An Atavistic Freak Out, Episode Four
by Leon Manna
The following story is a work of fiction.
5:43 AM on a Monday. Typing furiously into my laptop as the sun starts to rise, realizing that I intended it to be a late night and it ended up turning into an early morning, another maniacal, amphetamine-fueled organized keyboard mash which, by some ridiculous odds, turned into something that you could comprehend, or maybe even read. If you wanted to, that is.
I'm not Leon Manna. He was always just an idea when they stack the cards which, of course, are stacked against me. Leon Manna... The name sounds like a stranger to me. Some barrier was crossed, a bridge to a terrible life filled with excitement, after declaring myself dead to escape The Machine. There was something funny about it. Your, no, my whole life destroyed in an hour long funeral service, nobody in the casket as they lower it down. Never again... Now it's just checks and guns and cheap CVS cell phones that I drop into puddles. After the whole thing was over, I became Leon Manna. I lied to you, and I am truly sorry. Take the back door on your way out. The show goes on. It won't ever stop! Never! Don't count on it! Ride the wave! Mindfulness! You wouldn't like it!!!
So let's get back to my story. There I was, sitting on my couch like an idiot, waiting for the blotters to kick in, watching a mosquito fly around my room. Someone was knocking. They were like gunshots, Vietnam flashback to my old neighborhood, KDY at night, putting my nerves on edge, electrocuting my brain, 110 volts, neurons firing too fast to comprehend anything as my pupils dilated from the blotters and I saw the world in full color, not one, not three, but the entire range the human eye can even process.
No thoughts, just open the door. It was Lenny. His shirt was stained red. I stared at him for a second. The way he was just standing there, staring at me with this possessed, demonic look on his face was amusing. I knew I was supposed to be scared, but it was almost like he was trying to amuse me. I laughed and said, "Jesus man, are you okay?"
He groaned and his face turned red. "You left me on that beach! I'll brace you for this!" He swung his arm at me, missing by what, a foot?
"Hahaha... You shat on a five-year-old and punched me in the chest! What else did you expect me to do?" I cackled a couple more times.
He let out a guttural noise and started staggering towards me. I backed up and pulled a switchblade out of my pocket. "Lenny... heh... I'll stab you! I swear to... hah... I swear to god I will! Please man! Hahahaha..." My organs were starting to hurt. I couldn't stop laughing.
His eyes were glazed and unfocused. Red spot, he missed his vein. Telltale signs of the type of junk addict who wants you to stab them. Maybe I should, for his own sake.
"You wouldn't do that... You're gonna have to stab me... Hehehehe... Don't you live above the landlord? You spent too much time in drug dens as a teenager. Your mom was right about you! I had a whole talk with her last night over dinner. Bitch! Haw!"
"My mom went missing and is assumed dead, Lenny."
We stood there for a second and made eye contact, both totally silent waiting for the other to say or do something. But neither of us did; we just stared at each other. Then I chuckled, and so did Lenny. Now, rolling around on the floor, unable to control ourselves at all, a tenant peeked out of her door and then promptly slammed it shut. I laughed so hard I pissed myself. Is Lenny my friend? I'd hope not.
Hackers On Planet Earth! How could it have slipped my mind? Why would it? And it was that year, so once more I would atavistically make a trip to New York no matter the distance I had to go, just to dive right into the very center of The Machine, all while being far too deep into some second life with too little correlation between the two to ever be able to turn back. I can see the point of no return through my rearview mirror, the exit I never knew I had to get off at until it had passed.
Me and Lenny started the trip. He loaded around three suitcases, which was strange considering we'd be there at most four days. He wouldn't tell me what was in them, but they seemed way too light. All I brought was some weed. I'm done with these research chemicals and the only thing I was researching was how high they would get me. Right as we got on the road, Lenny took out a needle.
"Put that shit away man! Not in the car! You need to drop that before it's too late. Have you ever read William Burroughs? I bet you can't even read and some sort of idiot algorithm in your heroin brain calculates it for you..."
"Shut up, shut up! I need it! You fucking nerd... My chest hurts! Uuaahhhhh!" Unhinged.
Idiot! I lit up my first spliff as we were driving. It was high quality weed. I felt very calm as my attorney suffered from a borderline opiate overdose next to me. It was nice to not be on some crazy psychotic chemical. Things felt peaceful.
And here I am now, flying down Interstate 95 in light blue denim pants, cuffed up twice, waterproof Vans, glasses hanging onto my face by a thread. The car was going about 70 MPH on a highway in SC. My shirt was in the back seat, because the AC didn't work and the heat in Charleston was reaching 94 degrees Fahrenheit. Lenny had his head back with his eyes shut, sweating and groaning every now and then.
I was focusing on the road when suddenly it all made sense. The FBI asked me to sing them a song yesterday... or maybe it was right at Sawtooth when they asked. Three letter agencies are better than no audience at all. Do I sing to them? I don't think I'm even capable of knowing when I am.
26 was the number on my shirt. What did it signify? I didn't know. I had thrown a suitcase together in a hurry at the last minute, a mixture of Khaki pants, shorts, white shirts, and socks. The amount of days we would be there outnumbered the clothing items by 26. And that somehow matched the number on my shirt, which matched my age, which matched the date. Was there a meaning? Or was this magical thinking? Did Lenny agree? Did Goldstein? Do you?
I looked up. I was standing outside of Hotel Pennsylvania in New York, not moving, with a dumb look on my face. This was where HOPE was (at the time) being hosted. Me and Lenny were staying in a shitty motel across the river in Hoboken, New Jersey. The parking was better out there, and we took a train to get into NYC.
My daydreaming was cut short by Lenny. "Stop staring at the hotel and let's get started. I wanna interact with these freaks so goddamn bad..."
"They aren't freaks. They're actually great people."
He laughed, and said, "If they're anything like you, they're freaks."
There was a journalist sitting at a table near an auditorium. I don't consider myself a journalist, but something like it. Still, that's giving myself too much credit. I just write stories. We started talking, and he asked me my name.
"Ocha. I go by my last name."
"Alright Ocha, you okay being in a story?" He looked at me intensely.
"I was going to ask you the same thing." Crooked grin.
"Who are you writing for?"
"I'm doing a story for La Palma Tech."
He said some random online publication I'd never heard of. Then he mentioned that he had some cocaine, and asked if I'd like to do a line with him.
"I'm supposed to be in that talk."
"Let's just go to the bathroom real quick." He grinned at me.
"I don't think that's wise. I heard they're going through people's bags while they're in talks. Hotel rooms too, the ones who are staying here! They're looking for drugs and weapons. Intel says there's about three firearms in the building right now. They already caught eight people for coke, and seven more for psychedelics. Didn't you see them taking people out?" I tried to look concerned.
His face changed. He got scared. Everything I just said was completely false. I don't really know why I was f*cking his brain up the way I was. I think I just wanted to see if I could. He was pissing me off anyway, and besides, anybody who offers random people cocaine deserves it. They weren't actually searching anybody's bags, I just wanted him to be in a constant state of fear that they would.
I don't remember what the talk was about, because I was too focused on trying to spot FBI agents. I wasn't able to, because all the FBI agents were dressed in normal clothes. I declined the journalist's offer of cocaine. He decided he was just going to snort it right there in the auditorium, and was taken out by security ten minutes later. I remembered the lie I told him warning him about this and wondered what was going through his head as they took him away. I pretended I didn't know him and stared straight ahead.
Then I heard a scream, and turned to the back of the auditorium. I saw Lenny's silhouette standing in the doorway. He rushed over and sat down next to me. The dude on stage let out a very wet fart.
"I gotta go man, I'm freaking out. They're taking people away left and right! We have to leave." He sounded afraid.
"Hold on, just wait it out. We'll be fine, we didn't do anything," I whispered.
"Cmon, let's go!"
"Alright, alright, we'll leave. You have a point. I saw the pigs take some poor nerd away 30 minutes ago. Then security kindly had a journalist escorted away."
"I saw him on the way out... They didn't look happy. As your attorney, I advise you to leave so we don't end up like him."
We got up and exited the auditorium. We chose not to take the elevator, but rather go down a restricted stairway. Neither of us were allowed to do this. We made it downstairs and into the lobby, when I heard a shout.
"Stop! Don't move!"
I looked behind me and saw a U.S. Marshal, some fat, middle-aged walking handlebar mustache. He looked like a freak cartoon version of Hulk Hogan after drinking beer and smoking cigarettes for 15 years straight. I looked at Lenny and we ran. Lenny barreled right into some silver-haired kid with a guitar, knocking him over in an instant. I dashed out the front door. We managed to outrun him, because he was about 240 pounds, and got into a nearby subway station.
So that's how Lenny got our passes!
We saw the first palm tree at the bottom of North Carolina. We made it to Charleston, and Lenny said he needed a swim. We got to a beach and went down to the water. I smoked out of my hash pipe quickly and we got into the water. After a moment, I said, "that was crazy..."
"You're telling me? How long were we there for anyway?"
I laughed. "One day. It was supposed to be three. It was pretty funny when you let that scream out and burst into the auditorium."
He chuckled. "Yeah, I did that on purpose. Did you see their faces? The nerd on stage looked like he shat himself!"
"He did shit himself! I heard it! We outran a U.S. Marshal. We must be extremely lucky." "No, we're extremely smart." I noticed he was talking about both of us, and not just him. I'd never seen him as relaxed and friendly as he was.
"You proved yourself," he said.
I was shocked. "What?"
"You're someone I can respect and view as an equal now. And why? Because you actually listened when I told you we had to leave. I'm your goddamn attorney, and for the first time you actually listened. You're an idiot genius who doesn't know what's good for him. A lot of my clients don't listen. But when someone does, they've proved themselves. Besides, the pig could hardly keep up with you."
I didn't say anything for a second, just smiled. Then I laughed and asked, "What was in those suitcases anyway?"
"Hah! A couple servers I stole out of a server farm, seven laptops from the editor's room, a bunch of HOPE passes, four USB drives I stole out of a police station, and then one very very sensitive government document I really needed to get rid of."
My smile disappeared. Awful jackass...
What will happen next? I don't remember, so we will both find out when I read my notes next time.