“Aniese,” John said as he reached down to grab her arm. “That’s high treason.”
“Treason?” Aniese said questioningly as she shrugged off his hand and put the last of the bullets into the clip. Pausing for a second to turn and look John in the eyes, she grabbed the gun and inserted the clip. “Treason was when I voted for Hill. This…” She turned and brought the gun up to point at an old, tattered, political campaign poster from nearly a decade earlier. “This is atonement.”
She brought the gun up to her shoulder and squeezed. A small blast of chalky red dust poured out of the hole in President Hill’s head as the bullet lodged itself in the old brick of the once thriving club’s basement. A red cloud of pulverized brick puffed out leaving a trail of dust that bled out from the bullet hole. It also covered up that “warning, may cause a**l leakage” label that somebody had cleverly attached to the poster a few years back.
Aniese turned back towards John, her eyes wide, intent, tracking John as she walked back to the makeshift workbench. He didn't want to bring her into it, but after her dad was killed there was little he could do, especially after the leadership fell to him as well as the duty to take care of his friend's daughter. It was a promise he had regretted a long time ago. He didn't even feel guilty about it anymore.
“Hey, don’t blame me. I voted for Tom Jones.”
“And a lot of good that did my father,” Aniese said as she set the rifle down on the table and flipped on the florescent light, which also doubled as an advertisement for a local beer, but it was the best they could manage.
“And killing in his name is going to make it better?”
“Not in his name, mine, my name. They killed him, and he simply let it happen. His way didn't work, they still massacred that crowd.”
“Is that what this is about?” John came up behind her, causing her to cringe. “I was there Aniese. Those soldiers didn't want to fire, they had to. Put yourself in their position, they were about your age with a massive mob descending on them, throwing things at them. They fired to protect themselves, nothing more or less. It was the media, Congress, they were the ones who blew it out of proportion. You father knew what would happen. That's why we went to try and stop the protest. He knew how the media would spin it. He knew, why can't you see that what you're going to do is just going to be the mob all over again?”
Aniese spun, shoving John up against the old brick and brought her pistol to bear. “And what would you have us do? Ask Hill politely to step down so that we can take over? Should we ask the people living in box communities to starve to death because we're going to walk up to the White House and have tea?”
If it was nice tea, then sure, why not, John found himself thinking. After all, they didn't have a list of the underground, otherwise they'd have arrested him already. Besides, he really could go for a nice cup of tea.
“We didn't ask King George politely! No! We dumped his s**t into the water! Sic semper tyrannis John! That's what made this country, not sitting on our asses making nice.”
“And who voted to overthrow the government Aniese? Who!”
“The people did!”
“The people? That's news to me. Last check they were sitting in their hovels just trying to make do. I fail to see how shooting the president helps them any.”
“It gives them hope John!” She turned back to grab her rifle and helmet, the pink polka dots never did sit well with her. “It gives them bloody hope.”
John shoved her against the wall, knocking a small picture frame off the shelf. “Hope! Hope of what? Hope that the government will destroy their cardboard box cities for harboring an assassin? Hope that the underground will be destroyed? Hope that a real despot takes charge?
“As opposed to what you offer? What was that John? What have you given the people? Oh, that's right, nothing!”
“Aniese,” John said, standing on the stairs trying to block her path, “don’t go.” He really would rather she go, but he felt he should at least give it a shot. Really, she was the one with the gun, so it wasn't like he could stop her.
“And why shouldn’t I John?” Aniese yelled, barely managing not to pull out her pistol as she shoved him off the steps. “They killed my father. They got him, they’ll get you, and they’ll get me. I might as well give the rest of us some hope.”
“Hope! You think you’re offering them hope!”
Aniese stopped short of the stairs, spinning round to face John, opening her mouth in the process to yell only to find her violent expression covered by her dull bloody colored hair, which was nearly matching the color of her face. “Yes, damn it. Hope!”
“Hope,” John yelled, standing at the bottom of the wooden mockery of stairs as Aniese ascended them in a passionate fury. “Hope, ha, you'll only offer us death.”
“I’ll call it whatever I want to call it,” Aniese said, slamming the door behind her hard enough to cause the bricks to shudder.
John stooped to pick up the fallen photo. It was obvious she couldn’t be reasoned with anymore. The pain, the loss, it had driven itself too deep within her now. He was careful not to p***k himself on the broken glass shards. The photo was of Aniese, a little younger, her mother and father at her side, no worries. She figured to be about twelve in the picture; well before her dad and mom split up over her mom's desire to run for office. Now ten years after Hill's election the fourth term was guaranteed, unless through some miracle Aniese fulfilled her revenge. She just didn’t understand. It wasn't Hill that had started all of this. Congress had passed the new voting laws. Congress refused to work with Hill to prevent or lessen the coming depression that Jones had predicted. Ben and Jerry came out with a really great new ice cream flavor. Congress had passed the voting laws, forced the calling up of the military. Hill's death would only allow Congress to put in place a real despot who would only use the assassination to secure his power. The underground would be crushed, the box villages reduced to serfdom. He had failed to make her see that. Silently he put the picture back on the wall, the glass shattered. “ I failed you Luke.”
The sounds of Aniese’s motorcycle filled the room, albeit much too loud, till John realized that the door had been opened. There in the doorway stood David, clad in a new suit as always and the Cuban grasped firmly between his lips.
“You haven’t changed a bit,” John said with relief, taking in the sight of an old friend. “I bet you still have the Jag.”
“You guessed it,” David said. “Say, what’s up with Aniese. She looks a lot worse for the wear.”
“Oh,” John said as he pulled up two chairs, “She’s off to kill the president.”
“Again,” David chuckled sarcastically. “I guess neither of us has changed that much.”
“Speaking of that, find anything?”
“I wish I had,” David said in remorse, they had been right, it was a pipe dream. He had left shortly after they had brought Aniese into the underground, she was nineteen then and had just tried her first attempt on the president's life. It had been a wonder that they had been able to keep her out of the loop that long, but with Hill taking her second term and despite her promises to stand up to Congress, she had, without hesitation signed the new voting laws it was too much for Aniese who still blamed Hill for her father's death.
Eight years David had spent in the southwest chasing a ghost. It wasn’t as bad there, they at least had their cars to live in, rather than the shanty towns that took over the cities. David’s goal was to find Tom Jones, the opposition candidate to Hill in the first election. He also had a secondary goal, a much more personal one, which accounted for much of the eight years, and a lot of the time he spent in certain Mexican cities.
Jones was the one who predicted the economic collapse due to the collapsing corn industry. Upcoming disaster was not what the people wanted to hear however, and Hill had pulled the biggest victory since Regan defeated Mondale. According to reputable sources though, Jones escaped into the southwest and disappeared from sight after the massacre on Pennsylvania Avenue. Some believed he had traveled into Mexico or gone farther south to Central America. David didn’t buy the notion that Jones had abandoned his country. Jones wasn't a threat to the government, he didn't give massive speeches are join in the demonstrations. Though, eight years and he hadn’t caught hold of a single trail. The man simply had turned into a ghost.
“But you know how it is these days John. You can hide, and you have to hide.”
“Yeah, but a lot of good hiding does the dumb b*****d.” John stood up, knocking the chair to the floor. “So the people ******** up. They didn't elect him. Now he has to go and be a child about it. Hiding out when his simple presence would allow us to overthrow Hill and all her patsies. Damn it Dave!”
“Jesus John, calm the ******** down would ya?”
“Calm down! Why the hell should I be calm? He knew we were looking for him. He doesn't come out in eight ******** years! I thought he considered himself a patriot!”
“Wasn't that what you said about Hill the second time you voted for her?”
***
Aniese rubbed the face mask clear, a bloody brilliant idea it had been to go driving off in the rain. The motorcycle rumbled between her legs as she sped down the road. If it wasn't for the lack of traffic, nobody could afford a car anymore, she probably would have already smashed up her aged bike. John made fun of her for that bike, called it a relic, but it suited her. She couldn't quite explain it, she just felt like she should ride it not drive some fancy car like John and the others did.
She had a mission, or had one when she started. She promised herself she wouldn't let John talk her out of it this time, but, damn it, he always had to make sense. Now, she knew he was right. He was more than right. He was right in what he didn’t even say. She would have cursed him, but damn it! She had to go to somebody. She knew exactly who she needed to go to, but she dreaded it. He called himself Sitting Marx and lived in a tepee under an overpass outside of Soho. The overplaying on the Native American she could put up with, it was the damn riddles that pissed her off. She had a plan for that though. Aniese smiled at the thought of the pistol at her hip.
A cold breeze brought Sitting Marx from his trance. “You come for truth young one.”
“You're damn right I come for the truth. And not for any of your...” His eyes weren't open. She had a pistol drawn on him and the son of a b***h didn't even ******** know it.
“Riddles. My dear flouncy girl, you give yourself too much credit. Riddles would imply I thought you knew the answer. No, I give you vague and cryptic messages designed to annoy the crap out of you awhile. Now that you've finally tired of hearing bullshit you can actually get to the truth.”
“And I'm supposed to believe what you say, why,” Aniese said, putting the pistol back in the holster and taking a seat on the floor. Technically should should have felt more pissed off. Hell, she probably was, but then again, she was also pretty sure that it wasn't insence that Marxy was burning in all those clay pots.
“Well, you wouldn't come here to be lied to, would you?”
“No.”
“See my point.”
“No.”
“Good, my name's not Marx. He was the founder of communism, or the comedian... Take your pick, it's really not important.”
“The comedian.”
“Really? I prefer communism myself.”
“Really?”
“No.” Sitting Marx reached out and slapped Aniese upside the head.
“Oww! What'd you do that for?”
“I said it wasn't important.”
“But...”
“But... My name isn't Marx, it's Tom Jones.”
“The guy who ran for President?”
“No, the milkman...” He stared at her. “Do I have to slap you again?”
“No.”
“Now, for this truth I promised you.”
“Don't care,” Aniese said as she leaned back into a most comfortable bean bag.
“Don't care?”
“Yep, don't care.”
“Not in the least bit.”
“To bad for you, I made a list.”
“A list?”
“Yeah, I made a list of things I needed to tell you when you finally got
over the bullshit and stopped trying to kill the president. Just give me a second here.” Jones turned around and started rummaging through a burlap sack.
“Wait, how did you know I was on my way to kill the president?”
“Ah, here it is.” Jones pulled out a notebook and tossed the sack to the back of the tepee. “It's right here on page one. Here on the way to kill the president, on the way to kill the president, on the way to kill the president again, kill the president, assassinate the president. Oh, and my personal favorite, here to buy flowers for the president. You really are a lot more fun drunk.”
“Oh...”
“Anyways, your mother is the president, I'm Tom Jones. Oh, already said that.”
“Wait, my mother is the what?”
“President, yeah, your dad and her split up when she first got into politics. You really should have figured that one out by now. The fact that your mother's maiden name was Hill, you both have the same blood red hair, and you're now trying to kill her to avenge your father's death wasn't a dead give away. Sheesh, even the trailers for Soylent Green were less obvious than that one. I mean, god damn, you grew up watching sci-fi films, you should have spotted the obvious cliché.”
“And you...”
“Have set myself as the archetype teacher or wisdom and other such bullshit.”
“But...”
“John is one of the bad guys... Oh, I even have a nice classy line for
this one. You're really going to like this one. 'The promise of liberty is power's greatest ally.' Isn't that ******** clever? Thought that one up all by myself. See, it's right here in the notebook,” Jones said, pointing every excitedly at scribbles on the page.
Aniese was starting to get really creeped out and she was hardly sure if the stuff in the pots was the only thing Jones was on. Slowly she was scooting towards the entrance of the tepee.
“Oh s**t!” Jones was looking at his watch. “I've got to be at the White House for a press conference in an hour.”
“The what!”
“The White House.”
“Ok, bullshit Tom. Just bullshit.”
“No, you Congress is going to blow up in forty-six minutes. Then Hill is going to get up and announce that the justice department is leveling treason charges against any surviving members of Congress. After that I'm going to propose to her on world wide television. Pretty great, isn't it?”
“You're going to what?!”
“Ask her to marry me. Yeah, we've been dating for five years. Just, you know, we've all been too busy trying to discover who was all involved in the Congressional overthrow and it just wouldn't have worked out. It was better to wait till we had all the evidence.”
“But...”
“By the way, word of advice, when you pull a gun on somebody, make sure you take the safety off.”
The credits began to roll as the lights came back on in the theatre.
“Man,” some kid turned to his friend, “I ******** hate parody movies.”
