The Journalist (7 page)

“That’s news to me,” Zack said.

The President went on. “We Americans, you and
I, in all modesty, blessed of God beyond millions of other human
beings to be born on mother earth, are a chosen few. And let me
humbly say as your leader, I am myself assuredly divinely destined
to help my fellow man.”

“I’ll be the son of a potato farmer.” Zack
cracked his gum and longed for a cigarette.

The President moved his hands forward in a
reaching-out gesture. “Dear friends, let me get to the point of
tonight’s little chat. I have reflected on the current
international crisis, and a basic realization has been shown to
me.”

“One has been shown to me, too.” Zack burped
on his spicy rice and shrimp dinner. The TV camera zoomed out to a
medium shot of Armstrong.

“As you all know, I have been praying dusk to
dawn and I can tell you this. Right and wrong moral issues are
God’s law. But right and wrong political issues, here on our earth,
must be decided by men favored of God. In short, it’s plain as the
nose on your face. We are a favored nation. To protect that
favoritism we are free and accountable to no one but
ourselves.”

Zack blew a little bubble then sucked it in.
“I think there’s more in that glass than water.”

The President placed his outstretched palms
on his desk: “Let our action be judged only by our superior
inheritance.”

“What in hell does that mean, or did I miss
something, or did he switch gears?”

Zack noticed Armstrong’s left eye begin to
twitch as he continued, “Let me digress for a moment (chuckles). My
Presidential opponent, Senator Beno, in addition to offering up pap
in order to get elected—things like guaranteed annual incomes, free
medical care for every Tom, Dick and Harry on a freight siding,
even if they don’t work, (agitated) and where will the money come
from to pay for Sister Beno’s little shopping spree? I’ll tell you
where—billions in tax hikes on our loyal corporations. Thank you
very much. Those are the people who keep this country running, who
create the jobs. And the nail she puts in our coffin—get this—she
proposes eliminating the Marine Corps

Aaand the Coast Guard

Imagine. What will
be left to protect this great nation?”

“How bout the Army, Navy and Air Force?” Zack
put his hands behind his head. “That bugger did switch gears.”

Scowling, the President shook his head. “And
what I was getting to earlier, the latest gem we hear from the
distinguished Senator from Vermont. In the face of a threat to the
very foundation of our society, she says, ‘Let’s talk to
terrorists, negotiate with them, they’re just human
beings

see if there is a common ground.’
(Bangs desk) That’s like telling the fox you’ll let him eat all the
eggs if he’ll just leave your chickens alone

” He scowled into the camera. “Fuzzy thinking, my
friends, fuzzzzy.”

Zack confirmed his prior belief. “Benny is
nuts.”

Armstrong’s scowl turned to a smile. “Let me
say it is not Sister Beno personally I am opposed to. It is the
insanity of that left wing socialist position that sours all
thinking. We must protect our basic structure of economics from
these confused thinkers who would return to some kind of communal
mode of social engineering—redistribution of the wealth, as they
call it. The planet has become too small to pander away the
resources on failed, worn-out social experiments like that Beno
bunch is proposing. And, God forbid, negotiate with
terrorists

”

Zack flipped a page and made some quick
notes:
social position sours all thinking/communal mode of
social engineering/god forbid
.

Calmed, Armstrong continued. “As to the
international threat that I mentioned earlier, this is a serious
situation that must be dealt with immediately. This rogue-nation
lawlessness has converged to force a time when it is ripe to, in
the words of my dear departed mother, ‘clean house.’”

Zack folded his arms. “While you’re at it,
how about the White House.”

The TV camera zoomed out to a wider shot of
Armstrong.

Armstrong: “So, I come to you tonight with a
stern warning to America’s foes both within and without. We will
act decisively to preserve a way of life that is America, democracy
and capitalism. Our divine destiny shall prevail

”

Zack scribbled those last words at the bottom
of the page:
divine destiny shall prevail
.

Armstrong waggled his finger into the camera.
“Make no mistake—dark forces threaten our very American way of
life. The interests of private American capital, which fuels that
way of life, is at stake.”

Zack pulled an earlobe. “We’re in
trouble.”

Armstrong paused for water. “Let me say as
honestly as I can, there may never be repeated a moment in history
when, under God, a chosen people can eradicate the evils of the
earth and unite one and all under an American umbrella of global
democracy.”

“He switched gears again

” Zack shook his head and scratched a hasty note,
infantile feelings of personal omnipotence and grandeur,
paranoid

Armstrong: “We shall never allow anyone to
threaten the foundation of America with phony giveaway programs.
And we shall never allow ourselves to be held hostage by the bully
beast dark forces of the world.”

Zack noted
the President is not only nuts
he is a narcissistic asshole

Armstrong: “So, our objective is clear. We
will, in the coming months, for the sake of the American economic
way of life, for the sake of democracy for all humanity, impose a
visionary conclusive solution to international outlaw chicanery and
tomfoolery with our market places. And make no mistake, our calling
is no less important than the preservation of two centuries of
progress in the evolution of the economics of humankind.”

Zack made another note,
visionary
conclusive solution

He printed in large letters JOE CASE
RECORDING??? BENNY CERTIFIABLE

The President began to wrap it up. “My
partners in freedom, this is my pledge to you tonight, on this
solemn anniversary of the birth of this great nation: The first
thing I vow to you is to make the streets of America safe again for
freedom-loving Americans. The second thing is to end the insane
darkness that is ripping the world apart.”

Vigorously chewing his Juicy Fruit, Zack bit
his tongue.

Armstrong raged on. “Take heart, fellow
Americans. The coming months may bring some unpleasantness but I
urge you to stay strong. There may never be another moment in
modern history when one nation can move in a global way to fulfill
the dream of the centuries—freedom for all. And I, with divine
direction, am ready to forge ahead under America’s military
superiority. A thousand years of peace and prosperity has come to
the edge of fruition, God’s own Pax Americana

”

Zack pinched his wrist. “Nope, he said
it.”

Armstrong clasped his hands. “Oh, friends,
take note—this time is much more momentous than Hannibal’s decision
to cross the Alps. Beyond Columbus’s discovery of a new land.
Eclipses Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. This is more akin to
those days immediately before God created everything.”

Zack looked up. “God, with all due respect, I
wash my hands of this guy. He’s all Yours.” He popped his gum.

Armstrong opened a Bible. “In closing, let me
read to you the words of Psalm Forty-six, verses eight and nine:
‘Come, behold the works of the Lord, what desolations he hath made
in the earth. He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; he
breaketh the bow, and cutteth the spear in sunder; he burnest the
chariot in the fire.’”

“We’re in deep doo-dah-day.” Zack cracked his
gum.

Armstrong smiled as the camera zoomed out
further. “And now, I leave you, knowing that I am humbly God’s
servant here on earth. May God bless you all, and may God bless
America with a millennium of universal tranquility. Thank you, and
goodnight.”

Zack clicked the TV off, burped and spit his
gum into the wastebasket. He turned and looked out his window. The
sky had turned a majestic purple. He reflected. “Bullshit, Benny-
Just plain bullshit.”

Chapter Eight

Eight weeks
later

5:30 p.m.
EST

Thursday, August 28,
2020

Bare feet propped on his desk, the Labor Day
edition of
The Boca
ninety percent ready for tomorrow
night’s six o’clock printer’s deadline, Zack felt his taste buds
commence their late afternoon activity, beginning with the
tempting, now only a memory and unavailable palate delight—Joe
Case’s famous arroz con camarones.

“Living will never be the same,” he
whispered.

Disturbing him more than the loss of the
shrimp-and-rice delight was Case’s unexpected departure from the
Miami scene. Strangely, without a word, nobody knew why, he and Kim
had disappeared. The Bimini Road sold, a pronouncement from the new
Chinese owners, Jay and Mindy Xzing, “Case moved to Bimini Island,
that’s all we know” is a book with the last chapter missing, Zack
thought.

The Bimini Road gone, the old cement block
building the same but now home to The Tea Company, the new
restaurant featured, along with Chinese beer and a fresh sushi bar,
Shanghai cuisine. The inside dump-ambience remained the same except
that the booths were now painted bright cardinal red. No Bohemia
beer a problem, the Tsingtao okay, but the three foot gold embossed
red posterboard menus, pick one from column A, two from column B,
brought a frequent lament from Zack, “I can understand religion
being complicated, but this is ridiculous.”

He pushed back in his swivel chair, sat up,
and, having falling off the nicotine wagon, peered at, rising out
of four days of clutter on top of his desk, a pack of regular Camel
cigarettes and a pack of MORE. He contemplated a Camel then shifted
his eyes to the pack of MORE.

Just had a MORE.

He took a Camel, lit it and reasoned to
himself, These things will probably kill you and chewing sugary gum
will rot your teeth, but I loathe bozo bureaucrats telling me what
I can and can’t do. Five-hundred-dollar fine for lighting up on the
beach

Nuts to that


He slipped back into his chair and
anticipated his planned Labor Day weekend aboard
Veracity
.
Charting the course, he figured he would run out to Sands Key,
anchor near there the first night then head east, get in the
stream, just drift for

whatever. Then
again, perhaps he’d take a run to Bimini, maybe find Case—fifty
miles, piece of cake—and on that little patch of mangrove and sand
finding a character like Joe Case ought not to be that difficult,
he thought.

He leaned farther back and imagined being on
the water, put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. In a
moment, he was bobbing on
Veracity
’s aft deck, the shoreline
gone, blue sky and water surrounded him.

Smelling the salty sea, he switched the
engines off and listened to the ocean swells slapping the hull.

Then it was there again. It was always there,
the old nagging, and he thought,
Where are you hiding and why?
Forget the where

how about
why


“How many steaks can you eat a week?”

He opened his eyes. He swore he heard the
words. The blades of the ceiling fan stirred the air. He spoke to
Jocko. “You know, Jocko, sometimes you punch below the belt.”

He turned to the office window behind his
desk and looked south to the distant sprawl of greater Miami.
Wondering about that Joe Case “profit has no home” thing, Senator
Nancy Beno came to mind. She led that snake-handler Armstrong in
early polls, but Ben was slicker than the snakes he handled, he
thought.
Beno has to KO that insane sonofabitch.

Zack turned in his chair and propped his bare
feet on the windowsill.

Pondering a series of support-Beno
editorials, he heard someone enter his office. Immediately, he
recognized the fresh Ivory Soap smell of Mary O’Brien. Savoring the
moment, he anticipated her familiar pristine voice.

It came. “Boca, you just got another call
from the President’s media guru.”

He turned and watched Mary slide onto the
Naugahyde sofa. She wore her usual outfit—faded Levis, lavender
V-neck polo shirt and tan tennis shoes. No socks, no jewelry, no
makeup. A black-banded silver Timex slid loosely on her wrist.

“I did?” Zack said.

“Yes, you did.”

“How did I get a call if you took it?”

“Telepathy.”

“Oh, let me guess what Dr. Lande had to
say

”

“Same complaint as always.” Mary stretched
her tanned arms over her head and pushed her slender legs out. The
stretch was a tall one considering her willowy body was just short
of six feet. She touched the front of Zackary’s desk with the tips
of her tennis shoes and fluffed her shaggy dishwater hair.

Zack shook his head and smiled.

“What?” She flashed.

“All comfy?”

“Yes.” She flashed again and stretched
farther.

“That’s good.”

She rubbed the bridge of her wide, but not
too wide, nose. “How’s Boca’s day going?”

A half-smoked Camel hanging from the side of
his mouth, he decided to ignore the Boca remark, preserve the mood.
Studying the fervor in her blue eyes, he said. “What did you tell
her?”

Engrossed in Zack. “Who?”

He leaned over his desk. “I thought you said
Lande called.”

“You smoke too much.”