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2: The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back
(Affectionately, the Monstrous Atrocity.)Every saint had a past and every sinner has a future.
In the tongue of the inspired masses, St. John Newman was a visionary. His prolonged stay as President had been wrought purely from the happiness of the voters. The media quaintly termed his sojourn, 'A New Man's Dynasty.' The publicists augmented the praise by churning out large billboards that offered citizens the chance to fight for their freedom in exotic Thailand, Brazil, or Africa. The United States once more would become a proud power with which to reckon!
Famous dignitaries quietly lay down in their oratorical graves rather than dispute the tremendous puissance that the reigning President wielded. Newman combined elements of Hollywood and politics with ease, pleasing the distracted populace and delighting the cutthroats. In a short time, few puddles of dissent existed in the country proper, and those were largely created by the clusters of droolcups who resented the man purely on principle. One might venture that a magic spell had transformed the government! That is to say, only if one were superstitiously or cynically inclined…
For that reason the public remained preoccupied; the course of events (and Hollywood) assured them that there could be no good without evil. Surely, with such unwarranted greatness, the dynamic tension would eventually snap…
…And thus, it was a city of bright lights and dark shadows in which Nope and Vesper landed. The two stared at the quixotic landscape a few minutes, strangers in a stranger land. It was a scene from a forgotten science fiction movie-the accord of the city alone seemed rather fantastical. No car horns beeped, for the city breathed in unison. Here and there, couples walked hand in hand, followed by two companionable children. Long lines of people orderly waited in front of movie theaters that offered Titanic. ("Repeat viewers, I'll bet," Nope snidely suggested. "Those are willingly brainwashed zombies.") While pleasant enough, the city contained no bubbling personality. There were no screaming babies, whining toddlers, fractured cell phone conversations, nor unhappy taxi cab drivers. In fact, if one listened particularly closely, the strains of elevator music could be heard in the distance.
"Where are we, do you think?" Vesper closed her eyes, whispered an incantation, and clicked her shoes together three times. "Not home," she added helpfully.
"Thanks for the clarification, Vesper."
"Is something wrong, Nope?" She glanced curiously at her perturbed companion.
He glared at her. "Why, Vesper, there's nothing I'd rather do than go on a fruitless Grendel search with you."
Well! "Shouldn't you have a Grendel-locator doohickey in your bag?" Vesper asked testily. "The sooner you get us out of here, the better."
"Actually, yes," Nope relented; pulling out a knife that gleamed nastily in the dim light. It was a few minutes before Vesper remembered to say anything as Nope clasped the blade with both hands, raised it at an arm's length distance, squeezed his eyes shut, and promptly sauntered over to the nearest gentleman clad in a silken suit and tie.
Fascinated, she watched Nope snap out of a seeming trance, hurriedly replace the knife in his satchel, and jog casually back to Vesper as the gentleman in question sneered court dates in their direction.
"So much for that idea," he renounced. "Googing politicians."
"Perhaps it requires you to cut your pinky or use a couple of focus words in order to work," she eyed him wildly.
Nope smiled congenially down at Vesper. Patiently, he explained, "The knife was a¼gift from a Vampree. It eats the souls of those it injures."
Vesper frowned. "But Grendel doesn't have a¼" She trailed off as Nope's smile merely broadened.
"I wouldn't have a sneezing fit over it," he offered kindly.
"Oh!" Vesper scrutinized their surroundings with renewed interest. "Washington D.C." she breathed.
* * * Several meandering blocks later, Nope was certain they had a tail. The repeated flash-almost a visual Morse code-in the corner of his sunglasses made noticing the fellow child's play. Perhaps it was not entirely the man's fault that he was not difficult to spy in the bright playground of carefully plotted streets--there were no twisting corners to hide in, and the shadows were few and far between, at least at this hour of the day.
Regardless, he was making a terrible fool of himself. A weasel of some bearing, the chap had decided to wear a jet-black suit to do his detective work. It was impossible to ignore him-the suit remained unwavering in that regard-but the man could hardly be more indiscreet. If Grendel was here--and now tracking them--, surely he would select a far more experienced tracker. Unless he wanted to be¼
Nope decided to take a gamble. He whistled softly to Vesper, careful not to lose his prey in the sunglasses. "Want to play a game?" He grinned mischievously.
Vesper snapped from her reverie, surprised to find Nope in an improved mood. "What?" She glanced disgustedly around the block. "This is a pretty horrible Washington," she decided recklessly. "The leaders of this country must be real jerks. I mean, you only read about this peaceful stuff in anti-Utopian literature," she spat. "Do you think 'Big Brother' is watching us?" She craned her neck, half-expecting video cameras to be visibly mounted on the buildings.
Nope rolled his eyes, reluctant to set Vesper off on another tangent. "Right. Um, this is a game I play to familiarize myself with a city. Let's go!"
He pulled Vesper through the mass of window-shoppers and amusedly observed the man hail a sleek limousine. They spent the day dancing through the stores, Vesper raptly sightseeing, Nope scrutinizing the pitiful plight of the limo.
It was late when the trail reversed and Nope was finally able to follow the vehicle to its source-this maneuver half-heartedly explained to Vesper in that he needed to find a donut shop now or crudely perish. Thankfully, that rationale was mostly forgiven by the time they arrived at the limousine's final resting spot.
The neon sign euphemistically proclaimed it 'King Arthur's Motel.' Nope wryly agreed that it was a camel lot of some vein. More romantically put, it was a place where carnies convened and budding politicians schemed. A haven for the knights errant of the underworld. Grendel--were he truly here--couldn't be far away.
* * * Vesper was on a crusade to discover the ice machine when a gargantuan arm shot out into the dark hallway, grasping at her wrist. She shivered against the odor, but couldn't remember what self-defense advised in these situations. The man-women were much subtler-breathed heavily at her neck. Resigned to the tryst, she sighed, "What?"
The arm slunk away and a booming voice apologetically emanated from the gloom. "I'm sorry. I though you were my Jodie, for a second."
Vesper took the opportunity to turn towards the origin of the utterance and seize up her opponent. A dull light filtered from the crack in his doorway, allowing a glimpse of a being more beast than man. His height might have frightened a small child, and, if not that, certainly his breadth. His hair peeped in clumps on his face and body, though his head was a lustrous bald. His expression hinted of Neanderthal, with a jutting lower lip designed to compliment the overall appearance. One glance at the creature and Vesper forgot to stay angry. Probably a lonely widower, she sympathized.
"Hi," she said cheerfully. "I'm Vesper. Would you like some company?"
The man's smile exposed a mouth of crooked teeth and a pleasant disposition. "I'm¼Artie," he said, and awkwardly stepped back into his room, motioning her inside. He sat down on the bed, indicating a small chair in the corner, and turned on the TV. Picking up a Slurpee cup, he offered her a sip before noisily slurping at the suspect contents.
"Well," he shrugged, "we can't all have Chateau Margaux."
He set the Slurpee cup aside and twisted his hands nervously in his lap. "You know those fake people out in the street? I have a theory that they're really robots."
"Really?" Vesper tipped her head at him curiously.
Encouraged by his audience, the man continued. "It's to give the real people time to research pure science. People don't have enough time to think in this country. Too busy being polite. It's quite an interesting experiment, really. The more choice people have, the more conformity there is, really. Synchronicity and all that. Have you ever seen any ice-nine?"
They fell into a companionable silence, and Vesper feigned braiding a strand of hair while contemplating the man through hooded eyes. She decided that he was the type of man who might sell his own mother, if offered enough incentive. It wasn't that he was a mean man-it is stipulated that the greatest giants have the kindest hearts. Quite simply, he was easily persuaded. An unfortunate fault, to be so trusting in this day and age. Too often it translated as paranoia and insensitivity. The typical nineties society had no room for such a person, and thus he was made an unwitting pariah.
Artie pointed impassively at the blaring television screen, smiling at the sinuous speech-giver. "He was planning to rule the world."
"What made him quit?" Vesper smiled and reached out to squeeze his hand.
"A fortune cookie. It revealed that two people would lead to his downfall. So he paid me off and bought shares in a pharmaceutical company."
"Of course he did," she nodded understandingly.
Artie sucked at his drink. "Yeah. I used to be his henchman. Funny how politics works, huh?"
A door slammed and Nope called from the other room. "Vesper, I'm leaving to go check out some leads. Wanna tag along?"
Vesper waved the suggestion away. "Maybe later, Nope. I'm not really in the mood." She fidgeted with the braided strand of hair for a moment before remembering her question. "And your boss thought that you were one of the two who could bring down his downfall?"
"Didn't I say that?" He screwed up his face in concentration. "The other guy's name was Grendel. Whenever my boss had the world in his grasp, Grendel would walk by and knock it out. Not even careful-like. Like those jerks in school that knocked basketballs out of your grasp just before you were gonna shoot. Or knocked your lunch tray when they walked by and laughed and laughed¼"
"And?" Vesper bit her lip impatiently. A lead! There couldn't be that many persons out there named 'Grendel.'
"And what?" he blinked.
"What happened?"
"He laughed. And got away with it."
"Do you know where he is now?" she prodded.
"Oh." Artie reached under the bed and pawed through the trash and tabloids. "Here." He creased a paper in half and pointed to a grainy photo.
"My boss always said to keep your friends close and your greatest enemies closer." Artie shrugged. "So he made him his running mate."
* * * Hours later, Vesper enthusiastically shoved her find in Nope's direction.
It was the image of Elvis and Grendel shaking hands that really caught the eye. If it wasn't for the rock star, Grendel could have easily been swallowed up in the depths of obscurity. God save the King! The information itself was typical fare, nothing too spectacular, screaming the information as though it was a novelty.
The headline on the seventeenth page of the National Tattletale snootily insinuated SECOND-IN-COMMAND VISITS HEAVEN, HELL.
"Goog," whispered Nope. "He's Vice President."
"The printed page does not lie," Vesper babbled happily. "That explains why we haven't seen hide nor hair of him! Do you think he decided to become the Sic in order to keep an eye on the President?"
Nope rolled his eyes. "It's more likely that he simply wanted to serve his own purposes. Grendel doesn't go out of his way to do any favors."
"Nah-uh. Grendel decide to become a lapdog simply for wealth and power? Ha!" This was not the impassioned diplomacy that ran rich in the veins of Europe and Asia, nor the heady schemes of Jefferson and Franklin. Rather, the wretched underbelly of politics, where morals were loose and depravity ran rife. Surely Grendel would only bother to examine its entrails with good reason.
"Always the skeptic."
"Am not!" Vesper held up her hand to forestall Nope from making any further comments. She flipped open to a classified section, her hand skewing dangerously toward the personals. "I think that we should place a want ad that'll catch his attention. Or perhaps a phone call. I bet he has an e-mail address!"
Amazon would be even more thrilled, Nope thought dryly. "Uh-huh. And how soon do you think he'll reply back, huh? What would a Vice President find interesting in our mundane inquiries?"
Vesper huffed. "Fine. What exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Omniscient?"
"A personal meeting. Concise, and he'll have to listen to us. Don't your governmental buildings give tours?"
* * * Late the next afternoon, Vesper was beginning to believe they had stumbled upon the best-kept secret in Washington. Apparently, Grendel's office didn't so much as merit a mention throughout the tours of the White House, the Capitol, the Smithsonian, the Jefferson Memorial, the National Art Gallery, or the Washington Memorial. Her numerous questions had led them no closer to their objective, to her astonishment. Most guides had rudely ignored her queries all together, or had avoided answering via launching into a vaguely related lecture on a historical aspect of the respective tour. In fact, the single piece of current information the guides offered was a mention of the fantastic parade occurring in the streets of downtown DC tomorrow afternoon, starring the President and the First Lady. It must be an election year.
Her head was beginning to buzz in protest to the marathon and a half they had marched that day; her feet felt like a load of bloody bricks-even Paul Revere wouldn't have gone to these lengths, surely-and Nope still hadn't posed a single question to the melded mass of tour guides. He had spent more time surreptitiously observing the few areas of the room the guide hadn't bothered to describe the intimate history of than listening to the actual tour. Unable to hold her tongue any longer, Vesper eyed Nope suspiciously. "This isn't the 'if I can't find it myself I won't purchase it' credo a large portion of the male populace seems to endorse, is it? The refusal to ask for directions? Survival of the fittest?"
Nope met her gaze squarely. "Not exactly," he dismissed the absurd notion. "I simply didn't want to call attention upon us. Nothing more."
Vesper gazed heavenward. "Oh. Right. Sorry." She idly fingered a colorful-if uninformative-brochure and craned her neck to peer at their fellow sightseers. Privately, she was relieved that Nope hadn't seemed to notice that half the group had remained riveted upon his silver hair and sunglasses during the entire excursion.
"I don't know if I'd describe this as 'concise,' Nope. E-mail's looking pretty good right about now." He was being perfectly useless, so she assertively hung back from the group as they passed into the next room, and glanced through one of the side doorways. A young woman was sitting at a desk, calmly tucking away folders and shuffling papers as she talked briskly on the telephone. A multi-tasker. Vesper bit her lip and had begun backing away uncertainly when the woman glanced up and spotted her.
Covering the lower portion of the receiver, the woman called out, "May I help you?"
Vesper, an unwitting deer in headlights, tiptoed reluctantly into the room. "Actually," she whispered, "I was lost¼"
"Oh." The woman glanced down at her thin gold watch. "The tour group should be right in the next room." Having solved another problem to her satisfaction, she returned to her telephone conversation. "No, I'm afraid he's not in today. Another funeral-hang on a second, please." She gazed up at Vesper, irritated. "Yes?"
"Um, actually, I was wondering where Vice President Grendel's office might be located." Vesper began flipping through her numerous brochures, frantically trying to discern her most recent addition. "This is the NEOEB, isn't it?" She asked hurriedly.
The woman-matron, Vesper decided-gazed pointedly down her nose. "I believe you're mistaken," she sneered politely. "There's no record of a location with such a name."
"But Vice President Grendel is located somewhere in Washington, isn't he?" Vesper pressed, desperate to end the manhunt.
The woman-matron tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm not at liberty to divulge those details," she answered coolly. "Now, if you don't mind¼?" She returned to her conversation, leaving Vesper to shuffle out of the room.
Nope was standing in the next room, hands in pockets. "Nice try," he smiled.
Vesper frowned at him, hurt. "There's no need to patroni--"
Nope shook his head. "No," he said, "it was a good idea. I…talked to the tour guide, so he shouldn't remember our existence. We should be careful about video cameras, but I don't think the rest of the group noticed us."
She raised her brows. "Um, right. Perhaps we should get out of here¼"
The shadows shifted and they were no longer alone. A tuxedoed man rose to the light, a weasel with beady eyes and a hairy tail clumped on the back of his neck. An unctuous repose complimented his appearance and heightened his mysteriousness, at least to persons unversed in his calculated presence.
"Are you looking for Grendel?" The fink's teeth gleamed yellow in the light.
"Isn't it your job to know that?" Nope retorted coldly. "You really should find a new suit. Black is such a popular color."
"Like you're difficult to find, Goldilocks." The man glanced furtively around the chamber, then pulled a cigarette from the pack in his inner suit pocket and flicked a lighter.
"Wrong target!" Vesper stepped forward defiantly. "Well, at least, I used to be." She fingered a strand of her mousy hair and reconsidered.
Nope met her questioning gaze and shook his head. Returning his attention to the gaunt mobster, he smoothly noted, "but then, I'm not trying to hide. What do you have to hide, Mr. Clemenza?"
The henchman snuffed out his cigarette on a bust of James Madison, picked a piece of lint off his shoulder and blew a smoke ring in the pair's direction. "I'm not a crook. As a matter of fact, buddy boy; I'll take you to the Man. Strictly business." He named a rather extravagant sum.
"You mean, the Vice President?" Vesper asked excitedly.
"He doesn't like to be reminded of that." The mobster winked at her as though they shared a common secret.
Nope quietly handed the man the money and the man cocked his bantam head in the direction of the doorway.
"There's a limo on 17th Street. There shouldn't be any trouble. Tell them I sent you." He scowled at Nope, then ducked away as quickly as he had come.
* * * They left the building unscathed, and ducked into the conspicuous limousine-hearse lazing at the curb. As is the case with the best transportation, no words were exchanged between the driver and the passenger, and the Lincoln Landau pulled smoothly into the uniform traffic within seconds-a practiced art form. The arrangements were adequate, if dolorous. Nope leaned back in the plushy seat and gazed through the curtained window, satisfied.
Vesper, decidedly, was not. "Nope, how did you know that stuff? And his name? Are you a mind-reader?"
"Did my homework. Watched a few Mafia films."
She frowned at his evasion. "And we are trusting him based upon this intimate relationship? Is this another 'guy' thing? Did I miss the secret handshake?"
Nope grimaced. "He'll take us to Grendel. Isn't that enough?"
She had traipsed around Washington for him, listened intently to lectures for zillions of hours on end, risked her life and limb on the matron and the hidden video cameras, and he couldn't even trust her enough to explain the nature of his relationship with the miscreant. Men! Vesper twiddled her thumbs and seethed. He'd live to regret this day.
Nothing more was said during the ride.
A short time later, the limousine-hearse pulled through the gates of Arlington National Cemetery. Nope alit from the limousine with a wry smile, scouring the rows and rows of pristine headstones for a trace of his quarry.
Vesper frowned at the solemn guards. "Do you think it's a subtle hint, Nope?" she worried.
He nodded to himself, satisfied, and headed toward what appeared to be the conclusion of a memorial service. "Come, my lady, his Highness awaits."
When they were mere meters from the ceremony, Nope paused in his determined stride and waited patiently to be noticed, respectfully avoiding the graves. Vesper uncertainly ducked behind his back, uncertain of the proper manners to be affected.
It was a few minutes before one man separated himself from the rest and casually strode to greet the pair.
"Can I help you find something?" he drawled pleasantly.
"Gog!" Vesper squealed, tugging on Nope's backpack. "It's Grendel!"
The man tipped his fedora towards the animated young lady, and lazily turned his gaze to the boy.
"Is something wrong, Mr. Callahan?"
"You¼know who I am?" The question came out more breathlessly than Nope had intended.
Grendel said nothing.
"I mean, y-yes, sir. You're needed back on J Street. Nothing's working properly with you gone. Amyzon's moody, Ozbat has lost his flair, even Hatman--"
Nope swallowed nervously.
"Yes, well, I suppose he's more concerned about The Mighty Hank's death, but I think he still misses you. The soul of J Street is absent¼"
Grendel looked rather bored.
Nope tapped his fingers at his side restlessly. "Right, well, it's taken forever for us to find you, and everyone will be ecstatic to see you, I'm sure, so if we could just hurry this along¼"
Still nothing. Nope stepped forward and tugged his sunglasses down his nose. Red eyes glowing, he challenged Grendel's complacent gaze. "I didn't want to have to do this¼but I have better things to do than wait for you to make up your googing mind."
You will come home to J Street with us.
Grendel didn't even flinch.
Perhaps a contest of wills was waged-Vesper wasn't exactly certain. Nothing happened visibly, at any rate, though Grendel almost appeared amused. After a long moment, Nope looked away, muttering, "must've used it too much recently."
Idly, he reached into his bag. "If that didn't convince you, Grendel, this might." The Soul Knife flashed white on his open palm. "This can kill even-"
Vesper caught the gleam. Horrified, she raced to her partner-in-crime, only to trip on the lush carpet of grass. Nope twisted at her yelp and flung the knife to the ground only seconds before Vesper crashed into his arms.
"Oops." Vesper smiled apologetically at Nope before turning briskly towards Grendel, squinting against the glare.
"What Nope's been trying to say for the past few minutes¼that is, we think someone's planning to assassinate the President. We believe he's planning to carry it out on J Street, during the parade. We would really appreciate your help."
Grendel arched a brow. Nope pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose and appeared positively cantankerous in the awkward silence. Vesper shrank back and began twirling a strand of her hair.
Finally, finally, the Verdict came. The Vice President covered a yawn, carefully picked up the knife and delicately returned it to its owner.
Coughing discreetly into his fist, he graciously noted, "You'll be very happy to learn that I'm not going to take either of you two seriously."
* * * Nope had never really seemed the type to pace. Tonight, he was wearing a path in the linoleum. Vesper worried her lip and waited for the inevitable onslaught. Pride goeth before a fall, after all, she supposed.
"Well, that speech was inspired," he snapped. "I'm certain he'll believe whatever else we might tell him now."
This was merely a variation of his past few hours of mutterings. Vesper had long ago ceased to be hurt by his unwarranted accusations. Nope would come around; he simply needed a nudging in the proper direction.
For the fifth time in the space of an hour, she contritely examined her feet. "M'sorry, Nope. Grendel obviously doesn't remember us or trust us. I had to get his attention. This is the only way he'll listen to us. We've already tried it your way."
Nope increased his furious pace, leaving Vesper racing to catch up.
"Aw, look, Nope," she finally gasped a few minutes later. "He simply wants proof. S'all. He didn't become who he is through blind trust, after all. We're a couple of nutcases to him. Besides," she brightened, "didn't you ever see Star Wars? We were let off far too easily! He's tracking us, I'll bet."
Nope whirled around and narrowed his eyes. "Right. Googing wonderful. And just how are we going to conjure up this miraculous 'proof,' praytell? Don't tell me you've got a few mammoths up your sleeve."
Vesper smiled triumphantly. "I know just the man."
* * * "Artie. Is that short for Arthur?" Nope flashed his teeth.
"Want to make something of it, boy-o?" came the disinterested reply from the hotel bed.
"N-no," Nope hastily backtracked. "Listen, Mr. Artie, I have a job for you that would gain the attention of your Guinevere, over there¼"
"Who?" The grotesque head swerved abruptly and Nope neatly tripped backward into Vesper. Artie slowly glanced in the direction of Nope's quavering finger. "Oh. That's Jodie Foster. You stupid or something?" He lovingly caressed the photo and turned his ponderous vision back to the screen.
"Listen, Artie." Nope cautiously placed a hand on the man's massive shoulder and edged closer to the monstrous head. "I wanted to impress the lady," he nodded in Vesper's direction, "so I bet her twenty bucks you would kill this man." Carefully, he drew out a parade clipping on the President. Earnestly, he pleaded, "you won't let me down, willya? I'll give you a cut of the winnings, huh?"
Artie glanced dubiously in Vesper's direction, causing her to nervously hop from one leg to the other. "That broad?" His face dissolved into an arguably gruesome grin. "Aw, shucks, she's nothing like my Jodie, but this is young love, huh? Tellya what. I'll forgo my usual fees and off this mook for you two sweetlings." He slicked back his greasy hair with one dirty palm, and proceeded to extend it towards Nope in an act that decidedly hinted of male bonding. They shook on it.
Only after Vesper and Nope were safely ensconced in their room did Nope lean forward to confide: "I didn't use my bloody hypnotic powers once."
* * * The bus was crowded when they departed the next morning. Nope handed a few dollars to Vesper and Artie, then proceeded to board, informing the two to mimic his actions. The machine swallowed a bill and he tiptoed past an indifferent capitalist to alight upon an empty window seat without problem.
Artie, swathed in camouflage, followed. He smiled unswervingly for a moment, causing the bus driver to titter nervously and clear his throat; gently placed a bill on the ticket machine and placed his face close to the mechanism in order to watch the swallowing motion. Satisfied, he tromped down the aisle, and remained glaring unhappily down at the seat next to Nope until even the uninterested entrepreneur rose from his seat, offering it to Artie as graciously as a worshipper to an unbidden god might.
Vesper tripped on the stairs and slithered to the remaining standing room, miserably out of her element.
The bus ride was concocted to get their bearings, but the streets blended superbly in the flawless morning traffic, one corner mimicking the next, and they were no closer to their destination then they had been at the start. They had chosen J Street for simplicity, since Vesper had mentioned it to Grendel in her attempt to sort out the mess Nope had made of things.
George Washington Parkway flew by, as did 14th Street and K Street. It seemed as though they were a Möbius strip. The route circled in on itself, and the occupants on the bus rearranged themselves and still J Street did not come into sight. The Bermuda Triangle was more compassionate.
"Well," Nope muttered, resignedly indulging in self-pity. "At least it can't get any¼" He trailed off at the sound of a wheezing gasp and twisted his neck to note the proximity of his seatmate. Artie had woken up.
Artie swished his Slurpee cup and leaned forward confidentially. "Wanna know a secret?"
"Not really, Artie, but thanks for the offer." Nope amicably shook his head.
Artie laid his large hand on the back of Nope's neck, drawing him closer. He glanced furtively from side to side, then whispered: "Those carnival games are rigged."
Nope gave Artie a blank stare. "Really? I'd never've guessed."
"I can't tell you much more, but watch out, okay, brother? But¼" Apologetically, Artie smiled down at his young friend. "My buddies have a union. If they ever found out I told you, or if you ever mentioned it to anyone¼" he drew his hand slowly across his throat, rolled his eyes back, and collapsed in the seat. "Chop suey."
"I won't tell anyone," Nope promised. He glanced out at the window. Grendel's minions were following them again, at a distance. It was the same scene as the day they had arrived: an artfully futuristic vision, without appeal. The city bowed to no man-austere, calculating, political. Americans. He scowled at the colored streetlights blinking rapidly down the boulevard and pondered Vesper's proposed scheme to bring Grendel to heel.
Artie leaned over, shoving Nope back into his seat. "Oh." He placed a finger on the grimy pane, swirling sweat and dirt. "Those are robots, created to represent future tourists. For now, they keep an eye on the bad people." Artie furrowed his brow. "But you guys look like the obedient citizen-types."
Nope glimpsed in the direction of the digit but didn't notice a particular group that Artie was singling out. The facades, faces, and filth mingled indiscriminately. "Gee, thanks, Artie. I'll keep that in mind."
Vesper squeezed into a vacated seat. "Y'know, Nope, it is possible. Didn't you ever read the Death of Clark Kent? Conduit created an entire city of robots. And this is Washington D.C., after all," she said, momentarily forgetting the foreign realm, "the stuff dreams are made of. Anything can happen."
"You don't think it's simply the Titanic mentality?" Nope smiled tightly. "Excuse me." He climbed over the paired seats in front of them and sauntered down the aisle to face the vapid bus driver.
"Pardon me," he coughed politely. "Have we missed our stop? We're trying to find J Street. This is the proper route, isn't it?"
The bus driver gawked at him as though he were a particularly fascinating sideshow freak. "You mean, you don't know? That's practically a city joke around here, man. J Street was left out of the original plans for this city, way back in 1791-'92. Pierre L'Enfant-"
"Pierre L'Enfant has something to do with this?" Nope's eyes flickered with incredulity. "Googing fantastic. People certainly know how to get around here. I suppose Moira will decide to show up next. Or the entire googing Pantheon."
"Did you say--?" The bus driver looked Nope up and down, avoiding his sunglassed glare. After a moment of uncertainty, an unctuous smile appeared on his face. "Oh. Right on, man. Jaaay-Street. Why didn't you say so?" He bared his teeth and held out his palm. "For you, a special trip. No problem. I'll reveal where the Duck has landed. Where the Juice is. I'll show you the water if you'll pass me the loo."
Nope allowed himself a smirk of satisfaction. "Right. Thanks." The bus driver still sat there, grinning idiotically. Nope cleared his throat. "Um, we're a tad behind schedule, so, if you don't mind¼?" His eyes fell on the road pointedly.
The bus driver looked rather annoyed. "Look, man, I feel your pain, but I'm not a freaking palm reader. It could use a little grease, you read me?" He nudged his nose towards his empty hand.
Nope rolled his eyes and reached into his satchel. "Doesn't everyone's?" He retrieved his billfold and pulled out a £5. "Will this do? We know the Vice President personally, so if you should need more later on¼"
The driver wrinkled his nose and reluctantly palmed the bill. "At least it's not duck money," he grumbled. "All you hero-types are fugging cheapskates." But he gazed up at Nope and winked. "Well, that's what I'd say if I knew any heroes, that is." He pulled away from the curb and Nope expelled his breath.
Moments later, they were expediently ushered off the bus. "Look," the bus driver pointed. "J Street is right over thataway. Just don't tell anyone I said so, right?"
The street looked forbiddingly familiar and after a moment, Vesper appeared surprised. "This is the street where we arrived. I remember that lawyer!" She hopped delightedly. "We knew where J Street was the entire time! Imagine that!"
Far off in the distance, elevator music blared. She turned to beckon eagerly to Nope, but he was staring into nothingness. She amusedly scrutinized the thin air on which he was riveted. Upon reexamination, it was a rather curious nothingness¼almost a shimmering vacuum of space. "What is it, Nope?"
He looked past her. "Just in time," he observed smugly.
A horde of dark suits was fast approaching. Grendel! The lesser weasels arrived first, throwing themselves upon Artie. Artie stood there, hardly noticing the attack, subdued nonetheless.
"He came!" Vesper danced elatedly.
"Well, of course he did," Nope snapped, nervous. "We threatened his precious position. He wouldn't stand to lose riches and wealth. Apparently, they're even more precious than Amazon and the Pantheon."
The limousine-hearse pulled up to the curb and the Crown Prince observed his unruly subjects. "Do any of them have a gun?" He idly questioned.
The minions padded up and down Artie's bulky frame, ignoring Nope and Vesper. "N-no, sir."
"Then release them." They brushed off Artie's camouflage outfit and slunk away into the shadows.
Artie hadn't moved since they had been assaulted. Now he simply stared at Grendel, perhaps remembering a different time and place. "Hello, Grendel."
Grendel twisted abruptly to head back to the hearse, waving them away. "You are free to leave."
Artie remained rooted. "I'm sorry about--" he cleared his throat nervously. "Well, everything."
"Forget it. It's in the past."
"Hakuna matata!" Vesper burbled, a bit mournfully.
Grendel spun around at her words, then glanced down the boulevard to a fast-approaching motorcade. "How did you propose to kill him, anyway? You have no weapons."
Artie smiled darkly. "I was gonna snap his neck. What do they say? An eye for an eye¼"
Nope began edging Vesper towards the twinkling dimensional portal. They were casual observers to a verboten play. This was not their time or place. Grendel could wait¼
"Aw, to hell with it," scowled Grendel. "This is politics."
The Vice President smiled down the parade of limousines, which were prowling ever closer. With a gloved hand, he pulled a pistol that admirably resembled a favorite of a very similar man, to the untrained eye. Vesper and Nope watched, transfixed, as he picked a small box from his front suit pocket and deliberated over the choice of bullets within. ("Do you think those are the ones he buys wholesale?" Vesper shivered.)
Carefully, he loaded the gun and sighted his target, one limousine among many. He prepared for the recoil, squeezed off the shot, and, satisfied that the bullet had passed through the limo's bulletproof exterior, advanced toward Artie.
Artie accepted the gun without hesitation, serene at the sight of the chaotic traffic and Grendel's underlings working their way out of the woodwork, bearing down on him. "You must be a good man," he acknowledged sadly.
"Nope," Vesper nudged her friend on the arm. "The President, he was a bad guy, wasn't he?" Her voice wavered uncertainly. "I mean, Grendel had a good reason to shoot him, didn't he?"
Nope's smile wasn't nearly as convincing as he hoped it might be. "I don't think this is our Grendel, kiddo." He tousled her hair gently. "Besides," he added, tucking an errant strand behind her ear, "I've heard that in the United States, the higher the popularity rating, the nastier the political activities are. The form...former President was quite the movie star, it seems." This time his smile was nearly genuine. "You Americans are quite contradictory creatures."
The media had begun to swarm by the time they had finished reading Artie his Mirandas. Thankfully, they were distracted by the situation and breezed past Nope and Vesper, eager for the latest developments.
"Any word on the President's condition, Vice President Grendel? Are you prepared to assume the dynasty? Are you certain that it was this man who presumably assassinated the President?"
Grendel waved away their concerns. "Unfortunately, the video cameras on this block were turned off in an effort to conserve energy when this unfortunate incident occurred. The Presidency has no further statements to issue at this time. Now, if you will excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I have to go pick up the pieces." He bowed politely to the crowd.
Only Artie, innocuously handcuffed and momentarily overlooked, noticed the pair's departure. He glanced at Nope meaningfully and licked his crusty lips. "Give her one for me, eh?"
And his face undistorted and time collapsed and Grendel disappeared.