CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER ONE

CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER TWO

CATCH A FALLING STAR, CHAPTER THREE

The pair pushed through a swinging wooden door into a sunny, optimistic yellow and white kitchen, sharp contrast from the horror of the room they had just left. Cheery porcelain plaques of cartoon vegetables decorated the walls. On a countertop near the kitchen sink a plate of brownies and empty mugs told of a snack that was never served.
"So," started the older man, "you're convinced these attacks are connected with that new train."
"Connect the dots," replied Gary succinctly.
"Yes," replied the other man, "When this train started its journey in Appleton, where the new coach cars were manufactured, that's when the attacks started. From what you've been able to find out, the attacks never occur very far from the train." The older man paused a bit, eyeing the plateful of brownies. "Well, I chatted with your sleepy scientists at the Catch A Falling Star facility and the possibilities they gave me are that the creature could be following the train because of an electrical charge the train might have, or a frequency it might be giving off, or that the thing is hitching a ride on the undercarriage of the train, or somehow it's hiding out inside the train. Still doesn't explain how the creature got to Wisconsin."
"When we find the connection between our deadly dandelion and the train, we'll know how it got here," replied Gary.
"As per your request," added the older man, "we've had people scouring the train route and did a thorough inspection of the undercarriage of the train and came up with nothing, and still there has been another attack…this one.
"The creature is a master of camouflage," added Gary.
"From what the experts on this thing tell me," continued the older man, "It is not likely the creature would be onboard the train, because if it was there would be pure carnage. The thing would seek the nearest possible victim rather than go foraging off the train. It is generally nocturnal but doesn't hold slavishly to that principle. What I'm getting at is that all the attacks have been at night away from the train, though indeed, near it. None of the attacks have been on the train itself. If our dandelion were on the train, in very short order, just like what happened in the living room in this house, there would be no passengers left alive. Nevertheless, it was arranged for a security check to be done of the train's interior and nothing was found. We do have to tread carefully in our investigation because Senator Nyparmo is a passenger on the train."

"Yes, I know that," confirmed Gary, "How exactly does she happen to be a passenger, she's not a senator from this state."
"It has to do with the semipublic corporation that built and operates the train," answered Ernest. "Senator Nyparmo is head of the committee that oversees the public funds part of it. So she made sure she was included on the inaugural run of the train, even has her own private car. Plus, since the senator announced she is not seeking reelection, she's looking for ways of staying in the public eye, showing she's still popular and maybe landing a position on a board of directors with some corporation or foundation. She's always been very publicity minded, so I can imagine what a picnic she would have if she got any wind of what our investigation was about. Something the agency and the powers that be would like to avoid in the extreme."
"Why is it that she's not seeking reelection?" asked Gary.
"Simply a matter of her past sins catching up with her. Political sins. The theory is that the only aim of her career has been her personal gain, pretending to be a team player while aggressively looking out only for herself. Playing people, working her supporters into a frenzy to support a certain legislation while at the same time she was working quietly and energetically with the other side to defeat it in order to obtain perks and advantages for herself. Senator Nyparmo is also the master of bait and switch. Pretending to be one thing when being something completely different. One of her specialties was to redirect funds meant for a specific cause to something else that the senator favored, even in direct opposition to the cause the funds were meant for. All politicians do these things to some extent, but the Senator is indeed the master of playing one side against the other for her own personal gain.

She also tended to play hard ball with her own supporters, if someone didn't do exactly as she wanted, they'd be subjected to personal attacks in the media, get pepper sprayed or beaten up, arranged by someone not directly connected to the senator, of course.

You can screw people just so many times until even your most fervent supporters realize their butts are getting sore. Ultimately, the piper must be paid. Eventually none of the major political parties would have anything to do with her and she was forced to become an independent. No one could be sure if she was really on their side. Most recently, because of her very latest political shenanigans, she was having major problems getting people involved with her political action committees and she was also having problem raising funding for her campaign. It used to be that her good time Charlie of a husband would smooth over the effects of her abrasive style, but since his accident…"
"Yes," interrupted Gary with a wink, "her husband's terrible…accident."
"…Since his accident," resumed Ernest, "he's no longer around to do that. Then there was that bombing a couple of months ago at one of her campaign offices, a supposed terrorist bombing, but we're reasonably sure that was arranged by her own people to obtain sympathy for the senator, but…didn't work. So she decided to call off her campaign and now she's taking a train ride marking the death throes of her political career."
"Yes, I heard pretty much the same thing when I did the background investigation on the bombing," added Gary. Her authoritarian hardball side is why people gave her the nickname Evita Nyparmo. How much do you think her grandfather's people are involved with the senator?"
"Her grandfather's people? Oh, they probably do give her some support, but that's all obsolete politics, they have no political base anymore, just not a political power."
"The senator's actual political leanings?" inquired Gary.
"She did pretend to be liberal for years, but the view is that she's actually your standard corporate hugging conservative. If you're asking what side she's on, the senator is on her own side. One more thing, Mr. C.D., I strongly request that you refrain from doing many appearances on the train, at least so that you do not come in contact with Senator Nyparmo. She's been on the committee that approves our funding, so she is aware of our agency, so it's best that our agents stay out of her sight. And, if you do have a need to chat with Senator Nyparmo, please do not not under any circumstances, mention her husband. I'm told a mere mention of her husband brings about undesirable mood changes which I'm sure would result in bad chemistry between the two of you."
"If that were to happen I won't even mention her husband's many affairs," promised Gary with Ernest's face flashing an expression of alarm, "and especially not one long lasting affair in particular."

Ernest's eye's momentarily bulged at the last comment then he cleared his throat and spoke again, "There's something else you should be aware of, Gary."
"And that is?"
"Doesn't really concern our group, but public concern about the killings have led to some political pressure…well, some congressional members have put on the pressure to authorize some private contractors to help with the investigation. Contract agents Zhourg and Snizter will be aiding the investigation"
Gary frowned and gritted his teeth, "Those leather and whip incompetents?"
"Don't worry," added the older man, "We've arranged for them to work with the FBI and that agency has already been told to stand down on this issue because of our investigation. So Zhourg and Snizter will be neutralized and you will be able to conduct your investigation without interference. My main issue is with the senator and keeping her from catching on from what this investigation is about. I'd like to keep things as transparent as possible, no obvious federal agents swarming about on the train, even one agent asking questions might give things away."
"I'm as transparent as possible," reassured Gary. "We could use someone as a freelance agent. We've done it before. Just have someone hanging out on the train, keeping an eye out for us. In fact, I'm a step ahead of you on this. I've already got a candidate." Gary pulled a cell phone from his jacket pocket and brought up an image on the little screen. "He's got an impressive record in investigations and a solid background in military intelligence."

The other man looked at the image, apparently was not as impressed and grunted. "This guy? Yeah, I've seen him on the news. He's the one that found the old gangster hideaway. You sure you want him?"
"Absolutely"
"What's this guy's name?"
"Lynn Gordon Matson. We'll get him hired as a security officer for the train. A civilian who's already in the private investigation business, shouldn't raise any suspicions. He's our man." The older man made a short grunt, "Whatever you say."

'If there is a God, at that point, I'm sure some sort of judgment will rain down…"

The older man glanced again at the tempting brownies. "Something else about the contracting agents, Zhourg and Snizter, you should know. You guys have nicknames for them, something like Boris and Natasha or Gomez and Morticia."
Gary heaved an irritated sigh and confirmed, "Yes, we all know and love them. Contract agents Zhourg and Snizter, alias Gomez and Morticia".
"It would be a good idea to keep your distance from them…they might be embroiled in a possible scandal."
"No problem," replied Gary, "Describing them diplomatically, they are unprofessional, sleazy and given to theatrics. Less diplomatically, Morticia is an out and out psychopath and Gomez would give any sane person a case of the willies."
The older man gave into his impulse and grabbed a brownie from the plate and began to nervously munch on it. "There's something that surfaced about Morticia. A video. Haven't seen it but it reportedly shows Morticia involved with some executions in the Middle East."
Gary arched his eyebrows and flashed an expression of concern. "I know her and Gomez were involved with helping militia groups in Iraq track down and execute gays. Morticia hates gay men or men in general for that matter, though she tends to be abusive towards women as well. Might be safe to say that Morticia hates humans. Is that what this is about?"
"No, this is something very, very bad. The public seems to have gotten immune to hearing about this kind of stuff, but still I don't know how this will go down. Morticia is reportedly shown in the video helping with the executions of children."
"What!"
The older man swallowed and cleared his throat. "It had something to do with rival militia groups, one group getting revenge on another. Uhhhh, a matter of using terror to keep other groups in line…I guess punishing families of rival groups…"
"By executing children…I want to hear about this."
"Well, it wasn't…it was just boys, it didn't involve any girls."
"Doesn't make any difference, boys are still children. What is this about?" Gary raised his voice.
"The videos shows executions of the male members of a family, including boys, by hanging. However, the boys were secured in cribs which were somehow rigged so that a noose would be around their necks…"
"This is totally outrageous, unbelievable. Children…this makes apes look like idea parents. Is this for real?"
"The tape shows Morticia telling the boys to relax as she secures them in the harnesses. Then, something goes wrong with one of the harnesses, it slips and nearly decapitates an eight year old boy, probably killing him instantly before he's executed by hanging."
Gary stood in angry silence while his compatriot grabbed another brownie and began to nibble on it. Gary heaved a heavy sigh and spoke again, "You know my objections to using these private contractors in covert operations, even if it is a means to distance the government from direct involvement with an operation. No one's being fooled. If the government is ultimately furnishing the funds for these corporations, then the government is involved and has responsibility. You especially know about all the complaints about Gomez and Morticia. They alone have probably tarnished the country's reputation for several decades to come.

However, out of all the dubious things I've heard coming out of the covert operations camp, this business of executing children, is got to be the most reprehensible thing imaginable. What have we become now? The most degraded of all Nazis? Is that how we should be defined now?"
The other man replied. "Ah, Mr. C.D., did we not have a conversation once before about not taking a moral stance, the dangers of moral involvement? Ours is to merely observe, report and take action only when requested. If you limit yourself to that, you'll keep your sanity."
"Ernest, when a country starts including innocents and children in it's deadly political shenanigans, then it loses any moral ground it has. If there is a God, at that point, I'm sure some sort of judgment will rain down…"
"There is no God, Gary. The fact is, the thing that the nations of the earth do best is to subject people to vast amounts of kinky, violent and murderous mayhem, more than all serial killers put together. Plus, governments have many more resources at their disposal than any one individual would to do all sorts of despicable things. In fact, nations will eagerly involve themselves in activities that an individual would be sent to the gallows for. If there were any kind of deity, with all the genocide and organized mayhem that went on in the twentieth century, He would have sent down legions of His angels to take down all the governments of the earth. Obviously that just didn't happen."

The older man shrugged off his anxiety and grabbed another brownie. "All you have to do is avoid contact with Gomez and Morticia. If a major investigation develops because of the video and charges are brought, all that will be limited to the contract firm that employs those two, the government just wants to make sure the contamination of an investigation doesn't spread to the military or the intelligence agencies. I should bring out that Morticia does have her supporters. There are a couple of old war birds in Pentagon intelligence who think that she and her kinky ways are the hottest things on the planet. Plus, there are those in the current administration who think helping the militias exterminate their local gay population will ingratiate the US government with the local power structures."

"Your moral stance is commendable and one which offers great redemption."

Shortly afterward, Gary stormed through the swinging wooden kitchen door and entered the destroyed living room alone, heading for the front entrance with the plastic bag in hand. The other agent called out to him. "Gary, the thought is that the little girl probably can give us detailed information about the incident. Though she is in a catatonic state, approval has been given to apply whatever drugs needed to snap her out of it."
Gary immediately stopped in his tracks, turned around and approached the younger agent, standing way within the other man's comfort zone. He asked the other agent for the name and location of the hospital where the little girl had been taken to. Gary then hissed threatening instructions into the face of the other agent. "I will take care of this personally. There is no need to drug or debrief a traumatized little girl. We already know what happened here, she couldn't tell us anything we don't already know. I would strongly suggest that the best way to proceed in this matter is to leave the girl completely alone. Otherwise, if anyone does mess with her, they will be answering to me personally." Gary smiled a tiny, determined smile into the man's face and left through the front door. The door slammed behind him as Gary's shoes drummed on the wooden porch deck as he quickly trotted across the porch to the front walk on his way to his vehicle. The agent was totally unaware of a heavy set black man in a dark suit standing on the porch next to the front door. Observing and speaking towards an unhearing Gary, the man commented. "Your moral stance is commendable and one which offers great redemption."

********
"As a conservative Democrat, I must protest!"

Some hours later Gary was at the hospital where the little girl was confined. After introducing himself to the attending staff, Gary sat in a chair on the far side of the girl's room, holding the black plastic bag. The little girl stared vacantly forward, clutching a rag like doll dressed in a granny dress in a viselike grip, grasping the doll for security and to protect it at the same time. Gary watched a low key drama of the attending physician talking quietly with a nurse and then interacting with a psychologist who entered the room. Then finally the agent stood up and walked towards the ensemble near the girl's bed. "Let me try something," he said tersely. The doctor nodded curiously as Gary removed the damaged framed photo from the black plastic bag. Gary gently held the frame below and in front of the girl's face. The photo in the frame was that of George W. Bush and Gary allowed the pungent odor of the milky fluid on the frame to waft up to the little girl's nostrils. Immediately there was a reaction and the girl's catatonic state broke. She screamed, startling the other occupants of the room, but not Gary, who gently removed the photo from her face. "The evil bush," screamed the girl, "the awful Halloween bush!" The girl began weeping and fell into the nurse's arms, who began to comfort her.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: The little girl, in a catatonic state, sits in a hospital bed.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: "The evil bush…the awful Halloween bush!"

The psychologist tugged a corner of the photo and looked at the president's face. He frowned at Gary, "As a conservative Democrat, I must protest!" Gary smiled a tiny smile as he slid the photo back into the plastic bag. "I think she should be on the road to recovery now. There should be no need for anyone to question her. If anyone wants to, dial this cell number and I will make sure they are discouraged." Gary gave a card to the doctor, offering an abbreviated smile at the same time. As the befuddled staff looked on, Gary left the room and in the hallway he met Ernest, the older agent. "How did you know showing the little girl the photo of George W. Bush would shock her out of her catatonic state?" the older agent asked. "Wasn't the photo," replied Gary, "it was the smell of the creature's sap on the photo. During the incident, the creature was injured and it's smelly sap was released. The smell was able to bring her out of the trance and her reaction tells me she saw the creature." "Gary, about this Matson character," the older man began as he escorted Gary into a small empty office and closed the door, "I looked into his file and he does have an impressive record, but he is a known homosexual. When he was in the military a great effort was made to verify that he was indeed gay." "Yes," answered Gary, "I know all about his records and his background. The military was asking all kinds of questions about him but Matson just wasn't telling. If you're worried about blackmail, Matson has been out about his sexuality for years and has achieve a degree of fame, so I think the homo issue is kind of moot. If you're worried about him turning on to you, Ernest, I don't think you're his type, in fact…frankly, I don't think you're anyone's type. Besides, in all likelihood I don't believe he'll come in contact with you. That is, unless you suddenly develop a crush on him and begin to stalk him."

Ernest frowned. "The latest addition to Matson's records regards a recent incident on a plane on from San Francisco to Milwaukee. Here, I made a hard copy." Gary took the papers and read through it in a flash. He began to smile. "Well, well. Mr. Matson met Alice Dee. You do remember our dear sweet Miss Dee? Her services have been volunteered to us on occasion, as if we were going to turn one of our investigations into a romance novel for a faded, middle aged Mata Hari. Recalling loosely from her dossier, she was a high priced Las Vegas call girl in the 1980s. Started her career as Miss Tool & Die at a Vegas convention in the late 1970s, which lead to a lot of private opportunities for her. She did work undercover, in more ways than one, for the feds regarding some underworld figures in the late 1980s, and there was one mysterious incident where one of her clients fell from a 27th floor hotel balcony. He did not recover.

After Alice divorced a couple of rich husbands, she found religion and turned her attention to spying on homosexuals for the religious groups she's associated with. One of these right wing leaning religious groups she is associated with has connections with the military and most recently, her specialty has been been to help military intelligence snoop on male service members it suspects of being gay. To me, that would suggest that there are some in the military that have way too much time on their hands. Also, the idea of having the chunky, middle aged Alice Dee chasing suspected gay men around makes me conclude that military intelligence is indeed an oxymoron.

Let's see what this report has to say about Matson. Oh dear, the gay private investigator did not find Miss Dee interesting. Are we going to be able to sleep at night knowing that? Yup, I will. According to this, Alice Dee saw Mr. Matson at the airport, recognized him from news reports on TV, realized that the two of them were going to be on the same plane, and she decided that was going to be her chance to convert him to the glories of heterosexuality. Apparently, Alice is also connected with some right wing groups friendly to the late Harold Benedict, supporter of the far right wing. Those groups blame Matson for Benedict's murder, though the California banker's problems stem from his failing banks and his involvement with a drug cartel. If you had looked more thoroughly at Matson's dossier, you'll find he was working with the FBI on that and was taking the heat for them while they investigated Mr. Benedict. Unfortunately, Mr. Benedict had the misfortune of being stopped for a traffic violation while transporting a large batch of drugs and that led to some misunderstandings between Benedict and his drug dealing buddies and ultimately to his untimely and rather violent death.

Your print out states Alice Dee was either going to try to cure Mr. Matson of being gay right there on the plane or embarrass him and ruin his reputation in revenge for the unfortunate things that happened to Harold Benedict. Looks like the connections that Alice Dee's right wing nut friends have with military intelligence is how this unimportant incident found it's way into Matson's file.

"With all due respects, isn't this a sort of 'I'm retarded, you're retarded, we're all retarded', sort of thing?"

With all due respects, isn't this a sort of 'I'm retarded, you're retarded, we're all retarded', sort of thing?"
"Well, Gary…" Ernest began to protest with a Jimmy Stewart kind of drawl.
"No, I mean it," continued Gary, "What sort of insanity is this? Our primary concern nowadays is supposed to prevent terrorists from getting access to airliners. Instead, Miss Dee creates this incident on board an airliner because a well known homosexual male didn't respond to her advances. She testifies that Mr. Matson started screaming obscenities at her after their confrontation and she had to take another seat on the plane to get away from him. However, if you glance several lines down in your print out, the Sky Marshall aboard the plane disputes this and a couple of cell phone videos appeared on You Tube sometime afterward showing Alice as some sort of scorned woman having a temper tantrum. The report says the videos show Alice being escorted to her assigned seat after trying to force a teenage girl out of her assigned seat so Miss Dee could cozy up next to Matson.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not such a hard nose. I think it's wonderful that the chunky and middle aged Alice Dee is pursuing her fantasy of finding new men she can marry and divorce. And it's nice that the right wing nut cases and military intelligence have a hobby of keeping track of homosexuals and making life difficult for them, but in lieu of all the difficulties facing this country today, I think that fascination lies somewhere beyond ridiculous. What makes this even more absurd is that while these self described patriots are chasing people around to satisfy their homosexual fetish, they don't even seem to care that the United States may not even exist in a few months."
"Gary!" snapped Ernest.
"Oops, I'm bad," replied Gary, "Something else we're not supposed to mention."

Gary looked up from the sheet of paper. "This information is garbage. It has nothing to do with Matson's abilities or his usefulness to us. To the contrary, this business of the right wing getting obsessive to the point of stupid about Matson will work for us. It will draw attention to him and away from our investigation of the train."
"Nyparmo is very well connected with some ex-gay organizations," Ernest warned, "Setting this openly gay Matson up as security officer on the train she's riding on is not going to go over very well with her."
"Exactly, Senator Nyparmo, Morticia and Gomez…they all hate gays," confirmed Gary, "so they're not going to get chummy with this Matson guy, in fact, they will do their best to snub him. We won't have an worry about information leaks or contacts there. If you managed to read beyond the trash in Matson's file, you would have learned how much the boy scout Matson is…Mr. true blue and loyal. If Matson finds out anything while he's on the train, we'll be the only ones who will know about it. Besides, he'll be a refreshing change from the psychos and patriots for pay we usually deal with. Matson is going to go to work for us."

********

Randy's sudden trip to Milwaukee courtesy of the Federal Bureau of Investigation at first went very smoothly. Randy found that boarding a plane was exceedingly easy when escorted by the FBI, even the security checkers at the San Francisco airport backed off like lesser demons when the escorting agents displayed their badges. The agents escorted him right into the plane and finally left when Matson's assistant was in his assigned seat. Randy's difficulties began at O'Hare airport where he needed to board a connecting flight to Milwaukee. It was already almost past midnight as a small group of people sat in the waiting area for the Milwaukee flight. There was an announcement that the flight would be delayed slightly, that the plane needed to have some preflight checks. Then, almost an hour later, the group of about 15 passengers were allowed to board the plane.

Unfortunately, the group merely sat in the plane for another 45 minutes, and then a somber looking man in a dark suit told the passengers they would have to de-board the plane and again the group found themselves sitting in the waiting area. Finally, an airline representative came to speak to the group and explained that there was some sort of security concern and all flights to Milwaukee were being checked and asked for patience.  However, the passengers’ patience was frayed even more when very unfriendly looking dark suited agents arrived in the waiting area, identified themselves as federal agents and demanded everyone’s wallets and cellphones.  Whispers abounded about a possible terrorist plot taking place in Milwaukee.  Then the passengers were taken, one by one, to be interviewed by agents.  All except Randy.  Looking at him, one agent asided to another and then Randy was quietly told that they were aware of his “special situation” and they would not need any information from him.  Finally, after all the passengers were interviewed about their reasons for going to Milwaukee and after an eternity in the waiting area , the wallets and cellphones were returned and the passengers were allowed once again to board.  This time the wait aboard the plane was only ten minutes and the flight took off for Milwaukee.

The flight was very short and Randy reasoned that during the time spent waiting at O’Hare, he could have left for and arrived in Milwaukee by bus.  Randy retrieved his suitcase from the baggage area that the FBI agents had allowed him to pack at his apartment before they took to catch the flight and marched from the Milwaukee airport terminal wearing the cap embroidered with Beef Matson Investigations logo that Minerva had given him and hailed a cab.  It turned out that the cab ride was short, the motel the FBI had arranged for him was on Howell Avenue, just across the street from the airport.  By the time he opened the door to his motel room, it was now very close to sunrise and the loss of sleep and not having eaten in a while was getting to Randy.  He found some vending machines and got a can of soda and a bag of chips for himself.  Deciding it was way too early in the morning to call his boss, Randy decided to lay down on the bed and decide what his next course of action should be.  Randy’s feet were ecstatic when he untied and pushed off his shoes and when the young blond man collapsed on the bed he instantly fell into a deep sleep.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Randy falls asleep at the motel.

********
"Who in the hell is that idiot?"

A day Lynn Gordon Matson had planned to just kick back and do nearly nothing quickly turned into a day with a rapidly filling schedule. The first phone calls were from reporters wanting interviews about his discovery of the hidden gangster lair, one from the Milwaukee Journal, another from a local TV station, yet another from a Japanese television network, and lastly, a reporter from an Internet news service. Matson arranged for all the reporters to meet him that morning in the hotel lobby, where with great approval from the hotel management the interviews were conducted to the great delight of hotel guests and visitors, many of whom pulled up chairs to form an impromptu audience.

While doing the interviews, Matson got another phone call from Tottie Sokolowski asking him to join her, her husband and kids for a Friday night fish fry at a local tavern. Beef agreed.  Then there was another call from a fellow named Bentley Carswell who spoke with a slight Southern accent.  He claimed to be the manager of services for the company that was operating a new cross country luxury passenger train that was currently in Milwaukee.  Mr. Carswell was impressed by Mr. Matson’s discovery of the hidden gangster rooms and was offering the private investigator a job as a security agent on the initial run of the train.  Matson wasn’t really interested, however the man told the detective that the train was now parked in the heart of Milwaukee and he’d love to give Matson a personal tour of the train.  Beef thought a tour of the new technical marvel would be interesting so he agreed to meet with the man later that evening in a gay bar near where, oddly enough, the train was parked on a nearby rail line.

In the early evening, Matson drove his rental jeep to a section of Milwaukee south of downtown where a collection of gay bars were located. The bar where Matson had an appointment to meet Bentley Carswell was a newer dance bar called Your Place Too. Since it was early in the evening, the private detective easily found a parking space on the street near the front of the bar. Getting out of the jeep, Matson could easily see the luxury passenger train for which he had been offered the position of security officer. The train was parked on tracks separated from the gay bars only by some vacant lots and fences. Matson also noticed a noisy man, who, upon closer inspection was aggressively preaching to the few passersby heading to and from the bars. The preaching had a decidedly anti-gay tone, instantly telling Beef what the man was all about. The preacher also noticed Matson and was drawn to him like iron shavings to a magnet. Lynn Gordon continued his casual stroll to the bar as the preacher began to pepper him with snarling negative comments. The preacher man was obviously taken with Matson's appearance and scolded him for being an attractive, masculine man who could have numbers of women at his feet and instead was choosing the sinful life of homosexuality.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: The Your Place Too nightclub.

Matson smiled dismissively and commented, "What is this…you fundies have paparazzi now?" The preacher continued his aggressive verbal assault and followed Beef down the sidewalk like a snapping stray dog while the detective continued to ignore him. A short distance away, two men watched the confrontation from a dark colored SUV. It was Gary, the federal agent accompanied by Bentley Carswell, manager of onboard services for the new luxury passenger train. "Who in the hell is that idiot?" asked Gary.
"From what I've heard, it's some religious lunatic that hangs out here at the gay bars," answered Bentley, "He tries to lay down some guilt trip on people going to the bars so they'll decide to convert and go straight. Screaming at them that they're going to hell. He tries to get people worked up enough so that if they scream back at him or take a swing at him, he'll try to get them arrested."
"He's an asshole," opined Gary, "Let him go and convert someone else. I want Matson to be in a good mood so he accepts when you offer him the security position on the train. This is not going to help. Freakin' moron!"

The preacher continued to dog Beef Matson, showering him with insults about living an immoral lifestyle and wasting his masculinity on other men. Finally, Matson arrived at the canopied entrance to the bar and then stopped ignoring his tormentor. He turned to the preacher and spoke bluntly, eyeball to eyeball. "Obviously, you're suffering from a case of bad upbringing, why else would you be so fucking rude and disrespectful to people?" Two lesbians leaving the bar stopped in their tracks when they heard Matson and stood watching him, almost stunned. Matson continued his verbal counterattack. "The only thing you are accomplishing is displaying your own inadequacies to the world. Don't kid yourself if you don't think I don't know what you are really all about. You get your jollies out of stalking gay men. You may dress that up as some evangelical thing, but the reality is you want what I've got and you're frustrated because I won't let you have it. I've had too many experiences with guys like you to regard that as anything other than old news. Now if you want to, you can let your lowly, needy self follow my awesome desirable butt into the bar onto private property and I will immediately have your miserable stalking behind arrested. I will then press charges and you can spend a night or two in a cell with some other dudes where you may be able to explore your homoerotic fantasies." Matson's verbal spray was loud enough that it had drawn the attention of others on the street who smiled and snickered at the preacher. They were no longer afraid of him. Matson had de-empowered him. The preacher stood silent for a bit, his mind not being able to come up with words. No one had ever confronted him in the style and manner of this stranger.

Matson immediately turned onto the short walkway under the canopy to the bar entrance. The two lesbians under the canopy waiting for the confrontation to end, greeted Matson as he approached. The women had decided to go back into the bar. They wanted to buy Matson a drink.

Still watching from the SUV, Gary advised Bentley Carswell. "Wait here in the vehicle for about five minutes to give Matson time to get a drink and mellow out. It's sort of in vogue for you gay guys to be fashionably late anyway, isn't it?" After five more minutes with Bentley in the SUV that Gary did not find very entertaining, he had the man in charge of onboard services of the new passenger train leave for his appointment with Matson in the bar. Gary decided to act as decoy so that Carswell could make it to the bar with about being hassled by the marauding preacher. "I don't want you getting rattled and not having your mind focused on convincing Matson to take the security job. I want you to sell the job to him just like I coached you." The agent suddenly recognized the preacher from a cable TV program and his mind recalled a file he had seen of information about the man. "I know who this guy is and he IS a moron," Gary told Bentley. The agent then wrote something on a piece of paper from his notepad and while Bentley sauntered down the sidewalk, Gary took his notepad and positioned himself in a slightly provocative manner against a light pole . The preacher who had been verbally assaulting people near the bars at the other end of the block immediately noticed Gary and scampered up to him. As the preacher attempted to begin his spiel, Gary countered with an equally elaborate routine of his own. Spouting like an anti-gay Elmer Gantry, the federal agent announced that he was also in the neighborhood of gay bars on an anti-homosexual mission. Gary rattled off the name of a fictional evangelical group, the Brookfield Wisconsin Saddlebackery of Knights in Defense of Heterosexual Values. Gary continued his nonstop rap innocently inserting bits of personally embarrassing of information he remembered from the preacher's file, putting the puzzled evangelical somewhat off balance as he tried to contribute to the conversation.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Gary positions himself in a provocative pose against a light pole to attract the preacher.

The preacher seemed glad that his efforts were being appreciated by others but miffed as if Gary was infringing on his territory. Gary reassured him. He told the preacher he was there merely to collect information, not to preach. Gary patted his notebook and told the preacher it was filled with license plate numbers, part of a project to identify homosexuals. He related that the license plate numbers would be used to find the names of the people who owned the cars and were visiting the bars so that those people then be identified to the entire state, so that they could be removed from their jobs,contact with children and isolated from their families. This news pleased the preacher, he bought into Gary's spiel and the agent kept patting the preacher on the back, over and over again, seemingly to reassure him that they were both on the same side. Finally, Gary shook hands with the preacher, leaving him, got back into his SUV and drove away. The preacher felt reassured and continued his stroll down the block back towards the Your Place Too club, with a large sheet of paper firmly taped to his back, stating in large hand drawn letters, "MY MOTHER STILL DRESSES ME".

********

"We can be grateful we have only one overachiever we have to deal with."

A short time after Gary had left the area, the contract agents Zhourg and Snizter drove up and parked their car on the street at the far edge of the gay bar district, The couple remained in their car chatting with Agent Snizter describing her trip back to the United States from the Middle East including a stopover in Rome where she did some sightseeing and shopping followed later by a stay at a quaint Italian seaside resort. She reported that the highlight of her Roman trip was a glimpse of the Pope addressing an audience at the Vatican. Finally an expression of boredom came to Snizter's face and she blew a short puff of cigarette smoke out of the passenger side window which she had opened slightly.
"How long do we have to sit here?" she asked.
"Not too long", was the gentle reply from agent Zhourg. "Adam Baum called to say that one of the FBI agents informed him that he wanted to do a detailed search of the cargo area associated with Senator Nyparmo's private train car. Adam is worried that the agent might ask him to open the cabinet of Dr. Caligari. We need to be around to be around when the agent shows up so the cabinet isn't opened, at least not by our FBI buddy. Senator Nyparmo is having audience with several visitors this evening and we certainly don't want any problems to occur while she's having company. So I've arranged for the FBI agent to look over the cargo area after the Senator's last guests leave, so we can help him with his inspection. We'll just be here until then in case he decides to arrive early. Close by just in case we get a frantic call from Adam Baum."
"Adam Baum," said Snizter, "Does he give you a pain or is it just me?"
"Yes, pussycat," Zhourg again replied gently, "Most people do find Adam Baum to be a pain, but he is providing a valuable service right now. He works for Senator Nyparmo, takes the pet for a walk when needed and he seems to be the only one who can do that successfully. For that he seems to have a certain knack or finesse, whatever the case may be."
"Hmmph," uttered Snizter, blowing a short puff of smoke out the car window, "What is it with these FBI agents anyway? Since we got here, none of the agents we were assigned to help were very gung-ho about this investigation, now we've got this Johnny on the spot."
"Oh, I wouldn't worry," answered Zhourg. "It's like that with any organization. You've got the punch a time clock bureaucrats and then you will always have at least one overachiever. That's what this is about. We can be grateful we have only one overachiever we have to deal with."

Snizter assumed a more relaxed posture in her seat, "What sort of visitors is Nyparmo having?"
"The usual political guests, plus some guy Bentley Carswell wants to hire as an on board security agent, sort of like a house dick of a hotel."
"Bentley Carswell, that's another one that just makes me sick," replied Snizter as she blew out another short puff of cigarette smoke, "Is he really from way down south or is that accent just a put on? Why do we have to put up with him?"
"He's for real, pussy cat. He's from one of those old money southern families, grew up in southern Mississippi or Alabama. Carswell is employed by the private corporation that runs Shangri-La West and provides passenger services for the train and our people have little control over what that corporation does. However, once our people get onboard the train in Chicago and it starts heading out west, it could be arranged so that dear Mr. Carswell trips and takes a nasty tumble off the moving train. Then we won't have to put up with the southern gentleman or his grits flavored accent."

Agent Snizter then turned her attention to the few people walking along the sidewalks to and from the gay bars. These faggots…just walking down the street openly down the street and flaunting their lifestyle. Did you see the way that woman looked at me when she walked past our car. That whole lesbian thing just turns my stomach. Why is it that train ended up parked here, right next to the gay bars?"
"Well, the train was supposed to make a stop in Milwaukee," answered Zhourg, "From what we've learned from the FBI, this train always seem to be nearby when those vampire type killings occurred so the authorities wanted to have the train stop in an area away from residential areas."
"Well there certainly haven't been any killings while the train has been in Milwaukee," smiled Snizter. "That should certainly disprove the connection between the train and those horrible killings."
"Very true," chuckled Zhourg, "but I think Bentley Carswell might have something to do with this as well, having the train make a stop near the gay bars so he can show off his train. He's one of those, you know."
"I suspected," remarked Snizter, snorting another puff of smoke through the slot in the window. She observed a small group of chattering men greet each other, two of the men hugged each other and then the group headed for a nearby bar. She shook her head in disapproval. "I would be afraid to walk down a street like this, any one of these homos would probably want to hurt me." The agent continued to observe the pedestrians with great interest. "You know, Veg," she volunteered, "Middle Eastern militias would clean this area up in short order. All they would need is one night. It would be so easy, just a sweep through with automatic weapons…" Snizter turned and smiled at Zhourgh, "and bye-bye gay boys."
Zhourg smiled back. "After the transition, we may be able to do exactly that."

********

Bentley Carswell entered the bar and immediately identified Beef Matson, a dark, handsome man sitting at the bar who was very easy to pick out in the sea of costumed bar patrons. Carswell stopped momentarily before approaching the private investigator to clear his throat and make sure his clothes tidy and presentable before approaching Matson. Bentley found and removed a piece of lint from his jacket and then felt confident enough to approach the private investigator. He had been extensively briefed by the government agent named Gary as to the importance of getting Matson to sign on as the train's security officer. Carswell's job as the manager of services for the new train was tough and stressful enough, additionally dealing with the likes of a VIP passenger such as the very difficult Senator Nyparmo, so having his supervisors order him to follow the demands of the mysterious government agent were adding much to his stress levels. When poor Bentley became stressed, he also became accident prone.

Bentley Carswell took a deep breath to further steady his nerves and approached the man he believed to be Lynn Gordon Matson. The man was Matson and to Carswell's relief, not only was the man very handsome, but he was also very gracious and courteous, a true gentleman. This calmed Bentley further and he ordered a drink for himself and insisted on buying the private detective one as well. While the bartender was getting the drinks, instead of sitting on his bar stool, Bentley stood and started in on some initial conversation hoping to gain some rapport with Matson before he took this candidate for a tour of the train. While he leaned on the bar and chatted with Matson, Bentley failed to notice that another bar patron had quickly commandeered the stool behind him and carried it off to another part of the bar.

Still focused on the conversation, Bentley smiled when the bartender brought the drinks and prepared to settle down on the bar stool.
"Careful…the stool," warned the bartender.
"Oh, is it a bit wobbly?" asked Carswell as he let let himself down on the empty space where the stool had been. The man caught himself before he went completely to the floor, his sudden grasp at the bar counter knocking his drink a couple of feet to the side, splashing liquid onto the bar. A quick assist from Beef Matson and brought him back up to a standing position. "Oh my gosh," declared Carswell with a bit of a Southern drawl, "I do believe my stool has walked away."

The bartender was sympathetic even though he had been splattered by Bentley's drink and got another for Carswell after he mopped up the bar counter. Matson and Carswell resumed their conversation with Matson taking up Bentley's invitation for a personal tour of the new train. As they got up to leave the bar, Matson noticed a man dressed as a priest, dark suit and white collar approaching them. Beef stiffened, remembering his recent experience with the aggressive preacher outside the bar. The man walked up to Matson, a stern expression on his face. "My son…" announced the man, "you have got a wonderful set of delicious pecs." Abruptly, the cigarette smoking nun in dark glasses approached and grabbed the faux minister by the arm. "Where in the hell have you been?" exclaimed the nun, "thought you were right behind us." The nun tugged the priest to the back of the bar as Matson and Carswell left.

********

“Gary, you need to bring your vehicle in for maintenance.”  The secure symbol on his cell phone already told Gary that the caller was Ernest.  “I’ve been able to get in contact with one of the original scientists who went searching for dandelions in the mountains.  He may be able to give us tips on how to find a dandelion here.”
“Just plug the time into the scheduler and I’ll be there,” was Gary’s reply.
“Has your candidate filled the job vacancy yet?” inquired Earnest.
”Not yet,” replied Gary,”He’s presently taking the tour.  I’ll be close by, haunting the area until the interview process is completed.”
“It’s the right time of year for a spook such as yourself, Halloween coming up as it is.
By the way, I need to stress that it’s very important for you to avoid contact or association with Zhourg or Snizter.”
“That would be absolutely no problem on my part…”
“The situation is very grave with those two.  A number of people in the intelligence arena, including myself, were given a viewing of the tapes.  Very disturbing.  A child’s voice can be heard in deliberately repeating the same thing several times over…the translation from Arabic I was given was that the child was calling for the chief angel to avenge the death of his family.
”That should be no problem Ernest,” commented Gary cynically, “You yourself said there was no god, therefore, there should be no angels.”
“The tapes will have to be made to not exist,” continued Ernest, “Meanwhile…a decision must be made as to what to do with Zhourg and Snizter.”
”Prosecution?” volunteered Gary.
”Politics, Gary.  Politics.  Must be handled carefully.  They have their supporters and care must be made not to offend them. Some of the local militant groups in the Middle East are very fond of Zhourg and Snizter for their help in tracking down and eliminating homosexuals, among other little services they have provided.   Prosecution would involve a degree of publicity which must be avoided.  The current thought is to pressure Up Jumped The Devil to…”
”Up Jumped The Devil?” asked Gary.
”That’s the original name of their contract firm, you know it by the acronym, UJTD.”
“Who would have thought…?” replied Gary.
”The thought is,” continued Ernest, “to pressure UJTD to laterally move Zhourg and Snizter into positions where they have less opportunity for mischief.
“Arrgh!” vocalized Gary.
”Didn’t catch that.”
”Nothing…some phone noise.”
”Anyway, the idea is to make Zhourg and Snizter virtually invisible until a more permanent solution about them is decided.  News of the tapes has made the rounds and the FBI is balking about having them work with their agents, so there already is some discord and of course, we don’t like discord in our agencies.  Regarding yourself, Mr. C.D. it would be a good idea during this time for you to make yourself as spooky and invisible as possible and avoid Zhourg and Snizter like the plague.  And do try to be diplomatic with people.  If your candidate refuses the security position, don’t get into his face about it.”
”Mr. Matson will accept the position,” was Gary’s firm reply.

********

CATCH A FALLING STAR: A view of the new luxury train parked in a nearby warehouse district.

"He'll be there, he'll be gay…so get used to it."

Immediately after he ended his call to Ernest, the screen on Gary's phone announced another incoming call. The call was from an FBI agent demanding an immediate meeting with him. At the same Lynn Gordon Matson and Bentley Carswell were making their way to the train along an alley lined with parking lots and abandoned warehouses, Gary was keeping a hastily made appointment with the FBI agent in the same immediate neighborhood. The FBI agent was one of those who had been assigned to keep an eye on the train and having left before Matson and Carswell arrived for Beef's tour of the train, and walking a different route from the train to the warehouse district, he did not encounter the private investigator and the manager of services for the new transcontinental streamliner train.

The FBI agent stood in a dimly lit parking lot strewn with dead leaves and discarded papers. The few lights from a nearby deserted warehouse cast long shadows, the only sounds coming from distant traffic and an occasional blast of a lonely sounding train horn. The agent fidgeted, looking at his watch. The darkness about him seemed to have acquired an inky quality, in a way perhaps that evil might announce its creeping arrival. The kind of darkness associated with sadness, despair, neglect and fear. In addition, the air was becoming damper, a low, blue mist had formed over nearby fields.

The agent scanned the surroundings for Gary's arrival. He heaved an irritated sigh and looked down again at his watch. Looking up from his watch, the agent bolted in surprise, Gary was standing almost immediately in front of him.
"Agent Stuttstudder…", acknowledged Gary.
"Jesus…" exclaimed the FBI agent, "How in the hell did you do that? No wonder they call you a ghost."
"It's a talent." Gary replied with a tiny smile. "You had something you wanted to urgently discuss with me?"
Agent Stuttstudder regained his composure and replied angrily. "What did you think you were going to accomplish by putting a fag in the middle of this investigation?"
"Come again?" Gary replied with a very bored tone of voice.
"Putting a fag detective in charge of security on the train."
"An inquiring mind inquired and wants to know," Gary smiled another tiny smile. "How I run my investigations are not open to discussion. If you have any issues, do the interdepartmental thing and take it up with your superiors and they will take it up with mine."
"What is it with you, C.D.?" continued Stuttstudder, "You don't think my agency is doing a good job so you want to insult us by getting a civilian fag involved?"
Gary frowned a tiny frown, "Sounds like you have some personal issues, agent Stuttstudder. The man…" Gary paused, "I'm placing on the train has a strong background in intelligence and will be merely providing some low keyed passive surveillance for my agency, nothing more. You won't be having any contact with him so if you feel your masculinity is going to be tarnished, I wouldn't sweat it. You people have been working with Zhourg and Snizter without any problem and I know you've heard the reports about them, so what is the problem with one private investigator named Matson?"
"Those reports about Snizter, the rumors about videos, probably just fabrications," growled Stuttstudder, "She is a good Catholic."
"Really? She needs to go to confession."
"Why is it you need to have someone snooping on the train," continued Stuttstudder, "Is it an attempt to gather negative information on Senator Nyparmo? Is that It?"
"This is strictly apolitical, agent Stuttstudder," replied Gary. "We are investigating murders, not looking for dirty laundry. In my business I avoid politics with good reasons. One reason is that it would get in the way of doing my job. Also, standing behind a politician is much like standing behind a mule, you're likely to end being kicked in a very delicate place."
"You should know I have great respect and admiration for Senator Nyparmo," added Agent Stuttstudder.
"I'm so very happy for you," was Gary's reply.

Agent Stuttstudder paused slightly and spoke again. "I don't think a thorough investigation of the train has been done. If I do a thorough investigation of the train interior, I'm sure I will uncover something that will break this case wide open…solve it."
"Knock yourself out," responded Gary, "No one will stop you."
"I've already informed the train management I will be making an inspection tonight."
"Whatever," Gary shrugged his shoulders, unimpressed.
"After I do my inspection and share my results," announced the FBI agent, "I don't believe there will be a need for your undercover…person."
"Much success with your investigation, Agent Stuttstudder," intoned Gary "My only suggestion is that you interact with Senator Nyparmo and her area of the train with great respect, because if you don't, you may have an unpleasant learning experience regarding the reality of politics. One other thing regarding that train…"
Gary pointed to the nearby train, glittering in the distance with lights from its passenger windows and flashing lights on the engine. Agent Stuttstudder turned, looking at the train parked on an elevated rail siding next to the warehouses. Gary continued, "Is that my agent Matson will be aboard, serving as security officer. He'll be there, he'll be gay…so get used to it."

Agent Stuttstudder stood silent, facing the train for a few seconds, not saying anything. Then he turned back around preparing a reply for Gary, but he found the agent had completely and silently disappeared. "Damn," muttered Stuttstudder under his breath, "The guy is a goddamned spook." The FBI agent turned and began to walk back through the inky darkness to the train.

While agent Stuttstudder manly trudged back through darkness, stumbling over tree branches and discarded junk to return to the rear of the train, the object of his dislike, Lynn Gordon Matson, was some distance away, walking down a partially lit alley with Bentley Carswell toward the front of the same train. The area, formerly bustling with commerce was now a collection of abandoned factories and warehouses, was sectioned off by fences and overgrown shrubbery that prevented the cast of players in the dramas that would follow from being aware of each other, even though they were in close proximity. Guided by Bentley Carswell along an old alley now overgrown with grass and littered with fallen leaves and scrap paper, Matson was led through a sad display of industrial decay and abandonment. A moist southerly wind during a cloudy day had ceased, and the night sky was clear and starry and the air was chilling quickly, adding to the thickness of the pale blue mist. The mist hung low in a nearby field, making it look like it was covered in the web of a gigantic spider. Horns from distant trains were answered by fog horns of ships on Lake Michigan like giant creatures calling out to each other. Carswell felt safe with the private investigator, who projected an air of confidence as they strolled along, chatting. As Matson and Carswell passed through posts meant to prevent vehicle traffic on the alley and past a no trespassing sign, Beef could now plainly see the train parked on a rise with the engine on an overpass under which the alley continued. Walking closer, Lynn Gordon Matson could see some old wooden stairs leading up the brush covered rise. The bushes were not yet completely affected by the change of seasons and were for the most part green and their wild growth was attempting to cover the stairs. Thankfully the stairway was lit by a few old lampposts mounted on nearby utility poles, so that the two men were able to make their way up without stumbling.

"The boy's got a lot of issues. So many issues."

CATCH A FALLING STAR: The Starfire train.

Upon reaching the top of the rise, Matson found the track bed to be very well maintained and got a close up look at the new train, which was indeed a beauty. The engine looked very new and it was obvious the train had not seen very much wear and tear of the rail. The front end of the train engine had the design of a sports car, looking aerodynamic and massive at the same time. Matson noticed the name blazoned on the front of the train. "Starfire?" Matson asked Carswell, "Is that what they are calling it?"
"For now," replied Bentley, "Everything about the train seems tentative, at least at the moment."
Matson smiled and Bentley led him to an entrance to the rear of the engine. As the two walked up a few steps into the train, Matson was first impressed by the new car smell of the interior, and then by the opulent elegance of the train. From the initial glimpse, all was very modern, with luxury being the main theme.
"Snazzy, isn't it?" offered Bentley proudly. Matson nodded and smiled in agreement. A young woman next caught the detective's eye. She was standing in the aisle and was wearing an elegant uniform which reminded Matson of the residents of Emerald City in the "Wizard of Oz". These first glimpses were making a positive impact on the detective.
"Melissa," Bentley called out to the woman. "I want you to meet Mr. Lynn Matson, he's the guy who was on TV, the one who discovered the hidden gangster vault. He's going to be our train's security officer. Mr. Matson, this is Melissa, one of our passenger stewards, her job is to make sure our passengers have a pleasant trip."
Melissa offered her hand and Matson shook it gently. The woman managed a forced smile and then excused herself to tend to some duties. The detective noticed the woman's extreme lack of enthusiasm. "Your staff," inquired Matson matter of factly, "Are you planning any changes in personnel?"
“Personnel?” responded Carswell, “Oh no…well, maybe.  Um…there are some issues that need to be worked out between the private corporation that operates the train and the government agency that oversees the train.  Um, that’s all tentative.  But none of that will affect your position.  That’s just some service positions that might be affected…nothing that would affect your job.”
"Hmm…" uttered Beef as he watched Melissa walk down an aisle and disappear into a side compartment.

Bentley Carswell tugged on Matson's arm. "Come, let's start you on the tour. State of the art design, top of the line. Once the track beds are upgraded, I'm told this train will rival the Japanese bullet trains in speed." The private investigator then heard the click of a door opening and a young man suddenly walked around a corner, walking towards them. Bentley smiled, "Oh, that's Adam Baum, he works for Senator Nyparmo." The man with dark sandy hair continued to walk towards them and he stopped when Bentley Carswell spoke. "Adam, I'd like to introduce you to Lynn Gordon Matson. You know, the guy who discovered the old gangster hideaway in an old Milwaukee building. He's going to be train's security officer for our maiden trip." As the young man turned away from Bentley to look at Beef Matson, his deadpan expression turned into one of sudden smiling interest as he looked at Matson's face. The detective observed a smile come to Adam Baum's pleasant looking face and the pupils of his blue eyes become wider as he stared into Matson's face. Beef returned a gracious smile and offered his hand for a handshake. Suddenly, Adam's head gave a little shake and the smile turned into a frown as if he just remembered something. The man pulled his hand away from Matson's, refusing the handshake. The frown then turned into a hateful grimace. Adam turned his head away abruptly and continued his walk down the aisle. Matson flashed a look at Bentley that silently asked, "What in hell was that about?"
"Adam's got issues," replied Bentley with a Pollyanna like smile. "The boy's got a lot of issues. So many issues."
"Hmm…" uttered Beef and he turned and shot a strange look to follow Adam down the train corridor and then resumed the tour of the train with Bentley.

********

Obviously concerned about being followed, Adam took a round about way through the train, like a frightened house mouse running a maze, making his way to an exit, then left the train and quitely and swiftly made his way to some dense undergrowth near the track bed. There he met with agents Zhourg and Snizter. He nervously expressed his concerns that FBI agent Stuttstudder wanted to inspect Senator Nyparmo's personal cargo area on the train now, instead of later and also wanted him to open the large metal cabinet they referred to as the cabinet of Dr. Caligari. Zhourg and Snizter appeared to be largely unsympathetic to Baum's concerns and in fact, seemed almost amused by his predicament. The two agents also appeared to be unmoved by Adam Baum's report that Bentley Carswell had brought a man onto the train, a gay detective that Caswell said would be the security officer for the train.
"Does it bother you that the detective is gay?" asked Snizter with an almost smirk on her face.
"No," protested Adam, "It's just that he's not one of our people. He'll be snooping around."
"A fag detective," mused Zhourg, "How seriously can you take that? Probably one of Carswell's boyfriends. Did you think he was cute, Adam?" Adam Baum did not answer and frowned angrily. There was a slight pause while Adam stood shivering in the chilly, damp air with Zhourg and Snizter calmly standing in their heavy coats. "The detective is a non issue right now. We can deal with him later. Besides, where we are concerned he is strickly minor league material, he's never played against the big guys before. As far as the other matter, you shouldn't be frightened by three little letters, Adam. F-B-I. Just three little letters, that's all. We deal with these kind of people all the time, so it's really nothing for us anyway. You shouldn't allow yourself to get all worked up."
"He's…agent Stuttstudder is waiting for me to let him into the cargo area, I've got the keys to everything…"
"You go back on the train and let him explore the cargo area," instructed Zhourg calmly.
"But the cabinet of Dr. Caligari…" protested Adam.
"Just let him in Nyparmo's cargo department and we'll join you there later," continued Zhourg. "All you have to do Adam, is to put your faith in professionals." Shivering Adam then returned to the train and Zhourg and Snizter slipped back into the shadowy bushes.

********

Several miles to the south, in a motel across from the airport, Beef Matson's assistant Randy Hardwicke was in a frantic state. The sleepless overnight airplane trip to Milwaukee plus having gotten to bed late the night before because of some late night bar chat with some friends, caused Randy to sail off into a long trip into dreamland once he laid down on the motel bed. When he finally did wake up late in the afternoon, the motel clerk told him that his motel room had been paid for in advance for three days and apparently a well meaning FBI agent gave instructions that Randy was not to be disturbed and to let him sleep in.

What was worse, Randy couldn't get in contact with his boss. The FBI agents told him not to leave any telltale messages on the Matson agency voice mail so it would not be revealed where he was. Randy's best guess was that his boss was not aware of where he was or what had happened to him. Maybe Beef had thought that he, Randy, was still in San Francisco and had taken his advice and was taking some time off from the office. A frightening and very scary thought was that maybe Matson, his job finished in Milwaukee, had hopped on a flight back to San Francisco and Randy would be stuck in Wisconsin's largest city until he could figure a way to get back. Then also, was the disturbing thought that some assassin might be waiting for him if he returned to his boss's office in San Francisco.

Randy called the hotel where Beef was staying and found that his room was still occupied, however, no one was answering the room phone indicating that Matson was out somewhere. Randy thought a bit and decided that at this time of night that his boss might be out visiting the local bars. Randy used one of the computers with Internet access in the motel lobby to gather information on the local gay bars. The name of one of the city's newest and local gay bars came up on a list. It was the "Your Place Too" club.

Randy called for a cab. He had a feeling he might find his boss there and if not, the club was closer to downtown, where his boss's hotel was located and if he didn't find Matson at the club, he'd call the hotel later in the evening and maybe by that time Beef would be back in his room and then it would be a short cab trip from the club to the downtown hotel. Besides, as long as Randy was in this city, he might as well check out the local gay scene. What a story he had to Beef Matson about his encounter with the FBI agents in the office and his subsequent late night airline trip to Milwaukee. Randy's story might even rival any stories his boss might tell him about Milwaukee.

********

Beef Matson's continued his guided tour with Bentley Carswell of the interior of the train tentatively named the Starfire. "You have to admit this is a magnificent train," pitched Bentley. "Everything designed for passenger comfort, totally state of the art with all kinds of electronic goodies. First class all the way with all the amenities and a four star dining car. Just feast your eyes, the emphasis is on plush. Obviously, a trip will take longer on this train than it does on a plane, but you will get to where you're going in style and a lot more safely. If something were to happen to make this train stall, it will just stop on the tracks instead of falling out of the sky." Bentley showed Matson one of the private passenger compartments. It was indeed plush with a clever arrangement of fold out beds, a large flat screen TV, storage compartments and even an attached private bath. Very cozy, yet it didn't seem confining.

"I'd like you to meet Senator Nyparmo. She has her own private car all the way at the end of the train."
"Senator Nyparmo?" answered Beef, "I really don't think I'd care…"
"Oh, don't be shy…I know she's meeting with a few people tonight. I don't think a short visit with you would be a bother. I'll just let Polly know I'd like the Senator to meet with you."
"Polly…?" inquired Matson.
"Polly Bland," replied Bentley, "She's Nyparmo's personal secretary."
"Nah, I really don't think I need to meet with Senator Nyparmo."
"Oh…I think it would be good for you to meet with Senator Nyparmo," reassured Carswell, "I think you'll make a great impression on her. You're a bit of a celebrity yourself…being in the news after discovering that hidden gangster lair. I think the Senator would want to meet you as long as you're on the train and that you're going to start working on the train, too." A "I'm not really sure about this" expression came to Matson's face. Bentley was insistent that the private detective meet with the Senator. The tour would gradually lead to the end of the train where Nyparmo's private car was located and where Carswell would ask the Senator's secretary Polly to arrange a meeting of a minute or two with Beef Matson. "Oh, by the way," added Bentley, "If the Senator says she likes your watch or cell phone or something and wants to see it…don't give it to her. She won't give it back. She'll consider it a gift. She's quirky that way." Matson showed an expression of irritation that he only slightly tried to conceal.

********
"Morons on parade…"

At the same time that Beef Matson and Bentley Carswell were walking to the train and agent Gary and FBI agent Studstudder were meeting, Senator Nyparmo was already meeting with her first visitor of the evening. Prior to that she reviewed a list furnished by her secretary Polly of people she was to meet with that evening. Sitting in a chair in the plush drawing room of her spacious private car, the Senator reflected on each person she was to meet, holding the sheet of paper in her hand. The news had been made public that her private car with her aboard was sitting stalled in the middle of the large city of Milwaukee, close to the megalopolis of Chicago. The convenience of the location was provoking those people who wanted to make political deals with her and those who had political connections or other business with her to try an arrange a personal audience. Some were just hoping for a photo opportunity with the Senator on the new train. During the past few weeks the Senator had cut down personal meetings to a scant few, so people were clamoring to meet with her. On this night, Nyparmo was limiting her audience to those she considered to have only the most urgent business. "Morons on parade…" she mused quietly to herself and tossed the paper on a table next to her.

CATCH A FALLING STAR: Senator Nyparmo.

********
"You know what happens to rats, Mr. Waffle? Eventually someone lays out some poison for them."

Senator Nyparmo's first visitor that her secretary Polly brought into the drawing room of her private car was a man named Spin Waffle. Over the years, Mr. Waffle had managed to secure for himself the reputation of someone who was skilled at molding opinion within the gay community, often times helping to put gay friendly face on gay hostile politicians. It certainly was ironic that he had already acquired the nickname Spin, since one of Mr. Waffle's particularly good reputations was that of his talent as a spin doctor. Spin would come to the aid of public figures whose anti gay activities, remarks and attitudes had been revealed. Mr. Waffle had learned that offering his services were profitable, both in returned favors as well as positions and hard cash. Spin had become involved in numerous gay organizations over the years and he used his connections in these organizations to acquire and provide information about numerous individuals. The information about these individuals would be passed on by Mr. Waffle to the powers that be that viewed these same individuals as unfriendly or a threat. Mr. Waffle's associates in gay activist organizations would certainly be surprised to learn how comfortable he was to partake in meetings with virulently anti gay factions plotting ways to make the lives of the very same activists, as well as gay people in general, very uncomfortable. As a result, whispers and asides began to dog Spin's heels, and even without the hard facts being disclosed to the whole world, Mr. Waffle's reputation began to suffer as fewer and fewer people believed his performance as a gay activist and began to wonder about his associations with social conservatives. Even the less observant souls began to notice that whatever was told to Mr. Waffle soon became common knowledge to social conservatives. What goes around, does indeed come around.

Spin Waffle now shared something in common with Senator Nyparmo, the political careers of both were now on decline from their apex. To eyes of most, Nyparmo's trip on the inaugural trip of the new train was merely an attempt to keep a spotlight on her fading career. Waffle wanted to meet with influential people like Nyparmo to show he still had value as a political manipulator and an informant.

Spin Waffle took advantage of social conservatives' obsession with homosexuals, in fact he found their obsession profitable. Also, Mr. Waffle felt he had acquired a separate peace with the religious fundamentalists and social conservatives, he would help them by restraining the homosexual political element and also provide them with the information they wanted, and in turn, his own personal life would be overlooked and cash and other material rewards would make it more enjoyable.

In Senator Nyparmo's case, she had a particular interest in assembling information about homosexuals and Waffle was eager to supply her with that information, for a price. This was the reason for Spin's visit on this evening. He had with him an envelope for the Senator, an envelope was eager to receive payment for. For some unknown and curious reason, during the past couple of weeks he had tried to deliver the envelop but was given the brush off by the Senator's staff. Finally, he was able to get an appointment with her while Senator's train was held up in Milwaukee. Waffle happened to be in Chicago and it was a quick drive north to Milwaukee.

Spin Waffle had followed the instructions he was given precisely to the entrance of Senator Nyparmo's private car, towards the end of the train. He was met there by the Senator's secretary, Polly Bland who led him into the drawing room of the car. "Mr. Spin Waffle," Polly curtly announced him. The Senator did not offer Mr. Waffle a chair and he stood while Nyparmo addressed him from her chair. Spin smiled and offered a view of the envelope he carried. The Senator at first seemed not willing to acknowledge the envelope, then finally nodded to another plump envelope sitting on the table beside her chair.

Nyparmo certainly had a challenging personality at times, but tonight the accent was definitely acerbic. Even at times like this, Spin Waffle could be relentlessly agreeable and pleasant. Especially when he wanted something. Especially when Spin had in his hand a manila envelope containing information he had acquired for the Senator and that he wished to exchange for cash.

After a brief initial exchange, Nyparmo announced that she no longer had any need for Waffle's services and after tonight, no longer wanted to have any more to do with him. Spin offered a smiling protest, reminding the senator how much information he had provided her, how he helped neutralize the gay political element in her district and how he had faithfully trashed the homosexual element on her behalf. Nyparmo remained steadfast without giving much of a reason. Mostly, her comments revealed an intense personal dislike she had for him.

"Well, you have of course, helped us reign in the obstreperous homosexual element." "I've heard of gay for pay, but in your case it's being paid to rat on gays, with the emphasis on rat. More precisely, it's being a quisling for pay, isn't it sweetheart?" You certainly are the obnoxious, obsequious individual…what people more commonly refer to as a rat. You know what happens to rats, Mr. Waffle? Eventually someone lays out some poison for them."

Waffle refused to react emotionally to Senator Nyparmo's comments, smiling and remaining cheerful. "I realize there have been some challenges in your life lately, but maybe you're reacting to those things, not to me. I can still be quite useful…"

"I do have a problem with people who are traitors to their own kind, to their own people, who indeed would they ever show loyalty to?"

"My dear little Spin, there are two reasons for your decline in usefulness. The first is that the homos are becoming very skeptical about you. Even though you consider yourself so far above other homos, the tidbits of information you give others about them is the only reason you have any usefulness at all. Sad, isn't that? I do have a problem with people who are traitors to their own kind, to their own people, who indeed would they ever show loyalty to? However, I suspect the homos are becoming guarded about what information they give you. You have acquired just a…" Nyparmo paused momentarily, "bit of a reputation. For instance, just the other day a gay blogger wrote a little opinion about you, he stated that you have your tongue so far up the ass of a well known right wing anti gay individual…that you can't pull it out. I personally know that the blogger's opinion to be fact, I won't bother naming whose ass it is that you have your tongue stuck in, you already know the name. You are merely a distributor that has a number of customers." Spin began to show anger. "I know the blogger you're talking about. He and a few other amateur journalists think they're so damned smart, slandering me on their worthless web sites, but I made a few call to some ex-gay groups, and as far as that blogger is concerned…"
Interrupting, Nyparmo momentarily shifted her eyes in boredom and distaste. "I personally don't give a rat's ass what you do. All I'm going to tell you is that I no longer have any use for your services. By the way, little man, don't flatter yourself thinking that your anti gay friends will come to your rescue. While they might attack the blogger, I believe that like myself, they may enjoy finally seeing you get your comeuppance."

"But you need an inside man like myself that can ferret out all the homosexuals from all the nooks and crannies…" protested Spin.

"No, if I had my way, I'd have all the homos put into camps, you included. You like to sell out the gays you detest in the hinterlands, making life miserable for them and then go to a large cities and party with other homos, always with a very young man hanging on your arm. In my vision, everyone would be rounded up, no exceptions. No little enclaves where the hypocrites can party would be allowed.

Anyway…my career is about to go in a different direction, I will not need your services, such as they are, any longer. As far as the homosexual problems goes, I and my people will have better ways of dealing with it than using the services of a…homosexual."

Spin Waffle decided not to press the issue any longer; he would contact the Senator at some future date. This was just another of her mood changes and she would have a change of heart in the future and see how valuable his services were. He decided to focus on getting paid for the envelope he had brought. Nyparmo accepted the envelope and tossed it on the table next to her chair. She spoke no longer, offering Spike the hint that he should leave, but Mr. Waffle was not about to leave without his payment. He kept staring at the other overstuffed envelope on the table. Finally, Nyparmo broke the impasse, "I think you're waiting for this envelope." Nyparmo picked up the yellow brown envelope and was about to offer it to Spin when she paused. "I think," she said, pausing again, "that if you really want this envelope, you should do something to prove it. I think my feet need a tongue bath. I haven't bathed them in awhile and they are getting really stinky." The senator eased one of her feet out of its shoe. "Get on your hands and knees and start licking."

Spin did not stop smiling and being agreeable. "You're kidding with me."

"If you want this envelope," continued Nyparmo, "lick my feet clean. Make sure you remove all the dirt out from between the toes."

Waffle paused a bit, then still smiling got to his hands and knees and began crawling towards the woman. Just when he got to the senator's foot, she abruptly pulled her foot away. "I changed my mind. No telling what sort of diseases I might get from a rodent." Nyparmo tossed the envelope on the floor next to Spin Waffle. "Now get out," she commanded. Waffle still smiling agreeably, complied and left, clutching the envelope. Leaving the drawing room he grabbed a quick peak at the cash inside.

With Spin Waffle gone, Nyparmo called her secretary Polly into the drawing room. "IsnÕt it remarkable that paying someone off is like giving them a lobotomy. Mr. Waffle has turned into a brain dead little rat. Mr. Spin Waffle's services are no longer needed by us," she informed Polly." I also need you to tell our two people I want them to retrieve the envelope that I gave to Mr. Waffle and it's contents ." Polly gave the Senator a business like nod and left the room. Nyparmo then picked up the envelope Waffle had given her and looked at the contents. Inside there was a compact disc, labeled "CLEANSING OF HOMOSEXUALS AND THE HOMOSEXUAL PRESENCE"*.

*Oddly enough, Beef Matson acquires a CD with the same title at the beginning of the last chapter of A PERSON IN A POSITION OF TRUST.

********

Spin Waffle left Senator Nyparmo's drawing room with the newly acquired envelope firmly clutched inside his jacket pocket and he headed down the hallway to leave the train at the same place he had entered it. He was intercepted by Polly who instead directed him to an exit more to the front of the train. Polly watched Waffle walk down the hallway a bit and then went to the same entrance where she had initially greeted Spin. She greeted a man who was waiting there. "Good evening, Reverend Mighty, good to see you again. Hope you haven't been waiting long."
"Not long at all, Polly. I've just arrived."
"The Senator will meet with you right away."
Polly led the Reverend to the Senator's drawing room, she happened to notice a handwritten sign taped to his back of his jacket. "MY MOTHER STILL DRESSES ME" it read. She quickly pulled it off. "Oh, you had some trash paper clinging to your back," explained Polly when the preacher looked at her. "Oh," he explained, "Since this train was in the neighborhood, I was preaching to the homo fags in that little bar area to change their ways. Had to walk through lots of bushes and shrubs to get from that bar place to here. Surprised I don't have mess of dried leaves all over me." Polly flashed a little smile and opening the door to the Senator's drawing room, announced him. "Senator, the Right Reverend Spike Mighty is here for his appointment."

********
"The guy's a jerk."

A ways up towards the front of the train, Bentley Carwell was showing Beef Matson a lounge area of the train when a scampering of footsteps announced the arrival of Spin Waffle. Recognizing the man, Matson's face first showed a slight expression of surprise, then an expression of "what is he doing here", then an expression of "who cares". Waffle slowed his rush to leave the train when he recognized the private detective. "I know who you are," he announced "you're Beef Matson, that detective guy." Spin paused to offer his hand to Matson for a handshake, but Lynn Gordon did not acknowledge the gesture, instead focusing his attention to Bentley's description of a vending machine . Waffle was in a hurry to leave the train so he could count some money, so he did not make an issue of Matson's rejection and continued down the hallway. He paused again, turning to brag another statement. "I just met with Senator Nyparmo, she's a great friend of the gay community." Waffle resumed his rapid trot down the hallway and was gone.

With Waffle out of earshot, Matson turned to Carswell and stated quietly, "The guy's a jerk."
"So I've heard," replied Bentley.

********
"What you're talking about is high treason…"

As the Rev. Spike Mighty settled into a chair facing Senator Nyparmo, her assistant Polly Bland returned with a tray holding a pot of coffee and two cups and saucers.  She quietly placed the cups and saucers on tables next to Nyparmo and her guest and then filing the cups with coffee, silently left as the Senator thanked her.  

A restrained coffee conversation with little effort put into it began. .  Then Spike wanted to address the issue that had brought him to this meeting.  Senator Nyparmo had sent him a message telling him she wanted to terminate the political arrangement they had but Spike found the arrangement useful and wanted it to continue.  Whatever thoughts Spike had about changing her mind with an in person meeting were dashed as the Senator refused to change her mind.  The more the Reverend Mighty pressed the issue, the more resistant the senator became.  The tone of the conversation became more spirited, less restrained and gradually became less and less friendly.  Spike pushed for a reason why their long term association of politically scratching each other’s back and sharing information had to end.  Senator Nyparmo gave him the reason.  The republic to which both of them had declared allegiance to was soon going to be broken up into a gaggle of smaller independent states.  Her logic was that all her associations in regard to the politics of the United States of America would also end when the republic died, as the associations would no longer be relevant.
“You must have heard the rumors,” stated Nyparmo.
“Yes, I’ve heard rumors,” replied Mighty, “but I thought just some silliness, supermarket tabloid stuff.”
“It’s true, I could not obtain an exact date but it will occur in the coming months.  I’ve belong to a number of secret congressional committees involving the transition.”
What you’re talking about is high treason…” protested Spike.
Nowadays it’s considered treason only if you oppose the global financial cartels.
”The military will not stand for it…there will be a coup…”
”No, most of the party boys in the pentagon just like to play war and they don’t care what flag they do it under, the stars and strips or some other piece of fabric with chartreuse polka dots.  Some of the old war eagles impress me as being primarily interested in securing a good job with a military contractor after they retire.  From what I understand, the bulk of the military will be regrouped as the military in a new nation composed by the southeastern states.  The planners feel that those states are favorable to a strong military, which of course will be used to enforce the wishes of the global financial community.  So the pentagon warbirds have been assured their jobs will be secured.  There also has been planning to avoid the possibility of a coup. The military brass has been profiled those who might be adverse to the dismantling of the old United States of America will be assigned to remote bases, like in the middle of the Indian Ocean, during the transition.

You won’t hear a peep from the President, members of Congress or the Supreme Court either.  They’ve all been promised something or another, like board memberships with large global corporations.

The government has sent the bubble headed and hair sprayed news anchors to seminars on how to deliver the news of the break up of the union as a happy time news item and even the two main political parties are arranging to have its followers rally in support of the dissolving of the union, thought the parties haven’t been told yet that their political parties will also be among the things that are also going away.

"The bottom line is we saved Wall Street and the banks and lost the country."

This business of breaking up the country…I mean something this fantastic, how could this happen?”
“It was very simple.  The government squandered its last resources saving the banks and Wall Street.  Any business that wasn’t a mega business was left to flounder on it’s own and the same with general public.  The only thing the government did regarding the general public was to encourage them to be more effiicient, though if you don't have an adequate income, efficiency is a mute point.  As a result, the Wall Street and the big banks flourished and were on their way again to the land of awesome profits while just about everyone else went bankrupt.  Income from the tax rolls plummeted because incomes plummeted or became nonexistent and the mega corporations pay little if any taxes.  The states began to default because their tax revenues crashed.  The bottom line is, we saved Wall Street and the banks and lost the country.

”This is so sudden, I would have thought more people would know about this.”
”Unless they were too preoccupied with homosexuals,” Nyparmo shot a cold stare at the Reverend Spike Mighty.“I find it boggles my mind that the supposedly most powerful country in the world, with a huge nuclear weapons arsenal, is eliminated without firing a shot, and it also boggles my mind that no one cares,” added Senator Nyparmo.  Nyparmo explained to Spike that  the falling economy of the United States had brought it into debt to the large international financial concerns and these concerns had declared America to be in default and thought it to be to their advantage that U.S. be broken up into smaller entities.  The way the realignment, as they call it, is supposed to occur is that Internal Revenue and Treasury agents will arrive at the government offices of states that are in financial default and seize control of the state governments.  This gradually will involve all the states and then the agents, acting on behalf of global financial interests will realign the states into new countries.  No more U.S. Constitution, Bill Of Rights, existing laws will be null and void, no Medicare, Social Security, labor laws and so on.  Just exactly the way large multinational corporations want things to be.  Washington D.C. will be just another large city with a large number of useless government buildings as relics.

“I saw this going on for years, shipping all the industry, the jobs and what have you outside the borders. I knew something ultimately had to give and I quite believe the globalists had this in mind all the time.  The ruling oligarchy insisted on absurdly overpricing the cost of the basic necessities of life, housing, fuel, food and so on, driving all of that out of reach of the American public, while at the same time, shipping all the jobs that were worth anything out of the country.  The process accelerated during the past few years.  Obviously, the oligarchy knew this would happen, this is how all the great civilizations of the world collapsed.  They simply became too expensive for it’s citizens to live in.   The bottom line is this, all the wealth became concentrated at the very top of the financial tower and the empty floors below it couldn’t support the load at the top and the tower collapsed.  The global financial cartels have been feasting on the republic for years and now they want it cut up into smaller pieces for easier dining.  It’s as simple as that.

With the country dissolving, all the political deals that were made, going back decades, are now dissolving too.  As far as I’m concerned, all deals are now null and void.  The players will be scrambling to make new deals, except now, the pie will be much smaller.   Now the best anyone can hope for is a deal that involves an area one fourth to one eighth the size of the United States, involving only the new country they end up residing in.  In line with all these current developments, I consider all deals I may have been involved with to be null and void.  However, I refuse to be one of the vultures scrambling to dine on one of the pieces hacked off the old republic.  I have decided I wouldn’t be happy with being part of one of those little chunks, whether it’s called Missippibama, Appalachiana, or Corporatania.   So, while all those others are energetically negotiating with for their spot in one of those new countries designed by the world banking interests, I’ve decided that I would devote my energies to preserving the old union, and emerging as the most powerful person as a result.”

“If, as you say,” questioned the Reverend Mighty, “powerful economic interests are going to carve the country apart, what could you possibly do to stop them?”

There will be a period of uncertainty…a political vacuum. Who knows what might happen then.  All it would take is a politically savvy group to cause an upset.  There might be a panic, a period of hysteria, then someone might be able to fill that vacuum and seize power."
“I don’t understand,” replied Mighty.
“You don’t have to,” answered Nyparmo.

During the period of transition, there will be confusion and uncertainty.  If any crisis were to occur during this time, say, a natural disaster, an aggression by an outside power, or whatever, the power structure would be at peril and someone with the appropriate amount of skill could gain control.  Instead of letting the country be dissolved at the whim of global money interests, the union could be preserved and a political structure set up that would insure the republic’s existence and punish those who tried to bring it’s downfall."
“How could any group or even the entire country stand up to the global financial interests?”

”It could use its Pandora’s Box”, answered Nyparmo.
“What…?”
”I’ve been on a number of government committees over the years and through them and a number of people I’ve placed in strategic positions, I’ve learned that the government has a Pandora’s box of interesting and nasty little things at its disposal.  Some of these things, if used carefully during the period of transition of government that we may shortly be going through, could very well prevent the transition and shift the balance of power.”
”Pandora’s box?” asked Mighty, “Sounds like some urban legend fairy tale.   Do they have a magic wand to make the economic elite disappear? How could anything in the possession of the government be of benefit to you?”
“You’re correct, Spike.  Just a box of urban legends and fairy tales.  Nothing more.  Maybe something that might create enough of a distraction that might allow someone like me to step in and claim what is rightfully hers.  If such a person would wind up in control of the government, that person could use the tools in the Pandora’s box to reign in the oligarchy and put American on the incline rather than the decline.  I heard of something called AIDS 2.0, an advanced version of the virus which can be designed to specially target a specific group of people. Having a problems in the Middle East?  With AIDS 2.0, you could say goodbye Arabs…and goodbye Jews for that matter.  I would solve the immigration problem in a unique way.  For those countries south of the border that want to send us a lot of illegal immigration, I’d say if you want to come to America so bad, let’s bring America to you.  Seize those countries and make them over American style and add a lot of new stars to the Stars and Stripes.

The bottom line is, Reverend, is that I see an opportunity to take it all for myself and I don’t need any penny ante players around to get in the way, especially not those I’ve always regarded as freaks.”

Spike glanced a puzzled look at Nyparmo, not knowing what to make of her last statement.  Then he added an observation.  “You’re so concerned about this supposed transition, yet you’ve decided to take a ride on this new train.  Sounds like the old Nyparmo to me, always finding a way to be in the limelight.”
Nyparmo gave an answer, “Through the committees I belong to I’ve learned that the government plans on rounding up certain people during the national reorganization and place these people in safety and security internment camps, supposedly so these individuals are safe and protected.  Actually, the government wants to place possible troublemakers in controlled areas so that they don’t rock the boat as far as the transition goes. I learned quite a number of people to be secured before information was cut off to my committees. There was even talk of putting the interned people to work manufacturing flags of the new little countries the United States will become.  I do not intend to be one of those people in the internment camps.  This is why I am on this train, I intend to relocate my to my own secure area, out of the hands of the security forces.”

“If all this is going to happen…” added Spike, “I think our continued association would be important.  I and my movement can continue to be important to you.”
“Spike,” replied the Senator, “your movement is nothing more than a one trick pony.  All you wanted to focus on was finding out who is gay and every little boring aspect of their lives. I gave you all the information you wanted to that end.  Now, oh dear, that’s all you have…you have nothing of interest to offer me.  Now you show up wanting to latch onto my coattails and have me bring you along with me.  I will deal with the homosexual problem in my own way and I don’t need your help to do that.  My issues now are of a broader political nature which would probably go way over your head.  I suggest you’ll be happier anyway continuing to play peeping tom with those gay boys you are so obsessed with.  Preaching at gay bars, chasing the cute gay boys down sidewalks…”
“That’s quite enough…” interrupted the Reverend Mighty with great irritation.

********
"Bentley…could it be there's something you're not telling me?"

Polly Bland informed Bentley Carswell that right after Senator Nyparmo finished meeting with the person she was currently giving an audience to, she would meet with private detective Matson.  Polly couldn’t say how long the meeting would be and so Carswell resumed the tour of the train with the private detective, attempting to keep Matson on the train by showing him its technical marvels.  Bentley took Beef to the first class section of the train, or, as Carswell liked to call it, ultra first class.   The cabin had plush carpeting, padded walls accented with gold foil trim and Bentley described the cockpit like seats, infinitely adjustable with built in head phones, built in heater, massage unit, and a swing out personal monitor screen for watching movies or, with a slide out keyboard, to access the internet.   Bentley had Beef sit down in one of the seats, it was extremely comfortable, then Carswell turned on the massage unit for Matson, it was indeed blissful.  Bentley used a call unit on the seat to ask Melilssa, the steward to bring Matson a “ultra first class” snack. 

It took Melissa less than a minute to arrive with the snack, coffee, juice, a fruit and cheese plate and a plate of little pastries.   Melissa, in her elegant uniform, looked very much in place with the luxurious surroundings. Beef was allowing himself to be seduced by the luxury.  The chair massage was gently kneading the muscles of his back and thighs and he found his mood becoming more relaxed by the minute.  He decided to take advantage of the coffee and one of the pastries.  He eased back into the massaging seat like one very large and smug cat.

Melissa turned towards Bentley with an unenthusiastic expression and with a flatness to her voice asked, “Since we won’t have any passengers for the trip to Chicago, may I get back into my civilian clothes?  That way I can have the uniform and other company property put back in inventory and have all my personal belongings ready to go when we get to Chicago and Nyparmo’s people replace all of us.  It won’t take very long to get to Chicago so I’d like to avoid the mad rush when we get there.”
Matson arched an eyebrow at Melissa’s statement and Bentley immediately became flustered. “No, don’t do that,” squealed Bentley, “Nothing’s been written in stone about Senator Nyparmo’s people replacing anybody.  You all work for me and…I’ll be the one to say if any of you are being replaced.  Keep your uniform on while you are working the train, passengers or no passengers.  It’s a matter of pride in your job.  Besides,” Bentley, shot quick looks from side to side to make sure the three of them were alone, “I hear from good authority that the thing about Nyparmo’s people coming aboard…that may not happen at all.  But for God’s sake don’t tell that to Nyparmo or any of her staff.”
Melissa’s expression brightened.  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that Mr. C.  Nyparmo won’t have anything to do with us, and her staff…” Melissa snapped her fingers and shook her head side to side for emphasis, “They’re like, you people are insects to us.  So none of us have very much to do with her people at all.”  Now with a lively spring in her step, Melissa returned to the galley.

Still enjoying the chair massage, Matson did a cat-like stretch while addressing Carswell almost musically.  “Bentley…could it be there’s something you are not telling me?  Like why does your staff seem to be in fear for their jobs?”
“Er…” stammered Bentley, “As I told you before, there are some issues that need to be worked out between the private corporation that I work for that operates and owns the train and the government agency that oversees the train.”
Matson chimed in with Bentley on the last part of his statement, “and the government agency that oversees the train,” adding “and Senator Nyparmo is probably a chair on a Congressional committee that oversees that agency.”
“Yeah, that’s about the size of it,” replied Bentley in a mousey sort of way.  “The Senator wanted her people to replace my staff for the rest of the trip to Nevada.  None of them have the training that my staff does.  The word that’s coming down to me is that probably won’t be happening now.  Like I told you, what ever happens staff wise, it won’t affect your position anyway.”
Matson muttered a “Hmmm…” and eased back to enjoy the chair massage.

Bentley voiced a concern that just came to his mind.  “When you meet with Senator Nyparmo,” he advised, “be aware she is very much the VIP and she really buys into being treated like one.  So please be on your best behavior.”
“No problem, Bentley,” responded Beef, “I’ll just stroll into her office and start out by saying, ‘Yo wazzup mama? What’s been poppin wit you?’”
Bentley lost a breath and stared at Matson gravely, seemingly taking the detective’s statement seriously, “Oh, please don’t do that.”

********

Adam Baum answered a sharp, short knock on the door of his compartment. With an expression of urgency on her face, Polly Bland informed Adam.  “Adam, Agent Stuttstudder of the FBI is here, he would like you to let him into our baggage compartment so he can do an inspection of it.”
“Yes, of course,” replied Adam, his expression becoming that of a deer in car headlights.
Adam Baum walking like a man being led to his execution, led Agent Stuttstudder to the baggage compartment.  Once there, Stuttstudder began to explore the area.  “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to a large metal cabinet.
“We call that the Cabinet of Dr. Caligari,” Baum smiled weakly.
“What’s inside of it?”
“Just electronic equipment.”
“Open it up for me.”
“Just a second,” replied Adam, “I need to answer a message I just got.”  Adam sent a text message from his cell phone.  It read simply, “He’s here now.”

********
"I believe, just as you do, that homosexuality must be rooted out and exterminated…and I would include the less desirable ethnic groups as well."

The veneer of politeness peeled off their conversation as Senator Nyparmo and the Right Reverend Spike Mighty’s discussion became passionate as they began to discuss the reverend’s favorite topic, homosexuals.  The sounds of the preacher and the senator’s confrontational conversation began to be heard in the immediate area; the preacher sounding like grumpy thunder, the senator’s muffled voice was higher pitched and strident, sounding like some sort of intermittent warning alarm.  Mighty accused Nyparmo of being soft on the issue of homosexuality and being a gay rights supporter.

Nyparmo responded to Spike’s accusations. “I have never been a homo rights supporter.  The queers assumed that I was and I let them think that…the money and votes they’d funnel my way were useful.  Nowadays, the bloom is off the rose as far as the gay support goes.  The fag activists started to catch on as to how I really feel about their concerns and the only ones who support me now are the piss elegant fairies, the ones with money…all they care about is being connected with the rich and powerful, they could care less about homo rights issues.”

“If you’re not a homo supporter,” retorted Spike, “then why do you employ homosexuals? I know for a fact that two of your staffers are gay.  I’ve been told that your Polly Bland and Adam Baum are gay.”
”Your information is dated, Reverend Mighty.  Use to be, used to be gay.  I do not allow any homosexuals on my staff.  Polly, for instance, used to regard herself as a lesbian separatist.  She got involved with my campaign years ago and she was a very devoted and efficient campaigner but when I was informed about her lesbian lifestyle, that was something I couldn’t tolerate.  So I let her know that if she wished to continue her involvement, she had to take the cure for her sexual orientation.  Out of loyalty to me, she agreed and I even selected a husband for her, a husband she is still married to.

I make a point of being very aware of my staffer’s private lives.  When I found out about Adam, I gave him the same ultimatum, either change or resign. I let him know that if he changed, he would have job security, if he didn’t change, he would lose his job and I would make sure his life became a living hell.  He agreed to change and I sent him on to my grandfather’s people.  My grandfather’s people have decades of experience in developing techniques to reform homosexuals.  The cure wasn’t as successful with Adam as it was with Polly.  Adam seems to have lost a lot of the zest for living that he used to have.  Oh well, I think it works better for women since a lot of women are willing to accept a passive role in life. The sexual issue always seems to be easier for women; there are women who embrace the passive, receptive role.

However, I’ve noticed how damaging the process of changing sexual orientation is.  Such is the case with Adam.  We may have changed his sexual orientation, but we ruined him as a result. Not the pleasant and fun person he used to be, takes life way too seriously now and always seems to be on the downbeat.  He used to be so enjoyable before, now he’s damaged goods.

Instead of wasting our time, energy and resources on curing homosexuals with mixed results, I say let’s cut our loses and just round them up, put them somewhere and eliminate them.  It’s been done before so we have the experience to draw upon.  Just face the facts that like any disease, homosexuality will show up from time to time and the way to deal with it is like any disease, but quarantining it and eliminating those infected with it.

Like you, I take the position that homosexuality is undesirable.  But do we really want to spend a lot of our resources trying to cure homosexuality when we end up with damaged goods? I say, Reverend, we should cut our losses and save our resources.  The best thing to do is to occasionally round up the people with that proclivity and cleanse them from society. Many of your own people are urging the use of the death penalty for dealing with homosexuality, Spike, and I totally agree with them.  From my observations, the homos don’t make the transition from one orientation to another without being damaged, so the best solution would be termination, period.

Instead of being a supporter of homos as you say, I firmly believe that those in power have the right redesign humanity to their own tastes, like we create breeds of dogs or anything else.  Nature may insist on creating homosexuals or undesirable ethnic groups, but those of us in power have he right to do some housecleaning now and then and eliminate those groups that are not up to our standards. I believe, just as you do, that homosexuality must be rooted out and exterminated…and I would include the less desirable ethnic groups as well.  I identify with a philosophical and political desire to purify the human species.

Unlike you, I don’t believe in spending a lot of time obsessing about homosexuals, what a waste of time, especially now.  The homosexuals are not going anywhere, so we can deal with them at some time in the future.  I say let’s just gather a lot of information about them now, tell the fags we need the info to help them; then in the future we’ll know who and where they all are when we want to gather up the trash and dispose of it.”

Spike Mighty responded to Senator Nyparmo’s revelations cautiously.  “What of your associations with the gay rights activist, Spin Waffle? 
“Public relations, Spike.  Public image, that’s all.  Spin Waffle is no more a gay activist than you are. Spin is one of those piss elegant fairies…he’d sell his mother to slave traders if the price was right. He has been passing on information to me about his fellow fags for years.”
Reverend Mighty chuckled.  “Actually Spin has done some work for my people as well.  He helped us with a public relations problem when one of our preachers got involved with a drugs and gay sex scandal.  He did a little write up in some publication that he looked up to the preacher as one of his personal heros.”
“Really…” commented Nyparmo, “Spin certainly is a remarkable and versatile individual.    The piss elegant fairies like him certainly make poor custodians of the interests of their own people.  We should be grateful for people like him.  My point again, Spike. With people like Spin Waffle doing our bidding we are the ones running the homo movement.  Waffle is spreading the post gay philosophy, that nobody identifies as gay anymore so issues of equality or gay rights are not important, that everybody is now moving beyond equality and being gay and conforming and fitting into the heterosexual norm.   Just like I have my people spreading the post progressive philosophy, that progressive issues are now irrelevant and unimportant, that everyone’s moving beyond progressive movement.  That tactic is so brilliant that I now have former progressives now supporting neocon issues.  So, I would say Spike, that the amount of energy you put into your anti-gay activities might just be overkill.”

“Still,” insisted Spike, adding to the Senator’s growing weariness, “The threat of homosexual conspiracies should not be discounted.  I could cite numerous examples of homosexual conspiracies,” he announced.  “You know of course about Harold Benedict, how a relentless campaign of investigations by a homosexual private investigator led to his violent murder…”
Oh Spike, please…” responded Nyparmo.  “Spare me the sad, mournful song about Benedict and how he is the great martyr of the right wing global capitalists.  All he was, was a drug dealing addict.”
“Just another lie in the campaign of lies against a great man.  He was a major contributor to our causes.  The homosexual detective was conducting a number of investigations in buildings owned by Harold Benedict just before he was murdered…”
“Spike!” Senator Nyparmo raised her voice and barked out the minister’s name. “I was asked to sign a statement in support of the late Harold Benedict.  However, out of political necessity I always make it a point of investigating someone before I sign any statement of support for anybody, dead or alive.  My people got me a copy of the indictment against Mr. Benedict.  I learned the FBI was investigating Benedict long before the gay detective started snooping around Mr. Benedict’s properties.   The detective’s investigations had nothing to do with Mr. Benedict, in fact, the FBI used the detective to distract attention from their own investigation of Mr. Benedict. This will become public knowledge shortly when the indictment is announced.   I also learned  numerous unrelated investigations were being conducted at Harold Benedict’s properties because most of his properties had become crack houses. In fact, pretty much all of Benedict’s employees are felons convicted on drug charges.”
“Benedict was hiring ex-felons to help get them back into society…” interrupted the Rev. Mighty, “when no one else would hire them.”
“Yes,” continued Nyparmo, “and he would immediately put them to work trafficking drugs under the cover of his real estate division. The indictment also lists some solid proof of his connection to some Mexican drug cartels and how he was using his various companies to launder money for them, not to mention the trafficking of illegal aliens. Not very nice people to be associated with.   If Benedict was contributing money to you, it was probably soiled by drug transactions. Harold Benedict is someone I would want to have as much distance from as possible.”

"Are you trying to make me puke?"

Noting the Senator’s weariness with his anti-gay zeal, Reverend Mighty paused momentarily while Nyparmo dashed a gulp of coffee down her throat.  He decided to change his tactics.  “Perhaps I am being overzealous about this issue at the moment,” he suggested, “but I still think we must maintain our alliance.  I realize the challenges you have been facing of late, your husband’s terrible accident, deciding not to run for reelection.” Spike rose from his chair and approached Nyparmo.  He reached out to place a hand on the Senator’s shoulder.  “A strong male presence might be just what you need right now.”
The Senator reacted sharply, “Are you trying to make me puke?” She told Spike to sit back down and with a slight bit of hurt and rejection, he slunk back to his chair.

“You know, Rev. Spike,” stated Senator Nyparmo, “You are what is more commonly referred to as a freak.  I can identify with a philosophical and political desire to purify the human species, but in your case your obsession with individuals and sexual practices lies in the realm of downright creepy.

You know what, I’ll tell you right now why I am delighted to clean house and end the associations I’ve had with certain people over the years, especially you.  At first, I had a hard time trying to figure you out.  Then I realized that I was trying to make you more complex than you are.  What you are is just something simple.  All you really are is white trash.

Nyparmo’s last observation jolted the Right Reverend Spike Mighty who viewed himself as as a savior, not white trash.  “What…?” he snorted.  From that point on, the conversation did a rapid descent into hostile accusations as the senator and reverend began to share their true feelings about one another.

Chapter Four, If Pain Persists, continues with part 2 - click here.

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