The Four Kings (29 page)

Regi nodded. “I understand now.”

As a dramatic finale, the professor held his hands up high, as if addressing a mass. “Welcome to the real world, wizards.” Then, he glanced off the screen, not saying anything.

Amanda took the cue. Deeply troubled by the professor’s analysis, she nonetheless had to carry on with the show. Mustering her courage, she said, “Next up, Myles Bragg, private citizen.”

Demus said, “Amanda, I didn’t hear the position that this person currently occupies.”

Amanda appeared somber. “That’s because Mr. Bragg doesn’t have one. He’s unemployed.”

“Nothing to brag about, eh, Mr. Bragg?” Demus shrugged.

Amanda glared at Demus.
That insensitive twit
. Icily, she said, “Mr. Bragg, you have the floor now.”

An image of a desolate middle-aged man, with dark circles under his eyes, pudgy faced, and flowing light brown locks, appeared onscreen. He pursed his lips, then began apologetically, “I’m sorry to be here, I shouldn’t bother you with your time, given that you’re looking after so many of us and all,” he said, rambling a bit.

Amanda did her best to make him feel comfortable. “Mr. Bragg, you’re an essential part of the democratic process. You’re important to us. Please, don’t hesitate.” Then she sat back to listen.

“Well, thanks, Miss Amanda,” Bragg said, “You know, it hasn’t been easy ever since I’ve had to talk to different agencies. They’re trying to help me, but there are so many other people who deserve my spot, so I feel kind of guilty…” He trailed off, unable to compose his thoughts.

“Mr. Bragg,” Amanda intervened, “Let’s start at the beginning. You said you’re now unemployed. What job did you have before?”

The pallid man briefly held his chin up high. “I was a title officer in the land registry department for the city of Indianapolis.”

“What happened?” Amanda gently asked.

“Well, as you know, the government was all shut down, because you Liberators don’t believe in any government at all, and no taxes, that’s for sure.” He rubbed his scalp briefly. “I can understand where you’re coming from, like my job was paid for by your taxes, I’ve always wondered if that was a good thing, like some of my friends said it wasn’t a real job.”

“Go on, Mr. Bragg.”

He gazed more confidently at the screen. “But the job was real to me. I was proud to help landowners organize the title to their land. Over the counter, I met real people who asked questions about the title process, as they found it complicated. I’m proud of that.”

“That’s good, sir,” Amanda encouraged him, “What happened after you lost your job?”

“Well, as you know, a guy with land registry experience isn’t going to amount to much outside of government. Since all the government collapsed, I’ve tried to market my skills, as the buzzword went. I used the last of my savings to re-train myself, to pick myself up, as you say.”

“Umm-hmm.”

Bragg’s eyes registered anger, but only for a moment. “One scam operator stole my money, as he ran off before I even stepped foot in his classroom. Another institute was much better, and they advised me how to do electrician work.”

“That’s the spirit,” Indie approved, “Actually orienting yourself to what the market demands.”

Bragg’s shoulders slumped. “But it didn’t work. Thousands of government workers who also lost their jobs are all swarming out there, like insects.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Bragg,” Amanda said sincerely.

“Yah,” he said, reflectively. “I’ve even heard stories of homeowners being barraged day and night with contractors, trying desperately to make a living.” He paused.

“So where are you living now? Amanda asked.

Bragg’s voice became insistent. “That’s the problem. All the subsidized housing’s gone. Some have shut down because governments can’t afford them anymore.” He brusquely jabbed his index finger into the palm of his other hand. “I’ve been wandering around ever since I got evicted. Trying to beg for a spot, but all the landlords have locked themselves up. I’m now living in a park in a tent.”

Amanda’s eyes opened wide. “And the police haven’t gone after you for trespassing?”

“Lady, there are no police left. Only those privately hired by the winners of the bitcoin sweepstakes. There aren’t any police left in town.”

Amanda was now grasping at straws. “What about the guaranteed ration of two thousand bitcoins a day?”

The burly man laughed. “Miss Amanda, you try living on two thousand bitcoins a day. That’s barely enough to feed yourself, pay the rent – hey, rent controls are gone too, so rents everywhere are being jacked up – you try to get yourself a beer or a decent haircut!”

“The idea,” Regi jumped in, “is to contribute to the economy, so that everyone’s involved in progress, not living off the forced welfare of someone else. Did you try to offer your land registry experience to become a surveyor for private companies?”

Bragg started tearing up. “Mr. Regi, there aren’t any surveyors anymore. Everyone’s grabbing whatever land there is, since there are no rules anymore. I guess I’m a failure. I’m a washout. I don’t deserve to be here.”

Amanda struggled to hold back her sympathy. She wanted to hire him, now, or find something to pull him. “Mr. Bragg,” she said, “you’re definitely not a failure. You’re a hard-working, well-educated citizen who has much to offer.”

Bragg wiped away a tear. “It’s not just me. I’m pleading on behalf of my brother, who’s a drug addict. I can’t find anyone to take care of him. He doesn’t even know anything about his tab. He’s incapable of figuring out how bitcoins work.”

Indie rolled her eyes. “Mr. Bragg, I’m sorry to be so harsh, but the fact is your brother’s a drug addict. No one forced him to take these drugs, did they?”

Bragg started crying. “No, no…”

“And he was a drug addict before we Liberators started the reforms, is that not correct?”

“Yes, but –” Bragg held up one finger and leaned ahead at the screen, while simultaneously wiping his cheeks with his other arm, “– before you guys arrived, the detox center offered him rehab, and a bed as well.”

“Listen to me, Mr. Bragg.” Indie glared at him. “Under the old regime, your brother was a burden on his people.”

“No, he wasn’t!”

“You’ve just admitted he was a drug addict. Presumably, he couldn’t hold a job or offer value.”

“He’s my brother!” Bragg yelled.

“Listen, how do his neighbors feel about spending their own money, for which they have to feed their families, upon taxes? Taxes which are arbitrarily seized by government. This family paying for an evil which is no fault of their own?”

“I know, I know, but…”

“Well, tough luck, mister,” Indie spoke with dripping contempt. “Your brother chose his path in life. He has to live with the consequences. In medieval times, he would’ve been left to die by the roadside, instead of being coddled up by today’s society.”

Bragg broke down, sobbing, bending over from his waist, and covering his face out of humiliation. His shoulders shook as Amanda looked on in horror. She glanced quickly at Demus, who seemed oblivious to the man’s plight, as he was grinning with delight. Her glance next darted to Justica, who seemed to be frowning, and otherwise inscrutable. Finally, she looked at Regi, who was slumped in his seat, with a look of concern on his face. Her heart went out to him as her eyes pleaded.
Do something!

Regi spoke softly, and all the other wizards turned to him, listening carefully. “Mr. Bragg, umm, we do have a recommendation for those who are unable to maximize their productivity in the bitcoin economy.”

Bragg kept sobbing, and didn’t indicate he was paying attention.

Seeing no reply, Regi continued with a caring voice, “That would be to appeal to the good nature of people, starting with your strongest possibilities, such as immediate family, then good friends, then your networks with the community, and finally, strangers.”

“Crowdsourcing,” added Amanda. “It’s like crowdsourcing.”

Regi nodded at Amanda’s point.

Regi asked the desolate guest, “Have you tried to solicit bitcoins for your brother using effective marketing techniques?”

Bragg finally lifted his face up to face the camera. His face was emotionless as he deadpanned, “I’m a failure. I have very few friends. It’s just the way I am. My parents and I don’t get along. I refused to attend my sister’s wedding, and she’s sure not talking to me these days.” He started crying again, covering his face once more with his arms. It was very hard to anyone to hear his next muffled words, which were wracked by sobs. “I’m just a big, fat nobody.” He looked up again, his eyes red, tears streaming down. “I can’t even get my local café to give me a free cup of coffee, they all hate me.”

Indie finally snapped, out of impatience. “Amanda, this Petitioner has made his point. It’s time to move on with our agenda.”

Amanda stared at Indie in desperation.
How should I politely show disagreement on live television?

Regi solved Amanda’s dilemma. “You’ve made some good points, and this is a very sad story. Tell you what, tell me the name of your brother, and we’ll file it on record.”

Resigned and breathing deeply, Bragg said, “Leonard Bragg.”

“Address?” Regi asked discreetly.

“Usually under the Indiana Avenue Bridge in Indianapolis. Above the Upper Canal.”

“Well, thank you for your valuable time, Mr. Bragg,” Amanda said respectfully, mindful of Indie’s wilting glare. “We’ll take a fifteen minute break.”

Inwardly, Amanda groaned.
What had she gotten herself into?

For the second time ever since that idiotic battle, which had unfolded in North Dakota, she thought about quitting.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Arriving at the Upper Canal, a disguised Amanda peered around carefully, tipping her brown leather fedora closer to her brow. She wore white-rimmed sunglasses. Walking at the intersection of Indiana Avenue and West Michigan Street, she searched for the bridge. There! Gingerly finding steps below, she bounded down with a spring in her step.

So hard to cope with the patience of taking the train - a few hours too! (gasp!) - when lately, all she had to do was allow herself to be zapped everywhere.

The stench of urine struck her nostrils. Two makeshift tents appeared in her line of vision, along with dilapidated shopping carts full of half-open cans, dirty clothes, and faded torn magazines. She saw two homeless men sitting on the concrete base overlooking the bridge, with baseball hats overturned on the ground to collect coins from passers-by.

Must be desperate
, Amanda thought,
there haven’t been any new government-issued coins or legal tender for over a year now.

She halted in front of the two men, who were fully bearded and over-tanned, too aware of the contrast between herself and them. “Excuse me,” she said, “I’m looking for Leonard Bragg.”

One of the men stared at her. “Boy, they keep comin’, don’t they.” He said, “You’re too late. Half hour ago, a guy came to get him. Offered him a home.”

Amanda’s spirits soared. “Oh, that’s wonderful! Do you know where he went?”

He pointed one block further. “Said he’d be on Roanoke Street.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “What number?”

“565.”

Amanda practically ran up the stairs, two at a time, and didn’t stop until, panting, she saw the N ROANOKE sign another block away. Catching her breath, she speed-walked toward the intersection. She continued up to a drab old L-shaped three-storey apartment complex with a large sign that read “Manor Apartments.” She froze, and quickly darted to hide behind a post, which also had the benefit of a wide street sign posted about her eye level.

There, on the parking lot, were two men hugging. One obviously was a homeless man, with tattered clothes and a shabby beard. The other man was tall, thin, and wearing an impeccable suit.

“You take care, Leonard. The apartment’s all yours now,” the gentleman said to Leonard Bragg, holding him eagerly by the arms. Amanda didn’t recognize the voice.

“Thank you so much, thank you,” the beggar said as he expressed gratitude. “I can’t tell you how much this means.”

“No need,” said the dapper man, patting him firmly on his arm. As the benefactor hurriedly walked away, Bragg yelled out, “Hey! What’s your name?”

The benefactor stopped, and winked. “My name, you could say, is Milton Friedman.” He chuckled, waved goodbye, and set off toward the alley.

Milton Friedman?
A startled Amanda processed the name.

The famous economist? He was long dead, too. Who’s this mystery gentleman?
She resolved to catch up to him, to find out.

The departing man didn’t see Amanda. He walked quickly around a corner, into a narrow alleyway. He then sidestepped two garbage cans. Funny, Amanda thought, the pace of the man was unnatural, as if he were walking elevated above the ground, by an inch or so.

Losing sight of him as he turned the corner, Amanda momentarily panicked. “Sir!” she cried out as loud as possible, then ran up.

Now in full sight of the hidden lane, Amanda halted to a full stop, and then gasped.

The mystery man had disappeared into thin air.

Chapter Forty

Amanda fought off the urge to nod off as she lay on her bed within Liberators’ Headquarters. Just as she thought she’d keep reading, her eyes would momentarily close, her jaw would drop, and then she’d alert herself back to reality.

She rubbed her eyes. No. She had to stop working soon. She glanced across the room, to where Demus’ favorite chair stood. Hmm. She had a wicked grin. She’d pretend she possessed magic, and visualized him – red shirt and all – materializing right in front of her. This time, he’d have an expression of shock on his face, wondering how he was summoned against his will – at her beckoning.
That’d be fun.

Amanda felt mischievous. With difficulty, she inverted her hands outwards. She placed her thumbs next to the outer corners of her eyes. The next two fingers on each hand, down – on her upper neck. She pretended to meditate.