CivilWarLand in Bad Decline: Stories and a Novella Read Online Free Page A

says: Now get off your indefensible high horse and give me Sam’s home phone.
    So I get off my indefensible high horse and give him Sam’s home phone.
    Thursday after we’ve armed Samuel and sent him and the Patrol out, I stop by the Worship Center to check on the Foley baptism. Baptisms are an excellent revenue source. We charge three hundred dollars to rent the Center, which is the former lodge of the Siala utopian free-love community. We trucked it in from downstate, a redbrick building with a nice gold dome. In the old days if one of the Sialians was overeating to the exclusion of others or excessively masturbating, he or she would be publicly dressed down for hours on end in the lodge. Now we put up white draperies and pipe in Stephen Foster and provide at no charge a list of preachers of various denominations.
    The Foleys are an overweight crew. The room’s full of crying sincere large people wishing the best for a baby. It makes me remember our own sweet beaners in their little frocks. I sit down near the wood-burning heater in the Invalidarea and see that Justin in Prep has forgotten to remove the mannequin elderly couple clutching rosaries. Hopefully the Foleys won’t notice and withhold payment.
    The priest dips the baby’s head into the fake marble basin and the door flies open and in comes a racially mixed gang. They stroll up the aisle tousling hair and requisition a Foley niece, a cute redhead of about sixteen. Her dad stands up and gets a blackjack in the head. One of the gang guys pushes her down the aisle with his hands on her breasts. As she passes she looks right at me. The gang guy spits on my shoe and I make my face neutral so he won’t get hacked off and drag me into it.
    The door slams and the Foleys sit there stunned. Then the baby starts crying and everyone runs shouting outside in time to see the gang dragging the niece into the woods. I panic. I try to think of where the nearest pay phone is. I’m weighing the efficiency of running to Administration and making the call from my cubicle when six fast shots come from the woods. Several of the oldest Foleys assume the worst and drop weeping to their knees in the churchyard.
    I don’t know the first thing about counseling survivors, so I run for Mr. A.
    He’s drinking and watching his bigscreen. I tell him what happened and he jumps up and calls the police. Then he says let’s go do whatever little we can for these poor people who entrusted us with their sacred family occasion only to have us drop the ball by failing to adequately protect them.
    When we get back to the churchyard the Foleys are kicking and upbraiding six gang corpses. Samuel’s having a glass of punch with the niece. The niece’s dad is hangingall over Sam trying to confirm his daughter’s virginity. Sam says it wasn’t even close and goes on and on about the precision of his scope.
    Then we hear sirens.
    Sam says: I’m going into the woods.
    Mr. A says: We never saw you, big guy.
    The niece’s dad says: Bless you, sir.
    Sam says: Adios.
    Mr. A stands on the hitching post and makes a little speech, the gist of which is, let’s blame another gang for killing these dirtbags so Sam can get on with his important work.
    The Foleys agree.
    The police arrive and we all lie like rugs.
    The word spreads on Sam and the gangs leave us alone. For two months the Park is quiet and revenues start upscaling. Then some high-school kid pulls a butter knife on Fred Moore and steals a handful of penny candy from the General Store. As per specs, Fred alerts Mr. A of a Revenue-Impacting Event. Mr. A calls Security and we perform Exit Sealage. We look everywhere, but the kid’s gone. Mr. A says what the hell, Unseal, it’s just candy, profit loss is minimal. Sam hears the Unseal Tone on the PA and comes out of the woods all mad with his face painted and says that once the word gets out we’ve gone soft the gangs will be back in a heartbeat. I ask since when do gangs use butter knives. Sam