Distraction

Kevin stepped into the cell. Oscar heard him limping, was fully aware of his presence; it took a strange little moment to realize that he should take the trouble to open his eyes and look.

“Thank God you’re here!” he blurted.

“That’s what I like,” Kevin said, blinking. “Enthusiasm.”

With an effort, Oscar said nothing. He could restrain his urge to blurt his thoughts aloud, if he really put his mind to it. All he had to do was press his tongue against the roof of his mouth, clench his teeth, and breathe rhythmically through his nose.

“You don’t look so bad,” Kevin said analytically. “Your color’s a little high, and you’re holding your neck like a giraffe on speed, but you don’t look crazy.”

“I’m not crazy. Just different.”

“Uh-huh.” Kevin took a disinfected metal chair and eased his aching feet. “So, uhm, sorry about the security screwup, man.”

“These things happen.”

“Yeah. See, it was all those Boston people from the old Bambakias krewe: that was the problem. The Senator’s wife… she went way out of her way to tell me I was supposed to let it slide with the press secretary. You and this press babe being the former romantic item, and all that. Great, I thought, better really bury this one; but then, in comes this Moira Matarazzo woman who was the Senator’s former pres secretary… See, I just lost track. That’s all. Just plain couldn’t keep up with it all. All these Boston krewepeople, and for-mer krewepeople, and krewepeople of the former krewepeople; look, nobody could keep track of that crap. Hell, I don’t even know if I’m your krewepeople anymore.”

“I get the picture, Kevin. That’s a by-product of what’s basically a semifeudal, semilegal, distributable-deniable, net-centered seg-mented polycephalous influence sociality process.”

Kevin waited politely for Oscar’s lips to stop moving. “For what it’s worth, I’ve got Moira’s movements tracked. Into the dome, into the Administration building, out of the dome… I’m practically sure that she didn’t leave any of those tasty little time bombs for the rest of us.”

“Huey.”

Kevin laughed. “Well, of course it was Huey.”

“It just seems so pointless and small of him to do this to us now. After the war’s over, after he’s out of office. When I was getting ready to leave all this.”

“So you really meant it about leaving us, then.”

“What?”

“I overheard. I forgot to mention that I ran the tapes of the poisoning incident. That romantic discussion that you and Dr. Pen-ninger were having as you were being gassed.”

“You have that conference room bugged?”

“Hey, pal, I’m not brain-damaged. Of course I have the confer-ence room bugged. Not that I have time to listen to every damn room that I bug around here … But hey, when there’s a terrorist biowar incident taking place in one, you bet I run the tapes back and listen. I do pay attention, Oscar. I’m a quick study. I make a pretty good cop, really. ”

“Never said you weren’t a good cop, you big-mouthed incom-petent.”

“Holy cow, there it is again … Did you know that you actu-ally have two different voices when you say contradictory stuff like that? I need to run a stress analysis there, I bet that could screw up vocal IDs.” Kevin leaned back in his chair and put a sock-clad foot on Oscar’s bed. Kevin was taking developments rather easily, Oscar thought. Then again, Kevin had witnessed this phenomenon among the Haitians. He’d had time to get used to the concept.

“Sure I’ve had time to get used to the concept,” Kevin said. “It’s obvious. You mutter things aloud to yourself, just so you know what you’re thinking. I recognize the syndrome, man. Big deal! I got used to your other personal background problem… Oscar, haven’t we always been on good terms?”

“Yeah. ”

“I have to tell you, it really hurt my feelings when Dr. Pe

“I was proposing marriage to her.”

“Women,” Kevin grunted. “I du

Oscar nodded. “Get used to the idea. This is a clean sweep. Huey took us out. It’s decapitation. I can barely talk now. I can barely walk. And Greta, she’s in some kind of wide-awake schizoid catatonia hebephrenia trance nonverbal…”

“A little adjective trouble there, man, but no problem, I take your point. Either I seize power myself now, and try to run the whole shebang as a secret-police state. Or else I just… I du

“You can’t hold this place together alone, Kevin. People don’t trust you.”

“Oh, I know that, man. You distribute all the big favors yourself, and you use me as your heavy guy to intimidate people. I know that I was the heavy guy. My dad was the heavy, too. The Founding Fathers are a bunch of dead white males; the guys on Mount Rushmore are all scary Anglo guys now. We’re the heavies. I was used to the role. Hey, I was glad to have the work.”

“I want you to help me now, Kevin.”

“Help you what, pal?”

“To get out of here.”

“No problem, boss. I’m still Captain Scubbly Bee. Hell, I was working hard on being Colonel Scubbly Bee. I can get you outside this place. Where you want to go?”

“Baton Rouge. Or wherever Huey is hiding.”

“Oh ho! Not that I doubt your judgment now, man, but I have a really great countersuggestion. Boston, okay? The good old muddy water! Beacon Hill, Charlestown, Cambridge… You and I, we’re actually neighbors, man. We live on the same street! We could go home together. We could have a real beer, inside a real Boston bar. We could take in a hockey game.”

“I need to talk to Huey,” Oscar said flatly. “I have a big personal problem with him.”

Green Huey had gone into semiretirement. He was doing a lot of ceremonial ribbon-clipping these days. It was a little difficult doing all this public apple-polishing while surrounded by a militant phalanx of Regulator bodyguards, but Huey enjoyed the show. The ex-Governor had always been good for a laugh. He knew how to show the people a good time.

Oscar and Kevin dressed like derelicts, vanished through the so-cial membrane, and began to stalk the Governor. They traveled by night in the sorriest hotels; they slept in roadside parks in newly pur-chased military-surplus tents. They burned their IDs and wore straw hats and gum boots and overalls. Kevin passed as Oscar’s minder, a lame guy with a guitar. Oscar passed as Kevin’s somewhat dim-witted cousin, the one who mumbled a lot. Oscar brandished an accordion. Even in a land that had once favored accordion music, they were mostly avoided. It was a frightening thing to see two mentally incom-petent sidewalk buskers, with battered folk instruments, who might at any moment burst into song.

Oscar had finally lost his temper with Huey. He was of two minds about the matter. Oscar was always of two minds about every-thing now. On the one hand, he wanted to publicly confront the man. And on the other, he simply wanted to murder him. The second concept made a lot of sense to Oscar now, since killing political fig-ures. was not uncommon behavior for mentally ruined drifters with nothing left to lose. He and Kevin had serious discussions about the issue. Kevin seemed to waver between pro and con. Oscar was pro and con at the same time.