Big Superhero Action (17 page)

“AXIS stands between you and the OSD. AXIS is the reason Dr. Playground isn’t the mayor and you’re not in a landfill.”

“We are on terms with the OSD.”

“You are between two forces. One of them is evil. That’s the one that takes power by force. They violate terms then you wind up with their boot on your neck worse than a World War Two poster.”

“Do you know what
evil
means?” Thorne said. “It means
Ending Vicious Instincts Long-term.
These are things of Man. I deal with Man. AXIS and the OSD. I listen to your concerns of Man. There is a place for that. But you seem to expect me to look around at all this and see only the work of Man. The massively profound egotism of that. How do you look around and see this city and still think Man has the last and only word on what happens in this world? AXIS and the OSD are two egotists I have to mediate. But don’t mistake me for your employee. The God who created all this, He is my master. Are we done yet, Mr. Carousel?”

Thorne started staring at the wall. He wasn’t getting it. The Carousel looked at the wall, saw the writing: Mayor Milo Spector.

C
razy Luke the Baptist wore a broad straw oriental rice farmer hat, black pajamas. He looked like redneck Viet Cong. Now picking up a shotgun with work-gloved hands. Deeply tanned, a white beard, one glass eye, one real.

Seven choppers rolled into his driveway, Motorchrist in front, the chopper thunder rattling the glass, rattling the bones.

Motorchrist got off, walked up to Luke the Baptist, took the shotgun. “I had a fuckin’ dream about you, bro. It was a vision. You were surrounded by light with angels circling.”

Luke said, “That wasn’t me.”

“No that was you, bro. And now I know what that shit means. I kept you alive for a reason.”

Motorchrist knocked him down, stomped his face. The others began stomping him, booted him bloody. Motorchrist waved them back, pulled a hunting knife. He bent over Luke. Luke spat blood into Motorchrist’s face. Luke was now in another zone beyond fear.

Motorchrist wiped the blood with one hand, wiped the hand on Luke’s shirt front.

“Your shit drops a new Motorchrist every day, you fuckin’ know that?”

“I cook only the worst shit,” Luke said. “If you don’t die, you get high. Be worthy of it.”

Motorchrist said, “You know how you get into the Motorchrists?”

Luke said, “No.”

“You got to kill one of us to get in. Know how you become leader?”

“No.”

“You caused more of us to die than anyone else. Even me. You did so many of us,” Motorchrist said, “you are our fucking new leader. Lead us.”

Luke stared.

“I’m beginning to understand you,” Luke said. “You are seekers of your purest state. So am I, so this may be the convergence of our destinies.”

“What’s that mean?”

“This will take time to absorb fully. There is much to do.”

“Like what?”

“I have a vision.”

“You do?”

“Yes. A complex vision. Made complex by you. You remade me. Now you’re redefining me. Next we redefine each other.”

“Like how?”

Luke’s eye gleamed with an inner light. The inner light of the totally fucking insane. It would’ve been a stretch to expect him to have any sanity left.

He said, “You will put me through hell.”

“Yeah.”

“In Hell one burns. But Hell does not burn you, it forges you. It forges you into a new being with an insight you don’t find any other way. So I must use it. Or it goes to waste. Then I burn in Hell for nothing. Understand? I am a madman. And I struggle with it every day. To find its meaning. Now I see it. I was put here to save you. Now I am your leader. And you have been gifted with the insight to receive the truth. The circle is complete. We are one. We are the Motorchrists.”

“Maybe not,” Motorchrist told him.

“What does that mean?”

“I have to catch up to your kills.”

Motorchrist put the knife to Crazy Luke’s throat, opened it like a trout. Then he sliced off a piece of throat, put it into his mouth, chewed on it. The blood ran down his chin. Luke was a blood-spraying body that hit the ground. Motorchrist chewed on the wad of throat tissue, stood one hand stroking his dick under the jeans.

“Shit,” he said, “guess I’m leader again.”

The interior of the house was hot with busted air, furnished in dust and dead ferns. Behind the ferns a child was hiding.

“You,” Motorchrist said. “Come here.”

The boy looked down.

He whistled, said, “Here, boy.”

The boy walked over, kept his eyes down.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Slowly, with a sideways mouth he spewed two words. “Duff Nash.”

“You retarded or something?”

The child stared at the floor.

Motorchrist took out a cell phone.

He said, “Her Blue Majesty. It’s Motorchrist.”

He waited.

He said, “Got a male child.”

He waited.

He said, “He looks like a retard or a mutant.”

He waited.

He turned the phone camera on Duff.

He put the phone back to his ear.

“Yeah.”

He waited.

“Today.”

He waited.

“Twenty.”

He waited.

“Fifteen.”

He waited.

“Fuck you—fifteen.”

He waited.

“Twelve.”

He waited.

“Yeah. We can do that.”

He waited.

“Yeah.”

He waited.

“Fuck it. Whatever he can out-run and kill.”

He waited.

“Right.”

The call ended. Motorchrist grabbed Duff by the hair. The boy made a short whine.

“You’ll be with us a while, kid.”

M
anhattan, a bar at 61
^st
and Madison. Nell Newport was doing Cosmos with Her Blue Majesty.

HBM: “Did you hear about the Mortons?”

Nell: “No.”

“The Mortons have an eleven-year-old son. The son comes home one day with his teacher. His teacher is a hot babe. The teacher tells them the son has a crush on her. The teacher believes in supporting his early sexual development, so she creates a supportive environment by wearing bikinis with heels and letting him do whatever he wants with her. He fondles her large boobs, kisses her, molests her. The Mortons are so impressed with her commitment to the child, the whole family starts getting it on with her.”

Nell made a face. “Does that sound out-of-bounds to you? Including your child in a world?”

“It’s edgy.”

“I’d be uncomfortable with that.”

“Comfort isn’t the point.”

“No?”

“You can have art or you can have comfort.”

“I’m on pins and needles.”

“You’ll get through it,” HBM said.

“I feel like I’m about to die.”

“Feel it. Find the sex.”

“I’ve never felt this much dread.”

“I’m here for you, Nell.”

Nell was wearing a tight long-sleeved black leather dress that ended at the very top of her thighs, nearly exposing her shaved pelvis. Her legs were bare above tall boots with six-inch heels. They left the bar, crossed the street. HBM’s hand clutched Nell’s as they passed Barney’s, entered an office building with a brown marble lobby.

“God in heaven,” she muttered into Nell’s shoulder. Not many people around but a black water delivery guy was staring.

“Remember that it isn’t you,” Her Blue Majesty told her. “It’s the world you’re playing. And it’s very expensive. Leave it all to your Blue Majesty.”

“Oh God.”

“I have to leave you now.”

“Not yet.”

“You have to be alone.”

“Oh God.”

“Find the sex, Nell. Have fun.”

“You … “

Her Blue Majesty headed for the exit, leaving Nell perched atop the heels, afraid to move. Two women passed behind her chattering in French.

Nell prayed for a sudden death.

A man in a dark suit appeared, headed toward Nell. When he reached Nell, he snagged her by the arm.

He took her to a door marked
Authorized personnel only
, went through them into a white corridor, took her up the corridor. It was fine with her to be out of the lobby wherever they were headed.

The man went to a door, took Nell inside. The room was an office, small, the walls in hard white paint. The man left, closed the door behind him.

An older man in a cheap suit was waiting. The man was short and bony with dead eyes and sunken bony cheeks. He stared hard at Nell. Nell shrank under his stare
.
Then she corrected herself, raised her chin. Even adjusted for context, the situation still weighed too much, sinking her chin into her collar as her hands still tugged the dress downward.

The man said, “What is your problem, Miss?”

“I…uh …”

“There are standards of public appearance.”

“I know.”

“Your private parts are exposed to public view.”

“I…know … that.”

“Then explain yourself, Miss.”

“Well … oh, I … my … oh boy. Okay … I feel slightly dumb, right now. This is a lot to process. I can’t remember the script. Give me a moment. Sorry …”

“Sit down,” he said.

Nell went to a white vinyl chair, sat legs together.

The man said, “Since you want to show your privates, open your legs.”

Nell parted her legs.

“Wider.”

Nell spread her knees wider.

“You must be some kind of freak,” he said. “What are you, an exhibitionist? Are you a pervert? What are you? You’re a perverted freak,” he barked, spittle hitting her face. “Say it!”

“I’m a perverted freak!”

“You’re a whore! Say it, whore!”

“I’m a whore!”

“Filthy whore freak!”

Nell came apart, crying like a five-year-old.

The man stood over her, foam collecting in one corner of his slack lips. He taunted her like a schoolboy. “Look at the crying whore! Keep your legs wide open, crying whore!”

Nell kept her knees spread. The man knelt before her. He crawled in closer, until his face was an inch from her crotch. He leaned in until his lips touched her. Nell stopped sobbing. The tears passed, she was now watching the head between her thighs, the man’s unseen mouth performing oral sex on her.
Performance
was the word for it. It reminded her of a hard-core porn movie she’d watched in college once. She slid lower in the chair, legs widening until it strained her hips. It was already the best oral sex she’d ever had.

The man set her on the desk, went back between her thighs mouth first.

Her face upside-down, Nell looked up to where the naked little Down’s Syndrome boy in a dog collar knelt watching them. Neal Newport stood behind him watching, holding the dog collar. Neal was in a suit. Kneeling at his shoes, the boy was oddly grotesquely compelling, his eyes wide, taking her in breathing through his mouth like an animal.

C
asey knew she could do it. The right song was a song from the future. It had no name. As it played the effect happened. The effect was cleansing. It was so pure and perfect it made her cry. She felt it everywhere and deeper than there was depth.

She felt it cleanse away the corruption in layers that swirled around her in a chunky mist that faded to mist to spray. It was like standing in fresh spring rain. And it was wise and perfect and so beautiful it was unbearable. The mist swirled becoming vapor. Her vision became clearer through the vapor of what was becoming pure and healed.

She felt Duff’s brain waking to its new self. His new intelligence and awareness rose to her fingertips. He was crying too and she spread his hot teardrops across his cheeks. The mist became dry clarity. It cradled him in his cleansed state. She stepped back hair in her eyes, exhausted from alien joy. The song ended. She turned off the Walkman, took off the earphones.

Duff looked at her with a penetrating gaze, the brain behind it overwhelmed with itself, its receptors filling with consciousness then the world. His hands went to his mouth. His hands went to his skull, massaged it.

Casey asked him, “What’s your name?”

“Duff Nash,” he spoke clearly.

“How do you feel?”

He said, “How do I look?”

“You look good.”

“How…do…I…look? How. Do. I. Look? How do I look? How do I look? What did you do, Casey?”

“I made you not a retard.”

“How?”

“It’s the song. It’s a song from the future.”

“What song?”

“It doesn’t have a name yet. It’s European. Electronic.”

“Where are we?”

“I got us away from them.”

“Away from who?”

“Her Blue Majesty.”

“The pretty blue hair woman?”

“I escaped tonight and took you with me. I had you hang onto my back while I went out the window. You thought I was a theme park ride. I climbed down the wall of the building like a spider, jumped the rest of the way. We landed on the awning in front. I jumped down to the sidewalk. The doorman didn’t see us. Then we simply walked away.”

“Her Blue Majesty,” he said.

“She runs the sex division of the OSD. We were the only kids there. She kept you prisoner. She kept you in a cage like a dog.”

“She made me do stuff.”

“I know. She made us all do stuff. She used me for porn, she sold me for sex.”

“What did she make me do?”

“You don’t need to know, Duff.”

She took him by the hand and took him along the beach.

“Where are we going?” he said.

“I’m taking you to a city orphanage.”

“Are you going there too?”

“No. I’m too old.”

“I have Down’s Syndrome. My crazy uncle Luke the Baptist…he took me to this city, he was gonna get me cured.”

“Guess he didn’t.”

“We lived in West Virginia. Me and my Mom and Dad. Then my uncle stole me and took me here. He believed God lives here. He said God would cure me. In West Virginia he was into making meth. Here he got a house and had a meth lab.”

“I never heard you talk so much, Duff.”

“It’s like I know stuff now and I can say the stuff I know.”

“What happened to the crazy uncle?”

“He sold bad meth to the Motorchrists and they killed him. Then they sold me to Her Blue Majesty.”