
“Bye, Becky.” Joshua threw the cell phone to the ground and smashed it under his foot. He started to mentally prepare to find a jerk and kill him.
On September eighth Dallas was still in the throes of intense summer heat. The crooked, perverse skyline climbed from the flat land and jutted into the afternoon light blue like a
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snaggletooth kid on his way to a pre-arranged appointment with an incompetent dentist. Joshua took a cab to the Trinity River and walked the banks, looking for suitable accommodations. The slow moving, brown water had recently been giving birth to new islands, which exhibited first-year foliage in the form of low, wide grassy plants, popular with pigeons, apparently eager to vacate their under-bridge roosts, now populated by people who wanted to protest in comfort.
The complaints varied in the ten million strong, sprawling city; ranging from those who wanted restrictions on water usage, to those who demanded fair play for Elis, to those who wanted the government to come clean about Robby Allison. The well-behaved, once true believers in the pigeon abandoned throng had long ago made the transition to hawkers of pricey home-made bumper stickers, buttons and severely sweetened espresso. Joshua walked the high ground, a decaying levee built when flooding was still a possibility, sparingly looking down on the painfully predictable “protestors” patronizing bland platitudes. He tired in the monotonous heat and checked into “The Trinity Towers,” a fifty floor hotel, one-third of which viewed its namesake.
He had seen his fill of mud and pushers of overpriced
“moral” merchandise and took one of the cheaper rooms on the twenty-fifth floor, which faced the oft photographed skyline.
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Trying to hide the despondence stemming from his lack of a camera, he e-mailed the military Elis in the area.
As Joshua Foucalt was considered an important, heroic and trustworthy man, he quickly received responses. He made arrangements to have dinner with Claude Bennett and Shane Butler at 6PM at the “Indigo Crow.”
It was not the flies that prevented the trio from taking an open air table at the bistro; it was the continued heat and humidity. They opted for the air conditioned interior to discover that their predilection was shared by the colorless, winged cuisine’s investigation crew of people with nothing to do.
After they sat and ordered, Claude said; “What has Dallas done to be graced with your presence?”
Joshua refrained from making his interest in Robby Allison’s killer obvious, because he was reticent to provide entertainment for the on-looking geriatric set and especially since he was certain that piece of “news” would come up somewhere in the course of dinner. He answered with a grin, saying; “Now, you boys should know that my missions are top secret. ......... But, I will tell you this. It’s more like what Dallas has not done.”
Shane mock sarcastically intoned; “Don’t you trust us?”
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Joshua made a grimacing smile, reached for his water glass, and saw that a fly also had an interest in it. He put it back down and said; “How do you guys live here?”
Claude and Shane said nothing, but both simultaneously put their coasters on top of their water glasses.
Joshua said; “Nice move.”
Claude shook his head and softly replied; “New problems call for new solutions.”
Shane followed with; “At first I thought Dallas would be similar to Sunny, Eli; full bright sun. But the humidity is a killer. I don’t know if the clouds are a blessing or a curse.”
Claude added; “Wind’s good.”
Joshua stretched his arms skyward and said; “Air conditioning’s even better.”
The perspiring waitress brought their meals and the trio made the obligatory attestations to the wonders of the Swedish meat balls, shrimp Fra Diavolo and the house specialty; beef au gratin. Joshua saw a bead of sweat drop from her forehead to his Swedish meat balls, and said; “Hot?”
Without missing a beat she said; “Always. This is the Big D. You must be new here.” She wiggled away.
Claude said; “There’s always somethin’ happenin’ here. Hear what happened to Robby Allison?”
Joshua said; “Government abduction?”
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Shane looked around the room and whispered; “Hell, no.”
Joshua caustically said; “He went for a swim in the Trinity and got buried in the mud.”
Shane again whispered; “Rogue Eli, man.”
Joshua feigned a look of disbelief.
Claude said; “No ********. Fred Grief, Leo Grot and Howard Winterbottom are all bragging about having obliterated Robby.”
Joshua said; “Took three?”
Claude answered; “No. The thing is that Elis consider it heroic. So Fred said it first, and after the reaction was so overwhelmingly positive, Leo and Howard chimed in and said they did it.”
Joshua laughed and said; “So who was the real hero? Fred alone? Leo alone? Howard alone? In a group?”
Shane said; “Nobody’s sure except the shooter. Most think it was Fred.”
Claude added; “Leo and Howard are just glory seekers.”
Joshua said; “Or maybe Robby just made himself scarce to increase his popularity.”
Claude said; “Twisted, but it’s been done. Personally, I think Robby was happy with his book deal.”
Shane said; “Me too.”
Joshua had enough information. So as not to dwell on and tip his primary interest, he changed the subject saying; “****
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Robby Allison. Let the Earthlings obsess about the jerk. I hope that one of the Elis did blow him away. I also hope they first tortured him. How’s the transition been in Dallas?”
Claude said; “After the shooting everyone is unnerved.
Nothing else has physically happened. But the undercurrent is ominous and unsettled.”
From there the rest of the dinner conversation progressed (degenerated) into the typical innocuous banalities endemic to (anti?)social gatherings of business associates. Notes were compared regarding accommodations, spouses, kids, mutually known Elis, personal job significance and television. Claude and Shane spoke of luxury at a bargain price, fineness, honor students, good guys, important projects and stink. Joshua had nothing to say and forced many smiles as he eyed the hot and sweaty waitress, before returning to The Trinity Towers.
Joshua used his high security code to download the addresses of all Elis living in Dallas as a smokescreen to cover obtaining those of Fred Grief, Leo Grot and Howard Winterbottom.
If any investigator found out, he would say that he had some ideas about establishing security in the dangerous city which didn’t pan out. He had never met any of them and was glad of that for a number of reasons; one practical.
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The following day he first went to Fred’s apartment. When his knock was answered he introduced himself as Chetwood Snodgrass of the Eli History Museum. He was invited in and the two sat at opposing ends of the rectangular kitchen table. He declined an offer of coffee, saying; “I know you are a busy man.
So, let me get right to the point.”
Fred looked at him quizzically, and he continued; “We have become aware that Robby Allison bit the ‘silver bullet’ and we consider that a significant part of Eli history.”
“Damn right.”
“Yes, well, we also consider his assailant to be an Eli patriot and want to put his bronze bust in our Hall of Eminence.”
Fred couldn’t contain his enthusiasm and blurted; “So, you need me to go somewhere and pose or something?”
“Well, not quite yet. There’s a bit of a problem.”
Fred quietly contained himself and “Chetwood” continued;
“You see three people are taking credit for an act which only necessitated one. We have to find some way to determine the truth.”
“Leo Grot and Howard Winterbottom never had the nerve to break a rule in their lives. Any targets they have taken out have been properly approved, and there weren’t many of them.”
“You’re saying you’re the man?”
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“Yes, I am.”
“Chetwood” sincerely smiled, put his right hand under the table, retrieved his “silver bullet” and shot Fred in the balls.
“The man” was no more.
Joshua performed substantially the same routine twice more that day, annihilating Leo and Howard with a smile. He was virtually certain that two of the three were merely liars, but considered them guilty, as their motivations were in the wrong place. Pragmatically, he could never be certain that he got Robby’s killer, unless he took out all three. Personally, he knew that he accomplished nothing of substance, but he sure as hell felt great.
Joshua went to Dallas International and took the first flight he could get back to Manhattan. During the trip he got an unwelcomed and perplexing thought; “It’s possible that all three were glory seeking liars. The real killer could still be surreptitiously out there.”
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