Chapter 5

I

The compound consisted of an old factory, several warehouses, and a few odd outbuildings. It was impossible to tell anymore what had originally been manufactured here; the factory had been converted to an office-slash-barracks. One could easily imagine what was in the warehouses.

The room they brought me to would once have been the main floor of the plant, but now served double-duty as an auditorium and mess hall. I had arrived in the middle of the dinner hour, and the rows of metal cafeteria tables were full of hungry comrades eating chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes-and-gravy from heavy, plastic trays.

Apparently, business was good. The food smelled delicious, and there was plenty of it. The men were relaxed and boisterous.

But they were all armed.

At the far end of the room, an old loading platform had been turned into a stage of sorts. Leary sat there, taking his supper with his generals. And though they dressed in the same olive-drab garb, sat at the same ascetic metal tables, and ate from the same plastic trays, there was no mistaking these men for common laborers. They sat raised above their men like a king and his court upon a dais.

Knowing Leary, the psychological effect was hardly accidental. I am one of you, he was saying. We are brothers.

Just don't make the mistake of believing it.

II

"How is Bennie?" Leary asked.

I gaped.

"You don't remember me, do you? But no – I don't suppose you would. I am your Geppetto. I never bedded your mother, but I surely made you who you are today."

Laughter.

"Unfortunately."

More laughter.

I couldn't speak.

"Or – think of me as a gem cutter, if you'd prefer…"

Leary was on a roll, now. Speaking as much for the men as for us.

"A diamond cutter, in your case. Certainly you were always a diamond- But a tap here… a tap there… and suddenly, the hardest substance known to man becomes a glittering star to dangle from a pretty neck – or to sharpen a blade with."

"I don't understand..."

"Of course you don't. I'm saying that no matter how hard the raw materials are, if you know how to identify the lines of fracture, how to apply the precise amount of pressure… Well, then you can make a man believe anything."

"You're crazy-" I started. But then Ponytail cracked me on the back of the skull with the butt of his gun. I sank to my knees.

"Show some respect!"

Leary just laughed.

"An ironic statement, Johnny, really – considering the source."

"Is he here to kill you, or not?" The Driver chambered a bullet and set his pistol to the back of my now throbbing head.

My vision doubled, swam. The room slowly reassembled itself. I could feel blood running down my neck, soaking into my shirt.

"Put the gun away, Bill. You too, Terry. It really isn't necessary. Doubtless our young friend believes he is here to kill me, but I can assure you that he's no threat."

He paused.

The gun stayed where it was.

"Johnny's an old patient of mine. An escaped mental patient, actually. Paranoid schizophrenic. Bright enough, but completely delusional."

"So he's not an assassin?"

Terry (AKA "Ponytail") seemed doubtful. Or maybe just a little disappointed.

Leary laughed again.

"Look at him – The top of his head barely clears your belt-buckle!"

A few of the men chuckled. Bill (AKA "The Driver") did not. Terry just looked confused. "Well, he is on his knees…"

Leary ignored his unfortunate minion.

"He's a mouse of a man! Yet he's absolutely convinced that he's some kind of secret agent. That we're all part of a vast government conspiracy. It's ludicrous."

"With all due respect, I don't see the difference," Bill said. "Maybe he's not a pro – but he's crazy and he wants you dead. How is that not a threat?"

"He'd never follow through."

"He got this far. He found you."

"Even the mangiest dog can find his owner across great distances.

"Listen – we're not going to do this, Bill. First of all, we don't execute the mentally ill, here. It's not what we're about. Especially not men I have so much invested in.

"Secondly, he can't kill me for the same reason he can't remember me:

"Because he's programmed not to."

III

"You can understand their confusion, Dr. Leary. Perhaps they're not aware of your huge body of research into mind control techniques?"

It had occurred to me suddenly that I was on trial, here. On trial for my life. I really could have used Baudrillard's insight on my side right about then – or even Cassady's wit. Or his teeth and claws, at any rate.

I half expected another rap on the head for speaking up, but both Terry and Bill seemed interested in the exchange.

"Nice try, Johnny. Not the way I would have put it; but indeed, my research into the effects of psychotropic drugs on incipient schizophrenia is hardly classified. In fact, it's how I first came to recognize the limitless potential for LSD to expand the mind and redefine our destiny.

"We're jump-starting the next phase of human evolution here, Johnny! And we owe it all to unfortunate souls like yourself. Our compassion for whom com-pels us to draw back the veil of superstitious ignorance at last, and peer with unwavering objectivity and unapologetic awe at the miracle that is the mind."

"Conveniently funded by the Department of Defense."

"It is an irony that the establishment should initiate the research leading to its own obsolescence-"

"At what point would you say your association with the government ended, Dr. Leary? Isn't all of… this – just an extension of your previous work?"

"Your ravings are beginning to grow tiresome, Johnny, really. You're obviously long overdue for your medication."

"Yes. Aren't we all?

"Aren't we all just inmates in your personal asylum, now?"

IV

"So why kill him, then?"

Terry was escorting me to my new holding cell. Leary might not be ready to publicly execute me, yet, but I had clearly worn out my welcome.

"Don't you know any better than to challenge a lunatic's delusions?"

I was too exhausted to keep the bitterness out of my voice.

Terry ignored my comment so he wouldn't have to explain why he cared – to admit that he had his doubts.

"Seriously. If you're both working for the government, why kill him?"

"I don't know, Terry. I just work here. All I know is, according to Leary's file, he's been playing both sides against the middle for years. I don't know why they decided to pull the plug all-of-a-sudden. Maybe he was too successful.

"Or maybe he knew too much. I doubt it has anything to do with the product, at any rate, so I'm sure your job's safe. They'll still need someone out here to run the distribution center; to anesthetize the masses for fun and profit.

"Probably some bureaucrat back in Washington didn't get his pay-off on time, is all. It's just business."

"Now I know you're crazy! We're not running a business, here. This is a goddamn revolution!" I laughed loud enough to startle myself. The laugh began as a ploy to head Terry off from slipping back into his normal cognitive fugue state; but then I discovered that I really meant it. For some reason, Terry's mercenary brand of idealism struck me funny, right then.

Maybe it was the imprint of his gun stock embossed in blood on the back of my skull.

"Yes, of course it is! That's why you live in a broken down factory in the middle of the desert! That's why the warehouses are triple-locked, the workers carry Uzis, and all the roads in and out of this dump are under constant armed guard. You may not be allowed any personal, private possessions, but somebody's sure as Hell worried about protecting their investment!"

"Protecting ourselves from murderers and thieves like you, maybe."

Despite the strong words, Terry's statement came out almost as a question.

We arrived at the small, windowless storeroom that was to serve as my makeshift holding cell.

"This seems like as good a time as any to point out that I wasn't armed when your goons stopped me."

"You must have figured Kesey could get you in, get you close. A trained assassin could make due, I'm sure, given the right opportunity. Hell – You already admitted that you came here to kill him!"

That was the closest thing to an insight that I'd witnessed from Terry. Maybe there was hope for him, yet.

"So you believe me, all-of-a-sudden?"

Terry scowled, but didn't bite.

He ushered me into the room, following close behind.

The old storeroom had been converted to a break room of sorts. It sported a small card table, one folding metal chair, and a musty, stained canvas cot. The room was lit with a single, dull bulb.

"Of course, if I'm telling the truth, then that means Dr. Leary is lying. And if Dr. Leary is lying, then you're up to the Devil's work out here, aren't you?"

"I don't know what to believe, anymore," Terry admitted, to my surprise. "But if you'd ever really listened to the man speak-"

"Yes, I'm sure. But then, all the best entrepreneurs are evangelists."

"Is that what I am now, Johnny? An entrepreneur? You say that like it's a bad thing."

Leary stood framed in the doorway behind us.

Terry started visibly. How long had Leary been there?

"Collect his belt and shoelaces, would you Terry? We wouldn't want our guest to hurt himself before we've even had a chance to extend our hospitality."

Terry looked dubious. There was nothing in the room to hang myself from.

I passed him my belt, and unlaced my shoes.

Leary surveyed the room, then shook a handkerchief from his breast pocket. He waved it vaguely at the ceiling, then handed it to Terry.

"The light bulb, too."

Terry actually hesitated this time, then took the handkerchief and reached up to unscrew the light bulb.

Leary stepped forward as if to help, then suddenly punched Terry twice quickly under the armpit.

Terry grunted like an old man in the throws of constipation, then convulsed, crushing the light bulb in his hand.

The knife that had been concealed in Leary's hand glinted burgundy in the last flash of light as Leary slipped the blade from Terry's heart and the burst bulb sparked out.

In the remaining half-light from the hallway, I watched Terry wither to the ground like a spent balloon.

Leary squatted down and wiped the blade clean on Terry's shirt.

"Never trust a man of conviction, Johnny," Leary sighed.

"Do you even realize how lucky you are?"

Leary stood slowly, cautiously. The knife disappeared back wherever it had come from.

I stood immobilized.

"No one is ever really on your side, Johnny, with the possible exception of your Mother. And even she's not a lock.

"But I've gone one further, here. I've surrounded myself with saps and soldiers of fortune. So I suppose my days are ultimately numbered.

"But you – You'll always have Bennie to look out for you."

There it was again.

"How do you know about Bennie?" I whispered.

Leary chuckled dryly.

"Let's just say I introduced the two of you, and leave it at that, for now."

"Introduced-?"

"This is a conversation best left for another time, I think," Leary said.

"I do have a message from Bennie, though. He says to relax. None of this is your concern. Bennie says you need to lie down and rest for awhile."

I didn't see Bennie, or hear him. Hadn't heard from him in a while, in fact. Not since the trial in the desert. He was dead, for all I knew. Catgut ragout. A casualty of another man's hallucination.

But it sounded like Bennie. Like something he might say.

I lay down.

I slept.

V

I dreamed the sleep of the newly dead, warm and dark and silent, my body suffused with the quiet buzz of a billion billion cells seceding their unions.