The Crash of Hennington (7 page)

And then it was gone, vanishing like steam off an athlete. Jon leaned back and smiled with a casualness that seemed to emerge from nowhere. Eugene could only cough for a moment before he spoke.

—Why me?

—Why not you?

—Why would you want me to work for you?

—I’m not sure. Doesn’t it seem right, though?

—You just met me.

—So you’ve said. I told you. I’m a good judge of people.

—I just met
you.

Jon shrugged.

—You’ve got blueberry dribbling down your chin, Eugene.

It was a full moment before Eugene took his napkin and wiped the blue conflagration from his face, but by then he was already a former employee of the Solari Hotel.

16. Why Archie Banyon Feels the Way He Does About Women.

—Maybe I can talk her out of it. It’s not too late. Ballot’s not for another four months. She could get a waiver on registration.
Tell the people she’s reconsidered because of their support. She’d be re-elected by fucking
acclamation
if it came to that. She’s fifty-eight years old. She’s got at least two more terms in her. Three, even.

Archie Banyon’s limo was caught in traffic, which meant that Jules was going to have to listen to even more of this blather than usual.

—I’ve known her for ages now. Ages. Since before she was Mayor. She was my lawyer, don’t you know, and a right pain in the ass she was then. Right pain in the ass she is now, but a damn fine Mayor. Damn fine. She shouldn’t be retiring. Don’t trust that Max. Seems like a nice enough kid, but ‘kid’ is the problem word there. Cora’s got more sense than Max does. Hell, Max’s little whipper’s got more sense than Max does, and she’s what, ten?

—Maybe the Mayor wants some time with her family.

—What fucking family? She’s got Albert and whatever stud they’re currently fucking. That’s not family. That’s not even a card game.

—Would it be out of place for me to ask you to cut down on the cursing?

—Yes.

—I thought so.

—I don’t understand people who get power and then just give it up. Just say, ‘Oh, what the fuck, I just don’t want it anymore. I’m
retiring.

He literally spat the last word, contemptuous saliva hitting the limo’s floor.

—Not everyone’s like you, Mr Banyon.

—And thank God for that. What a pain in the ass the world would be then.

—Would it be out of place for me to agree with you?

—Out loud, yes.

—I thought so.

—And what for the love of God does she see in Max?

—If you don’t mind me saying so, your opposition to Max Latham seems out of proportion to anything he’s done.

—I’m not against Max Latham. I’m
for
Cora Larsson.

—And why would that be exactly? Again? Sir?

Archie’s history was populated by the ghosts of dead women. He should have known something when his first wife was named Belladonna. Archie and Belladonna married young and desperately in love. Belladonna, whose formidable bearing and pomegranate lipstick eschewed any attempt at a nickname, gave birth to four daughters in rapid succession: Dolores, Soledad, Ariadne, and Proserpina, Belladonna’s sense of humor showing an appealingly dark shade. When Thomas was born, Archie intervened. Belladonna had wanted to call him Actaeon.

Archie’s mother, who had died when Archie was a teenager but who at the time of his wedding could be dealt with as a sad memory rather than the ominous beginning to a macabre chain, had been strict and loving with Archie until her death, instilling him with confidence, kindness, and a respect for self, a parenting trick that Archie was constantly sad not to have learned. Archie’s mother was the reason he loved women so much and also the reason for the manner in which he loved them. Not in the big-rack-hot-ass sort of way that his friends so perplexingly did. Archie just found them easier to talk to, easier to share a meal with, easier to take advice from. It was clear to everyone that Archie had found a wondrous and powerful match in Belladonna, a brilliant, passionate, dark-eyed lawyer who was the only daughter in a family of eight sons.

Belladonna’s misfortune was to thumb her nose at fate one too many times. One day, when Poison and her daughters
Pain, Solitude, Corrupted Innocence and Bad Marriage were sunbathing on the fourth-story roof of Archie’s northeast Hennington estate, an earthquake opened up the ground and reduced the building and the five women to rubble. Archie had been inspecting a vineyard on a horse which hadn’t even thrown him during the tumult. Thomas turned up later full of unsatisfactory explanations.

Archie’s grief, a deep and powerful thing even if he hadn’t been by then the richest man in Hennington, was finally only mollified by an endocrinologist called Maureen Whipple, a name Archie thought inoffensive enough not to anger the gods. Copper haired with copper-rimmed eyeglasses, Maureen was an amateur lepidopterist and singularly devoid of risky imagination. But she liked Archie quite a bit, and he liked her quite a bit right back. Eleven days after their fourth wedding anniversary, she was killed when a derailing train hurtled through her windshield.

Archie’s third wife, Anna Grabowski, about whom the less said the better, barely made it down the aisle before perishing in a trapeze mishap.

His fourth wife was a devil-may-care whirlwind named May Ramshead. Eight years older than Archie, she was a zoologist with a wild streak. She rappelled off of cliffs, swam with sharks, and had spent time as a rodeo clown. Two and a half years of blissful marriage later, May died peacefully in her sleep when her heart failed.

Archie finally took the hint and settled, at age sixty, for a single life with female friends. That was when he met and hired Cora Larsson. Contrary to the whisperings of those few existing enemies of Cora, Archie wasn’t responsible for Cora’s success. True, Archie had sent Cora poking into some fishy business dealings of then-Mayor Jacob Johnson, but it was Cora who had followed the now-infamous trail to the
mysterious death of Johnson’s father and the millions stashed away in accounts under the name of Johnson’s mistress, a story so familiar it needs no rehashing here.

It was, however, Archie’s suggestion, with a helping hand from Albert, that Cora run for Mayor some twenty years ago. Archie was thirty years Cora’s senior, but he was, if the truth be known, in love with her and always had been. Thank goodness she was already married to Albert and also that Archie realized marriage to him meant certain death. He merely had to be her friend. He gave her money and advice when she ran for Mayor and threw the inaugural ball when she won. She was also the reason Banyon Enterprises hadn’t cheated the city in over two decades. Archie respected her too much to ever want to face the disappointment of her certain litigation. He loved her, and that was that, more than enough reason to support her.

—What’s with this traffic?

—It seems to be clearing up, sir.

—Thank God for that.

—Yes, sir. Thank God, indeed.

17. ‘The Tale of Rufus and Rhonda'.

—How’s your head, baby?

—I want to cut it off.

—But then you wouldn’t have one at all.

—I don’t care.

—Medicine’s not helping?

—I guess. It makes me tired.

—Try to sleep, then.

—I can’t keep my mind clear. It races and races and it’s all just thing after thing after thing.

—That’s the fever, darling. It can’t be helped.

—I’m so tired.

—Do you want me to tell you a story?

—Don’t you think I’m a little old for that?

—Do
you
think you’re a little old for that?

—Depends on the story.

—I’ll make it age-appropriate, how about that?

—Maybe.

—Okay, let’s see. ‘There was once a girl named Talon …’

—Stop. I don’t want to be the heroine.

—Why not?

—I just don’t. Please?

Max thought for a minute.

—All right. How about this?

There once was a great king called Rufus the Swarthy. (—What was he king of?) He was king of all the land. (—Which land?) He was king of all the Southern Lands. (—What were they called? —Just flow with me here, Talon.) He had arisen to the throne after his father was killed in a great war with the people to the North that had raged on and on for generations. King Rufus didn’t believe in war. (—That’s a pacifist, right? —Very good.) He had seen war take the lives of all of his friends and classmates and all the rest of the young men in his land. Now it had taken the life of his father, and King Rufus decided enough was enough. He was going to end the war, once and for all.

The war had gone on for so long, hundreds of years, it turned out no one could remember what the war was being fought over. So the first thing King Rufus did was send his Royal Researchers to work. They worked night and day for months on end, going back further and further into history,
searching the research, combing the catacombs, delving into the delvements. (—Is that a word? —Probably.) At last, on a bright, cold morning, they found the reason. Forty-seven generations before, the King of the Southerners had stolen a rhinoceros out of the Northern King’s private zoo. (—That’s it? —Wars have started for less. —But that’s stupid. —Precisely.) King Rufus couldn’t believe that so many thousands of lives and hundreds of years had been wasted on something so small, especially since both the cities of the North and the cities of the South had grown over time despite the war and each side had more than their share of zoos chock-full of rhinoceros.

He decided a symbolic gesture was in order. He would give a present to the ruler of the Northerners, who during this time was Queen Rhonda the Stout. King Rufus ordered his kingdom’s zoologists to select the top male and female rhino from his stock and prepare them for a journey to the North. Rufus himself would then deliver them to the Queen in person, unaccompanied by any guard. He sent word to Queen Rhonda’s court of his plan, and she sent word back that he would be allowed to make the journey unmolested.

For one hundred and twenty-two days, King Rufus walked with the male and female rhinoceros towards the North’s capital city, through sun and rain, light and dark, all alone save for the rhinos. The three lived off the land, Rufus hunting game for himself and finding lush spots for the rhinos to graze. At last, late one afternoon, King Rufus reached the castle doors of Queen Rhonda. He entered through a long hallway that led from chamber to chamber, on and on and on through one hundred separate rooms, the male and female rhinos with him at every step, until finally, he reached the throne room of Queen Rhonda. (—And she was beautiful and they fell instantly in love. —Yes and no. They fell in love, but she wasn’t beautiful. —Oh, I like that.)

‘The Stout’ turned out to be a kind nickname for the Queen. Exceedingly short and overwhelmingly plump, Rhonda nevertheless exuded a kind of vitality and vigor that struck Rufus’ eye immediately. Now, it should be said that looks-wise, Rufus was no great shakes either. (—Good.) His wild mane of red hair was so long that it often tangled itself in his equally long beard. Underneath all the hair and matting was an extremely handsome if overly thick-fingered man, but on the surface he seemed like a golem made of burlap. Plus, he had a cold sore. But it was love at first sight for them both anyway. And for that, the Northern cities and the Southern cities rejoiced. Everyone everywhere was equally sick of the war.

Queen Rhonda immediately accepted the gift of the male and female rhino, and offered her kingdom’s hospitality to King Rufus while the details of the armistice were worked out. One day later, the Queen, with Rufus’ permission, also ordered her lawyers to draw up a pre-nuptial agreement. They attended feasts together, hosted parties welcoming delegates from Rufus’ kingdom, and generally spent a lot of time staring into each other’s eyes and sighing.

But all was not well. There was a wizard in Rhonda’s court named Ted. (—Ted? —Yes, Ted. —
Ted
the Wizard? —Yes, may I continue?) Ted had never loved Rhonda but had arranged with her father at her birth to be the one to marry her when she reached adulthood. Fortunately for Rhonda, her father had died when she was a child, also fighting the war like King Rufus’ father. (—Aw, Dad. —It’s just a fairy tale, honey. Don’t worry.) By the time Rhonda came of age, she had exercised her queenly powers to have the agreement with the wizard voided, for she had no desire whatsoever to marry a man who was only interested in her power. She regarded him as more annoying than evil, though, so she kept him
around and had ceased giving him much thought after the matter was settled.

Ted hadn’t forgotten though, and when he learned of the wedding plans of Rufus and Rhonda, he finally realized his chance for revenge. Working with all the black magic at his command, calling on all the evil forces he knew or was at least acquainted with, using every last magic chemical he had in his storehouse, every trick he ever learned, he cooked up an evil curse. Revenge would be his.

The wedding day arrived, sunny but cool. Nearly every resident of both kingdoms had crowded onto a huge field to watch the ceremony. Even the male and female rhino were present, chewing happily away on the grass. Rhonda the Stout stoutly rhondled her way down the aisle to her awaiting groom. Rufus had been cleaned up for the occasion and swept up his bride-to-be for a pre-ceremonial kiss.

This was where Ted popped in.

‘STOP!’ he cried with a booming voice. ‘I, Ted the Splendid, curse this union.’

There were gasps among the guests. Rhonda wasn’t impressed.

‘What is it now, Ted?’ she asked.

‘I curse this union thusly,’ said Ted. ‘Marry if you will, love if you will, rule if you will, but kiss at your peril.’

‘Meaning …?’ Rhonda said.

‘If you kiss the lips of your beloved,’ said Ted, ‘both of you will transform immediately and forever into rhinoceros, of the type that brought this cursed union together in the first place.’

‘You can’t do that, Ted,’ said Rhonda.

‘Oh, but I can, Your Majesty. And have done.’