01.16.06
Cider looked out over the meeting hall, to a sparse crowd. The meetings had been getting smaller recently, perhaps he had been having too many recently, putting to much pressure on his boys, his troops. After all, he thought the men had families, had lives. Most of them were busy, important people.
Bullshit.
None of them should be too busy for the Promised Ones; none of them should be too busy for their own eternal salvation. Heads would role for this.
“My fellow Promised Ones,” he said, mask of pain and heartbreak crossing his face. That was all he had the chance to say. The doors at the back of the room suddenly flew open. Chuck, Will, and Animal stood outside the doorway, straining under the weight of multiple garbage bags. They heaved the bags into the room, scattering Promised Ones fleeing from the putrid, rotten stench. Chuck and Animal had hand picked the trash to make it as offensive as possible.
“What is the meaning of this?” roared Cider, rushing at them between piles of trash. The other Promised Ones gathered behind him, unsure of their next step.
“I wanted to return your offer, but I forgot which trash I threw it in, so we just brought them all,” said Chuck, watching as pools of garbage water started seeping into the carpets. That would be hard to clean.
“How did you even get in here? The door…”
“Isn’t as strong as you would think,” chipped in Animal, pulling a crowbar from his belt loop. “Also, if you want to have a security camera, I would suggest on that is hardwired. These wireless ones are pretty easy to dupe.” He tossed the Promised Ones’ security camera on top of the garbage. Cider looked at it, cheeks reddening in fury.
“I suggest you leave, before something unfortunate happens to you,” he said, voice edged with steel.
“Was that a threat?” asked Will, pulling out a notepad. Cider stiffened, recognizing Will from the courtroom. He paused, trying to temper his fury, balance that against what was good for the cause.
“It was a suggestion,” he said finally. “I suggest you leave our premises, the premises that you broke into illegally, damaged, and defaced. Leave the stench of your trash here, and leave.”
“Don’t bother us again,” said Chuck.
“Or what?”
“Why don’t you come and find out?” said Animal.
“I don’t take orders from blue haired freaks,” spat Cider venomously. He couldn’t stand the absurd fashions that people wore these days, pretending every day was Halloween.
“It wasn’t an order, just a suggestion. Come on, I think you’ll like this.” Chuck, Will and Animal turned and walked down the corridor, followed by confused Promised Ones. Cider considered calling for an attack, while their backs were turned, but there was something in their walk, a confidence that gave him pause, made him reconsider. They walked outside, into the dimming twilight. Robert stood alone near the parking lot entrance, arms crossed, waiting. Upon seeing everyone leave the building through the twisted doorway, he pulled out a cell phone and made a quick telephone call. Chuck walked up to him,
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Everything’s fine. They said they won’t do anything illegal, but they will be here any second.” As Robert finished the sentence the thunderous roar of multiple motorbikes could be heard approaching. Not simply the average roar of a motorcycle, this was the deep, percussive, feel it in your chest roar that only a multitude of Harley’s could make. Thirty bikers pulled up behind Robert, still revving their engines. Cider and the Promised Ones drew themselves backwards, suddenly less interested in a confrontation. The bikers sat and looked at the Promised Ones, nothing more. One by one they turned off their motorcycles, until nothing could be heard except for the distant hum of traffic.
“Leave us alone,” said Chuck. “It’s my land, not yours. I’m not selling it, auctioning it off, or parting with it in any way. You cannot buy me, you cannot buy my land. I never want to see you again, you or your Chosen Ones.”
“Promised Ones,” corrected Cider. Even with the cold, deadening glare of a few dozen bikers on him, he still held his head up high, still tried to control the situation.
“Whatever you are, I don’t care. Just leave us alone.” He turned and walked towards Will’s behemoth, followed by the others.
“Nice hog,” said Animal, passing by a particularly shiny Harley.
“Thanks kid,” the owner responded, face breaking out into a genuine smile at
the compliment.
They drove in silence to the park, each one considering what they had just done.
“How many laws did we just break, Will,” Animal asked, finally breaking the silence.
“A few. Nothing too serious, really. And I doubt that Cider will really want to take us to court anyhow. It could raise difficult questions for him.”
“I saw Art Bailey, and his partner there,” said Robert.
“Partner? The Promised Ones have gay members? That seems oxymoronic,” said Animal from the back.
“Partner as in police partner,” explained Robert. “Although they would make a nice couple,” he added as an afterthought.
“Did we go too far?” asked Chuck. “Was the garbage too immature?” They all sat silently, considering this for a moment.
“No,” said Robert, shaking his head and smiling.
“No way,” echoed Animal.
“I think it was just the perfect level of maturity for a group of men who still have a clubhouse,” said Will. Ahead on the road they could see the limo caravan, driving in perfect synch back to the park. Will slowed down slightly to keep pace behind them.
“Interesting,” he said, looking at his speedometer.
“What?” asked Chuck, leaning over from the passenger side to see what Chuck was looking at.
“They are doing exactly forty eight kilometers per hour. Just under the speed limit. As though they ere taking careful pains to ensure they would not be pulled over.” The four of them watched as each limo turned on their left turn signal, a perfectly timed cascade of flickering lights signaling the intent to turn left, into the park.
“Now that’s just creepy,” said Animal. “What are they, robots or something?”
“Perhaps they were just very well trained,” suggested Will.
“Sure, well trained robots. I suppose that would mean they were well programmed.”
They parked alongside the limos, mingling with tired-looking actuaries. They smiled and greeted one another, happy to see familiar faces after a day spent with hundreds of other actuaries. Mr. Takeuchi came over to meet them.
“We are trying to decide where to go tonight. Do you have any suggestions?”
“Do you want to try something a little different?” asked Robert. Mr. Takuechi conferred briefly with his colleagues, Japanese syllables flying at the dumbfounded Westerners like the complex language that it was. Eventually a consensus was reached, although a few faces looked disappointed, muttering the syllables ‘Ground Zero’ betwixt the more elegant Japanese.
“I know just the place,” said Robert. Chuck begged off, citing exhaustion, but waved goodbye as the caravan, lead by Will, Animal, and Robert, headed off for another night of drinking.
The caravan happened to drive past the Promised Ones. There was much laughter from Will, Robert and Animal as they looked out to see the bikers still there, still standing in front of the driveway, not allowing any cars out. A long line of cars idled in the parking lot, keeping their distance from the bikers. No one wanted to be the first in line. No one wanted to be the one to try to push the bikers out of the way. A few were on cell phones, trying to explain the situation to unsympathetic wives, already annoyed by how much time their husbands had been away, spending their nights with the Promised Ones. Bailey had tried to call for some support, but no one seemed to be rushing to his aid. His partner had convinced him to stay put; two off duty cops should probably not approach a gang of bikers. So they waited. And waited, each side refusing to back down. The caravan sped off into the night, spirits high.
The trailer park was quiet and peaceful; twilight descending filled the sky above with rich purples and blues. Chuck walked through it, checking fences, locks, and ensuring lights were on throughout the park, illuminating corners, resisting shadows. Everything seemed fine, the fence had been repaired stronger than before; no crack or seam was left to allow entrance. He grabbed his flashlight and ventured off into the forest.
It was dark, even in the dying light of twilight no light seemed to penetrate the thick foliage, still lush in the fall. Chuck walked carefully though the underbrush, wary of roots and shrubbery that lurked underfoot, ready to trip up the unwary. The forest was silent; most animals were gone south for the winter, or already hibernating, safely tucked away in their winter homes, which is where Chuck wished he was. The loud crack of a snapping tree branch suddenly filled the air. Chuck spun around in shock and took two quick steps backward, finding a place there wasn’t any ground any more. As Chuck tumbled backwards he ruefully considered the foolishness of walking backwards in the dark. Flashlights were no panacea against stupidity. Fortunately he didn’t fall far, his back hit the ground with a dull echo. He felt around him. He was lying on a large flat of wood, resting in a frame, like a doorway to the ground. It had been covered with a thick mantle of leaves, invisible to passers by for ages. Chuck thanked his lucky stars that he had only fallen a short distance. Then with the combined screams of ripping wood and terrified man, Chuck and the doorway plunged into the darkness.
Fortunately for Chuck it was not a vertical drop; the tunnel fell off at a steep angle. Chuck rode the doorway like a toboggan, sliding down the tunnel holding on for dear life. He skittered to a stop after ten meters or so, but his flashlight tumbled on ahead of him. He stood up slowly, hands reaching above him to feel for the ceiling. He was able to stand up safely; the tunnel he had uncovered was obviously quite tall, taller than a man. In the distant light of his flashlight he could see the walls of the tunnel, they were quite smooth, and met the top of the tunnel at a ninety degree angle. This was obviously a man made tunnel. Chuck carefully walked down to retrieve his flashlight, sliding his hands along the smooth walls as he did so. The tunnel leveled out just beyond where the light had fallen. On a whim, Chuck followed the tunnel further, curious to see where it lead.
About ten minutes later Chuck came to the end of the tunnel. It opened near a ravine closer to downtown. Unlike the rough hewn entrance that Chuck had literally stumbled upon, this opening was made of brick and concrete, and had obviously stood for some time. Chuck brushed the weathered facade; although visibly old, it was not worn down. Weathered-looking, certainly, but not falling apart. Chuck shone his flashlight around, looking for some clue as to the identity of this tunnel, with its’ grand looking facade, but the brick work kept its council, and no answers were forthcoming. The cold was stronger now, seeping into Chuck’s bones. He hurried through the tunnel back home.
He got home and took a hot, long shower, trying to clean the dirt from the tunnel out of his hair. He had just sat down at his computer to do some research on this tunnel when there was a timid tap at the door. Emma stood smiling shyly at him, thick overcoat wrapped tightly against the cold.
