Читать книгу Nathaniel's Chorus - Gary Lightfoot - Страница 4

The room was much quieter now, gone were the photographers and the reporters, the constant “clicking” of the cameras and the “whirl” of the tape recorders had been silenced. All that remained was the Senate Intelligence Committee Chairman and the Committee members as well as their personal aides, one of which had a rather unusual body odor about him. The other aides shuffled behind the Committee members in a vain attempt to gain distance and thereby, fresher air. Across from the Committee and directly in front of the Chairman a table had been placed made of the finest mahogany. The edges of the table had been worn through use with a ding here and there, but the surface of the table had been polished to a mirror finish and smelled of sliced oranges mixed with olive oil. All of which had been noticed by the accused, who sat in a high-backed wooden chair from the early colonial period. With every movement the accused made, a faint “squeak” would come from the chair. Sitting along side the accused was his lawyer and long time friend, Jeff Alexander. The two had met in college fighting over a girl, they couldn’t remember her name but they still recall how the fight ended. Hopefully their current fight would end the same, with neither of them in jail.

The accused pulls his right hand from his pocket and places it next to the microphone. Grabbing the mike with his left hand and rapping on the base of the mike with his right, the session begins anew.

“TAP-TAP-TAP”, “TAP”, “TAP”

“Sir”, the Committee Chairman says with a syrupy southern gentleman’s drawl, “I can assure you, that you don’t need to do that; we can hear y’all just fine.”

The accused, pleased with the way he had annoyed the Committee Chairman, smiles and shifts in his chair intentionally “squeaking”.

Jeff leans over while covering the mike with his hand and whispers into his ear,

“What do you think you’re doing? It’s not like you’re sending Morse code. Stop it, these guys aren’t kidding around!”

The accused, leaning forward and removing Jeff’s hand from the mike, speaks in a clear and normal level,

“Neither am I. I know they’ll understand.” He continues to squeak and tap.

“Sir?” the Chairman asks, “Would y’all kindly state your name and position for the record?”

The Committee Chairman, Reverend Jeremiah Branch, was a senior senator from Arkansas who had remained in public office for more than 20 years through secret alliances, the gift of public oratory and kissing too many backsides of power brokers on Capital Hill. Reverend Branch had initially been elected to office through a series of questionable events. During the last month of campaigning for his first public office, Reverend Branch’s opponent died when he suffered a massive heart attack during his normal morning jog. The media barely covered the story and it would have been missed had not a young investigative college reporter, raised the question on how an otherwise healthy marathon runner such as Branch’s opponent could have suffered a heart attack while jogging a few miles? An autopsy would later show that the runner had ingested insulin that had mysteriously been placed in the runner’s water bottle. No criminal investigation followed the discovery, but Reverend Branch was forced to accept insignificant supportive roles during his early terms in Washington and the young female reporter was reassigned to covering surfing competitions as a photographer. Today Reverend Branch was basking in his own personal glory. He had skillfully slithered through his political career by leeching himself to the coattails of better-known politicians and avoiding the limelight. Now he was in the spotlight, now the press was quoting “the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch”, although no one really knew what church he was a reverend in, nor which religion Jeremiah Branch was a member of.

“Sir,” slurps Branch in his rehearsed accent, “the Committee and I would like to honor the selected members of the media who have been granted permission to remain in my room, as well as all those wonderful people who are watching these auspicious proceedings through the cable news stations, by at least beginning this here trial.”

Jeff quickly leans in toward the mike and says, “Sir, this is not a trial, only an investigation.”

The accused continues to tap on the base of the mike and squeak in his chair,

“Squeak-Squeak-Squeak”, “TAP-TAP”

Reverend Branch, now obviously annoyed by both the accused as well as his lawyer, snaps back, “If you don’t control your client and make him behave, he will be the first freshman senator to not make it through his first year!” Reverend Branch, now proud of himself and wondering what he looked like on TV, smoothes his grey hair back behind his ears as he smirks, sits back in his chair and winks at the camera.

Reverend Branch glares as the mike picks up Jeff’s whispers, “Thank God you’re not drinking out of a water bottle!”

The remaining media erupts in laughter. Reverend Branch clinches his fist and says, “Counselor, you watch yourself.” Branch, again smoothes his hair back behind his ears, a subconscious habit he developed during the sixties when he wore his hair long, “Senator, I’m warning y’all . . .”

The accused sits motionless for what appears to be several minutes, but when studied later would be exactly 12 seconds, he opens his right hand to reveal the object he was using to tap on the mike with, it is some sort of coin. He then, in one fluid movement, rolls his hand and makes the coin disappear. He places both hands, palms down on the table and begins to speak.

“Branch, don’t threaten those you do not know, nor those of whom you are not familiar with. I know they can hear me.”

The accused now leaning in to where his lips are barely missing the mike and proclaims, “My name is Nathaniel Foot.”

Φ Π Ψ

Life for the Foot brothers had been a series of historic events. Born at the end of the “baby-boomer” generation, they had a unique perspective on life. They grew up watching “Bonanza” as well as “Laugh-In” on television. They had sat with their parents and watched as man stepped onto the moon for the first time. They had watched their father cry exactly three times, once when President Kennedy was assassinated and twice when the two older brothers joined the military. They knew how to dance the “shag” as well as disco line dance. Two of the brothers could play instruments, one the saxophone the other the guitar. Two of the brothers had the same high school sweetheart; one was still married to her. All three shared their father’s passion for cars; instead of family pictures being taken in front of a fireplace, theirs were posed in front of cars that became members of the family, including giving them names. Most of their stories would start with the name of car that was involved. They could easily take over a room and then in the next minute blend into the background and disappear, a trick their father had taught them. All three had attended military school as kids, one started when he was only 3½ years old. Their parents enrolled the three brothers into a public high school the summer the oldest was about to be a senior, one of them adapted very well while the other two never did. One of the brothers was fluent in Spanish, one had developed an encrypted language for computers, and one just loved to talk.

Nathaniel was the youngest of the 3 brothers, Nathan, Neil and Nathaniel. Nathaniel’s oldest brother, Nathan, was named after their father and possessed their father’s ability to easily make friends and inherited their father’s ability to memorize names and numbers. To avoid confusing the boys when calling Nathaniel or Nathan, their parents gave Nathan his nickname, “Junior”. The only time the two younger brothers called Junior by his given name was when they were either scared or when they were mad at him. The middle brother’s name was Neil; he was the romantic of the group. Growing up, Neil fell “in love” just about every other week with a different girl. No matter how many times he had his heart broken, Neil kept looking for true love; he found it once during college. Neil possessed the gift of photographic memory and was able to sketch out scenes in perfect detail. Growing up, Junior and Neil would entertain their baby brother Nathaniel while traveling with their parents on summer vacations. Neil would sketch a scene from their past and Junior would quiz Nathaniel on what the person’s name was or what the date was. Nathaniel, the baby brother, was the “angel” of the family. Nathaniel was born premature and had to stay at the hospital until his lungs were strong enough to breath on their own. The boys’ parents told Nathan and Neil that they would need to help take care of their “angel” Nathaniel; a job they took very serious. Nathan and Neil insisted that Nathaniel’s bed be put between theirs so that they could take turns watching him sleep. As a result, the two older brothers knew everything about Nathaniel. It was only after the two brothers enlisted in the service that Nathaniel was able to have a private life and do something that no one else knew about.

Nathaniel was the natural politician of the three brothers. He was never intimidated by his opponents and spoke with a quiet confidence that only someone without fear could. Nathaniel knew that his two older brothers would never allow anyone to hurt him. While in high school, history was made when Nathaniel won a dancing contest the night after he was elected president of their high school student body. The two events would not have been particularly epic had Nathaniel not been a freshman while Neil was a junior and Nathan a senior. It was the brothers first year in a public school and Nathaniel already knew everyone in the school on a first name basis. The two older brothers were so proud of their baby brother that they started to introduce themselves as Nathaniel’s bodyguards. More than once Neil and Nathan stood between Nathaniel and bullies of all sizes and ages. Once when the high school Latin teacher picked on Nathaniel; Neil and Nathan disassembled and then reassembled the teacher’s VW bug inside the school cafeteria. The two older brothers told no one, including Nathaniel, who had been Nathaniel’s arms of justice.

While in high school, the three brothers formed a secret society they named, the Phi Pi Psi. It didn’t mean anything, but sounded cool and looked good when written in Greek (Φ Π Ψ). The society started as a very few, just the Foot brothers and their closest high school friends, but would grow, unknowingly to the brothers, into a multi-national group of diverse individuals drawing from all strata of life. Soon the Foot brothers would come to rely on the society for not only their own lives, but for the welfare of a nation. Today though, was not that day; for today, the Phi Pi Psi threatened to cause the downfall of a very promising political career and cost the lives of his two older brothers.

Φ Π Ψ

The Chairman rustles in his chair to compose himself, strikes his gavel to the desk and says, “Sir, I’m glad that you finally find this auspicious occasion the appropriate locale to introduce yourself to the American people, and may I add that I am the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch and I too am no one that you would want to test!”

Nathaniel sits motionless as Jeff writes something on his pad then slides it over in front of Nathaniel. Nathaniel glances down at the pad and says, “No thanks, I’ve already ordered.”

“What’s that?” growled Reverend Branch.

“My attorney asked me if I wanted something to drink, I told him that I had already ordered.”

“This is not a restaurant Senator Foot, now if you would listen carefully as I recount for the record the purpose for this here, investigation.”

Jeff grins back at the Chairman for correctly stating that it is an investigation and not a trial, at least not yet.

Φ Π Ψ

In the clubhouse of a private golf club just outside Guadalajara in the state of Jalisco in Mexico, a man sits at the bar and watches on TV UNAM, the television of the National Autonomous University of Mexico, as the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch begins his list of accusations. With each new charge, the man becomes more fixed on the screen and less aware of his surroundings until he is snapped back to reality when his drink slips out of his hand and crashes to the floor.

The barkeeper runs around the bar to help the man, “¿Señor Pie, está usted bien?”

The man stands up from the bar stool, his 6’1” muscular frame, tanned from hundreds of rounds of golf. His wavy dirty blond hair showing slight graying on the temples hints to his Caucasian heritage but his perfect Spanish hides his nationality. The man puts his arm around the barkeeper while pointing at the television behind the bar and asks, “¿Podría usted vuelta subir la televisión? Ése es mi pequeño hermano.”

Another man dressed in a black suit and sitting at a table near the front door, notices the commotion and walks over behind the man, who is now kneeling to pick up the broken glass, “Did I hear you say that the man on the TV is your brother? If so, that would make you, Foot, Neil Foot; is that correct sir?”

Without looking up, the kneeling man says, “Ah nuts.” Then in one fluid movement, thrust his elbow into the inner part of the black suited man’s right knee. As the man lifts his right leg in pain, Neil shifts his weight and springs forward and away from him while grabbing the man’s left leg causing the stranger to flip over backwards hitting his head on the bar as he falls.

Neil rolls forward coming onto his feet in a “ready position” and quickly scans the clubhouse. Another black suited man is now knelt next to the first who is unconscious on the floor. As the second stranger reaches inside his suit the barkeeper, assuming the man is reaching for a gun, hits the man over the head with a bottle of Quince Brandy.

“Ah Pedro, not the Quince.”

“Shoot Neil, I thought he was pulling a rrroscoe!”

“That’s funny Pedro, a roscoe, you mean a gun? I thought he was some girl’s husband!”

“They’re no one’s husbands. Maan it’s 110 outside and these gringos are wearing black suits? Shoot Neil, some-ting’s not right.”

As Pedro calls the police, Neil searches the two men. Inside the vest pocket of the man Pedro hit with the bottle, Neil finds a leather wallet containing credentials identifying the man as a United States Federal Agent but the specific organization is not mentioned. Neil turns the man over and finds several ceramic-knives held in a pouch at the base of the man’s back. Neil recognizes the knife-set but does not mention it to Pedro. Neil rolls the man back over and feels his wrist checking for a pulse. As he does he sees that the man is wearing a fraternity ring and an imitation Rolex. “That’s odd,” Neil says to himself.

“Pedro, you be careful. These boys are American Feds, they’re going to be a little annoyed when they wakeup. I can’t be here when the police arrive. I’ll call you when I can.”

“Via con Dios mi amigo.” Pedro begins to wake the two federal agents as Neil roars off in his car.

The first fallen federal agent begins to wake and grabs the back of his head, “Shit that was fast.” As the agent looks around to see his partner lying beside him he looks up at the barkeeper and asks, “Where did Neil Foot go?”

“No hablo ingles.”

Φ Π Ψ

In a surfboard shop named “Footboards” in Long Beach California, a man stands motionless while holding an electric sander, his 6’2” surfer’s body covered in Styrofoam dust, his facemask lifted up and resting on his forehead. In front of the man is the beginning of a new surfboard; hanging on the wall is a flat panel TV with the volume turned way up so that he could hear it over the sound of the sander. The man has been transfixed on the TV watching FOX News throughout the morning, sanding the new board only during commercial breaks. The man now lowers his facemask and returns to sanding as the Right Reverend Jeremiah Branch asks for a recess until tomorrow in order for Senator Nathaniel Foot’s counsel to properly prepare a response to the accusations he had just finished recounting for the record. Unaware of his name being called out by his wife, he jumps when she touches him.

As she holds the portable phone out to her husband she says, “Honey, Neil’s calling from Mexico.”

“Nancy, I just felt a cold chill go up my back.”

“What’s wrong honey?” Nancy asks as she takes the sander from Junior’s hand and replaces it with the phone.

Junior lifts the phone to his ear but only hears the “roar” of an engine accelerating followed by a “blip” and a shift followed by yet another “roar”.

Over the roar Junior finally hears, “Nathan, you there?”

“Holy Balls Neil, I think our baby bro has gotten himself into a mess we might not be able to get him out of.”

“Nathan, I just had the crap scared out of me.”

“What happened Neil?”

“Nuts, wait a sec, need my hand.” Neil skillfully “double-clutches” while “heel-toeing” his way down through the gears. Junior then hears the sliding of tires as Neil drifts through a sweeping right-hand turn. As the “roar-blip-roar” is replaced by a constant “roar”, Neil begins to speak again.

“Junior, two Feds walked into Pedro’s as I was watching Nathaniel on TV.”

“Neil, you sure they weren’t some señoritas husband?”

“That’s real funny Junior, ha, that’s what I told Pedro.”

“Seriously Neil, we need to get together.”

“I’m on the way, first need to swing by the house and pick up some things, but I should be there by mid-morning, lunch at the latest.”

“Great, I’ll have doughnuts and coffee ready.”

Before Nathan hangs up he tells Neil, “Hey Bro, Shelly sounds great! Can’t wait to see her, just keep her in one piece until you get here, okay?”

“Yep, don’t worry, I’ll take care of her, by the way, Nancy sounds fine too.”

Nathan smirks at his wife as he hands the phone to her; she smiles back at him and says, “Seriously Honey, we didn’t even kiss.”

Somewhere north of Guadalajara, Neil’s hair is being buffeted by the wind as he speeds toward Long Beach. Neil begins to laugh at himself as he catches the image his shadow makes against the rock faces cut along the road. “Man that looks cool,” he says to himself. As the sun sets, the rock face begins to glow golden contrasted by the shadow image that Neil and his car, Shelly, make as they “roar” north. Committing that image to memory, Neil says out loud, “Shelly, I think once I paint that sunset, you’ll be paid off.” As the cold of a desert night sets in, Neil raises the collar of his leather flight jacket while zipping it as far up as possible. Though he can’t feel his ears, the heat radiated by the engine warms Neil’s feet and his lower body. He snuggles down into the cockpit of his 427 Shelby Cobra and says, “Shelly, I wish I had that coffee now, or better yet, Pedro’s Quince Brandy.”

Neil glances into his mirror, “I know Shelly. I saw those lights too.” He downshifts and accelerates into the night.

Φ Π Ψ

With armed guards posted outside his bedroom door, a man sits in bed with a TiVo controller in his hand. The man rewinds the recording to watch Nathaniel Foot as he rolls his hand and makes a coin disappear. He proudly rewinds and watches the move again, as he elbows his wife he says, “Did you see that move he did with the coin? I taught him that.”

The man’s wife pulls the covers up over her shoulders and says, “Yes Magic, now put the remote down and go to sleep.” She reaches out for her husband and softly says, “Don’t worry, I’m sure they were watching too.”

“Yep, that should get the boys attention.” The man gently kisses his wife, turns off the TV, slides out of bed and onto his knees, “God’s speed boys, wherever y’all are.”