Part 48
That Morning
“What did you write in that notebook?” Nepotism asks, hurtling his car down the road, driving with will alone. Buildings, trees, and little dogs tumble toward us but swerve off at the last second, inches from splatter. He seems always to know the exact route to walk us out of death’s reach, still talking about something totally unconnected. Nepotism achieves vehicular zen.
“More than you want to know.” I pretend to be disinterested, and not cry out in terror each time we almost die. He has a supernatural ability to be going just too fast toward another car, or pull down the wrong lane at just the wrong moment, but the pendulum always swings back from the brink of death. “Did you ever notice that Iron Maiden gives teenagers such a painful choice?”
“What are you talking about?” he demands.
“As much as Iron Maiden rocks,” I say, “they are singing about the same subjects and mythology as the homework those teenage metal warriors are trying to avoid. The first time I heard them was when my English teacher played 'Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner' in class. Do you realize how hard that is on a teenage boy? I mean, you want to rebel, but here is Iron Maiden selling you the same shit as your teachers.”
“That’s the conspiracy,” Nepotism says and looks at the road. “You drop a pyramid, or ankh, or any one of these ancient symbols, you can almost guarantee somebody will take notice.”
We’re out of the city now, a suburban nightmare of with loosely spaced houses holding the line against the encroaching forest. I can almost see the front straining, about to break, letting the bloodthirsty trees in to kill man, woman, and child alike until they have entirely reclaimed the land.
Nepotism is unabated. “Iron Maiden jumped right on that wagon. They became knights for Chrissakes! This thing is so simple, and it’s right out there in the open, hanging above us.”
I say, “Shit, you mention the Nine...”
“What do you know about the Nine?” Nepotism is concerned.
“Oh... You know, a little bit. Puharich, Uri Geller, Space Kids.”
We hit a straight-away and Nepotism takes his eyes off the road nearly a minute. He raises one eyebrow and laughs. “You want to talk crazy? Shape Changing Lizard Monsters from the Planet Sirius. That’s what you’re looking into when you mention the Nine.”
“I know what Puharich was looking for, Nepotism. I’ve been doing my reading. Telekinesis tests up there at the Turkey Farm. What was that, in Unadilla, or something? Anyway, I’m writing a story based on the Nine, keying in on certain moments in history that they may have affected.”
“So it’s going to be a lot of name-dropping.”
“Yeah, pretty much. That’s what sells.”
“Is that what’s in your notebook?”
“How fucked will we be if it is?”
“Very fucked.”
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