America's Galactic Foreign Legion - Book 20: Time Machine (19 page)

“I want to talk to the most powerful man in America,” demanded Caesar. “You will provide me with an introduction.”

“You want to meet Bill Gates?” I asked incredulously.

“Yes, as soon as possible. I want all of Imperial Rome connected to the Internet as soon as possible.”

“I can’t do that.”

“You still owe me for the loss of my ships. Make it happen, or else. With your help, I am going to rewrite history.”

“Good luck with that.”

“By the way, I got an interesting scroll from Cleo.”

“Cleo?”

“Queen Cleopatra. She says she knows you.”

“I get around,” I confessed nervously. “We Americans are part Phoenician. I was born in Arizona.”

“Cleo thinks you are a time traveler. That would explain a lot. She thinks you are the key to conquering the world. What do you think of that?”

“What part of the world?” I asked, stalling.

“All of it. She suspects you have access to lots more Beretta guns. Is that true? She thinks all Americans carry guns.”

“The right to keep and bear arms is guaranteed to all in the Second Amendment of the Constitution,” I advised.

“Even plebeians and slaves?”

“To all citizens,” I corrected. “America has no slaves.”

“Are you nuts? I cannot even imagine the chaos that must cause in your cities.”

“Gun ownership prevents abuse from tyrants,” I explained patiently. “Tyrants. You know, people like you. Americans don’t like dictators. We value freedom. That’s why Brutus tried to kill you, don’t you think?”

“The Senators are still upset I crossed the Rubicon,” sighed Caesar. “But, it’s all a bunch of bullshit. I need more Berettas.”

“I have no more.”

“You gave Cloe a nine-millimeter, and a lot of batteries.”

“I didn’t give Cleo anything. She stole my gun. That won’t happen again.”

“That’s ballsy talk, Joey. Remember who you’re talking to. I’m your best friend in Rome, your God, and your Emperor. If you are packing heat, hand it over.”

I reluctantly gave Caesar my concealed nine-millimeter. Our barbarian slave dates, Olga and Anna, joined us, seductively finger-feeding us grapes and pouring more wine. I was absolutely stuffed. Servants passed around empty bowls. “What’s this for?” I asked, getting quite drunk. “Dessert?”

Caesar didn’t bother to answer, vomiting into his bowl. Others followed suit. Being a sympathetic vomiter, I retched uncontrollably. Puke splashed out of my bowl onto Olga. Servants quickly cleaned the mess, and we began the process of eating and drinking again.
Holy shit!
For Romans, the words ‘drink responsibly’ only means don’t spill your wine. Olga poured more wine down my gullet. The hairy German girl was beginning to look good, but I was filling ill.

“I think I’m going to pass out.”

“Nonsense!” exclaimed Caesar, slapping me on the back. “You can’t sleep now; we’ve only just begun this orgy. What are you, a pussy? Sleep is like being dead, except with less commitment. It’s early!”

“Are these girls safe?” I asked, apprehensive that ancient Romans might not be fully aware of precautions against sexually transmitted diseases.

“Don’t worry,” answered Caesar knowingly. “I brought as many sheep intestine condoms as you will need, so freshly gutted, they’re still warm. Trust me, they’re safe. I always tell the truth, even when I lie.”

“I feel better.”

“Sex with barbarian girls is hot,” bragged Caesar. “At the end of the day, it’s what makes conquering the world worthwhile.”

“No more food!” I complained, pushing grapes away. “I just want to get laid before I pass out and die of alcohol poisoning.”

“Joey is from America,” explained Caesar to the girls. “Americans are always in a hurry, something about freeways and faster modems.”

Everyone nodded knowingly.

* * * * *

Bill Gates would not come to Ancient Rome. No surprise there. Instead, Julius Caesar was transported to the Belly of the Beast, the Microsoft campus at Issaquah, Washington.

“This is Julius Caesar?” asked Bill Gates, sizing up his guest. “WTF, he don’t look so special.”

“How is it that a little wimp like you is the most powerful man in America?” asked Caesar, trying not to show his surprise at the fabulous surroundings. “I’ve fornicated with bigger women than you.”

“I have a clear vision for the future of the world,” replied Gates, shaking hands macho Roman style. “You are not in that future.”

“You threaten me?”

“I will delete you faster than junk mail for a healthy prostate.”

“This is business,” I interrupted, stepping between them. “Can’t we all just get along?”

“No!” they chorused.

“There’s only room enough for one man to rule the world,” bristled Gates. “You’re looking at him.”

“I am both man and God,” boasted Caesar. “I care not of your mortal trivialities. I want my empire wired to the Internet. What will it cost to make it happen?”

“No can do,” argued Gates. “Computer simulations strongly indicate that if Rome is wired to the Internet, your legions will become addicted to video games, allowing Attila the Hun to slip past and sack Rome. I cannot in good conscience risk changing history so dramatically.”

“I’ll pay in gold.”

“You have a deal,” agreed Gates, shaking hands again, now best of friends.

“We will celebrate with an orgy!”

“I don’t think so. Melinda would be pissed.”

“Fine. Before I go back, I want to at least tour America. I want to see the Grand Canyon, purple mountains’ majesty, Lakers at the Forum, and Trojans at the Coliseum. I will go to Vegas, baby!”

* * * * *

Julius Caesar celebrated with a night on the town in Las Vegas. Assured by me that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, he prepared for the orgy of all orgies. I tagged along as the Emperor’s wingman. Immediately attracted to Caesar’s Palace Hotel Casino, Caesar was met at the entrance by a greeter dressed as a Roman centurion.

“What are you doing here so early?” asked the greeter, checking his watch. “I’m not due to be relieved for hours.”

“You’re armor is a disgrace,” admonished Caesar. “Polish your breastplate immediately. You look like one of those tardy Trojans.”

“You’re one funny dude,” replied the greeter nervously, not wanting to risk losing his job and going back to Walmart. “Speaking of Trojans, OJ was on the casino floor playing blackjack.”

“OJ Simpson?” I asked, hoping for an autograph. “Is he still here?”

“Take me to this Trojan who dares to enter Caesar’s Palace,” ordered Caesar, drawing his sword as he scanned the crowd of tourists.

“Take a hike, pal. I’m still on duty.”

Caesar brushed past the greeter to the blackjack tables, easily finding OJ at a high-stakes table, surrounded by fans. Caesar tapped the big Trojan on the shoulder with the tip of his blade. “OJ! I wish to talk to you!”

“Holy shit, can’t you people leave me alone?”

“No offense, but you appear to be more Nubian than Trojan,” advised Caesar, upon closer examination. “It’s a good thing, too, because I kill Trojans on sight.”

“Man, you white people get more weird every day,” replied OJ, shaking his head. “Did the Promotions Department put you up to this?”

“I am Julius Caesar, in town on my own initiative for the orgy. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas.”

“That’s what I’m hoping, too.”

“Are you a Trojan, or not?”

“Those days are way behind me now,” sighed OJ, turning to a friend. “Man, this cracker is nuttier than a squirrel turd.”

“Actors, they’re all drama queens. Just play along.”

“Yeah, you got that right. Okay, it’s show time. Let’s do this. Caesar, do you play cards?”

“I’ve been known to partake in some camp gambling with my men,” answered Caesar, not wanting to appear too enthusiastic. “Remember, gamble responsibly.”

“Yeah, right. Have a seat.”

Caesar casually tossed a pouch of Roman gold coins onto the table. The dealer looked back to the pit boss for instructions. The pit boss shrugged, assuming this was all a public relations stunt
about which Corporate had once again neglected to inform him. After examining the coins, he authorized credit for twenty thousand dollars in chips.

Caesar bet five dollars on the first hand. He lost, but the count was good, all low cards. The next hand, he went all in. That got the pit boss’
s attention. Phones rang, cameras zoomed, security was alerted. The dealer dealt Caesar a blackjack! He threw his cards down on the felt.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaimed, going back to the minimum bet.

“Sir, do you have a Player’s Card?” asked the pit boss, realizing he’d been had.

“No.”

“May I see some ID?”

“Shut up, fool. I can’t track the cards with you constantly jabbering in my ear.”

“You’re counting cards?”

“Hell, yes,” answered Caesar, going all in again. “My mama didn’t raise no fool!”

OJ went all in, too. The whole table did. Caesar drew two face cards, not that it mattered. The dealer had a six up, and busted with two more face cards. The crowd erupted in applause, high-fives all around.

“Hey, you’re alright,” commented OJ, slapping Caesar on the back. “Definitely a player!”

“Better cool it,” I whispered in Caesar’s ear. “The House doesn’t like card counters.”

“The House be damned! What can they do? I’m the Emperor of Rome, and a personal friend of Bill Gates!”

I shrugged. “Learn the hard way.”

After several hands, Caesar went all in again. This time security intervened. “Sir, if you have no ID, you will have to leave.”

“I don’t need no stinking ID!” responded Caesar, shoving a security supervisor in the chest. “Fools, my smiling face is on all minted currency of the Empire!”

Security guards swarmed Caesar, wrestling his sword away. Caesar’s nine-millimeter pistol dropped onto the carpet.

“Gun!”

Security guards tasered Caesar as they beat him with night sticks. They even lit OJ up for getting too close.

“Punks!” shouted OJ on the floor. “What did I do? We all know what this is about. It’s because I’m Nubian, right?”

Both OJ and Caesar were arrested, cuffed and hog-tied, and taken to the Clark County Jail for booking. Me? I faded into the crowd, wanting only to resume my vacation on some beach, somewhere. I figured Caesar would get out of prison in one to five on the gun charge, and OJ would beat the rap. History wouldn’t change all that much.

Chapter 28

Before resuming my Ancient Rome vacation, I innocently asked to go home for supplies and to freshen up. I set the controls myself, and was gone before anyone realized I went back to the old neighborhood of my youth. I had unfinished business.

Patiently I waited and watched a bicycle leaning against the fence at my old school. Football players scrimmaged on the other side as the sun slowly set behind the Tucson mountains, providing a welcomed relief from the heat. A teenage boy jumped on the bike, peddling fast down the street. I tasered the kid, knocking him off the bike. Several kicks to the ribs and a stomp to the face took the fight out.

“Man, what are you doing?” he cried, looking up. “Get off me, punk!”

“That’s not your bike.”

“So? Is that what this is about? You can’t touch me, I’m a juvenile. I’m pressing charges!”

As the teen tried to get up, I kicked him again, breaking his arm. The sound of bone cracking was sickening. I felt bad, but got over it. He tried to roll away, but I was there, kicking him one more time.

“Is that your kid’s bike, or what? I’m sorry, man! Do I know you?”

“It’s
my
bike,” I answered, mounting the bike. It felt good gripping the handle bars after so long. “Stop stealing, or I’ll go to your house on 4
th
Street, and gut you out. Understand?”

“Jesus, you’re crazy.”

“That’s a side issue. Stop stealing. You got that?”

“I got it. Why me? Why are you picking on me? I don’t even know you.”

“Payback,” I answered, admiring the Arizona sunset. “Empty your pockets.”

“Oh, so now on top of busting my arm, you’re robbing me?”

“Empty your pockets, or I’ll break your other arm.”

The thief emptied his pants pockets of about twenty books of matches. He seemed kind of embarrassed about the matches, but just shrugged.

“That’s all I’ve got. I don’t have no money.”

“Why all the matches?” I asked, scooping them up.

“I smoke. Is that it? Can I go to the hospital now?”

“I’m doing you a favor.”