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Andrew Roller Presents
THE FADING UNIVERSE
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Chapter One
ÒIf someone sells smokes to kids, call them on it,Ó Frankie chortled
as the bus passed. Casually he injected the needle into his arm and pushed
the heroin into his vein.
ÒDonÕt shoot up too much, Frankie,Ó Marvin said. He glanced at the
dwarf beside him. ÒYouÕre already fucked in the head.Ó
ÒIt wonÕt mess up my aim none, Marvin. I shoot straighter when IÕm
high.Ó Frankie grinned up at him. Harrigan reached over as Frankie
withdrew the needle from his arm. Harrigan released the torniquet and
daubed FrankieÕs arm with a premedicated pad.
ÒHeÕs not straight, though,Ó Harrigan cautioned Marvin. Marvin
smiled and looked away. Harrigan was an Òadult,Ó in the lingo of the day.
Gay, a pedophile. Frankie was his lover. Frankie was a mere child, perhaps
gay, perhaps straight. And, thanks to kidney disease, and bad genes passed
down from the War, he was also a dwarf. Marvin didnÕt know HarriganÕs
age. Probably, Harrigan didnÕt know it either. Harrigan was a little
ÒtouchedÓ in the head, as one might say, but a big, hulking figure. He
would have scared people except for his perpetually stupid, gap-toothed
smile and his small, John Lennon-like glasses. One of the lenses in his
glasses was cracked, but it didnÕt seem to affect HarriganÕs vision any, at
least when it came to shooting at people or admiring little boys.
Perry waved a handkerchief across his face. Marvin glanced over at
him. Another pedophile, but Òunderage,Ó as one might say, except he was
15 and liked girls half his age. Perry wore large squarish glasses and had
a shock of hair cut into a regular haircut that seemed perpetually
uncombed. In his rumpled busisiness suit he looked a little like Adolf
Hitler on the cheap, which, considering his self-image, was probably an
entirely accurate description.
ÒThis whole job is taking entirely too long,Ó Perry scolded Marvin.
ÒI mean, itÕs a fucking bank. WeÕve hit banks before. How long until the
safe blows?Ó
ÒFrankie did a good job of sneaking in the explosives. Any minute
now we should see something.Ó
ÒHarrigan, what kind of a fuse did you put on that damn thing?Ó
Perry called over to Harrigan. The four of them were sharing a bench,
beside a bus stop. Every time a bus went past it left a cloud of dust and
exhaust in its wake. Perry was obviously irritated. He took baths
frequently. He never managed to iron his suit, but he was addicted to
keeping himself clean.
ÒI put on a good long fuse so dear Frankie wouldnÕt get blown up,Ó
Harrigan said. He pronounced each word distinctly, then hugged Frankie
when he was done speaking.
ÒA good long fuse to protect my good long pecker,Ó Frankie chortled.
Marvin shook his head. Frankie, as they all knew, routinely had to resort
to a strap on dildo to properly bugger HarriganÕs ass. He had a two-incher
in the penis department, but Harrigan didnÕt seem to mind, as long as
Frankie wore the dildo.
ÒI made a deposit, you might say,Ó Frankie said, nudging Harrigan.
The two of them broke into giggles, staring across the street at the First
Universal Bank. Perry raised his arm aloft and looked punctiliously at his
wristwatch.
ÒWell, you may have made the deposit, but you may as well have not
made it at all if the safe doesnÕt blow soon,Ó Perry said.
ÒTry to be patient, Perry,Ó Marvin said quietly to him. ÒIf worse
comes to worse, maybe the thing will blow up tonight, when everyoneÕs
gone home.Ó
ÒThe payroll arrives at noon. People start cashing their paychecks
at noon. By six all the money will be gone!Ó Perry exclaimed. ÒItÕs one
oÕclock already! Every minute I sit here watching people go in, and people
come out, all of them happily withdrawing MY money!Ó
ÒItÕs not ours Ôtil we steal it,Ó Marvin cautioned him.
ÒSuccessfully.Ó
ÒThe operation will be a success. The gas should kill everyone. It
will be like taking candy from a baby,Ó Perry said testily.
ÒI want to be in Playboy,Ó Elsa announced. She was sitting on the
sidewalk, behind the bench, her back pressed up against it.
ÒMe too,Ó Harrigan guffawed.
ÒWhen we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on
Munich,Ó Elsa read aloud.
ÒOh, God, story hour,Ó Frankie moaned.
ÒWell, if you set the fucking timer right I wouldnÕt have to read you
a story, Frankie darling,Ó Else replied testily.
ÒNot my department. HarriganÕs department,Ó Frankie replied.
ÒWell, youÕve got your cock up his ass so often I can hardly tell the
two of you apart,Ó Else snapped. She tossed the Playboy to the sidewalk.
ÒIf you wonÕt let me read to you, IÕll play my radio instead,Ó Else
said. A moment later and all five of them were enveloped in the strains of
some long-ago song, rediscovered and repackaged as ÔnewÕ by some d.j.
whoÕd just found a copy out in the ruins. The War had almost wiped out
the human race. But in the thousand years since then, it had slowly begun
to rebuild itself. It was a tough job. By the time of the War, the humans
had spread quite beyond one Ringworld, or two, or twenty. All the stars
had been Ôringed,Õ their trajectories anticipated, and the rings
interconnected as much as physics and space-time would allow.
Marvin looked up from the back of the matchbox. ÒHistory of the
Universe in One Volume,Ó it declared. A likely story. And what was all
this bullshit about Ôringworlds?Õ
ÒSome people will sell anything to get a dollar,Ó Marvin said aloud.
He passed the matchbook to Perry. Perry studied it intensely. He seemed
relieved not to have to think about all the money ÔheÕ was losing at the
moment, as the proletariat made their withdrawals from the First
Universal Bank.
ÒTotal shit!Ó Perry announced. He tossed the matchbook into the
gutter. ÒWeÕre just rats in a giant machine. Man built it, man blew it up,
we live in the ruins, with some places built up again. I have no idea what
they mean by rings around stars. What? Around Elizabeth Taylor?Ó
Marvin grinned. Some distant part of their past, something some
called ÔThe Twentieth Century,Õ with certain vid-episodes hosted by some
announcer named Cronkite, had been especially well preserved. There was
even a Church of Cronkite, devoted to studying ÔThe Twentieth Century,Õ
whenever that had been, whoever he had been.
ÒThe stars and rings and planets and shit is all just part of that
Twentieth Century crap,Ó Perry said. He struggled for an analogy and,
predictably, could only come up with a Cronkite-laced one. ÒTheyÕre like
the Moonies, you know? They put out these free matchbooks and then you
light up AND get converted. After that, once youÕre a believer, you give
them all your money for the rest of your life.Ó
ÒSome say the historyÕs true, but I donÕt believe it,Ó Marvin
shrugged. He kicked a pebble into the street. ÒThereÕs nothing but the
ruins, you know? Some of itÕs been built back up, most of it hasnÕt. I
mean, if we were living inside some kind of Ringworld thing, that would
mean, uh, out there, somewhere beyond all these ruins, there would be...Ó
ÒFucking empty space,Ó Perry said. ÒWeÕd be floating in empty
space, or connected to lots of other rings, all interlocking, adjusting,
moving, like parts of an old clock. It would mean that the War, even
though it blew everything to Hell inside the ringworld, had somehow left
mostly intact the overall structure, the Ring itself, or its hide, or its
joints. WeÕd be breathing purified air in a ... in a bubble, like, with empty
space someplace out, you know, out wherever the ruins finally end.Ó
ÒWell, as I Liberaltarian, we believe in Freedom of the Press and
Freedom of Speech, for Parents,Ó someone with the dubious name of Bob
Anthony was proclaiming on ElsaÕs radio.
ÒFor ChristÕs sake, if youÕre going to play that damn thing keep it on
MUSIC!Ó Perry hollared at Elsa.
ÒYeah, please, not the news station, Elsa,Ó Marvin said.
ÒOh, fuck it,Ó Elsa relented. She turned the dial back to In-A-Gadda
Da-Vida. ÒThis new song is too long,Ó she pouted. ÒThey should have left
this one in the ruins, as far as IÕm concerned.Ó
ÒTheyÕll play something thatÕs actually new next song,Ó Marvin
mused. ÒPerry, you want to start a rock band?Ó
ÒWhoÕll be lead singer?Ó Perry asked. ÒI canÕt sing. And I donÕt want
anyone else to be our leader.Ó Marvin shrugged. Perry was their leader,
although Marvin did most of the real work these days. Perry had been
great once. But heÕd caught syphallis from one of his little loves. Now he
was mostly insane, although in his insanity he sometimes had great
flashes of brillance. At least, Marvin told himself he did. Otherwise,
there would be no real reason to stick with Perry. TheyÕd grown up
together, in the slums that ringed Ontario. Some kids had taken to calling
Ontario ÔBellona,Õ but Marvin had no idea why. Little kids, FrankieÕs age.
ÒHey Frankie. How come the little kids call Ontario ÔBellonaÕ?Ó
Marvin asked the dwarf. He saw that it was useless to ask. Harrigan and
Frankie had taken to amusing themselves by masturbating in public. Their
zippers were zipped, but their belts were loosened and they each sat on
the bus stop bench as casually as they could, while meanwhile putting a
hand in their pants and massaging themselves.
ÒPerry, if your bomb doesnÕt blow soon weÕre going to be arrested
for corrupting the public,Ó Harrigan chided Perry. Frankie broke into a
series of insane giggles. Marvin eyed their bag on the sidewalk. Inside
were all their guns, their gas masks, grenades (if anyone was still alive
once the gas was released). MarvinÕs portable bazooka, FrankieÕs rifle,
longer than the dwarf was tall. Perry wore his pearl handled pistols under
his suit coat. Elsa had a Magnum in her deceptively furry purse. Marvin
wondered if he and Elsa should just run away together. After all, he was
15, she was 14. They could make a new life together. He could steal just
for them, instead of trying to implement PerryÕs grandiose plans that
would make them all rich for life. (Until, that was, Perry and Frankie and
Harrigan and yes, even Elsa, somehow managed to spend their take from
PerryÕs latest scheme in two weeks or less.) Well, Marvin decided, it
would be no use running away with Elsa if she was going to keep spending
money like water. Better to let Perry keep coming up with his nutty plans.
They worked, mostly, although not as well now. Hopefully this one would
be okay.
Marvin heard a slurping sound. He turned his head. A fat boy
wandered up to their bench, carrying a Slurpie cup, the half-gallon size,
along with a half-eaten burger.
ÒAhoy, mortals!Ó Flaherty greeted them. Marvin shook his head again.
Another nut case that was his responsibility. Flaherty wasnÕt gay, or a
pedophile. He was just a Ôjerk-off.Õ Somewhere he had the worldÕs largest
collection of porno, and heÕd disappear now and then to amuse himself
with it.
ÒYouÕre late, Flaherty,Ó Elsa snapped.
ÒNo, your bomb is late. As I knew it would be. IÕm early,Ó Flaherty
said. He grinned.
ÒPerfect timing, Flaherty,Ó Marvin said with wry amusement.
Flaherty had told him the bomb would not blow at its appointed hour.
Flaherty was a genius, but he kept his genius mostly to himself rather
than contest PerryÕs leadership. Marvin had started with Perry, and heÕd
end with Perry. Flaherty was even more of a screwball than Perry, Marvin
figured, and heÕd rather die for one of PerryÕs plans than for one of
FlahertyÕs. Flaherty was a covert Cronkite, in MarvinÕs opinion. He
believed in Ônight,Õ whatever that was. It was just the time of day when
everything closed and everyone was supposed to sleep, in MarvinÕs opinion.
But Flaherty claimed that ÔnightÕ had once existed, in something he called
Ôa natural environment.Õ And, beyond that, Flaherty claimed they were
floating in Ôspace,Õ which was something that was nothing where it was
ÔnightÕ all the time. So much for the Cronkites. Marvin had decided he
didnÕt care if Flaherty tagged along with them (there seemed, in any event,
no way to get rid of him) but he didnÕt (nor did any of the rest of them)
want Flaherty in charge.
The blast was deafening. It even drowned out the voice of Bob
Anthony, whom Elsa had mischievously tuned back to in the final moments
before the blast. So unexpected, it washed over the proletariat lumpin as
they moved in or out of the bank, carrying their pay packets or just
arriving to take possession of them.
ÒMasks on,Ó Marvin said. It was one command he knew he wouldnÕt
have to repeat. Nobody argued with him. They all grabbed their gas masks,
well hidden Ôtil now, and pushed them onto their faces even as the first
smells of cinnamon laced their way into their nostrils. It was an
ambivalent smell, neither entirely sour nor sweet. But its impact could be
quick and deadly once it hit you in full force. Marvin watched, briefly, as
the surviving workers, rising dazedly from where the force of the blast
had pushed them to the sidewalk, suddenly seized up and fell tumbling and
writhing back down. Choking, gasping. They died like pigeons do after
enjoying an unexpected feast on strychnine. Marvin had no pity for them.
There was no time. Even in a corrupted city like Ontario the police were
not about to overlook a bank robbery.
Marvin distributed their guns. FrankieÕs rifle, unweildy in its length,
except for a dwarf who seemed to relish it as if it were some phallic icon.
Marvin hefted his bazooka. It fired pulses of green Lazarfire that made
holes in walls, automobiles, and (not coincidentally) any people in
between. Harrigan pulled the pin from a grenade to amuse himself. He put
his thumb over the hole.
ÒGet up, asshole!Ó Elsa snarled at Flaherty. The fat boy sat blinking
on the pavement. He had spilt the remains of his drink and burger on his
white-shirted chest. His bow tie, formerly blue in color, now had pink
polka dots of mustard. Marvin, about to shoulder his heavy bazooka,
thumped it down on the bus stop bench and leapt over it. He jammed a gas
mask into FlahertyÕs face before the boy had the bad sense to inhale.
ÒThanks, Marv. YouÕre a pal,Ó Flaherty sighed into the mask. It
fogged slightly, then the inhalEx took over and cleared the mask.
ÒTry to do something useful in there,Ó Marvin growled, thumbing at
the broken bank behind them both. ÒThereÕs no need to stand around filling
out a deposit slip, like you did last time.Ó
ÒI was just playing a joke...Ó Flaherty grinned sheepishly.
ÒDo me a favor and kill somebody.Ó Marvin replied.
ÒWho?Ó Flaherty asked.
ÒAnyone that moves. The guards probably have masks. They may
have had time to put them on... hopefully not.Ó
ÒIÕll do my best, Marv,Ó Flaherty answered.
Marvin pulled a revolver out of a deep pocket in his pants and handed
it to Flaherty. ElsaÕs arm swung out and blocked him.
ÒDonÕt give him a gun!Ó Elsa screeched through her mask. ÒHeÕs more
likely to kill one of us than anyone else!Ó
ÒHave faith, my dear,Ó Flaherty snorted. His fat hands managed to
grope past Elsa and he seized the gun from Marvin.
ÒAll right, letÕs go,Ó Marvin announced. His voice was bold, certain.
He turned and led them across the street. Traffic was stopped. The
drivers whoÕd not stopped from the blast had gone careening into
storefronts, victims of the gas. Flames began erputing from stores within
the strip mall that ran along both sides of the street. The bank, its faux-
granite walls shattered, stood amidst billowing clouds of gas.
ÒParking is such a problem,Ó Frankie smirked. He glanced at a car
that had left the street to lodge in a storefront.
ÒPerhaps he had to go to the bathroom real, real bad,Ó Harrigan
laughed.
ÒMarvin, speaking of that very thing, I have to use the bathroom!Ó
Flaherty announced.
ÒSuper Chicken makes the play,Ó Frankie grumbled.
ÒIÕm sure they...Ó Marvin began. He glanced at Flaherty. The boy
tagged just behind Perry, his breath coming in gasps. Perry strode like
Hitler; purposefully, as if reviewing squads of troops. Perhaps they
existed, somewhere deep in his psyche. Here, though, there were just the
bodies from the blast. Marvin had to pick his way through them but Perry
somehow managed to find a path that kept him from having to alter his
fantasy. Eyes ahead, lifted, even, as if inspecting the bankÕs ruined
architecture, he led them inside.
Marvin heard a shot ring out. He wheeled to his right. A guard
toppled forward. The womanÕs mask was on securely, but she had a sudden
problem containing her guts. Frankie. The little boy was often unseen by
the enemy, but his own eyes spotted danger before Marvin, at least, could
even apprehend the possibility of its presence.
ÒWait!Ó Flaherty hollared. He got out in front of Frankie, blocking
the dwarfÕs next shot. Somehow, perhaps out of mere irritation, the dwarf
held off making his second shot at the guard, his killing shot, in order to
let Flaherty by. Frankie liked his shots clean. HeÕd have as soon killed
Flaherty, but heÕd have wanted to set it up that way, not hit the fat boy by
accident.
Flaherty scurried up to the female guard. ÒMiss! Uh, madam! Could
you please direct me to the lavatory?Ó Flaherty asked her in a breathless
voice. The fat boy yanked up his pants and let his heels dance a little, as
if to further express his urgency. The woman stared up at him. Her final
thoughts, sacred even to the damned in the hangmanÕs noose, were being
interrupted by a request for directions to the toilet.
Somehow the woman managed to lift a hand and wave it vaguely
toward the left side of the bank. Flaherty craned his neck up, bobbed his
head. ÒOh yes. Why, thank you. I see. ThereÕs a sign there. A lot of soot
on it... I hope the bathroom itself is clean!Ó Flaherty dashed away from
the woman, past Frankie. ÒAll yours, thanks!Ó Flaherty said to the dwarf.
Marvin heard the death-knell shot ring out. The woman screamed and
made a final, face-flat acquaintance with the floor.
Marvin glanced around for Harrigan. ÒWhereÕs Harrigan?Ó he asked
Frankie.
ÒNight depository,Ó the dwarf said.
Suddenly Harrigan dashed inside the bank. There was a foolish grin
on his face. ÒSorry, Marv, I had to make a deposit!Ó Harrigan called. He no
longer had the pinless grenade in his hand. An explosion erupted beyond
the bankÕs shattered glass doors. A portion of the blast vetted through the
back wall of the bank and shot hunks of it toward them.
ÒFuck, you could injure US doing that!Ó Marvin scolded Harrigan.
ÒSorry, couldnÕt resist!Ó Harrigan chortled.
They made their way through the bank. At the back, the bankÕs safe
stood open. It was a grand gesture of the bankÕs faith in its security
during business hours. Or it had simply been a necessity, with all the
withdrawls being made. Or perhaps the employees had simply been
working in there. In any event, PerryÕs prediction that it would be open
(and FrankieÕs earlier report, while making his Òdeposit,Ó that it was), had
proven right. They moved inside of it. They unfurled bags and began
loading them.
ÒJust big bills,Ó Marvin warned. There was no time to fool with the
white-collar stuff. Passwords, key codes, and the like. This was a direct,
messy, old fashioned job. ÔGas and Go,Õ as Perry liked to describe it. In
the distance Marvin thought he heard sirens. He motioned for them to
wrap up their chores and move out. They hefted the bags of money and
filed out of the safe and back across the bankÕs interior. Flaherty came
out of the bathroom as Marvin heard a whooshing flush erupt from
somewhere beyond the bathroom doors.
ÒThey got some great graffiti in there!Ó Flaherty laughed. ÒNow,
that is, that IÕve written it!Ó
ÒWhat did you write--our phone number?Ó Elsa snapped.
ÒIt says, ÔPayment required. Please see bank manager for exact
change,Ó Flaherty chortled.
ÒCarry my bag,Ó Elsa said. She dumped her bag of cash at FlahertyÕs
feet.
ÒWhat about womenÕs lib?Ó Flaherty asked in a pained voice.
ÒIt just died,Ó Elsa replied. She stalked out of the bank behind
Perry, who held just a small bag, one appropriate for a Fuhrer, while
Marvin struggled to carry two bags and his bazooka.
ÒPick it up or IÕll kick your ass,Ó Marvin snarled at Flaherty.
ÒMoney is dirty, Marvin!Ó Flaherty whined. He articulated with his
hands as he spoke, as if being asked to dissect a frog.
ÒItÕs in a fucking bag!Ó Marvin shouted.
ÒOh, yes, but you handled the money, then you handled the bag,Ó
Flaherty replied.
ÒPick it up or IÕll rip your gas mask off!Ó Marvin told Flaherty.
ÒWell you donÕt have to be mean about it,Ó Flaherty whined. He
hefted ElsaÕs bag and trundled out of the bank behind Marvin.
Across the street, in a parking spot reserved for the handicapped,
stood their van. It was an old bread-truck delivery van. Elsa dashed ahead
and slipped inside. She started the engine and pulled the truck round in
front of the bank. Marvin could hear sirens distinctly now. They loaded
the money in the back of the van. ÔIf you steal money in the middle of a
street where everyoneÕs dead, will anyone see you?Õ Marvin asked himself.
It didnÕt matter, really. The police were not big on investigative work.
There was plenty of face-to-face work to keep them busy. And that, in
fact, is what Marvin intended to avoid, if he could.
Elsa got out from the driverÕs seat to allow Harrigan to take the
wheel. He was the best, well, pedophile driver in the city. He put the van
into gear and they rolled over the sidewalk, avoiding a cab. Its driver had
lost his hurry some 10 minutes ago, and was unlikely to regain it. They
rolled down a side street and were soon lost in the back stretches of the
city that made up its slums.
30
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