Wackos to Obliterate: Book Three (Chapter 12)
Ryuji, true to his word, sent Mavis vouchers for the Washington show. They were in an email attachment that was waiting for her when she turned on her computer. The concert must have worn her out since it was past ten, about three hours later than she usually woke up.
“I’ll send them to Julian right away,” George said, already up and working at his desk. He had just checked Jimmy’s page, but so far there was nothing posted about the concert. He felt refreshed this morning since he was able to fall asleep pretty quickly even though they had drunk a sizable quantity of coffee at the restaurant. Being a little anxious meeting Ryuji after the months George spent trashing the legalization movement and the TRinkets in particular had made it rather hard for him to fall asleep lately. Now that they met and it appeared to have gone well, his anxiety abated so he was able to attain some quality rest.
“One thing I know you don’t want for breakfast is a Mexican omelet, right?” Mavis said, shutting off the laptop on her desk in their bedroom and walking into the living room/kitchenette area of the fifth wheel.
“You know, that was pretty tasty for a change. Maybe we should eat breakfast outside and then do a little sightseeing of Cincinnati before we head back to Virginia.”
“Don’t you have to get your quota written this morning?”
“It’s hard to get into the mood after schmoozing with the enemy last night.”
Mavis walked over to her husband still wearing his pajamas as he stood in front of the computers on his standing desk. She stopped behind him and started to massage his shoulders. “You’re finding it hard to spread hatred about people with whom you’ve supped?”
“It was hard enough when I found out we knew Ryuji, but it wasn’t impossible since I could focus on others. The experience of hearing jeers from the audience when Ryuji appeared on stage was pretty freaky,” he said as he viewed pictures of the Cincinnati concert that were beginning to be posted online.
“I was amazed at how energized the hall was when Ryuji appeared. It seemed like most of the crowd was there just for that part.”
“Did you think these concerts were selling out because of an unknown, nondescript heavy-metal band? Obviously, the hype surrounding the TRinkets is what pushes the sales,” George said, scrolling through some of the pictures.
“Probably a lot of people figured that since two members of the TRinkets come from the Dogs, the concert would contain mostly Trinket songs,” Mavis said while looking at the thumbnails that George kept clicking on. “By the way, what are you searching for?”
“I’m curious if Rick or any of the cohort was there.”
“Do you think some of the shouting came from them?”
“I doubt it. I know there’re plenty of people who’ve been influenced. Hell, some of them could’ve been from other cohorts. Who knows how many people are doing this kind of work?” George said, turning to face his wife. “Think about how much money large corporations had been shelling out for advertising before the advent of the internet. We were bombarded with billboards, radio, newspapers, magazines and then TV. Millions spent per day on trying to manipulate the populace. Now, with the prevalence of 24/7 access, don’t you think there’s a sizable number of organizations doing the same thing?”
“After witnessing the sea of recording devices last night, I agree with you. By the way, are all of those pictures from the same concert?” she asked, pointing at the monitor.
“Yep, all posted by kids who were surrounding us less than 12 hours ago. I bet we could find at least a couple that we’re in.”
“No doubt, huh? There were screens all around us,” she said, looking over his shoulder at the row upon row of thumbnail photos; any of which could be clicked on for closer viewing. While she scanned those with her eyes, George reached down and touched the trackpad on one of his laptops, which woke up to display an SNS page.
“It looks like somebody posted a couple of photos on Jimmy’s site.” Once George went through the ten photos that had been uploaded, they looked at a group photo taken in front of the restaurant. It contained everyone sans Malcolm – the official photographer of the band.
Within an hour, as George and Mavis were leaving to take in the sights of Cincinnati, he received an encrypted email from Rick. “Since you’re within driving distance, why don’t you drop by? It’d be a great opportunity for us to shoot the shit, strategize a little, and Todd could meet with you again.”
“I think we’ll be spending a little longer around here than we planned,” George said after reading what Rick had sent.
“Looks like it must be good duck-hunting weather,” George said as he turned the fifth wheel into the graveled parking lot they had to share with a half dozen other vehicles. He noticed that Bill and Patti’s house was still in need of a new paint job and some maintenance; no doubt, trolling has been keeping Bill from working on his fixer-upper.
Mavis noticed something missing in the parking lot. “I wonder if they still have the same dogs.”
George backed the trailer into a space next to a pickup truck similar to his own. “They’re probably out with the hunters.”
As they walked to the garage that was converted into a hunting shop, they could hear the quacking of anxious ducks in the distance mixed with the crunching of gravel under their feet. George opened the glass door and saw Bill’s horsy wife Patti standing at the shop counter encircled by hunting accouterments, duck posters, and hundreds of snaps of customers with mutilated fowl.
“Oh hi, it’s been a couple of years,” Patti said through a big smile on her elongated face.
“Hi Patti,” Mavis said, grinning back as she and George entered the shop. “How ya’ been?”
“Oh, great, great, and yourselves?” she asked, stepping from behind the glass counter and extending her grey sweatshirt-covered arms for a hug. The two women embraced quickly, then Patti reached out to George and they followed suit.
“We’ve been fine as well,” Mavis said as she watched them hug.
As George pulled away, he said, “You probably don’t remember us too well, but …”
“Nonsense, of course, I do. She’s Mavis and you’re …”
“George.”
“Of course, you’re an old friend of Rick’s and, well, we know the rest,” she said, standing in her sweat suit smiling at the taller and slightly thinner woman with her shorter and heavier mate, looking much the same as the last time they were here.
“I take it Bill’s out with some customers,” George said.
She nodded, motioned with her hand toward the back of the shop. “Yep, out by the river in the duck blind, but they should be back in just a few minutes. So, what brings you here? Back to visit with the boys I gather.”
“Yeah, that and maybe a little hunting,” George said. “If we purchased the licenses today, when can we use them?”
“What do you mean, ‘licenses’?” Mavis asked, giving her husband a puzzled look.
“I thought you wanted to try your skill. You mentioned it several times after we were here last. Now’s your chance,” George explained.
“In Indiana, you can use the license on the same day it’s issued. We can do all of that now if you’d like,” Patti said, walking back to the counter to fire up the computer.
“I’ve never even shot a gun,” Mavis said.
“That’s no problem, Mavis. You see the arcade-looking machine in the corner over there?” Patti pointed to the back wall of the shop. “It simulates the hunting experience pretty well. After practicing on that for about 20 minutes, you’ll be more than ready to handle the real thing.”
George started walking towards it to get a better look. It had the name, ‘Skeet Pull’ on the side and an illustration of a couple of men shooting skeet. “It is an arcade game, isn’t it?”
“That it is, and in fact, it’s not free; you do have to put coins into it to play. It’s pretty realistic, though, you can even select the shotgun gauge, which will result in a difference in recoil between the guns.”
“No shit? Let’s check this out for a few minutes. I do want to talk with Bill a little before we head to Rick’s,” George said.
“As I said, they should be back shortly. They’ve been out longer than usual,” Patti said. “By the way, your info is already in the database, George. I can renew your license easily. Mavis, I just need your date of birth and the copy of a driver’s license if possible.”
“You play with the machine for a while George. I’ll take care of the license first,” Mavis said, standing by Patti at the counter.
As Patti had said, Bill and the hunters were back in a few minutes. The feisty cocker spaniel bounded first through the door at the rear entrance to the shop. It appeared pretty psyched; no doubt, it enjoyed retrieving the ducks nailed by the group.
“Look who decided to drop by for a visit,” Bill said, walking behind the half dozen customers carrying their guns and prey. At first, George was a little surprised Bill knew he was here, but then realized he must have spotted the fifth wheel in the parking lot.
While Bill took care of finishing with this group of multi-generational killers – the oldest in his 70s and the youngest in his teens - apparently celebrating a family tradition of exterminating fowl, George continued to mess with the arcade game and Mavis chatted with Patti as they finished up with license applications.
In a matter of minutes the group had posed with their avian trophies for a couple of shots from Patti’s camera, settled their bill, and left. Bill returned to the shop after seeing them off and noticed that Mavis and Patti had joined George at the shooting game.
“So, the little lady wants to try her luck, eh?”
“If it’s as easy as this game, I don’t see why not,” Mavis said, looking at him as she held the mock gun attached by a cable to the game machine.
“That’s the spirit,” he replied, smiling. “So George, I take it you’re off to see the wizard?”
“Wizard or not, I don’t know, but we thought we’d drop by here first since we saw your sign alongside the yellow-brick road.”
“Are you going to pull the fifth wheel over there? We’ve got plenty of space. Just unhook it, take the pickup to Rick’s, then you can come back and spend the night here. It might be beneficial for the both of us,” Bill said, almost whispering the last part.
“I’d appreciate that. It would lessen the load. Also, I agree, we do need to compare our baseball cards a little,” George said, walking away from the game to join Bill and the cocker out to the parking lot.
“By the way, where’s that laid-back lab?” Mavis asked Patti who had left the counter to rejoin her at the game machine.
“Well, he’s permanently laid-back in the garden behind a rose bush,” she replied.
While George was preparing to unhook the fifth wheel from the pickup, Bill touched him lightly on the arm. “You understand that Todd’s a little pissed at the both of us for drawing attention to ourselves.”
“So we probably do need to talk.”
“I’m really happy you stopped by here first,” Bill said as George walked to the cab of the pickup.
Before George climbed inside he said, “You know, I don’t care what happens. If they want to take away my trolling badge, I’d be more than happy. Frankly, I’m getting very tired of writing every day.”
Bill shook his balding, grey head in approval. “I’ll second that. Of course, once hunting season is over, things can get a little tight around here.”
“That’s the Catch-22 to the situation, isn’t it?” George said. “Bitmore just pays better than the big-box stores.”
An hour later, George was sitting with Rick in a teenage boy’s bedroom Rick converted into a makeshift office. Several computers sat on his son’s old study desk, while there were still a couple of baseball trophies on top of a small bookshelf, and the light-blue walls still retained a few photos of swimsuit models from sports magazines. Rick must have added several “salesman-of-the-month” plaques left over from the early days of his career in retail.
“It shouldn’t take too long. Todd’ll drop by in the morning around ten. We’ll probably get the team together for lunch at the Fast-Track. That should be it. We just need to stay focused and not deviate from the main message. It’s been a long haul for all of us these past few months. We need a little energizing. That’s all,” Rick said through the bushy, greying mustache on this puffy, Caucasian face.
“Retail manager from the get go,” George said, smirking.
“Look who’s talking. You spent as long or longer in such a position yourself.”
“It’s rather ironic that we hadn’t seen each other since high school, but we both went into retail and ended up trolling for some right-wing nut jobs in D.C,” George said, looking around the room. “It must have been in the water, eh?”
“Fluoridation, you reckon?” Rick asked, grinning.
“To go back to the reason you asked me to drop by: when did the ‘concern’ begin? Hell, those pictures were posted only this morning. I got an email from you within an hour of the posting. I find it hard to believe Todd’s paying that much attention to everything all the time,” George said, looking at this old acquaintance, whom he never cared to see again after graduation, but with whom he was having more contact in his later years than he ever did while they were kids. He was a little surprised they were both dressed in jeans; each wore a light sweater, and sat with their right legs crossed over their left knees. It must be in the water.
“Actually, it was Julian who informed us,” Rick said sitting opposite George in one of the two s-shaped lounge chairs that replaced his son’s bed.
George made a slight snorting sound as though some air went up the wrong pipe. Shortly after, a smirk appeared on his face. “Oh, I know what you need to get: a standing desk,” he said to change the topic. “It’s much better for your back than doing everything from your son’s old school desk. I got one about six months ago, and I’ll never go back to using the kitchen table.”
When George returned to Bill’s, Mavis was in the fifth wheel, getting supper ready. He was a little surprised that Patti had not invited them to have dinner together, but he was relieved since he wanted a little time alone with his wife to think through what needed to be done next. He wondered why he didn’t just hitch up the trailer and head down the road. Fuck Julian and all of this bullshit. What the hell did it mean that Julian was the one who notified them? He knew they were going to visit with Ryuji. He could have mentioned that to Todd or Rick days ago.
“It was very nice that they ran an extension cord from their shop to the trailer,” Mavis said, explaining why the fifth wheel was electrified.
“You know, I didn’t even notice,” he said, putting away his jacket. “So, why aren’t we having dinner with the McGregor’s?”
“I don’t know, they never offered. I guess they figured hooking us up was the apex of hospitality,” she said, hugging his roundish stomach with one arm as he stood next to her preparing dinner in their petite kitchenette.
“You want to hear some shocking news? Julian was the one who snitched about the photos.”
“Really? And we helped him out with the voucher for the D.C. tickets. What a jerk.”
George fired up his computer and found an email waiting from Julian. It was a very short message: “Remember Richmond.” George stared at it, still pissed off at Julian. What the fuck’s that supposed to mean? Just then, there was a knock at the door. Since Mavis was closer, she opened it to reveal Bill standing in the gravel.
“Patti was wondering if you wanted to eat with us, but I gather we’re a little late for that,” he said, no doubt smelling the oregano and garlic in the sauce Mavis was preparing for their pasta.
“Yeah, we’re just about ready to eat now,” Mavis said.
George closed the email program and walked over to stand behind Mavis at the door. “If we stay another night, we could do it tomorrow,” George said to Bill standing outside, hands stuffed into the front pockets of his jeans, with his dog by his side. “I don’t know if you heard from Rick yet, but I guess we’re all going to meet tomorrow at the Fast-Track for lunch.”
“Yeah, I got an email from him about that. Oh by the way, tonight, I need to fix a couple of things on one of the duck blinds. It’d be mighty neighborly if you could lend me a hand. It won’t take long,” Bill said, motioning down towards the river while he spoke. Since it was already pretty dark, George thought it was strange that he was pointing toward something no longer visible. As the men started talking, Mavis returned to the kitchen and went back to getting dinner ready.
Within an hour, Bill and George walked along a barbed-wire fence behind which ran a stand of trees whose outline was barely visible in the dark. Bill carried a large flashlight that put out a strong, bright beam ahead of them so they could easily see where they were walking. The air was damp and clean since it had rained earlier in the afternoon, but the ground wasn’t very muddy so they didn’t have to wear boots. The only sounds they could hear were Rick’s dog running around in front of them, their own footsteps on wet leaves, croaking of frogs down by the river, and a few noisy crickets among the trees.
“It’s really nice out here at night,” George said as they walked.
“Yeah, but the air is starting to get a bite to it,” Bill replied. “The duck blind is right over there,” he said, moving the flashlight around to show its outline. They walked in and sat down on the wooden bench where Bill’s customers waited to pop ducks.
“So, what did Rick have to say?” Bill asked as he turned off the flashlight, which instantly made everything invisible to them except for vague outlines.
George looked ahead as his eyes started to adjust to the darkness. He turned his head slightly to the right and noticed he could make out Bill’s face pretty clearly. “He really didn’t say too much. Just informed me that Todd was looking forward to meeting at 10 and we’d all have lunch at the Fast-Track.”
“He didn’t say anything about the picture I posted?”
“You mean the one with the ducks?” George asked as he watched Bill’s silhouette move as though he were gesturing while saying something; no doubt, parroting George’s words with sarcastic actions. “I wasn’t sure whether you had posted any others or not,” he clarified.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that; I’ve already heard too much about how my rash action may have jeopardized the mission.”
“No shit, I didn’t know,” George said acting surprised but keeping his own assessment to himself; knowing what Ryuji, Malcolm and Jimmy have seemed to deduce already. “As I said, he didn’t say very much at all. I was a little pissed off since we drove from Cincinnati because Rick asked us to drop by. Frankly, I really don’t know what Todd’s got to do with it. I’ve never had any interaction with him except that barbecue at Rick’s house.”
“You should really talk with Gerold about that. The two of them had worked together on the local paper for years. Todd was still a senior editor there when I was with the bank, but I had little or no contact with him except for the meetings at the Fast-Track, which used to be this town’s equivalent of the local chamber of commerce.”
“I was just wondering what he did.”
“He’s the Bitmore link. As far as I know, ours is just one of several cohorts he supervises,” Bill said, holding the unused flashlight in his hands and tapping it lightly on his knee as he talked. “Hey, Earl,” he called. In a matter of seconds, the cocker returned to the blind and Bill started to scratch behind its ear with his other hand.
“Have you heard anything else about him?”
Bill turned his head to his left. “So far, you haven’t shown me any of your baseball cards. I thought you said we were going to compare them. So far, you’ve only asked me about Todd Green.”
“I just wanted to know what team he was on.”
“Fair enough; that’s one card. Now, let’s look at the card for Jimmy Wales. Do you know what team’s he on?”
“No, do you?” George asked, a little nervous about the way Bill kept tapping himself with the flashlight.
“No, but he’s my sister-in-law’s nephew.”
“So, he’s on our team?”
Bill stopped tapping the flashlight but kept petting Earl. “Let me finish. He knows that I requested someone to take photos of Ryuji in Muncie. Also, he was in a photo with Ryuji, Mavis and you in Cincinnati. I wonder if Todd and Rick know that.”
“They know I was in that picture. I figure that’s why I’m back in Centerville,” George said, looking at Bill for clarification.
Bill slowly shook his head from side to side. “No, I wonder if they know Jimmy knows I requested having the pictures taken and that Jimmy knows you know me.”
“Huh?”
“Well, if they knew that, then they know Jimmy has probably told Ryuji about me since I told Patti to tell her sister I wanted pictures taken so I could put them next to the ones I already had of Ryuji in my shop.”
“Now, I’m really lost. Who are ‘they’: Ryuji and Malcolm or Todd and Rick?” George asked, intentionally acting confused but in actuality he was a little unclear to the referent.
“In this case, Todd and Rick,” Bill said, now becoming a little unclear what he had said. “Okay, let me first ask this: Do you think Todd and Rick know about the pictures of Ryuji in my shop?”
“I don’t know. Rick never said anything about that,” George said, starting to relax since it appeared Bill was only obsessed by what was known about himself.
“This is more important: Did Jimmy tell Ryuji about me?”
“I don’t know,” George said, beginning to feel anxious again.
Links to the previous chapters of Book Three:
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-1)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-2)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-3)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-4)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-5)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-6)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-7)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-8)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-9)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-10)
(https://steemit.com/fiction/@keniza/wackos-to-obliterate-book-three-chapter-11)
Copyright (©) by Kenneth Wayne