The End?

I was surprised to see Jesus at the party, and when he cornered me in the backyard by the far edge of the swimming pool, he said, "It's on for tomorrow, Lee.  Del alba, amigo."

"I'll be ready."

"Charlotte from next door will drive us to Oracle."

"Does she know what we're up to?"

"No, but her nosy daughter seems to," he said.  "Have you seen that--¿Cuál es la frase?--little minx?"

"I have.  She stole my clothes while I was in the pool."

"Oh, I've got to hear that story, hombre.  You can tell me tomorrow on the way to El Paso."

Lenora signaled to Jesus with a beckoning gesture, and I watched him cross the yard to be introduced to her shit-for-brains grad student, Tod.  While I observed them laughing and chatting like characters in an ancient silent movie, Helene approached me.

"May we talk, Lee?" she said.

"Of course."

We made our way to a couple of vacant lawn chairs near the wall and sat in silence for a moment.

After she had looked around to make sure nobody was in hearing range, she said, "Don't go with him tomorrow.  It's a set-up, Lee."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"I just do," she said.  "Even though I'm a minor player in this story I know certain things.  I have a mind of my own.  Admit it:  even though you thought you were in control--that you had clearly envisioned how this scene would evolve--things have turned out differently than you imagined."

"Perhaps you're right.  So what's your point?"

"My point is this:  if you go with Jesus you're doomed.  I've learned certain things that lead me to believe even Lenora is in on it."

"Lenora?"

"Another thing you didn't expect?"

"Frankly, no."

"Come with me instead," she said.  "When Lenora goes to the moon we'll take her Mustang and head for West Texas--the Big Bend area.  We can make a life together, Lee, homestead in the Chisos Mountains.  It'll be a new start for you.  We can turn our backs on this literary madness once and for all.  What do you say?"

"I say," I said, "that you're a young, gifted writer.  You have a promising career ahead of you.  Why shitcan it by running away with an old man?"

"You're not old, Lee.  You've kept yourself in great shape.  I'll bet some of your 'boys' are still Olympic swimmers."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I want you to impregnate me.  I want to have your children.  After you're gone I want to tell them about their father, the Great Author, who fought the system and won.  Bet you didn't see that coming."

"You're right, I didn't see it coming," I said.  "Look--you flatter me.  I love it that an intelligent, gorgeous young woman is interested in me.  But it's infatuation.  A stage in your life that will pass.  Jesus, Felicia, Lenora have all gone to great lengths to help me.  They've put themselves in serious jeopardy.  I must return the favor."

We stood simultaneously.  And just like in a scene from the greatest romance movie ever made we found our faces separated by mere inches.  My lower peripheral vision was telling me that if I sneaked a quick peek down at the voluptuous breasts heaving in the white satin halter I might change my mind about a course of action, but not even I could ruin this scene by being so coarsely masculine.

"Farewell, then," she whispered, brushing lips as plump as night crawlers against my ear.  "If in the future there's a sequel and you ever want to find me I'll be waiting for you in the high country of the Big Bend."

The way she walked away sent a cold chill up my spine and gave me a funny pinching feeling in the skin beneath my scrotum.  I wondered if I would ever see her again.

Across the yard Jesus gave me a high sign, a simple raising of the face to indicate it was time to call it a night.

I walked over to where Lenora stood talking to a group of grad students.  I planned to make my "goodnights"--to say I had an early start to my day tomorrow--but Tod was in an aggressively talkative mood.

"You're wrapping it all up, aren't you?" he said.  "The indications are apparent for everyone to see."

"Very perceptive, Tod.  I think it's safe to say you may be right.  By now I think it's obvious that the whole thing runs the risk of becoming a stale joke.  What's the life expectancy of one of these absurdist farces anyway?  Besides, I can't abide the feeling that I may be overstaying my welcome."

"I knew it," he said.  "It's like what the famous writer Tobias Toblerone once said:  'Without comprehension there can be no resolution.'"

I thought for a moment before saying, "What, exactly, does that mean?"

"I'm not certain, for sure, but because I'm uncertain we can draw no conclusion from this discussion."

I made my excuses for retiring early and walked back toward the house.  Before entering I turned around to see Helene dancing cheek-to-cheek with a handsome young man I hadn't noticed before.  Was she over me already?



Somewhere over the Organ Mountains in southern New Mexico I told Jesus the story of how Charlotte's daughter, Dee, had stolen my clothes in an attempt the get me to climb out of the pool naked.  And then I related how she had tricked me into it, after all, and what she'd said about my manhood.

Jesus smiled over at me, gently shaking his head.  "And you didn't follow through on that invitation, hombre?  ¿Estás loco?"

"I like young women as much as the next guy, amigo mio," I said.  "Just not that young."

"Apparently the Greek goddess Helene is just the right age for you.  ¿No?  What were you two talking so secretively about?  A future rendezvous?"

"Something like that."

"Never turn down an offer from a beautiful woman, hombre."

By then he had turned the helicopter southwest, following I-10 to El Paso.  In just a matter of minutes we would be crossing the Rio Grande for Ciudad Juarez and the Paso del Norte Agententiary.  He went over the plan again.  Everything was ready.  They would be waiting for us.  He would swoop into the central quad, touch down quickly, pick up Felicia and her father, and get out before anyone knew what had happened.

It seemed simple enough, but it was fraught with danger.  I didn't want to think about it, though, steeling myself for an adventure like no other.

As we soared down toward the penal facility I saw people standing in the quad.  But instead of just Felicia and Zen, I counted six altogether.  I didn't even have a chance to think what it meant as we swooped into the space, but I was fairly sure I had caught a glimpse of a face that raised the hairs on the nape of my neck:  that of Hortensia Naranjo.

When Jesus cut the engine I knew my goose was cooked.  Helene was right--it had been a set-up.

Jesus said, "Believe me when I say I'm really sorry to do this to you, amigo, but for me it's a good trade.  I get Felicia and Zen and one-hundred-fifty-thousand dolares.  That's a trilogy, a volume of poetry and an autobiography--the latter detailing my exploits in capturing the elusive freedom fugitive Lee Rowe.  Lo siento, caballero."

One BookForce marshal pulled the passenger door open violently while the other pointed his laser sight at the middle of my chest.  No sooner had I stepped out than Felicia and Zen climbed in, the former carrying a tiny brown leather briefcase.  Probably fauxther, I imagined.  I also pictured the hundred-fifty-thousand grand inside, all of it undoubtedly loaded onto a cash memory stick.

Zen spoke to me before they all lifted off.  "Fair play, wouldn't you say, Lee?"

"How's that?"

"Indira told me how you seduced her--how you used your knowledge of Eastern philosophy to make her susceptible to your advances.  You're getting just what you deserve.  And don't think for a moment you're the only one capable of achieving multiple orgasms."

As the marshals backed me away from the flying machine, Jesus fired up the engine.  Within a moment they were soaring away from the facility, and I was left to face my fate.

Hortensia approached.  "So good to see you again, Lee," she said.  "Perhaps we can pick up where we left off.  You owe us five books now, and another for good measure."

She was as beautiful as ever, but the crows feet around her eyes had turned into eagle talons.  She said to one of the marshals, "Cuff him."

He smacked me upside the back of my head.

"Not that kind of cuff, idiot," Hortensia said.  "Handcuff him."

They cuffed my wrists behind my back and led me into the prison.  While we walked Hortensia talked to me.  "You'll be delighted with your new accommodations, Lee," she said.  "You have a private cell with a live-in tutor.  The tutor will help you write, which you'll be doing every night after work.  Your day job will be manning an agent station from eight to five six days a week.  In your free time--when you're not eating or using the bathroom--you'll be writing.  Your tutor will make certain of that."

When they opened the door to my cell there was a giant of a man standing inside.

Hortensia said, "This, Lee, is your new roommate, the former German wrestling champion, Sy Cloptz.  He's a hell of an editor, with a fine eye for detail.  Sy, this is your new roomie, Lee."

Looking me over with that enormous, unblinking eye, he said, in a voice entirely too high for a man so big, "Ooooh, what have we here?"

I couldn't help but notice the pup tent that had suddenly formed at the crotch of his sheep-skin cargo shorts.

"Sy," I said.

"Oh, please call me 'Poly.'"

"'Poly?'"

When he smiled his one big eyebrow separated in two.

Hortensia was smiling broadly, aware that I had instantly grasped the living hell my life had just become.

She said, "Well, I'll leave you two to get on with it.  Lee, you're to report for work tomorrow at eight at Agent Station #1.  Have a good night."

They uncuffed me and slid the cell door shut.  As soon as they were gone, Sy put his finger to his lips to indicate silence.  Then he walked to the bunk beds, removed a piece of gum from his mouth and pushed it down at the near corner of the upper spring rail.  When he turned back to me he removed an enormous bifocal monocle from the pocket of his sheep-skin vest.  Placing it over his eye, he said, in a deep bass voice, "I can't see for shit without it."

"What gives?" I said.  "Which is the real Sy?"

He said, "The one you're talking to now.  I know everything about you, Lee, and I'm absolutely certain you want out of here as badly as I do.  We'll be collaborating from now on, but not on books.  We'll be working together to get our asses out of here.  There's somebody else inside who'll be helping us.  You'll meet her in the very near future."

This sudden turn of events unsettled me.  Obviously I wanted to trust him, but could I really trust anybody here?  Nevertheless, he represented the only alternative to spending the rest of my life inside.

"Not surprisingly, the cell is bugged," he said.  "So we can only talk when we gum up the bug.  If they find us with gum they'll suspect the worst, and we'll be separated and sent to solitary."

He handed me a pack of New Taste-a-Mint gum.

"Guard it religiously," he said.  "Make it last by chewing only a quarter stick at a time."

I said, "Don't they notice when you cover the bug?"

"They would if anybody was really paying attention."

When he went to retrieve his used gum I checked out my surroundings.  It was a cell very much like the one I'd had in the past, replete with the protruding eyepiece in the far corner of the space.  I refrained from going over to have a look, though, because soon enough I'd be sitting behind a monitor at the head of that great table looking for books that had publishing potential.



If my long first day of work was any indication I'd be dead from boredom by week's end.  I had read short pitches and long pitches from authors whose books never stood the remotest chance of ever seeing print.  I had read a few promising pitches about books whose first sentences were absolute turnoffs.  And then I found one that immediately piqued my interest.

It was late in the afternoon, almost knock-off time, and I was sitting behind my computer monitor struggling to keep my eyelids from slamming shut, too tired to even look up when an inmate passed an ID bracelet in front of the scanner in order to call up the opening paragraphs of a novel onto my screen.  I read this:

I knew that with the help of my new friends I could find my way out of the penal facility.  It was simply a matter of playing my cards right, of using the skills I had carefully crafted over the years.  I was, after all, an accomplished author, someone capable of writing himself out of the most precarious positions.

The slender young Asian woman represented the greatest asset.  In the time we'd been apart her fondness for me had deepened significantly, and I knew she would risk everything to help me escape.  The giant of a man she had enlisted in the cause had a huge crush on her and would do anything she asked.  That meant he had both of our backs.  He was a fierce combatant, and, if necessary, would fight to the death to ensure her safety.

The break was planned for the night of the full moon.  We'd meet at the dispensary where she worked, and she would lead us through the secret passageways within the prison to a special tunnel that led outside.  There was no guarantee that we'd make it, but we had all agreed it would be better to die striving for freedom than to live a life of literary imprisonment.

After reading those three paragraphs I looked up to find a handsome young man who was incredibly familiar.  He smiled knowingly, and I suddenly realized we looked remarkably alike, as if related.  At first I wondered whether I'd fathered a son I knew nothing about.  Or was this a "prequel me" who existed in another story, in a parallel universe of which I was unaware?

The only way I could discover the truth was to read his entire manuscript, but I absolutely abhorred first-person narratives.

"Next!" I said.

My lobewatch whispered into my right ear, "Four-fifty p.m."

Only one more inmate before quitting time.

A slender wrist swiped the bracelet ID in front of the scanner, a beep signaled that a manuscript was ready for perusal.  As I lifted my weary eyes to the screen I inhaled a pleasant, familiar barely-detectable scent of lilac.  A woman, I thought.  Good.  Where had I smelled that fragrance before?  It was almost like an olfactory mnemonic device.

On the monitor in front of me was this:

Ingenious hero
who travel real far and wide
after sacking Troy.

He visit cities
and many nation, also,
to bring his men safely home.

Too bad for his men
they ate Hyperion cows
and die from folly.

While I tried to decipher the gobbledygook before me the mildly-fragrant inmate opposite kept sighing, as if she had little patience for the process in which we were engaged.  When she did it for the fifth time, I said, without looking up, "Why all the sighing?"

"Not sighing," a familiar voice said, "but Sying.  S.Y.  That kind of Sying."

Lifting my gaze I could not believe my eyes.  "Nanime," I said.  "What are you doing here?"

"I escape from Remainderland, but they catch me several month later.  Bring me back here as inmate.  Now I have to write big book."

"Is that what I'm looking at here?  What, exactly, is it?"

"It retelling of Odyssey in haiku form."

"You're kidding?  And you think this is publishable?"

"Of course.  You in it."

 Looking around to make sure nobody was listening, I said, "What's this about Sy?"

"We good buddy.  He already tell me we have new partner."

She winked quickly, turning left and right to ensure no-one had seen.

Just then the siren sounded to end the workday, the guards appeared to usher the prisoners out of the hall, and we worker-agents returned to our cells.

That night as I lay trying to sleep in the bottom bed, worrying momentarily that Sy might come crashing down on me from the upper bunk, I thought about my long journey from the Chisos Mountains to the agententiary, my early out, my recapture and subsequent escape, and my return to the penal facility.  Would I ever get out again, I wondered.  Could Sy and Nanime help me become a freedom fugitive once more?

And if I ever got back to those beautiful desert mountains in the Big Bend would the heavenly Helene be waiting for me?

I drifted off to sleep with the image of her lovely face in mind.

But I was awakened in the middle of the night by a muffled scuffle.  When I opened my eyes I saw six silhouettes escorting Sy out of the cell.  A moment later two of the figures returned.  One held me down while the other straightened my left arm out.  I saw that they were nunjas, Sisters of St Martials, a shadowy group of female religious fanatics who some claimed maintained a drugged army of men called Numb Chucks.

The sister who stretched my arm straight quickly slipped a needle into an earthworm vein.

"What is it?" I said.

"Something called NymphSate 451.  In a few minutes you'll be as stiff as a skyscraper."

"I don't understand."

"Maybe you will after I deliver a special message for you from AgentOrange," the other Sister said.

"What message is that?"

I could just make out her smile in the power-on light from the computer.

"It's this," she said.  "The halcyon days of cuddling are long gone."

With that they both slipped out of the room, and I was left to worry about the violent movements going on just south of my underwear's waistband border.  Just as I began to fear that the crotch was about to be violently ripped away by a drugged-up member, the cell door slid quietly open.

It was Hortensia.  She slid the door shut and turned around.  When my eyes adjusted to the dim light I saw she was wearing a terry-cloth robe.  She quickly opened it to reveal her perfectly-proportioned body.

"I'm going to do you up and down until you can't remember your own name," she said.  "Then I'm going to take you under my wing, reinvent you, and make you famous all over again.  What do you say to that?"

I didn't know what to say because all the blood had drained away from my cerebral cortex and I couldn't think clearly.  In fact, I couldn't think at all.  I could only surrender myself to the Amygdalic Armageddon about to befall me.

As she straddled me for the ride of my life I couldn't help feeling I wanted to stay here forever.