Page 43 of Nearly Roadkill: Queer Love on the Run
PERSONAL LOG, JABBATHEHUT
I rather like my young friend’s habit of posting a thought for the day, though many were somewhat pedestrian. I shall continue the tradition, but from a somewhat loftier plane:
FUNNY OF THE DAY
Anyone who can be proved to be a seditious person is an outlaw before God and the emperor; and whoever is the first to put him to death does right and well…
. Therefore let everyone who can, smite, slay and stab, secretly or openly, remembering that nothing can be more poisonous, hurtful, or devilish than a rebel.
—Martin Luther (1483–1546)
It is with great difficulty that I note that some Internet systems are actually closing down entire nodes, not to mention millions of people personally signing off altogether.
But, back to the cops chasing Thelma and Louise….
END JABBA PERSONAL LOG
NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT
A train is speeding northward along the Northeast Corridor. Wally Budge’s personal hacker, DevilsOwn, has intercepted an address in Manhattan where Scratch and Winc are headed this very minute. An office belonging to—Budge checks his notes again—a friend of Toobe’s, screen name Orlio.
Budge pauses, thinks. “Whoops, guess there’s no point sharing the address with Henderson, since he is working so very independently now.” This has given Budge no end of satisfaction and one of the biggest smiles of his career.
He has no choice but to capture his perps himself.
Lieutenant Budge is surprised to note that, even though it’s close to one in the morning, nearly every seat is taken. Talk is animated. Several boom boxes are tuned to public radio affiliates and AM talk shows, making conversation difficult.
“Isn’t radio use illegal on board a train?”
In the next seat, Shelly Dunlap turns to him and smiles.
“Not during a national emergency.”
“Oh, yeah.” He grins. “That.” He brings the portable radio closer to his ear, then goes back to his laptop to the email he’d downloaded before boarding.
To: Ms. Budge
From: Henderson, Enforcement
Subj: Assignment
I don’t know how you wormed your way back onto this case, but don’t get your hopes up. I’m keeping you as far away from them as I can.
What I wanna know is who or what tipped you to the National Emergency clause. You got a friend upstairs who knew that’d get you back on the case? Well I got friends upstairs, too, so keep your nose clean.
—Henderson
He looks up from his laptop.
“I don’t know how you managed that, Shel, but I’m grateful.”
Shelly laughs lightly and punches him gently on his arm.
“Stick with me, gumshoe. We’ll go places.”
And indeed, thanks to that little National Emergency subparagraph, the entire staff of the Bureau has been sent around the country to stake out nodes that hadn’t shut down yet.
One of those nodes would lead them to Scratch and Winc, went the reasoning.
Except, of course, no one else knows about the office in Manhattan.
One by one, the commercial, public, and private enterprises have gone offline. It wouldn’t be cynical to assume that this decision was made in an effort to hold onto customers.
It’s well past midnight when Lieutenant Budge looks out the window at the crowds of people waiting to get on board the train.
Damn! If this strike is gettin’ to crowds of folks in Trenton, it’s got a reach.
Izzat why everyone is so damned cheerful?
In the background, an endless series of announcers from the National Public Radio Network are going on about how many nodes have shut down, how many people are estimated to have signed off already.
Jesus, they might pull this off. But I know where you are now, and here I come.
A faltering voice from just behind him pulls Wally out of his reverie.
“Lieutenant Budge?”
He swivels his head to find himself inches from the face of some kid in his early twenties.
“Who wants to know?” he asks gruffly. Ever since his “television debut” at the Coney Island debacle, people have come up to him on the street to say hello.
The young man goes beet-red. “It’s me, sir. Francis Norton.”
Wally’s puzzled. Shelly leans in close and whispers, “Your communications chief, Lieutenant.”
Wally nods but continues to stare at the nervous young man. “What was your job before this assignment, Norton?”
“Hard copy routing and expediting, sir.”
Wally blinks. “You work in the mail room?”
The young man’s wince is painful to watch.
“Yessir. But we don’t call it that anymore, sir.”
“What is it you want, Agent Norton?”
The young man’s face flushes with shy pride at the lieutenant’s use of the title.
“Well, sir, you asked me to tell you when we were halfway there.
“We are, sir.
“Halfway there.”
It was a near parody of earnestness.
“Thank you, Agent Norton. Carry on.”
Wally and Shel share a crooked smile.
He looks back out the window. What a motley crew. All of them leftovers, just like him. All of them sent up to the front lines, just like him. Thank you, National Emergency.
“Thank you, Shel.”
“You’re welcome, Walls. You’re always welcome.”
END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY
GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
I am delighted to include a bit of chat that was risked just before Romiette and Julio finally got offline:
*** You are in Private Room “Serifos” ***
Gwynyth: I had a feeling you might be lurking until the bitter end.
Jabbathehut: ::eyebrows raised::
Gwynyth: I thought you might like some company.
Jabbathehut: Madam, I do not lurk.
Gwynyth: Of course you don’t, dear. You are very busy, I know.
Jabbathehut: Purpose of this intrusion?
Gwynyth: Oh, slide down off that horse, you old fart. I’m just making contact.
Jabbathehut: Forgive me. I’d forgotten the social convention.
Gwynyth: Well, you can learn again, it’s very easy.
Jabbathehut: I have had no reason.
Gwynyth: I know, dear, I know. And someday maybe you’ll tell me why.
Gwynyth: I don’t just think of you as a genius, you know.
Jabbathehut: Nor I, you… as well you know.
Gwynyth: I miss you.
Jabbathehut: I confess to happiness, being here in the ever-diminishing cyberspace—just the two of us.
Gwynyth: Three of us, dear.
Jabbathehut: Three?
Toobe has entered the room.
Jabbathehut: ::gruffly:: Very well, then, three of us.
Toobe: Better make that five.
Jabbathehut: ::lifting an eyebrow:: Five?
Winc has entered the room.
Scratch has entered the room.
Jabbathehut: ::sighing heavily:: Five.
Winc: Oh yay, it’s a family!
Gwynyth: ::suppressing a smile:: *Jabba Knows Best*?
Toobe: *The Jabba Bunch*!
Scratch: ::eyeing Jabba’s scowl:: *Mama Jabba’s Family* ::ducking::
Jabbathehut: ::utterly speechless::
Jabba signed off immediately, of course, but if you can tell such a thing onscreen, I think the old dear might have been secretly pleased.
END GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
NARRATIVE ENTRY, JABBATHEHUT
Pennsylvania Station, New York.
New York will be the next station stop.
Finally. Wally checks his watch: It’s stupid o’clock. Four-thirty in the morning. This train has been like a goddamn party for the past four hours.
“Wanna round up the troops, Shel?”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” She grins.
The agents were easy enough to spot. They were the only ones sleeping in this lively crowd of revelers. Wally Budge leans over to the woman seated across the aisle, vaguely wondering if she’s one of his “men,” since she doesn’t seem to be chatting like all the other lamebrains around him.
“Pardon me, ma’am, I couldn’t help notice you weren’t joining in the festivities here.”
She turns to him slowly, strawberry-blond waves falling down across her right eye. She’s smiling.
“Is that a crime, Officer Budge?” Husky voice, kind of Lauren Bacall. He’s always liked Lauren Bacall.
“Heh-heh,” he laughs nervously. “Saw me on television, huh?”
“And who in the entire country hasn’t, officer?”
He shakes his shaggy head. “Yeah, I suppose. Do you have any idea why everyone’s so happy? It’s a national emergency, after all.” Damn, her legs go on forever.
She laughs lightly. “Well, Lieutenant Budge, I suppose it’s like getting a day off from school. People are actually talking with each other—without keyboards and monitors. They’re not stuck in their houses.”
“And you?”
The train is pulling to a stop.
“Oh, I’m visiting an old friend in the city.”
She shakes her hair out of her eyes, revealing a waterfall tattoo dropping from her right eye down to her cheekbone. Wally can’t stop himself from asking. He points awkwardly at the tattoo.
“So, you’re a Winc fan, huh?”
This is Pennsylvania Station, New York.
She raises her hand, drawing a long, slender finger down the length of the design. Smiles into his eyes.
“Who in their right mind wouldn’t be a Winc fan, officer?”
She’s up in the aisle now, pulling a bag down from the rack above her seat. Wally Budge is up in a flash, standing by her side. She turns to him, startled.
“Yes?” She’s got a good four or five inches on him.
“Let me get that bag for you, ma’am.”
A slow smile, her head inclined just slightly. He feels like a teenager.
“Why, thank you, officer.” With a small laugh and a wave, she’s through the door and out on the platform.
A tapping at his shoulder. It’s Shel, amused.
“Lieutenant Budge? The troops are ready to disembark. Best put your tongue back in your mouth, your eyes back in their sockets, and wipe the sweat from your brow.”
“Shel! You know I only got eyes for you.”
“Here, your tie’s crooked.”
END JABBA NARRATIVE ENTRY
GWYNYTH DIARY ENTRY
True Romance, take two.
To: Gwynyth@encrypted
From: [email protected]
Subj: Checking in, as you requested
We’re ba-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ack! NYC! Can you believe it?
First, I’ve got to tell you that I sat across the aisle from a certain lieutenant the whole train ride up here. I held my panic down all the way from Trenton. Even made him blush.
Okay, so our plan seems to be working! I waited outside the address Orlio gave us, and it’s about 5 a.m., right? Just a few people out walking. The streets belong to the delivery trucks.