“
What is this? The CIA
’
s done it again, this shit is worthless.
”
“
You don
’
t want it? I
’
ll take it.
”
“
What are you gonna do with it?
”
“
Spend a bundle of it before anybody begins to notice.
”
Some thought it was a plot by Chinese Communist pranksters to mess
with the U.S. dollar. The engraving work was too exquisite not to have some Fiendish Oriental Provenance. According to others it might have
been circulating as scrip for a while now throughout Southeast Asia, and
even somehow be negotiable Stateside.
“
And let
’
s not forget
it’s
value on the collectors
’
market.
”
“
Bit too weird for me I
’
m afraid.
”
“
And dig,
”
said Sauncho later to Doc—
”
the law says that before you
can get your picture on U.S. currency, you have to be dead. So in any universe where this stuff is legal tender, Nixon would have to be dead,
right? So what I think it is, is it
’
s
sympathetic magic
by somebody who
wants to see Nixon among the departed.
”
“
That sure narrows it down, Saunch. Can I have some of this?
”
“
Hey, take whatever. Go on a shopping spree. See these shoes I
’
ve got
on? Remember those white loafers that Dr. No wears in
Dr. No,
1962? Yes dig it! same identical ones! Bought
’em
on Hollywood Boulevard with one of these Nixon twenties—nobody examined it, nothing, it
’
s amazing. Hey! my soap
’
s almost on, do you, uh, mind?
”
He headed for the tube without delay.
Sauncho was a devoted viewer of the daytime drama
The Way to His
Heart.
This week—as he updated Doc during lulls—Heather has just
confided to Iris her suspicions about the meat loaf, including Julian
’
s role
in switching the contents of the Tabasco bottle. Iris isn
’
t too surprised, of course, having for the duration of h
er own marriage to Julian taken
turns in the kitchen, so that there remain between these bickering exes literally hundreds of culinary scores yet to be settled. Meanwhile, Vicki
and Stephen are still discussing who still owes who five dollars from a
pizza delivery weeks ago, in which the dog, Eugene, somehow figures as
a key element.
Doc was in the toilet pissing during a commercial break when he
heard Sauncho screaming at the television set. He got back to find his
attorney just withdrawing his nose from the screen.
“
Everything cool?
”
“
Ahh ...
”
collapsing on the couch,
“
Charlie the fucking Tuna, man.
”
“
What?
”
“
It
’s
all supposed to be so innocent, upwardly mobile snob, designer shades, beret, so desperate to show he
’
s got good taste, except he
’
s also dyslexic so he gets good taste
’
mixed up with
‘
taste good,
’
but
it’s
worse
than that! Far, far worse! Charlie really has this, like,
obsessive death wish
!
Yes! he, he
wants
to be caught, processed, put in a can, not just any can,
you dig, it has to be StarKist! suicidal brand loyalty, man, deep parable
of consumer capitalism, they
won’t
be happy with anything less than
drift-netting us all, chopping us up and stacking us on the shelves of
Supermarket Amerika, and subconsciously the horrible thing is, is we
want
them to do it....
”
“
Saunch, wow, that
’
s ...
”
“
It
’
s been on my mind. And another thing. Why is there Chicken of
the Sea, but no Tuna of the Farm?
”
“
Um
...
”
Doc actually beginning to think about this.
“
And don
’
t forget,
”
Sauncho went on to remind him darkly,
“
that
Charles Manson and the Vietcong are
also
named Charlie.
”
When the show was over, Sauncho said,
“
So you, how you doing,
Doc, going to be arrested again or anything?
”
“
With Bigfoot on my tail now, I could be calling you any minute.
”
“
Oh. I almost forgot. The
Golden Fang?
Seems there was an ocean marine insurance policy taken out on her just before she singled up all
lines, covering this one voyage only, the one your ex-old lady
’
s supposed to be on, and the beneficiary is listed as Golden Fang Enterprises of Bev
erly Hills.
”
“
If the boat sinks, they collect a lot of money?
”
“
Exactly.
”
Uh huh. What if it was a deliberate insurance hustle? Maybe Shasta could still get ashore in time, onto some island where maybe even now she
’
d be pulling small perfect fish out of the lagoon and cooking them with mangoes and hot peppers and shredded coconut. Maybe she was sleeping out on the beach and looking at stars nobody here under the
smoglit L.A. sky even knew existed. Maybe she was learning to sail island
to island on an outrigger canoe, to read the currents and the winds, and
how to sense magnetic fields like a bird. Maybe the
Golden Fang
had sailed on to
it’s
fate, gathering those who hadn
’
t found their way to shore deeper into whatever complications of evil, indifference, abuse, despair
they needed to become even more themselves. Whoever they were.
Maybe Shasta had escaped all that. Maybe she was safe.
that evening over
at Penny
’
s place, Doc fell asleep on her couch in front of the day
’
s sports highlights, and when he woke, sometime well
after dark, a face, which turned out to be Nixon
’
s, was on the tube going,
“
There are always the whiners and complainers who
’
ll say, this is fas
cism. Well, fellow Americans, if it
’
s Fascism for Freedom? /.
..
can
...
dig it!
”
Tumultuous applause from a huge room full of supporters, some
of them holding banners with the same phrase professionally lettered on them. Doc sat up, blinking, groping around in the tubelight for his stash, finding half a joint and lighting up.
What struck him was that Nixon right now had the exact freaked-out
expression on his face that he did on the fake twenty-dollar bills Doc had
gotten from Sauncho. He took one out of his wallet now and consulted
it, just to be sure. Yep. The two Nixons looked
just like photos
of each
other!
“
Let
’s
see,
”
Doc inhaled and considered. This same Nixonface here,
live on the screen, had somehow
already
been put into circulation, months
ago, on millions, maybe billions, in false currency
...
How could this be? Unless
...
sure, time travel of course
...
some CIA engraver, in some top-security workshop far away, was busy
right now
copying this image off of his own screen and then would later somehow go slip his
copy into a covert
special mailbox,
which would have to be located close
to a power-company substation so they could bootleg the power they
needed, raising everybody else
’
s rates, to send information time-traveling
back into the past,
in fact there might even be
time-warp insurance
you
could buy in case these messages went astray among the unknown energy
surges out there in the vastness of Time
...
“
I knew I smelled something in here. Lucky for you I don
’
t go in to
work tomorrow,
”
Penny, squinting and barelegged in one of Doc
’
s Pearls
Before Swine T-shirts.
“
This joint woke you up? Sorry, Pen, here—
”
offering what was by now more a friendly gesture than a real roach.
“
No, all that screaming did. What are you watching, sounds like yet another Hitler documentary.
”
“
Nixon. I think it
’
s happening live right now, someplace in L.A.
”
“
Could be the Century Plaza.
”
Which was presently confirmed by the newsfolks covering the event—Nixon had indeed dropped in, as if on a whim, at the palatial Westside hotel to address a rally of GOP activists who called themselves Vigilant California. In cutaways to individuals in the audience, some seemed a little out of control, like
you
’
d expect to find at gatherings like this, but others were less demonstra
tive and, to Doc at least, scarier. Strategically posted among the crowd,
wearing identical suits and ties you
’
d have to call on the unhip side, none
of them seemed to be paying much attention to Nixon himself.
“
I don
’
t think they
’
re Secret Service,
”
Penny sliding over next to Doc
on the sofa.
“
Not cute enough, to begin with. More likely private sector.
”
“
They
’
re waiting for something—ha! look, here we go.
”
As if linked by ESP, the robot operatives had pivot
ed as one and begun to converge
on a member of the audience, longhaired, wild-eyed, dressed in matching psychedelic Nehru shirt and bell-bottoms, who was now screaming,
“
Hey, Nixon! Hey, Tricky Dick! Fuck you! And you know what, hey, fuck Spiro, too! Fuck everybody in the First Fuckin Family! Fuck the dog, hey! Anybody know the dogs name? whatever—fuck the dog,
too! Fuck all of you!
”
And began to laugh insanely as he was seized and
dragged away through the crowd, many of them glaring, snarling and foaming at the mouth in disapproval.
“
Better get him to a hippie drug clinic,
”
suggested Nixon humorously.
“
Giving revolutionary youth a bad name,
”
it seemed to Doc, who was
rolling another joint.
“
Not to mention raising some First Amendment issues,
”
Penny lean
ing up close to the screen.
“
Strange, though ...
”
“
Really? Looks like typical Republicans to me.
”
“
No, I mean—there, there
’
s the close-up. That
’
s no hippie, look at him. It
’
s Chucky!
”
Or to put it another way, Doc now became aware with a jolt, it was also Coy Harlingen. It took him maybe half a lungful of pot smoke to decide against sharing this with Penny.
“
Friend of yours,
”
he inquired disingenuously.
“
Everybody knows him—when he
’
s not hanging out at the Hall of Justice, he
’
s at the Glass House.
”
“
A snitch?
”
“‘
Informant,
’
please. He works mostly for the Red Squad and the P-DIDdies.
”
“
Who?
”
“
Public Disorder Intelligence Division? Never heard of them, eh?
”
“
And
...
why
’
s he yelling at Nixon like that again?
”
“
Jeez, Doc, at this rate they
’
re going to pull your paranoia card. Even
a PI can
’
t be that naive.
”
“
Well, his outfit maybe is a little overcoordinated, but that don
’
t mean
there
’
s any setup.
”
She sighed didactically.
“
But now that he
’
s been all over the TV?
H
e
has instant and wide credibility. The police can infiltrate him into any group they want.
”
“
You guys been watchin that
Mod Squad
again. Gives you all these
cold-ass
ideas. Hey! Did I tell you Bigfoot offered me a job the other day?
”
“
Astute of Bigfoot as always. He must have detected in your character
some special gift for
...
betrayal?
”
“
Come on, Penny, she was sixteen, she was dealing, I was only trying to steer her away from a life of crime, how long are you gonna—
”
“
Goodness, I don
’
t know why you always get so defensive about it, Doc. There
’
s no reason to feel guilty. Is there?
”
“
Great, just what I want to do—discuss guilt with a deputy DA.
”
“
—was identified,
”
the TV set announced, while Penny reached to turn up the volume,
“
as Rick Doppel, an unemployed student dropout from UCLA.
”
“
I don
’
t think so,
”
Penny muttered.
“
It
’
s that Chucky.
”
And dang, Doc added silently, if it ain
’
t a resurrected tenor sax player, too.