guest article two of two today

GUEST ARTICLE
Part two posted earlier. Part one yesterday. My regular article posts at 7am.
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"If Present Trends Continue"

by D. Ritchey
Part 3- last part of story.

The next morning there was a knock on my door. I was in my boxers with a cup of Rio Arriba, the strongest you can imagine, dorking around on the Internet. I still hadn't received a check for my latest study of the land crabs. I was low energy; I felt like a candy ass. And who the fuck was it? I answered the door. A man in a gray flannel suit was there.

"Good morning, sir."

"Good morning."

"I'm from the government. May I have a word with you?"

"Who am I?"

"You are Mr. Jack Lee Cahill."

I thought, yes I am. "How may I help you?", I asked, pulling the door shut behind me. A little flag was pinned to his lapel. At the curb was a black car. "We can talk here, if you don't mind." He didn't show notice of my boxer shorts. The chilly air was rolling in through my fly. It felt good on my balls.

"We understand that you suggested violent action yesterday."

I said nothing.

"Sir, this trouble here in Holzville is a matter for law enforcement. It is a priority for us. We are very aware of the gangs that have invaded your town. We are aware that they are burning your buildings, strewing trash and graffitti, murdering your sons and abducting your women." He watched me. I noticed one eye was brown, the other gray. A government samoyed. "I assure you, the government has everything under control."

"Of course."

"We are interviewing your neighbors as well."

I nodded.

"These are low level criminals. Our agents have infiltrated their gangs. It is a strategic operation and if there is any vigilantism, it will destroy our efforts."

"Our daughters are gone."

"We will neutralize these gangs soon, I assure you."

"Our women are being abducted."

"Yes sir. We are aware--"

"Where the hell are they?"

"Sir, profanity will get you nowhere. It is disrespectful--"

"So is murder, arson and slavery."

"Sir, please let me finish. We have critical information and I promise that soon these criminals will be arrested. All of them."

I said nothing.

"But vigilantism will destroy what is a deep cover operation. So I must ask you and your confederates to trust the government, and allow us to do our work."

My confederates, huh? You'd love it if I had confederates. If I had confederates you'd move against us before you moved against the gangs... I took a sip of Rio Arriba. Damn good. Now how about a huff or three of the local Gold? The two go together. Works just fine. Much cheaper than Pfizer's mitochondria gel caps. Safer, too... And what about this creep here? I looked into his eyes again. Didn't see anything there.

"I do hope you understand our policy, sir." He presented a card. "Am I clear, sir?"

"Yes."

"Good." He turned to leave. "Please do not hesitate to phone me if you have further concerns."

"I have further concerns now. You stop it by midnight, for good."

"I can't promise that, sir." He was getting impatient. Good. "We're concerned now," I said.

"You're in good hands, sir."

"This all sounds like Hohler's plan."

He stopped and turned, and looked at me, but said nothing.

I watched the skinny figure fold itself into the car and drive off.

I read his card:



K.J. Green

Office of Analysis & Guidance

North West Region

Washington, D.C. 20001

202-123-4567



I went back in and finished my habitual cruise around the 'net. The Gold helped put it all in perspective.

That night, Bill Jordan's daughter was abducted. I watched the news. The only witness was an elderly woman, recently arrived in Holzville from Malibu. She identified the car in detail but when it came to the people in the car, she was real fuzzy. I watched her face contort from some inner turmoil, and she started crying. The television lens was merciless. I flipped Mr. Green's business card like a coin. It fluttered to the floor, landed blank side up.

That night, after I talked to Sylvia, I called a real estate guy, Bobby Ray.

"Bobby, the game's up."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You're from San Diego."

He hesitated. "This isn't necessarily the end."

"I think it is. And I'm leaving. You know what's going to happen here. You know what's coming."

"Well..."

"And you know there's nothing we can do about it."

"But there are lots of things we can do about it. We--"

"Can vote?" He didn't say anything. "Look, do you want this contract on our house?"

"I won't take part in starting a stampede." I felt him thinking. "I'll get back to you on that," he said. "But why are you leaving, Lee?"

"You know why. Bobby, you know how it works. It's wealth transfer, it's tax deferral and shelter. And the government has arrived, too, to make sure it comes off."

"Shit. Okay. I'll get back to you," he said again, and hung up.

Sylvia returned the evening the town hall was burned. The sirens woke us. By dawn it was collapsed into blackened heaps. All the town buildings were of oak; the heat was tremendous, scorching the insulation of the power lines out front, and parts of town were without power. And now it was gone, after one hundred years of service, the sweat of our forefathers and which they built on their own time. Gone. Thousands of books, local records. Our meeting hall. Gone forever.

Sylvia and I discussed it.

"We can't run, Jack. We just can't!"

"Do you want to live?"

"It's got nothing to do with that. It's got to do with courage and hope and determination to make our community better."

"I write this crap for a living and I know it won't work. So do you."

"But we just can't run!"

"We tried staying before. What happened?"

"It wasn't so bad, was it?"

"We consumed massive quantities of drugs. We borrowed money. And it kept us there while values went down. We were damn lucky we made good money that last year. We barely got out."

She kept right on. "It's not that bad here either. My god. The news would tell us if it was."

I looked at her. I didn't know what to say. This stuff wore you out. I'd never penetrate her. I looked out the window. Trees, trees, beautiful trees, the blood of Holzville. The forest looked good, like refuge, like the natural order. And yet, maybe I was looking too deep. Maybe I was being a prima donna or something. Who was I to try and escape misery, insult, predation and murder? Maybe this was as good as my life and Sylvia's life could be. Maybe we were born to be slaves, and it finally had caught up to us. Maybe our fate was to be trapped. Maybe this was it. Running and fear had been the fate of most people throughout time. And apparently every newbie in Holzville assumed this, except for myself and Sgt. Stahb. You could feel them getting nervous on Main Street.

Sylvia was from the Northeast Coast, Boston Irish. I have a weakness for red hair. But she can't take me prisoner because I know that human life is a zoo, and she's in it too. But she likes to interrogate me. It's in her blood. Yes, Sylvia is a product of New England; she uses guilt to achieve dominance. Like those phoney goddamn Yankees in 1861. She is under the influence of both Rome and the Calvinist nutjobs. She is a decayed Christian, but doesn't know it. Anyway, she accused me of harboring "deferred hate."

I said, "Sweetie, we have to leave. My parents fled Philadelphia, I fled SoCal, then we fled the Bay. Been running all my life because I want to live. It's in my blood. And you agreed we should leave CC."

"Running?" She was confused.

"That's what we were doing. We ran from Contra Costa."

"I thought we were relocating? I thought we wanted a laid back atmosphere, a small town atmosphere."

"Yes. And where did we find it?" I felt like a public school teacher. For a moment I considered how I might turn myself into vapor and ooze out the walls.

Then she said, "You're just--paranoid! You're too negative! And you're a--", etc.

I shrugged. I was tired. I thought about calling Sgt. Stahb. And forget Bobby Ray the real estate guy; if he doesn't want to sell my house, somebody will. Whatever happened to clan formation, neighbor helping neighbor? These refugees, these newbies from down south, they were too educated to learn from experience in the old country. So they couldn't hold this place together, either. They hadn't learned a god damn thing in the old country. They arrived here dumber and they stayed dumber. It was Haagen-Dazs all over again. And so it was all over for Holzville. I knew it. I wanted to stop it, but I didn't know how. Nor was this the time to apply Sgt. Stahb's doctrine. No, this time was neutral time. Now is the time to run. Run, Cahill, run. Run and live. I looked at Syvlia; she was still talking. Truss her up, throw her in a sack. She'll get used to it.

THE END.