Herculanium (6 page)

“Take care of your business, Mr. Smith,” commanded Micky. “On your toes, everybody. This is where the big boys play, and the unlucky go home sad and drunk.”

The KMNL news van exited unassumingly off the freeway and merged with street traffic as it curled around an overpass. Darienne looked out her window and shook her head at the sea of headlights flowing beneath them. Micky stared at the subtle dark silhouette of hills surrounding the area, dotted with unknown house lights and gasoline stations strung in staggered patterns. She had often wondered who lived in those lights, and what kind of lives those people led.

Clay slowed the van’s speed to a near crawl and steered parallel to the road, on the emergency-only parking lane. He looked up at the hills that bordered the road, as well as the ones in the near horizon. “Let’s see,” he pondered loudly to himself, trying to get his bearings. “There should be an intersection up the street from here. The actual exit spins around to this direction, where we are now. The veterans’ hall entrance is just small entrance flanked by two trees and a hidden sign…”

“Mr. Clay, do you know where we’re going?” asked Lilian again, with the same tone of irritation.

“Would you like to take the wheel and drive, Ms. Hirsch? Or should you just allow me to do my job and get us to where we’re going?”

“I was just pointing out, Mr. Smith, that we’re…”

“You’ve stated your point with a great deal of eloquence, Ms. Hirsch. Please refrain from doing so again, or you will find yourself hitchhiking home in these dark streets. And I assure you that no cabs come out this way.”

“Easy, Clay…” said Micky, again trying to lighten the mood.

“Look, everyone. Can I have some space to do my job, please?” He looked at Micky. “I’m going to get
you
to your story.” He pointed to Lilian. “
You’re
going to make your money.” Lastly, he smiled at Darienne. “And
you’re
going to get to experience one hell of an evening.”

Clay merged the news van back on the road and proceeded a few miles further. Like a maritime navigator, he continued to check the alignment of the evening stars. Micky sat comfortably back in her chair, almost slouching, to try to maximize her relaxation before her assignment was to get underway. She stared blankly at the rolling trees outside her window. She almost found herself dozing off until she noticed that Clay had shifted his gaze from the road to the rear view mirror. She was familiar with his moods, simply by reading the contour lines of his face.

“We got company?” she asked.

“I think we’re being followed,” he said, spying the road.

The news van reached a dark intersection that bisected another off-ramp from the freeway. It looked quite familiar, despite any recognizable landmarks being cloaked in shadows. It was also about the right distance from where their original off-ramp would have lead into, had they taken it. This, however, was obscured by trees from the main road, and would only be known by people thoroughly familiar with the area. Clay barely had time to think about his next lane change when a beaming limousine rumbled across the road, perpendicular to his stop. They all stared unblinking in unison as the stretch limo seemed to move in slow motion.

“You think that’s a decoy? Are they lost?” Micky was almost frozen in her chair with anticipation.

“I don’t fucking think so, Mick,” said Clay with a smile. “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve just hit paydirt.” The news van crew exploded with cheer and laughter.

Clay waited a few seconds, then turned the van into the intersection in pursuit. He wanted to maintain a reasonable distance, trying not to arouse suspicion until the last possible moment. He could sense Micky staring at his face from his peripheral vision, trying to read his demeanor.

“Yes, Mick,” responded Clay without turning his head. “It’s not a news van or the police. It’s a small car, and we’re still being shadowed. This sounds crazy, but I could swear it’s the car from the freeway, the one I cut off earlier. Those headlights look awfully familiar.”

“You’re kidding me, right? Some jerk with road rage is following us?”

There were eyes watching him. The air was thick and heavy, and he knew he was being observed. The trees were just waiting for the right time to lower their branches and snag his car, throwing it into a ditch where man-eating bears would maul him. The roads seemed unusually bumpy, no doubt from strategically-placed potholes and lane dividers meant to lead the car’s tires into the darkling bushes and a thorny death. Allan had to be careful, lest his headlights attract lonely spirits wandering the roads, searching for prey. He didn’t want to turn the radio on; it would just try to talk him out of his cause. Music had secret, subliminal messages that corrupted men’s souls and made them buy unwanted toothpaste and cotton swabs. He already told the wind whispering to him through a crack in his window to shut-up. He chose to ignore the streaming centipedes encircling his crotch, and the prickly beetles plucking his scalp. The only significant revelation he had on this road adventure was that vomit tasted sweet after a while, especially when coupled with the pungent scent of skunk road-kill.

The enemy van had already tried to elude him by exiting from the freeway and escaping down this cavernous tunnel of a road. But Allan Henderson never gave up easily on a just cause, nor was he forgetful or forgiving. The car was getting closer, as if slowing down to challenge him. There was to be no mercy tonight, no quick death. These vile citizens will taste their own medicine, and justice will be served. This was self-defense, or more appropriately, offensive self-defense.

Holding the steering wheel tightly with one hand, he slumped his body into the rear passenger seat and groped behind his chair. He could feel the firm texture of expensive leather leaning against his back. He grabbed his briefcase by its handle and jostled it repeatedly, listening for its contents to rattle about. He could vaguely make out the sounds of pens and pencils, loose papers and folders, a paperback novel, and something else–something metallic and heavy.

The dark landscape of tree silhouettes gave way to impressionist topiaries the moment the limousine turned into the compound’s winding main driveway. Ground-level lighting bathed the towering sculptures with a candled glow. Sprinklers streamed and sprayed in all directions, covering the rolling hills of grass with the glitter of broken glass. The 978th Veterans Hall stood atop of a small hill that overlooked the property. By day, it was normally full of children on their first field trip from local area schools. It was also popular with picnickers and book readers trying to soak in its rolling green serenity. By night, however, it was kept alive by maintenance workers and automated light and alarm systems. The moment the last groundskeeper and security guard left its premises, it became a well-tended mausoleum. Rumors of hauntings still abound, yet it added to the area’s mystique, and no one stayed around long enough to investigate such a lonely place.

Preston could barely contain his excitement. It wasn’t the landscaping or the architecture of the hall that impressed him, but rather the fruition of his dreams. Each millimeter the limousine traveled forward was a giant step into his destiny. It had been a while since he felt this giddy, and he wanted to put Max into a chokehold and force him to enjoy it with him.

“Can you calm down, please?” Max continuously brushed Preston’s attempts to grab his coat to lean him against the window. “This is Atlas One, Mr. Peryson. We’re inside the compound. Are we clear?”

Max tried to cover his own excitement by intentionally making his voice professional and monotone. This would be the first time he would personally meet anyone from McGinnis Promotions.

“It will be my pleasure to finally meet you both, Mr. Lee.” Peryson’s voice was warm and inviting.

Max almost wanted to let his guard down and relax, but he knew he had to maintain his client’s stature and dignity, as well as his own. “We are all prepared to meet you here. Unfortunately, some of the press has somehow discovered our whereabouts.”

He motioned for Preston to look out the window and in the direction of the main entrance. Several cars and vans were parked in front of the staircase that led to the main entrance, along with the silhouettes of what looked like security guards trying to herd a small crowd away.

“I’ve hired extra security, and they will escort your entourage in. I apologize for all this, but this will be small compared to all the media coverage to come. Our dinner will be pleasant, but getting in will be...interesting.”

Peryson paused for a few seconds, waiting for a reaction and response. “By the way, gentlemen, especially if your client is listening to my voice, welcome to Ground Zero.”

Max cleared his throat. “Thank you, Mr. Peryson. It will be our pleasure.” Max turned off his phone and casually placed it on his lap.

“You kiss ass with the best of ‘em,” said Preston. “I’ve never seen you react that way. Normally, you’re biting someone’s head off about something. What did he say that made you choke?”

“Nothing I haven’t already heard,” dismissed Max. “He’s nothing, just a suit trying to sell us a product. Nothing to worry about here.” Max continuously wiped his sweaty hands on the seat cushion.

“It looks like we’re not the first ones here, guys,” said Clay with concern.

“It’s okay, just as long as we’re here,
period
.” Micky rolled her window down and peered outside, trying to assess the situation. Two rival news vans were setting up a live-remote broadcast just across from the staircase that led to the entrance. A small crowd of fans was neatly encircled by security guards, and more barricades were being set-up as a perimeter around the building.

“It doesn’t look like we’re going to be able to get inside this meeting. Probably the best we can get is a statement from a rep.”

“We’re getting inside this party, child,” said Lilian with confidence. “At least you and I will. I’m sure the rest of you wouldn’t mind waiting outside while Micky and I conduct our business?”

“You have an invitation, Ms. Hirsch?” asked Darienne.

“My tickets were for another party, another invitation. But they’ll let me in. I can get inside any party I want to in this town. If not, there’ll be hell to pay.”

“They’re diverting traffic outside to the front. I’d better park here now before we get directed out where we came in.” Clay quickly turned off the van’s headlights and parked it on the side of the main entrance path, several dozen yards away from the front entryway. “I’m going to fucking kick someone’s ass if they try to tow my van away.”

Several cars passed them up, and were quickly diverted to an adjacent road that led back to the entrance. Men with walkie-talkies quickly positioned orange barricade cones to try to establish a secured perimeter. Sprinkler spray pummeled one side of the news van, covering it with glowing globules of water.

“Mr. Clay, can you
please
park this vehicle in a much dryer place?” said Lilian. “I am not going to such a prestigious party drenched in water.”

“Mick, are you ready?” Clay leaned into and behind the rear passenger seats and retrieved a heavy portable remote camera. Despite its bulk, he managed to lift it like light luggage and pull it to the front seat. He flung his door open and quickly exited, simultaneously adjusting the camera unit on his shoulder.

“Check. Let’s do this.” Micky grabbed the rear-view mirror and swung it in her direction. She quickly checked her make up, then made sure her purse was securely strapped around her shoulder. She snaked her way through Clay’s door and onto the pavement.

“Do we have everything? Are we cool?” She was ready for her parachute drop.

“Here’s your mic. Let’s go, go, go!”

Clay bounded off in a hurried stride. Micky took three steps before realizing she was leaving her best friend behind in the van. Her reporter mode just quickly took over, and her habits and instincts normally superceded any emotional responses. She paused and stared at Darienne’s face, trying to convey how sorry she was for doing what she was about to do.

But Darienne stared back and smiled, raising her thumb in approval and understanding. Micky nodded and ran towards Clay, who was already waiting fifty yards ahead of her. Lilian tried in futility to exit through the same driver-side door, stopping short as she got caught between the seat cushions.

“Out of my way,” she said with a cat-like screech. “I have to go with them! They can’t get in without me. They need me.”

Darienne leaned out of Lilian’s way as she dove for the van’s opposite door-latch. She literally sprawled across Darienne’s lap, almost swimming in her effort to open the door and get out. Lilian staggered out of the van and ran towards the hall. Darienne closed the door and sat quietly in her chair. She didn’t want to get in the way, so she decided to sit in place and wait for things to calm down. Micky will tell her all about it later, anyway. This was as close to history as she could get without getting trampled.

Three silhouettes swung their arms forward and pointed their industrial flashlights directly into Clay’s and Micky’s faces.

“Let us through,” demanded Clay. “We’re with KMNL News.”

“My name is Michelle Suarez, and this is my camera man, Clayton Smith.” She pulled out two press badges and handed it to the lead officer. “We’re just here to get a statement from Preston Jones.”

“Sorry, folks, but they don’t want anyone going in. You guys are going to have to turn around and leave.”

“Off the record, guys,” said Micky with professional tone, “if you let us in, I can get you a lot of cool free shit from the station. I’ll even get you a personal station tour. What do you say?”

The three guards looked at each other, smiling and considering the offer.

“There are already people in there ahead of us. I’m not going to say shit to anybody that you let us in. And if they ask you, all you have to say is that we got in before your barricades went up.”

The guards stepped aside and gave them a free path to the front entrance. Clay shook the hand of the lead guard as they proceeded forward. He could tell Micky had given this speech before, with little variation.

“Leave your card with me when I leave,” said Micky over her shoulder with a wave. “I’ll hook you up. Thanks, fellas.”

Lilian reached the three guards a few seconds later, out of breath and soaked. She inadvertently strayed into the path of a rogue sprinkler.

“Let me through,” she demanded. “I’m with those two. I’m that woman’s agent. I have an invitation.”

“Sure you do, grandma,” smirked the same lead guard. The three stood unmoving in their spots, a wall blocking all access to the event.

Lilian screeched and gritted her teeth in frustration, almost lunging at the men with her long nails before catching herself.

“Ma’am, you’re wet,” said one guard with sympathy. “Would you like a towel? It’s freezing out here.”

“Well of course I’d like a towel, you idiot. You think I like staying out here like a popsicle? Surely even your minimum wage salary job can see that.”

The guards looked at each other in disbelief. They all quickly pointed towards the exit simultaneously. “The towel’s over there,” they said in unison.

Lilian screamed and stomped back towards the news van, throwing her soaked hat onto the glittering lawn. The three men broke out in laughter.

The limousine passed the crowd slowly, almost in a defensive posture. Preston and Max felt their eyes staring the car down, with fans breaking into screams and cheers every few feet. Flash pulses filled the air like distant lightning, exploding before quickly dissipating away. The crowd was small for now, but it was sure to grow in the coming minutes.

Preston lowered his window a crack and peered outside. The veterans’ hall itself was elevated high above the road, accessible only by an ornate staircase that led to the tall front doors. A narrow red carpet snaked its way from this entrance to the curb, flanked by velvet rope. Security guards stood alongside the steps in a staggered pattern. Several men stood on top of the staircase, with one person seeming to dwarf the others in presence. He was dressed in an expensive, European–style suit, and seemed to command over the property.

Even from their position at the bottom of the staircase, he could tell this man was smiling.

“Alright, Pres,” said Max with urgency, “it’s show time. This isn’t anything different than what you’ve gone through before, so relax. We have tons of security around us. Besides, there’s food up there. Not the finger-licking shit we’re used to, but expensive astronaut food. We gonna grub tonight!”

“Oh, fuck ya! I’m there!” Preston leaned off the seat and crouched forward. Max placed his hand on his shoulder and motioned for him to pause.

“Me first, pal. We have to make sure that it’s safe out there first.”

Two security guards approached the limousine from the front steps. One guard opened the door while the other stood as a body block to anyone who was thinking of rushing the car. Max got out first and carefully inspected the surroundings.

“I’m Maxwell Lee, Mr. Jones’ agent.” He shook the lead guard’s hand. “I want the best security coverage you guys can offer, you understand? At this point in time, my client is more important than the President of the United States himself. Is there any part of that you do not understand?”

Preston shook his head again in amusement. Max reminded him of a bulldog who never quit. His speech just made him feel like he was about to parachute out of an airplane.

Deep in his gut, he may not have been far off.

Max leaned inside the limo and reached for Preston’s hand. Preston quickly grabbed it, and was pulled out into the cool evening air. Preston awkwardly stood up, his legs still aching from sitting down for two hours. He brushed his sleeves and pant legs to straighten out the creases, then stood erect to full extension. He towered above the gawking crowd, the happiest man on earth. He took a meaningful look at Max, and then to the top of the staircase. There were men waiting for him up there, important men that could take him to the stars. He raised his hand to the growing crowd in a peace sign, then blew a kiss. Smiling, he proceeded with his agent up the steps.

Allan Henderson pulled his car behind the KMNL van, shut-off his headlights, and waited. Several cars had already passed him up and proceeded forward, but he was sure this was the van that cut him off on the freeway. “What are all these cars doing here?” he wondered.

He reached behind his chair and grabbed his briefcase. He clicked the latches open and rummaged through its contents, tossing about its contents as if he was sifting through slimy garbage. He casually flung all his office supplies behind him, until he found a revolver hidden beneath a pile of student homework. This was his insurance plan while he taught in the local inner-city high school; no one was going to slash his tires and key his car again. Twice was too many times, he shook his head in reflection.

He opened the bullet chamber and rolled it with his fingers; six unfired bullets rotated in place. The revolver had the scent of cleaning oil. Allan always made sure it was in pristine condition, especially if he ever had to use it. In a few minutes, he was going to make sure it wreaked of burnt powder.

The silhouette of a woman briefly stood next to the van, then quickly vanished with the slamming of its door. Allan was ready to leave his car and approach the van, when a small spotlight caught him flush in the face. The spotlight scanned the rest of the front seat, then bobbed into the back compartment. Luckily for him, he instinctively dropped the gun below his seat the moment he noticed the light.

A faint, gloved tapping came from the front passenger-side window.

“Sir, you’re going to have to move your car. You’re obstructing traffic.” A young-faced security guard smiled at him from behind the moisture-lined window. He did another sweep of the car, then walked around to the Allan’s side. “We’re going to have to ask you to please move your vehicle. This area is now off-limits, per the management.”

“I’m sorry, officer.” Allan fumbled for words and excuses in his head. “My car stalled or something. I saw these red lights go crazy all over my dashboard, and I just had to pull over. You think you can help me?”