I Wouldn't Call Her a Hooker Until Ch. 02

"What will you do now?" Grace asked, obviously empathetic.

"Well! I won't know until I talk to Vernon," she said, her mind now revealing a hypnotic effect. "I love my job in Vernon's office, and Vernon has always been my best friend, and she has always known what was best for me."

Such is life. I had professed "freedom" as an academic authority almost half of my life. Now that my illusions, no less than this poor wretch from Vernon's office, had been dashed on the treacherous shores of the virulent university campus of the 21^st Century.

From the roof garden, I watched as Lamont and Reggie made their way across the lawn and walked un molested down the boulevard. All of our tormenters continued to sleep on the street around their bongs.

Now we would sit, sip steaming coffee as we awaited the return of Lamont of Reggie with the gasoline. Grace remained by my side through the night. Our new volunteer and the others had gone to the buildings lounges to sleep on the couches.

In the distance, the defining lights of the Golden Gate told us that the faithful old marvel continued to witness the beautiful as well as the sorrowful and outrageous.

Our tableau of siege and murder certainly was not beautiful. At best a conundrum or quandary, our developing myth very likely impended as an end-game.

I was no devotee of the ghoulish fascination with Golden Gate "Jumper" literature. Never had I inhaled Mary Jane or snorted coke. Today, however, I found the repugnant morbidity of the Golden Gate suicide theme appropriate.

Futility in the extreme of the macabre had persisted as my reward for 20 years of faithful, dedicated service.

Sipping decadent Martinis with Grace seemed appropriate as the chimes in the bell tower tolled the hour.

"Frank! There is no Girder 13 on the Golden Gate Bridge," Grace said.

Just before dawn a white delivery van moved slowly past the dying camp fires and the sleeping devil's dragoons. Without lights the vehicle entered the parking lot of our building and stopped at the service doors beyond the view of the campers in the boulevard.

Reggie climbed from the driver's seat. Obviously Reggie and Lamont had brought supplies. As it turned out they had brought much more. In addition to a five-gallon can of gas and food, they had found weapons, such as they were.

"We have three deer rifles, a shotgun and three pistols," Reggie said raising his palms and shrugging. "Not much but better than nothing."

"Hardly an arsenal," Lamont added.

When I informed them that I had concluded that we must abandon ship, they nodded stoically. They only asked if I knew what we do next. Obviously, they had considered themselves friends as well as my subordinate staff; and they were remaining to the end.

"I do have a germinating option," I answered, attempting to reassure without making a commitment. "I'll need a few hours."

"We don't have much time," Grace said.

"Do you think that mob will actually invade the building?" Reggie asked incredulously. "That would indicate they intend to move this thing to a violent level."

"They're here to kill you!" Jennifer said.

"Who's she?" Reggie asked cautiously.

"I'm their leader's whore," Jennifer answered prosaically.

As I watched Grace react to Jennifer's revealing statement, I knew what I was going to do. My revelation to my cohorts, however, must await the results of a conference with Aunt Maggie.

Before our irresolute conversation could continue, Lamont warned that Chief Royce and my wife were standing at the curb at the end of our walkway. We all heard the hollow sound of the chief's bull horn.

"Doctor Trafficant! This is the Chief of The University Police, T. Royce Smythington," a stentorian voice broadcast to the vast environs. "Felony complaints have been filed against you and your companions; therefore, I am here to serve warrants for your arrest and demand that all of you come out with your hands on your heads."

"What did you do with that body?" I asked Grace, successfully maintaining my calm.

"It's still up on the deck in the roof garden," Grace answered equally unabashed.

I walked to the front door.

"Royce!" I shouted. "Give me two hours."

"Why?" the chief demanded.

When I did not respond, Chief Royce tossed a threat that chilled.

"I can't hold these demonstrators back, Professor," the Chief intoned into his bullhorn. "I can't be responsible for the actions of a mob."

It was about 90 minutes before night fall. My plan required the cover of murky nighttime shadows.

When I remained silent for half an hour, the Chief and my wife reluctantly retreated to the Chief's SWAT command van. Marcus Brutus followed.

"I'll take Jennifer and go talk to them," Grace said suddenly. "Think of some way to get rid of that body before they hit us."

"What would you say to them that would make a difference?" I asked Grace. "And what could they say that would change their plan and purpose?"

"Think about it!" she responded. "Your wife and The Provost with Royce's support have created this absurd dilemma to seize your Foundation and the chair you hold in the New School of Social Sciences."

"Carry on," I prompted.

"So! I drive the same bargain that Marcus Brutus demanded of you earlier," she said. "You will give them The Foundation, your endowed chair and leave the university if they will stand aside and let us leave unmolested and with immunity from prosecution."

Within minutes we all watched and listened as Grace held her cell phone to her ear and talked to my wife and the Chief. Of course, we heard only Grace's side of the negotiations.

"I have one hour to make our case," Grace informed us as she snapped her phone shut.

We watched solemnly as Grace led Jennifer out the door. Almost dragging Jennifer, Grace strode across the lawn to Chief Royce's SWAT command post. Quiet prevailed as we sat on the roof deck and drank the Coors that Reggie had brought back with him.

My cell vibrated. Grace succinctly told me that Chief Royce, with the agreement of my wife, would permit us to leave without charges.

Of course, Vernon and the Provost would take everything I possessed. Their conditions were unpalatable, but I knew they had won.

I agreed.

Within three minutes, Grace returned and followed me to the safe where all documents were kept. I gave her the contracts governing The Foundation and my university authority and signed affidavits my wife had prepared.

I then realized why Jennifer was important. She was a notary.

My wife had required me to sign a document giving Grace my Power of Attorney. Of course, Grace would then convey all holdings and rights to my wife as the university's general counsel. Vernon as the Provost's fiduciary would carve the spoils and, without a doubt, find the key to cutting herself a tasty share. In effect, since The Foundation was privately subscribed, they would have grabbed more than a billion in assets and cash.

Of course, some ingeniously corrupt lawyering by my wife would occur before they could comprehensively consummate their theft by extortion.

Grace crossed the lawn once more to The Boulevard where my wife, the Provost and the Chief were waiting.

When Grace had not returned by midnight, Reggie nodded and grimaced. All nine of us were tacitly in agreement.

"Grace is not coming back," I said. "It's time for us to move."

"Move?" they asked en chorus. "So you have a plan."

Before I could answer, we heard Chief Royce on his bull horn again.

"Your time has expired, Professor," the Chief said. "We've given you time and opportunity to surrender."

We must come out with our hands on our heads in five minutes, the Chief instructed.

"They lied!" Reggie said. "And what about Grace?"

I smiled.

My colleagues know immediately.

"Those documents were outdated," I said. "It was one year ago yesterday that I rewrote the governing documents for all of the funds I administered."

"No one knew?" Reggie asked, a mixture relief and admiration showing.

"Especially not Vernon," I said.

"Somethings going on out in the street," Lamont said as he charged into the conference room. "Those goons are busy, and I think they have guns."

As the fusillade hit the front of the house, I told Reggie to get his five gallon of gas. He paused to ask if I knew they intended to kill us.

Once again the bull horn sounded and the Chief told us to throw out our guns and surrender or his "people" would open fire.

"Grace and Jennifer!" Reggie hissed.

We soused the first floor of the building with the gasoline after dragging The Hammer's body downstairs. Lamont lit a torch of soaked cleaning rags on a broom handle and waited a safe distance pout the back door.

As we rolled into the old van and Reggie backed away from the building, Lamont heaved the torch into the back hallway. We all gasped and covered our faces when the first floor exploded as if bombed.

Pandemonium ensued out on The Boulevard. All of the decrepit hirelings ran away from the scene. Fortunately, we benefitted from the inky blackness of a moonless night and the cowardly nature of demonstrators.

None of their minions were watching the exits from our parking lot. As we slowly left the scene, we looked back and found our building "fully involved" as the firemen would explain to the media.

********

As usual Aunt Maggie had come to my rescue. Her jet stood outside its private hangar warmed and ready for flight.

Aunt Maggie stood on the tarmac beside her ever present young copilot with a man of regal bearing I did not know.

Smoking obscenely the old white van made the tarmac at San Francisco International Airport before it spluttered and died.

Reggie paused to survey the expanse of the airport.

"Do you expect to see a caravan of assassins behind us?" I asked.

"You don't think your wife can permit us to walk away as free as sin, do you," Reggie answered, grimacing as he swung toward the airplane.

After Aunt Maggie lifted the sleek jet off the runway, the import of the happening hit me full force. I was in the vortex of a quintessential maelstrom of historic proportions. In the 10,000-year recorded history of mankind, few had witnessed such a pivotal moment.

Perhaps some of the citizens of Rome had realized that their final chapter of history was closing as the barbarians swept through their streets.

Both "America" and "Americans" now stood as a figment on the wind. Would the street savages and their masters become dominant on the morrow?

"Had the political theory or the profession of "Americanism" ever gained more than a curious respect in the halls of power?

"Was the objectifying of "freedom" ever more than an electioneering guise?

"Was the constitutional republic ever more than a random topic of conversation for contemptuous "philosopher kings" at Harvard and Oxford?"

"May I intrude upon your introspections, Professor Trafficant?" enquired the tall Castilian in the perfectly tailored suit.

"Professor?" I responded, momentarily puzzled.

Gathering my wits, I laughed with as much dignity as my bruised soul would allow. Aunt Maggie's imposing associate inadvertently had opened the wound.

"I'm leaving my degrees behind," I said. "Wat can I do for you?"

"It's what I've already done or you," he responded. "Though we have not had an opportunity to make a cogent statement at this point, we have your future, and I might say your fortune, well attended."

"I'm afraid you have the advantage," I said cautiously.

"Let me introduce myself," the man of intrinsic dignity and authority said as he extended his hand. His name, Thornton Salvador Cortez Conrad, was as specious as his pretensions to Victorian cultivation and social graces.

"I am known in your new scheme of things as the coordinator of programs and projects," Laughing as if he had just told a joke.

"Mr. Conrad? May I ask you one question?" I asked knowing that this man was not accustomed to being interrupted or questioned.

Abruptly halting, he controlled his displeasure and forced a thin smile. He shrugged and raised his palms inviting my question.

"Can you be trusted?" I asked.

Imposing on this man of supreme bearing was impossible. He smiled tentatively and considered my statement before bursting forth in a genuinely amused fir of laughter.

"Of course I can't be trusted," he shouted. "My first rule is to trust no one."

"Then how can we do business?" I asked somewhat at a loss.

"Wealth is the greatest integrity mortar our gods have bequeathed us," he said. In my world, you count your blessings, call everyone friend but doubt and verify, doubt and verify and doubt and verify.

As anticipated, Aunt Maggie mad the most perfect and softest landing anyone at San Diego had ever seen. Mr. Conrad strode away waving his goodbyes over his shoulder. His Limo sped away before we could load into the two Town Cars Aunt Maggie had hired.

Several hours later we arrived at Aunt Maggie's Citadel of The Baja on the cliffs high above the blue Pacific.

"Tomorrow, we will devote the day to getting all of you situated in your offices and oriented in your responsibilities," Aunt Maggie said. "I'm afraid you are already behind the curve and will need to hustle to catch up."

Aunt Maggie handed each of us a brief case. She informed us that our first assignments were in the cases with pertinent documents and directives.

I was off to Islamabad. Reggie would fly out to Jakarta.

Unfortunately, I knew nothing of Islamabad except that it was in Pakistan. I was there to discuss the sale of alarm clocks to a large Asian distribution warehouse. And if I believed we were selling alarm clocks...

Next I would reside in luxury and bask in the glow of ancient history in Kuala Lumpur. In a quick study, I had to learn that Kuala Lumpur was the capitol of Malaysia. Now finding the word Malaysia in the history lore was a chore.

No. I was not deceiving myself. I was a peripatetic clerk collecting priceless data for the camarilla managing the world's new moral paradigm. Once you establish the moral paradigm all else is epilogue.

Well, it beats being incinerated in my office at the university, that oh so pure symbol of advanced civilization.

END