The Conspiracy Chick

 

I didn’t see her coming.

She was good in the city.  I was better in the woods.

She blended in with people like she was born camouflaged.  I stood out in a crowd like a Russian folk dancer at a flamenco club.

But in Elizabeth Park, I thought we’d be on an even playing field.

Between the trees, the picnic benches and the wide bright blue river that edged the eastern edge of the park, it was a good enough place to wait.  I tried to look around for her without looking obvious.  That’s hard to do when you look like me.  Even in daylight I look like someone should call 911 on me.  I look too intense to hang around a place with pony rides.

All I could do was wait.  She knew what I looked like.  I wasn’t sure about her.  You can’t trust what you read on the Internet, much less what you see.  She was a good-looking young woman if you believed her Facebook picture.  Her eyes were light brown and set just wide enough to give her a startled look.  She had hair that she changed from green and yellow to blue and green with bleached white or pink streaks.  Despite that, she said she was a flannel shirt and jeans girl, and Kris told me not to tell Bobby I would meet her.  Girls like her are too hot for their own good, is what she said.  Kris ought to know; she’s the psychologist in the family.

I wouldn’t have gone to meet her at all if she hadn’t dropped Dr. Estes’ name.  I don’t have time for people who go by handles like the Appliance Doctor or the Conspiracy Chick.  It was their way of advertising themselves.  Advertising is better on the radio where you can turn it off whenever it comes on.  Bobby tells me that eighty percent of the Internet is advertising on the news sites.  “People,” he explained, “even get paid to seem like they’re writing about one thing when it’s about something else, like politics.”  

Twenty-year-olds can take the fun out of anything.

We compromised on a meeting place.  Halfway in between.  Two o’clock in the afternoon at the ice cream stand in Elizabeth Park.  Middle of September, most of the kids were in school, so it was a peaceful place bounded by the Detroit River on one side and the city of Trenton on the other.  Lots of walking trails, a bunch of geese set on squawk every other minute and a pony concession.  A nice quiet park if you don’t count the geese.  That’s the way the City Council liked it.  They had to bring in the State Police to clear out the motorcycle gangs a few years back so they could bring it up to paradise standards, but it was better now.  The gray-white clouds looked like fluffed up dirty T-shirts, but the sky was blue enough that even I thought it looked good.

“Don’t turn around,” she said from behind me.

I couldn’t help myself.  We were in a public park, so I turned around.  She would not shoot me in a public place.  I didn’t even get to see her face before she hit me with the Taser and I dropped to the ground with my muscles locked up by electric chains.  

********

“I’m sorry,” she said.  “I’m really, really sorry.”

“Are you out of your mind?” I gasped.

It’s hard to talk when you’re alternating between muscle spasms and drooling fits.  I was breathing in huge gulps of air and my muscles still shook like I’d had a seizure, which in a way I had.  Ninety thousand volts of electricity can do that to you.

“Everything okay?” asked the teen-aged girl who showed up in the ice cream stand window.  “Should I call 911?”

“No, no, he’s okay,” said the Conspiracy Chick.  “His blood sugar drops like a stone sometimes.  That’s all.  He gets dizzy if I don’t catch him in time and he falls down.”

She was an exceptional liar.  The girl in the window bought it.

“Can you get him a small chocolate sundae?  It really brings his sugar up quickly.”

“Sure, sure,” said the girl.  “My aunt’s old like him.”

She disappeared again to make me a sundae.

I don’t like sundaes.  I don’t even like ice cream.

“Get up, get up,” said the Conspiracy Chick.  “Hurry, we have to get the ice cream and start walking in case they were following me.  I don’t want to be standing here if they show up.”

“Give me a hand, will you?”  I said.

She reached down and grabbed me by the arm.  As I got up, I got her in a wristlock and cranked it to get a little respect.  She folded in toward me and I felt a sudden jolt of screaming pain as she kneed me in the balls.  It was like she’d hit my crotch with a flaming porcupine.  I was on the ground again, rocking back and forth with my knees folded up to my chest and swearing before I realized I’d let go of her wrist and she was off and running.  She was out of sight by the time I got back to my feet.  I hoped it hadn’t been caught on a park video security system or by some kid with a cell phone.

I must have landed on a small rock because I felt like I’d been rabbit punched in the kidney, too.  It had been a long time since I’d been handed my ass so quickly and painfully.

I was a long time getting up.  I hurt all over and I was pissed.

“You sure you don’t need an ambulance?” asked the ice cream girl when she showed up to the sliding window with my sundae.  “You don’t look so good.”

She handed the ice cream through the open window like she was passing me illegal drugs.

“I don’t feel so good either, but I’m fine.  Just a bad back.  Hurts like hell sometimes.”

“My grandfather has the same thing.  Where’s your daughter?”

I was going to tell her thanks, but then I thought better of it.  The day I’m happy being compared to somebody’s grandfather is the day I shave my head, wear wife-beater t-shirts and work boots to Elvis concerts.  And as for my daughter…

My phone rang again.

Unknown number.  I was going to teach that girl some manners when we got face-to-face again.

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” I said.

“You like your family?”

It was a man’s voice, the kind you don’t want to hear asking about your family.

“You don’t want to say that again,” I said.

“Stay away from her.  Just stay the hell away.”

“Or what?”

The phone went dead.

Before I could put it back in my coat pocket, it rang again.  Same screen name―unknown number.

“You got anything else stupid to say?” I answered.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

It was her again.

“I’m in a lot of pain so I can’t hear you.”

“Reflex.  It was all reflex.  I’m on the edge all the time.   I feel so hyper I could scream until my lungs run out of air.  I had like five monster drinks before I left and two espressos.  My nerves are tight as twisted wire.  This is way too big and stuff.  I didn’t know what I was getting in to.  Can we meet again somewhere?  It’s important.”

The world was filled with crazies.  I’d met my share.  I might even qualify as being one.  This one, though, was on a different scale of magnitude.  Like when you run out of tape with your tape measure and have to start measuring things in light years.

“No thanks,” I said.  “Let’s just have our secretaries email each other, okay?  I don’t need to be Tasered again or kicked in the nuts.”

The kid behind the ice cream counter kept looking at me.  I didn’t think she could hear me, but I moved a few painful steps away, anyway.

“You were hurting me.”

“You just finished hitting me with a Taser.  How about I Taser you with ninety thousand volts next time I see you?”

“One hundred.”

“What?”

“One hundred thousand volts.  And you can pick the spot this time.  Anywhere you want.”

“I just got a phone call,” I said.  “Some macho wannabe just threatened my family if I so much as looked at you again.”

There was phone silence for about a minute before she said, “Oh.”

Not a big response, but I got the point.

“I’ve got a wife and a son,” I said.

“I know.”

“That bothers me.  So, find somebody else.”

I clicked the off button or icon or whatever the hell it was. The ice cream sundae went into the trash, much to the horror of the window girl, but it still hurt to walk so I didn’t care.  While I limped back toward my car, I made a call of my own.

“You on her?” I asked Gregorio.

“She whipped your ass, amigo.”

“I know.”

“I got it on video, man, I couldn’t help it.  And I got her plates and I’m pulling out behind her as soon as it’s cool.  She’s cute, man.  Keep her away from Bobby or you’re going to have premature grandkids.”

“You got it on tape?   Man, delete that.   Seriously?”

I hate electronic shit, I really do.  And not just Gregorio videoing me getting kicked around the park by an eighteen-year-old girl.  Somebody had hacked my phone number, was watching me by remote in the park, and probably buying land in Switzerland on my credit card while I limped.  All I could see were trees, park benches, pony rides and the ice cream place.  That’s the problem with the world now.  The things that are spying on us are invisible to us.  Whatever was going on with the Conspiracy Chick, it was way over my head.

“Don’t be such a sissy.  Man, that chick can really move.  She’s got one of them Korean cars―Smart cars.  She drives like a maniac.”

“Stay tight.  Don’t lose her.  And they’re German.  Daimler or somebody makes them.”

“No worries.  I’m staying back out of sight.”

“You’ll lose her,” I said.  

I’d finally made it back to my Volkswagen.  Don’t even say it.  It was a rental.  

“Nah, I’ve got the tracker tucked up good under her bumper.  Bobby’s handling all the electronic stuff.”

“Are you kidding?” I yelled into the phone.  “Kris will kill us both, man.”

“Just talk to her.  We’re too old to keep up with this chick.  She’s too smart.  We need Bobby’s help.  And with these guys looking to hunt her down and bury her in little pieces beneath the lawn sprinklers, well, I don’t think we can’t take them without help.  We need more men.  Admit it.”

“Fucked,” I said, “we are so fucked.”

“Yeah, well, we’ve got company,” said Gregorio.  “I think they’re going to try to box her in somewhere on Jefferson between King Road and Pennsylvania.”

“How many?”  I asked.

“Eight.”

“How many cars?”

“Eight.  You thought I was talking people?  Man, they’ve got an entire hit squad on her.  Cops let them through, then parked with the flashers on.  They’re steering traffic west on King.  How’d the cops get in on this so quick?  Who is this chick?”

“The Trenton cops can’t be in on this; they’re Methodists.  What the hell is going on?”

“I’m calling Bobby,” said Gregorio.  “Maybe he’s got an idea.  I’m already on King, going west toward Fort.  She’s on her own unless he’s got something better.  Hold on, I’ll merge the calls.”

“Wait,” I said, but it was too late.

“Hey, Gregorio,” said Bobby.  “This is some serious shit.”

“Your dad’s on the line, too,” said Gregorio.

“Oops.”

“Yeah, oops is right.  Your mother’s going to kill us all when she finds out you even know about this.”

“Later, jefe,” said Gregorio.  “If we don’t help this chick, she’ll kill us twice.  You got any ideas, Bobby?  I had to turn off onto King.  They blocked West Jefferson going north and I bet they did the same thing with the southbound.  She’s in a box, with nowhere to go but in the river.  You want me to cut over on a side road and walk back to give you install?”

“No need, I’ve hacked two news helicopters on the way.  Plus, I’m in the traffic cams so I can pretty much feed you Intel instead of the other way around.”

“Sound good, jefe?” asked Gregorio.

“I hate it when you call me jefe, you know that?”  I said.  “It always means there’s nothing I can do to change what’s going on and you just do it so I won’t feel like I’ve got nothing to add, which is bullshit.”

“So, you got anything to add, jefe?”

I thought about it.  She was already gone.  They were going to snatch her clean away while we sat there and watched.

“No,” I said.

“Can I say something, dad?”

“Why not?”  I said.  “We lost her and there’s nothing we can do.  We’re just screwed, and she’s tattooed.”

“Well, maybe not,” said Bobby.  “She’s not in that car.  She pulled a bait and switch on you guys and Homeland Security, too.”

“Damn,” said Gregorio.  “Little jefe, you done made me a happy man.  As a genuine descendant of the Aztec warriors―”

“Who got their asses kicked by the Spanish.”

“Who beat the conquistadors but were screwed by the white man’s version of history, I crown you an honorary Aztec ass-kicker.”

“Thanks, Gregorio.”

“Well, where the hell is she?” I said.

“And when we get back to your house,” said Gregorio, “I have a new video of your father in action for you to watch.”

“I hate you, Gregorio.”

“A good jefe hates friends but showers them with gifts of love to keep them quiet,” said Gregorio.  “It’s a Mexican proverb from that drug dealing soap opera.”

“Dad?  You guys might want to pick her up at her rabbit hole.”

“Her what?”

“You’ll figure it out.  Got to go.  Mom’s coming.”

“Bobby?  Bobby?” I said.  “Well, shit.”

“You know what he meant?”  asked Gregorio.

I was driving in my Volkswagen.  Don’t laugh.  Like I said, it’s a loaner.  Mine is in the shop being analyzed for computer messages.  Cars are a mystery now, like the Hadron Super Collider.  Everything controlled by the car’s computer and only the dealership has the password.  Kris wanted me to buy a Volt, but I was afraid I’d get electrocuted in the car wash right before the rinse cycle.

I was maybe ten minutes behind them, stuck driving five below their stupid twenty-five-mile an hour speed limit.  Trenton was the Miss Prissy town with all the trimmings like pumpkin festivals and the Downriver Cruise festival; it was the town inside the globe you shake where pretty snowflakes come swirling down and where, in real life, they have hidden speakers along Main Street playing Christmas Carols from October to May every stinking year.  And now, traffic was at five below the speed limit during the Let’s Gawk at the New Street Lights festival.

“No, I don’t know what he means," I said. “I never know what he means.”

I knew Bobby was doing it for me. He was trying to help. He knew about Dr. Estes and the missing head.  He was worried about me.

So was I.

“Well,” said Gregorio. “Maybe we should figure it out.”

“Tell me about it,” I said.

I liked Volkswagens as much as I liked scabies commercials―which wasn’t very much. They were too small inside. Roomy front seat, my ass. I turned the key in the ignition, put it in reverse, and ignored the electronic voice telling me I was about to back out. That was the other thing.  New cars talk too damn much. And I didn’t trust the backup video. I didn’t like anything that recorded what I was doing. And that could be used in court.

“How do you think she got out of the car muchacho?”

“You got me,” I said. “I just hope they don’t know about us. Whoever they are.”

“Don’t say that,” said Gregorio. “It’s bad luck.”

“I pity the poor bastard that was driving her getaway car,” I said. 

A black SUV with black windows pulled up beside me and the light bar on its roof started flashing all the colors of the rainbow.

“Get lost,” I told Gregorio.  “The Men in Black are on me.”

I threw the phone under the seat and pulled over.  Then I rolled down the driver and passenger side windows and put my hands on the ten and two positions on the steering wheel.  They’d boxed me in.  One SUV in front, one SUV in back.  I was in an SUV sandwich.

“Step out of the vehicle with your hands on your head,” shouted one of the two men on the driver’s side.  They were pointing serious pistols in my face as one of them opened the door.  Two more men covered the passenger door.  The one who opened the door had a head the size and shape of a shoe box with a military buzz cut.  His partner looked like Anthony Weiner with a pompadour.  They were both dressed in black suits and ties and looked like alpha funeral directors.

“What?” I asked.

Instead of answering, they spun me around against the car and handcuffed me.  I saw the two men covering the passenger side of the car peer inside like I was hiding a midget assault team in the backseat under a blanket.  They gave up, then moved around to join the rest of the party.

 I tried turning around to ask them what the hell the charges were, but they Tasered me for good measure and threw my convulsing body into the backseat of the closest SUV.