Bowling Green

  
                                                                BOWLING GREEN

 
   

        The sun was sinking. The fall colors raging in the Poconos were beginning to dim. “There’s the motherfucker now!”, Julianne growled. She pointed the limousine cresting a hill. "The jewel in the crown of Wall Street, CEO of UBGC, former cabinet member, former secretary of the Bilderberg Group, former minister of propaganda, money launderer for the Gulf and Sinaloa cartels, chief magistrate for the Committee of Justice after the first upheaval." 

     Charlie snarled. "More blood on his hands than a prosecutor for the Spanish Inquisition."

     They slid on their helmets and skidded their motorcycles onto the empty country road. Julianne’s sidecar bounced and rattled. The limo closed on their tail. The chauffeur tapped the horn and started to pass. Charlie swerved his bike and ditched it. The limo just missed him and rolled onto the shoulder. Julianne dismounted, threw her hands in the air and rushed to him. She began to wail. The door swung open. The chauffeur lifted himself out and looked around. His hand was in his coat pocket. He was frowning. When he stepped toward them, Julianne swung the Uzi out of her pack. She had him spread eagle and face down in a few seconds. Charlie cuffed his hands and feet and pulled the Glock out of his pocket.

     They climbed into the limo. Their target was cowering in the back seat. “What do you want?”, he whimpered. Julianne handed Charlie the Uzi. When she pulled out a set of cuffs, her jacket snapped open exposing her low-cut blouse. Suddenly the look of terror on his face disappeared. He put a hand to his mouth. “My God! Is that you, Sophie?”. He peered at his reflection in Julianne’s visor. “Oh my God, it is! Is this the surprise you mentioned last time? Who’s your friend? She’s kind of flat, could pass for a guy. Is this a three way? Oh Lord! This is the best yet!” He closed his eyes, stretched out his arms with his wrists pressed together and smiled lustily. “Beat me, fuck me, make me write bad checks!”

     Charlie and Julianne stared at each other in astonishment. Julianne slapped him. “Strip!”

     Delight lit up his eyes. “Oh, Mistress. That hurt so good!  Strip here? In the limo? Oh yes, mistress! What’s your friend’s name?” He stripped to his under pants and offered his wrists again.

     Julianne slapped him twice. “All the way!”

     “That really hurt! Oh, mistress, I’ve never heard that voice before!”

     When he was completely naked, Julianne cuffed him. He was still grinning when Charlie threw the hood over his head. They pulled him out of the limo. Julianne whispered in his ear. “We’re going to my place. I have some new equipment. You’re going to ride in the sidecar. I have a blanket for you.” She pulled out a bottle from her rucksack. “Drink some of this! It will make the ride easier!” She lifted the hood, poured a swig down his throat then tugged it back down.

     His voice was muffled under his hood. “Mistress! This is so new, so imaginative! What’s your friends name? She’s kind of butch. Is she a dyke? Are we going to see some girl-on-girl action? Where’s Thomas? Thomas! Are you in on this? This is the best yet! Don’t worry! I’ve told you about Sophie! Sophie! Make sure Thomas is OK. Thomas! I’ll call you tomorrow! Tell my wife I’m working late! Mum’s the word and there’s a bonus involved!”

     Julianne stepped back to the chauffeur and bent down to him. After a brief exchange, she opened the cuffs. He walked back to the limo shaking his head. She ran back and climbed on her bike. “Head down!”, she commanded. They revved their engines.

     “Oh, mistress!”, he hollered. “I’m feeling kind of woozy! What was in that bourbon? I feel -”

     Charlie glanced down at the unconscious thug. “We’re handed unbelievable luck and you didn’t even bat an eye!”

     “This wasn’t luck!”, she shouted. “This was divine intervention!”

     Charlie nodded. “Don’t you think we should cuff his hands behind his back just to be safe?”

     Julianne shook her head. “He’ll be out for hours!”

     The Bull at Bowling Green was waiting for them. Unfenced, defiant of the masses, it had been the center of several battles, suffered defilement during the first upheaval and lost its tail in the second occupation but the sound cannons, the laser cannons and the microwave cannons had done their job. The deafened, the blinded and the fried could do nothing now. The Bull of Wall Street stood as it had always stood, an elite middle finger offered to them all. But that middle finger was about to get a naked, particularly heinous one of its own chained to its haunches. The surveillance camera footage would be scrubbed and there would be an attempt at a cover up but the sirens and spotlights would immediately draw a crowd. Rudolf Wiss would awake to a mob of elated serviles. One thing Julianne and Charlie were certain of, the boiling rage just under the surface would erupt once again and it would start at the Bull of Bowling Green.

     It was a moonless night, and the streets were quiet. Their bikes idled at a stoplight in Midtown. They lifted their visors and went over everything for the last time. With any luck they would beat the lights and alarms. The bikes would be ditched in an alley. Their cruising outfits would be stripped off their casual attire underneath. They’d hit the servile subway to JFK just in time to make it through hacked security and board the servile air bus to San Francisco.

     Julianne stretched out her hand. “I love you, baby.”

     Charlie’s heart ached as he took it. “I love you, my doll, my everything. Theresa will be happy.”

     She squeezed his fingers. “Theresa is giggling with delight.”

     Charlie looked up. “This is for you, daughter.”

     Julianne released his hand, pressed her fingers to her lips and lifted them. “This is for you, Theresa. This is for your life cut short, the husband you never married, the children you never had.” She looked down at the slumped elite in the sidecar. “This is for our daughter you took from us, asshole. You are the trigger for the next upheaval, the final upheaval, the revolution. When you come to, you’re going to be staring up at a mob of your victims. I hope they castrate you. I hope they tear you to pieces. Slowly.” She flipped down her visor. The light changed. When they pulled up to Bowling Green, it was empty. They nodded to each other. It was time. They gunned the engines and raced toward the bull. 
     Suddenly the sidecar shook, knocking Julianne’s bike into a wobble. A hulking figure rose up and pulled off the hood. The expression on his face was vicious. He swung his cuffed hands and threw himself at Julianne. “You’re dead, you little bitch!” The bike swerved and hit a fire hydrant. They somersaulted into the air. Julianne smashed against a light pole. Rudolf Wiss landed stomach first on one of the bull’s horns.

   Charlie slammed on the brakes and ran to Julianne. When he gently pulled off her helmet, he knew her neck was broken. There was a sudden wail of sirens. Spotlights began to snap on. Charlie let out an agonized scream. He ran for the subway. The only thing that kept him going was the image of the gushers of blood pulsing down the flanks of the bull.

Chinatown

                                                               CHINATOWN

    

   Charlie pushed his way through the reeking crowd on the platform. His mind was blank in self-defense, self-preservation. He forced himself into the jammed bodies wedged into the opening doors of the car. His face smeared against the back of a man in front of him who refused to move. The warning bell rang. Charlie panted. He gasped. He suddenly lurched forward. He grabbed the man's belt and held on for his life. The closing doors nipped at his heels. No one got off at the next stop, or the next, or the next. Every servile on the train was heading for the airport. At each stop, serviles desperately forced their way in, pressing Charlie farther into the human sediment, wringing the air out of his lungs, twisting his arms in opposite directions and keeping his mind on survival, only survival. The doors slammed open at the airport station and blew everyone out of the car like a geyser. Charlie managed to keep his balance, tripping frantically through the crowds, weaving his way desperately forward. He would be at the front of the line for the servile airbus to San Francisco. He swore it.

     The phalanx of TSA scanning gates was empty. The agents were laughing and gesticulating in a corner almost out of site. Security had been hacked and they were delighted. The crowd flooded through the gates and pulsed toward the check in pens.  Charlie could see the San Francisco pen ahead of him was already half full. Sixty seconds later, he squeezed himself through the closing gate clutching his bag to his chest as his coat was torn by desperate serviles pleading and cursing behind him.

     The windowless airbus filled quickly. Charlie curled himself into a ball against a wall. A servile next to him offered him a couple of sendentary tablets as she swallowed one herself.  He thanked her and placed one under his tongue.

     The tablet was wearing off when the airbus touched down at SFO. The shuttle to the city was interminable. Fatigue, the lingering drug and the constant fight to keep his mind blank, to keep out the agony wore him into a stumbling robot walking the hills of San Francisco to Chinatown. He sat hunched in a chair in the room he had rented and stared at his phone. The unthinkable act of terror, the dreadful blow to the nation was all over the State News. The banker’s weeping family paraded across the screen, and the screen in every bar, restaurant, shop, automobile, square, street corner. 

     The plan Julianne and he had for disappearing depended on both of them getting away. Their divorce that they had fabricated after the death of their daughter would give Charlie a little time but a nation wide manhunt for her accomplice was on. They would find him, and they would find him very soon. He took refuge in the second tablet. When he came to, his phone blared proudly that in spite of a sophisticated identity scrub, the female terrorist had just been identified. Julianne’s face oscillated and quivered as it rotated on the screen.

     Charlie stepped out through the window on to the fire escape. He rested his hands on the railing and looked down into the filthy, steaming streets pulsing with serviles. The few technocrats among them strolled serenely along masked with virtual helmets that kept the sordid sounds, sights and smells of reality at bay. He looked up at the milky blue sky patchy with fog and tried to catch a glimpse of the whining drones, maybe his last glimpse on earth if they identified him. He shook his head and closed his eyes. Why didn’t he insist on cuffing the shit’s hands behind his back? Why hadn’t he just strangled the bastard? And now you're gone, Julianne, he thought. There’s no reason he should hang around. They’d get him any minute. He had cut ties with the resistance so there would be nothing Homeland Security could torture out of him but that wouldn’t stop them from trying if they took him alive. It was over. There was nothing more he could do. They’d killed his daughter and now he’d lost his wife. He opened his eyes, leaned his weight on the fire escape and looked down. It was time.

     “Daddy! Stop!”  His daughter threw her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek into his back. “You can’t do this! You mustn’t do this!” She turned him to her and put her hands on his face. Her beautiful smile bloomed with innocence. Her blue eyes sparkled. “Why are you blaming yourself, Dad? Mom knew the risks. It could have been both of you. You’re still here to carry on the fight. And don’t even think about me. Don’t blame yourself. It’s OK. I’m OK. Mom’s OK. You have to take care of yourself. If you die, if you join us, you have to die fighting! What you and mom did was incredible! You have to take out more of the bastards! We can’t let the motherfuckers win! Don’t cry, Dad. Please stop crying, Daddy. Get out of San Francisco! Run! They’re coming for you!”

     And she was gone. Charlie crumpled into a heap and let it out. He shook with sobs. He felt a monstrous surge of hate and misery swell up inside of him and erupt. Gasping for air as the last whimpers escaped him, he slipped his fingers through the fire escape grate and clenched them into fists that held him on this earth. Slowly his fingers relaxed, his hunched shoulders jammed against his neck dropped. He finally pulled himself to his feet. He looked out over the city, let loose a long, unwinding sigh and said goodbye. He crawled back through the window, threw his bag over his shoulder and stepped out the door.

     His past life was finished. His present life was about to get much worse. There was only one thing to do and that was to follow the plan. There was no way either one of them could ever have gotten back on an airplane. They knew they'd be an easy target in a car. How many serviles drove cars? They would be spotted, hacked and introduced to a wall at seventy miles an hour. The subway would be watched but a city bus was open territory. No one takes the bus. No one important that is and there were so many buses crammed with so many serviles who constantly sabotaged the surveillance cameras. By the time Homeland Security realized they’d slipped through, they’d be on the train. The train had been Julianne’s idea. The train, or what was left of the system was off the radar. It was almost all shipping with a couple of servile cars tacked on to work the freight, sometimes a technocrat carriage for some rough and tumble fun. Charlie reached into his pocket and fingered the two technnocrat tickets to Seattle, paper tickets, the last means of transportation left that still used them.

Open Rear Platform

                                                              OPEN REAR PLATFORM
 

    Maybe the buses out here didn’t stink as bad, or at least not as bad as the nine circles of hell

 known as the New York Subway.  No corpses hopefully. A bus pulled up to the stop just as he let his

 phone slip from his fingers and tumble into a storm drain at his feet. The stench hit him as soon as the

 doors swung open. He climbed up the slimy stairs and moved slowly through the crowd. A young

 technocrat without her virtual helmet, her spotless outfit standing out against the unwashed grey of the

 serviles around her looked naked and exposed . She hung on to a pole with one hand and clutched a

 pack wrapped in fabric to her bosom with the other. She furtively pulled out her phone from her purse 

hung over her shoulder then suddenly looked around in a panic and shoved it back in. Charlie tried to

 slip passed her but she wouldn’t move. “Lady with a baby!”, she blasted.

     “I’m just trying to get by you.”, He winced.
     “For what?”, she bellowed. “There are no seats back there. There are no seats anywhere, even for a lady with a baby!”
     “You aint’ got no mother fuckin’ baby, bitch!” A young woman with matted hair was staring hatefully at her.  
      “Shut the fuck up, you stinking servile!”, screeched the technocrat. “These fucking serviles wouldn’t care if I were a ninety year old cripple! I had to get on a bus!", she pleaded, grasping Charlie's arm. "The valet strike and retribution knocked the valet services out! Most of the valets are dead! Dead! Driver! It stinks in here. Driver, it stinks in here! Next stop, driver! Next stop!”
     A hand reached out from a crowded bench and grabbed at her skirt. “Don’t you dare touch me!”, she blared. “Do you know who I am? Do you know what I am?” 
     A pair of hands shot out from under a seat and grabbed her ankles. Her mouth flew open and flapped in terror. She collapsed. A half a dozen serviles leaped on top of her. The bus pulled into a stop. The back doors swung open. The pile of shaking bodies rolled out.
     Seats had been vacated. Charlie grabbed one before anyone could take it. A young man dropped down next to him. His fetid skin was oily. He looked like he’d escaped from a detention camp. He started grunting. “Uh! Uh! Uh!” His hands were twisted. His fingernails were long, sharp and jagged. “Uh!” His teeth were yellow and broken. His mouth was caked with dried saliva. “Uh! Uh!” The traffic was unbelievable. The bus crept and crept and the blood pounded in Charlie’s head and chest.
     An elderly lady stood over the quaking monkey next to him. “Aren’t you going to give a little old lady a seat?”  Charlie started to get to his feet. “Not you! I’m talking to the missing link.” She smiled sweetly and bent down. “Get off your ass or I’ll give you a blast of pepper spray.” Terror flashed in the young man’s eyes. He jumped up and moved to the back door. “Well, that was easy.”, smiled the woman as she sat down. She got herself settled and turned to Charlie. “Hello there, sonny. Got any spare change?”
     “Do I look like I have any spare change?”, He snapped.
     “Well for God’s sake, you don’t have to get all worked up. I say that to everyone I meet. It breaks the ice and sometimes I get some money. What’s your name? I’ll bet you’ll never guess mine. You look like a Herman. Is your name Herman? Mine’s Hermine. You look like you are in a hurry, in a hurry or depressed, or both. When you get to my age, if you do and you probably won’t, you will have figured it out that there is no reason to hurry and there’s not much time left to waste on being depressed.”
     He offered her a pained smile. “That obvious?”
     She frowned. “Hurrying is a waste of time and it can get you in trouble. Look what happened to that little arrogant technocrat. What the hell was she doing on a bus? Nothing left of her but a pile of shredded flesh, I’m sure. I gotta admit I never seen that before. Jesus, they practically ate her alive. There’s something in the air, I tell ya, something’s changed.”, She looked at her feet and shook her head. “Listen, sonny, if you get to where you want to go when you want to, fine. If you don’t, fine. You can always get there tomorrow and if you don’t get there, maybe you weren’t meant to. I don’t hurry even if I’m late for work. I tell them the bus broke down. I tell them the traffic was bad. I tell them some dumb ass technocrat got her head torn off. No lunch for you today, they’ll say. No breaks for you today. Fuck off, I’ll say. You’re just a servile like me so fuck off.”
     Charlie craned his neck over the passengers' heads and out the windows. He could see the railroad station. “If I don’t get to the train station in time, there won’t be a tomorrow.”
     She shook her head. “If that’s the case, maybe you should have taken a faster means of transportation than a city bus. What are you on a bus for? Why aren’t you in a car?”
     She had become invisible to him but her voice scratched at his exasperation and fear. “If I got in a car, I’d end up wrapped around a tree!”  He wasn’t going to make it. He was going to miss the train and there wasn’t another one for hours, maybe days, plenty of time for Homeland Security to remember what a train was and then they would descend on the station in a fury.
     The old lady was staring at him. “Wrapped around a tree? You must be important. They don’t just hack anybody’s car. Did you hear about that banker in Manhattan? Somebody skewered him on the bull at Bowling Green. When Security got to him, they were too late. There was hardly anything left of the body. Kind of like what just happened to that haughty hag in the back of the bus. Stupid cow. Nothin’ left of her but a few patches of hair and maybe a finger or two. Shit, I’d have had a piece of her myself if I were a couple of years younger. You’re on the run, aren’t you? Not much of future for you, I can tell that for sure. You’re looking at detention camp, torture chamber or bug splat. You know, I’m not as old as I look. How about a little fling, one last role in the hay?”
   Charlie whirled around and looked at her in horror. She was grinning. “This is your stop. Have a nice trip.” He glanced back at her just before running down the stairs. Her eyes sparkled. She slowly mouthed "bug splat".      

      Charlie hit the pavement racing for his life. He bolted into the derelict waiting room ankle deep in trash rustling with rats. Ragged children stepped from rows of benches and waded toward him. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Facial Recognition was down. A louder rustling behind him caught his attention. The children, some of them teenagers, were moving closer. There was hunger in their eyes. The lone TSA agent in the station scanned his ticket. Her hands were black with ingrained soot in every wrinkle and caked under every fingernail. She stank. The children were beginning to surround them. The agent grinned sadistically at him, patting her sidearm as he sweated and fidgeted. "Running late. are we? The train's been in the station for fifteen minutes. We wouldn't want you to miss the train." She took her time frisking him and searching his bag as he sweated and fidgeted. “Where’s your phone?” Her breath reeked of beer. “You aren’t carrying a phone!”
     Charlie feigned shock. “It’s in my pocket! Oh my God! I must have been pickpocketed on the bus!” He looked over her shoulders at the crowd of vacant eyed children closing in behind her.
     “Good thing you got a paper ticket. Gimmie it and get a replacement phone by the end of the day! Twenty-four hours without a phone means detention. I don't have to tell you that.”, she tossed her head toward the platform. "You better run."

     He ran for the doors to the platform. He burst through the doors but not alone. A large man was right behind him. He ran past Charlie almost knocking him off his feet with a huge suitcase under his arm. They were the last passengers on the platform. The two of them dodged piles of debris as they ran for the train.  The servile and technocrat cars, covered with oily dust were closed. They began to creep. He’d missed the train! It was all over He was fucked. He looked everywhere in desperation. His eyes lost focus. He saw the man with the suitcase running in slow-motion along side the last car, different from the other cars. It looked like an antique, an antique in a slow-motion dream. A porter on an open rear platform reached down and pulled the man onto the train. The man with the suitcase turned and looked into Charlie’s panicked face. He nodded to the porter before disappearing inside. The porter leaned down and offered his hand.    

Mr. Angelopoulos

                                                       
                                                    MR. ANGELOPOULOS
 
    

     The porter pulled Charlie up the stairs, smiled, patted him on the shoulder and took his bag. “Congratulations, my man. That’s never happened before. Come in.”

     He opened the door to the car and held it. Charlie walked in. When his eyes focused, he was astounded. The room was furnished with old, overstuffed sofas and chairs. Side tables were lit by brass lamps and piled with magazines and books. The windows were crowned with stained glass, framed with linen curtains and topped with glowing light fixtures. The man who had saved him was sitting at the opposite end of the room in a leather chair. The suitcase was on his lap. His hands clasped the handle. “Please, take a seat.” He commanded in a deep voice as he patted a chair. “How about a cocktail?”

     “Thank you for your generosity.”, Charlie mumbled “I didn’t think there were any good Samaritans left in this cold, cruel world.”

     A distant smile formed on the man's face. He looked out the window. “Cold, cruel world. I haven’t heard that expression in a long time.”

      “Please. You saved me. I had to catch this train. You’ve done enough.” Charlie looked past him to a narrow corridor opening to the back of the car. “I’ll just make my way back to the technocrat car.”

     He was offered an impatient look. “There is no way to another car. This is my private car. It’s attached to the train but not a part of it. If you want off, you’ll have to wait until the next stop.” A brilliant smile bloomed on his broad face. “Or jump.”

     The sun was low in the sky. The train picked up speed as it cleared the station. The lazy click clack of the wheels on the rail turned into an insistent beat approaching a frenetic clatter. The gentle swaying of the car was now rocking in a quick trot on its way to an all-out gallop. Charlie smiled and sat. “Thank you again. I will have a drink.” He looked up at the porter. “May I have a double scotch on the rocks?”

     Samuel looked down and nodded. “Any particular brand?”

     Charlie reached back many, many years to a time when he'd seen a label on a bottle of whiskey. “Dewar's if you have it.”

      Samuel nodded and turned “The usual for Mr. Angelopoulos?”

     As Samuel disappeared into the back of the car, the man set the suitcase on the floor and offered his hand. “Now that you know my name, may I ask yours?”

     Charlie took it. “My name - I am Herman.”, he stammered. “John Q. Herman.”

      Mr. Angelopoulos glanced at Charlie's bag. “Not much luggage. You must have left in a hurry.”

     Charlie offered a faint smile. “I’m on my way to my daughter’s wedding in Portland.”

     “Congratulations. I’m going all the way to Seattle. You are welcome to remain my guest if you wish.”

     “Thank you. But I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll just move up at the next stop.”

     “This train is a limited. There won’t be a next stop until Portland. Even if they haven't figured out who you are, when they do, they’ll figure out sooner than later that if you weren't on any other transportation, you’re probably on the train in which case they will be waiting for you in Portland. If you get off, you won’t be going to any wedding.”

     Charlie was dumbfounded. “Excuse me?”

     Mr. Angelopoulos didn’t look up as Samuel handed him his drink. “The only place on this train you are safe is in my car. They’ll search the train in Portland but they won’t board my car.”

     “Dewar’s on the rocks for you sir.”, cooed Samuel as he set the drink down on a table before turning and stepping out of the room.

     Mr. Angelopoulos raised his drink. “They won’t find you, so they’ll assume you’re traveling south or east, or maybe not traveling at all. In any case, I suggest you beg out of your daughter’s wedding in Portland and when we get to Seattle, hop on some seldom run ferry to some obscure island in Puget Sound. Go north, the San Juan Islands.”

     A bead of sweat ran down Charlie’s temple as he lifted his drink. “That’s quite a scenario considering you don’t know anything about me. What makes you think I’m on the run?”

     “Mr. Angelopoulos reached over and touched glasses. “You're scared to death.”

     Charlie took a deep swig. “And how do I know you won’t turn me in at Portland.”

     “You have two choices. Relax and enjoy the ride or jump.”

     Charlie sighed and took another belt, relishing the magic of a good scotch. “OK. But don’t expect anything from them if you do. They’d just as soon kill me as catch me. Hell, you’d probably be lucky if they let you go for being an unwitting accomplice.”

     Mr. Angelopoulos took a sip of his drink. “They will not board my car.”

     Charlie smiled wryly. “Why? Are you a part of the operation? Are you one of them?”

     Mr. Angelopoulos offered a wicked smile. “Actually, you could say they are a part of my operation.”

     Charlie sighed and sagged in his chair. “Saved by a cryptic stranger riding in his own private car on the back of a train. It could have been worse.”

      “Yes. It could have been so let us relax and enjoy the journey, get to know each other because it will get worse, very much worse indeed.”

     Charlie swirled the ice in his drink and laughed. “Well, that’s been a given for years. What else is new?”

     During the entire time in the car, Mr. Angelopoulos had kept at least one hand on his suitcase. He ran his hand down its side. “I'll give you a hint what isn't new. A thousand years ago, Saint John wrote in the book of Revelation of the second coming of Christ, the end of times, the four horsemen of the Apocalypse. His story has always been with us for we have always been at war. The very victims of war, if they recover soon wage war themselves. For forty years the world faced nuclear annihilation and when we finally put it behind us, we waged war again, against ourselves and now against mother earth. Saint John speaks to us all. ‘Once more to war?’, he asks. ‘Once more and forever?’ A couple of days ago, an important CEO was sacrificed on the altar of Wall Street. The simmering kettle is beginning to boil, not with a second upheaval or a third occupation but with Armageddon itself. I noticed you can't seem to take your eyes off my suitcase. You're mad to find out what's in it. Well, take a look. Here, I would like you to meet some friends of mine."

     He lifted the suitcase up and with a grunt, whirled it around and balanced it on his lap. With one hand on the handle and the other on the bottom, he flipped the lock and slowly opened it. Charlie leaned forward in his seat and peered into a swirling blackness.

    

Four Horsemen

                                                                   
                                                   

                                                          FOUR HORSEMEN

     A wicked smile crept across the face of his host. “When the Lamb of God opens the first seal, a voice like thunder cries, ‘Come and see!’ and there, smeared in arrogance springs forth Power on a horse of pride.”

     He snapped the suitcase open and closed six times. There was a flash and a form, half boiling smoke, half burning color poured out of the suitcase and in an instant configured into a raging savage in what looked like a saddle. It suspended itself in front of Charlie snarling and hissing as it held a toilet plunger over its head.

     Mr. Angelopoulos waved a hand. “Power, control, pride, arrogance, this sewer has poured out of the brain stem since we walked on all fours. It horrifies God and amuses the devil.

     Charlie threw himself back into his chair in shock. “What the hell is that? Some sort of hologram?”

     A cackle escaped from his host’s lips “When the Lamb of God opens the second seal, a voice like thunder cries, ‘Come and see!’ and there, cloaked in pomposity springs forth Corruption on a horse of lucre. Even more asinine than power is pomposity, a brainless gesture even the lowest creatures have rid themselves of.

     Another monster leaped from the suitcase and flew at Charlie. “These things look so real!”, he gasped. “I can smell them!”

     “When the Lamb of God opens the third seal, a voice like thunder cries, ‘Come and see!’ and there, dripping in blood springs forth War on a horse of fire. The powerful who have forever fatally lacerated man’s potential have forever offered us the fire of war to cauterize the wound, and we have forever followed blindly into the conflagration.”

     A third figure erupted, cross-eyed like a crazed samurai. The figures bounced around the room panting and gasping and waving their plungers. The air rushed as they flew past. Lampshades swayed. Curtains flapped. Glasses rattled.

     “For God’s sake! I’m impressed! I get the point! Put these God damn things back in the suitcase!”

     A rumble emanated from the suitcase. It began to vibrate then shake. “When the Lamb of God opens the fourth seal, a voice like thunder cries, 'Come and see!' and there, stinking of rot springs forth Death on a horse of damnation to crush the promise of man!”

     A hideous monstrosity, half insect, half skeleton exploded into the room. The other hallucinations cowered as it surged toward Charlie. His fingers clawed at the arms of the chair, He pushed himself into the upholstery with all his strength. Mr. Angelopoulos' voice boomed in his ears.

“The four horsemen are emperors with no clothes.

The four horsemen are filth for all to see.

The four horsemen rise from the depths of humanity to crush the living, 

feed on the dying,

and exhume the dead.

Power is the plague humanity visits upon itself,

Corruption is its manifestation,

War is its result,

Death is its outcome.

The night sky dancing with stars is the hope humanity offers.

There is nothing that lives or has ever lived that is lower than that hope debased!

That which was once the pride of God now unleashes his fury.

The sound of clattering hooves echoes in the distance.

It grows louder."

     Charlie’s eyes darted around the room in a panic. His host snapped the suitcase closed and open six times. The nightmares froze in mid motion then one by one flew back into its maw. Mr. Angelopoulos buckled the lock.

     “Holy Shit! What the fuck was that?”

     “That is to show that you are safe with me.”

     Charlie drained his drink. “That was one hell of a show. Are you a magician?”

     “That’s one way of putting it.”

     “Well, if you have any more tricks up your sleeve, could you hold off for a while? That was really some performance especially with the biblical hoopla. Did you develop that thing yourself? How did you get a hologram to stink like that? Did you install a set of fans to blow everything around? No need for a virtual helmet with that kind of song and dance. And why not? Good for you. I hate those helmets. You might as well put a hood over your head and there's plenty of that going around these days. Are you still in beta? There's quite a market for that sort of sophistication. The elites can’t get enough of it.”

     Mr. Angelopoulis smiled shyly. “Sorry. I just get carried away sometimes especially when -”

     A sudden series of explosions hit the car. Fire flashed in the windows. Charlie threw himself on the floor. His host shot to his feet. “God damned punks!”

     “Get down!” Charlie yelled. “You’ll be shot!”

     “They’re rocking the car!”, he spat as he stomped toward the rear. He yanked open the door and burst out on to the platform. The tracks stretching out behind him were lit with the orange yellow glow of the setting sun. Another round of explosions pounded the car as flashes of light sparked around him. He threw his arms in the air. “Is this what you do with your rage?” he roared. “Enough!”

     All went quiet but for the frantic staccato of the train on the rails. The hulking silhouette swaying on the platform slowly lowered his arms and turned. “How about some dinner?”

     Charlie pulled himself to his feet. "What exactly just happened?"

     Samuel was behind him. "Someone threw rocks at the car, sir."

     "That was rocks hitting the car? It sounded like gunfire! And what was all that flashing?"

     Samuel smiled and picked up Charlie’s empty glass. "When a railroad car is traveling at ninety five miles an hour, a rock hitting it explodes. Can I get you another drink?"

     Charlie turned back to Mr. Angelopouolos.  "What if one hit a window?"

     "Bring us two more please, Samuel and we'll be dining soon. The windows are bullet proof."

     Samuel smiled. "As you wish, sir."

     Charlie was impressed. "Bullet proof windows? You come prepared. But who would want to throw rocks at a train?"

     Mr Angelopoulos lowered himself into his chair and rested a hand on his suitcase. "Kids, punks, homeless, anarchists, Fascists, Homeland Warriors, there's a lot to draw from these days."

     Charlie laughed nervously and sat down. The car swaying on the tracks calmed him. "That must have put quite a few expensive dents in the car and you act as though it's a common experience. Hell, why don't you just pull out an assault rifle and give them a spray?"

     "I don't need ordnance."

     Charlie sighed and looked down at the suitcase. "I believe you. There wasn't another rock after you ordered them to stop, as if they could have heard you. Very impressive and there's always whatever the hell is in that suitcase."

     Samuel returned with their cocktails. "Mr. Angelopoulos is partial to seafood. Will petrale almondine do for you, sir?"

     "Thank you, thank you, yes of course." Charlie raised his glass. "Here's to my host."

     Mr. Angelopoulos raised his. "To my guest."

     They sat enjoying their drinks in silence. Charlie stared out the window at the last of the light glowing on the horizon. Halfway through the second scotch, he was feeling much better. "I do have one question."

     "The first of many, I'm sure."

     "What's with the plungers? Clearing the clogged shit pot that humanity has become?"

     "That works."

     "But it's incongruous. I mean there are these terrifying monsters flying around scaring the shit

out of everyone and they're holding toilet plungers. It's almost comical."

     Mr. Angelopoulos finished his drink, pushed himself to his feet and picked up the suitcase. "I didn't see you laughing. Shall we have dinner?"

     Charlie followed him down the corridor into a beautiful dining room and a table set with crystal and silver. A pair of candelabras finished the mood. A passing train flew past the windows, its whistle screeching in a rising pitch as it filled the room with pulsing light and a rumbling roar. They took a seat.

       Mr. Angelopoulos picked up his napkin and unfolded it. "If you're thinking I'm in the business of home entertainment or video games, you are mistaken. Besides, with the constant cyber-attacks and service failures there’s not much sustainable any more except reality filtration. Even surveillance is a joke these days as I'm sure you are well aware of.”

     Charlie picked up his napkin and placed it on his lap. "And there's the depression."

    "Yes. And there's the depression."

     Samuel entered with a bottle of wine. He opened it and offered Mr. Angelopoulos a taste. "That will do, Samuel. Thank you." He turned to Charlie. "Would you ever had believed it, Mr. - Herman, if someone told you we would be using land lines again?"

     "It would have been a stretch but I could never imagine I'd see the return of phone booths, albeit restricted and for elites and technocrats only. For me it's been a blessing. The Security State has been compromised. It's why I finally decided -" Charlie stopped and waited for Samuel to leave the room. He lowered his voice. "It's why I finally decided I might actually get away with making a run for it."

     "Nevertheless, I hope you didn't bring your phone with you."

     "Of course not."

     “How did you get through rail security?”

     “I said my phone had been stolen on the bus.”

     “The bus!”, laughed Mr. Angelopoulos. “How very clever of you. I’m impressed. Well then, here’s to life on the run.”

     Charlie raised his glass. "To life on the run."

     Dinner proceeded. Charlie professed his appreciation of the caviar which he had never in his life tasted. His host nodded but seemed to retreat into himself as they worked their way through a spring salad, fish broth with egg drops, and some sort of frozen coffee. Was this what they called sherbet, Charlie wondered. The main course was petrale almondine. He had never seen so much food in one place, let alone eaten it. It was all he could do to keep himself from wolfing it down.

     When Samuel had cleared the table, he placed the sixth course in front of them. “Mr. Angelopoulos is particular to chocolate mousse.”

     His host finally seemed to come back to this world. He cracked a faint smile. “My taste is outdated.”

      Charlie was relieved. “I have heard of petrale almondine. I have never had fresh fish. I have never tasted any of this. I can hardly believe this is really happening. Thank you. I thought I’d lost you for a moment. I hope you weren’t dreaming of Armageddon.”

     A pained expression appeared on his face. He lowered his fork and looked out the window. “Such a horrible depression, so many people suffering, such ugliness thrown at you, thrown at the angry masses, the MEDUSA Cannons, the LARD cannons…”

     Charlie tried to suppress a wave of anger. “I knew people whose brains were scrambled by MEDUSA, deafened for life by LARD, blinded by Protocol IV.”

     Mr. Angelopoulos let loose a deep sigh. “Electrocuted by blankets of wireless tasers, fried alive by microwave cannons.”

     Charlie felt his fists closing around his knife and fork. He felt the rage rise, so many disappeared, so many gone, and for what? The country’s locked up like a prison. All of us locked up in squalid lives. Charlie frowned. But not this man in front of me. This man would not be interested. This man would be irritated. This man would be angry. What was he doing here anyway? Why had he let an unknown servile onto his car with nothing but a porter with him? Who was this guy with a suitcase full of holog rams? Charlie looked across the table. He was shocked at what he saw.

     Mr. Angelopoulos was staring straight ahead. His hands gripped the table. His eyes were wide open. His lips were twitching. “So many disappeared.“ His deep voice was rising in pitch. “So many gone.” The color was running out of his face. “I have lost so many.” There was a long pause. His voice was that of a child. “There is no one left.“ Then a barely audible whisper, “I have lost them all.” He lowered his face and buried it in his hands. His shoulders trembled. He let out a low moan. 

     Charlie couldn’t believe it. His mouth fell open. Suddenly the agony boiled across the table and hit him square on. He had lost so many. There was no one left. He had lost them all. A sob caught in his throat. He gasped for air. He got out of his chair and stepped over to Mr. Angelopoulos. He stood over him and clasped his shoulders. “My wife is dead. My daughter is dead. All my friends are dead or disappeared.”

     Mr. Angelopoulos took a deep breath. “All of my family and all of my friends, all of the friends of my family, all of their families, all the friends of my friends and all their families, all I ever knew, all who ever knew them and all who ever knew them.” Tears poured out of his eyes. He shook. They both shook as the train bounced and swayed.

     Mr. Angelopoulos took Charlie’s hand. “Someone impaled a banker on a horn of the Bull of Bowling Green and the masses tore his corpse to pieces. Things are going to get very bad very fast. There will be no time for mourning. If they don’t find the perpetrator, they may close the route to Seattle. We may not get out of Portland tomorrow. Sleep as much as you can in your compartment tonight. You’ll need your strength. In the meantime, let us retire to the back platform. It’s quite a ride.”

     He rose and lifted his suitcase. Charlie followed him out to the corridor and through the parlor to the rear door. He opened it and the room was filled with a blast of sound. Two small chairs tied to the platform rattled and bounced. They carefully maneuvered themselves over to them and sat. Their weight barely stabilized the chairs and they had to secure themselves by gripping the railing. The roar of the train on the tracks was deafening. The wobbling, shaking, jerking ride was frighteningly thrilling. Charlie felt he could at any minute be tossed off into a void whose surface was just illuminated by the rear light that lit up the track burning into the black, moonless night.

     They sat side by side silent for many minutes. Charlie finally leaned to his host. “WE may not get out of Portland tomorrow?”

     Mr. Angelopoulos turned to him and smiled.