Standing in the bed of the Chevy with the cold wind blowing over his head Keith Kumasen Abbott was feeling energized. That is, until he heard Ernest Heming say, "We've got to pick up Scottie first."
The Chevy was heading to Longmont Hospital. It seemed Scottie had been hanging around a certain nurse named Zelda. Keith surmised that this little detour was going to take most of the night and considered the matter. "After all, am I in a rush?" he asked himself. "Not really." Then he relaxed.
They found Scottie in the darkened canteen, drunk and looking morose.
"Let's find you another drink," Ernest said.
"Someplace else," Mike Sowl said helpfully.
"I know," Smitty said, "let's go to to the Willard."
"She's not...." F. Scott Fitzgerald fumbled for the right words, "anything like my Zelda."
"Yeah, this one's a gun toting conservative Christian with a sugary whipped topping of significant cognitive dissonance, i.e. a staunch Trump supporter," Keith said without thinking too hard about what he was saying.
Ernest gave Keith a dirty look. Scottie was, after all, southern and sensitive about women.
"We're parked out front," Mike said.
Scottie looked up. Keith presented him with a wheelchair.
Gertrude looked around the canteen. "Peanuts," she said, indicating the vending machine.
Ernest harpooned the vending machine, shaking loose the snacks.
"That'll give them something to talk about," Mike said, surveying the damage.
Keith pushed Scottie, holding a snack pack of peanuts, out the door to the Chevy truck. They put F. Scott Fitzgerald in the cab, sandwiched between Smitty and Gertrude and then they headed to DC to go bar hopping.
Buck Rogers was growing impatient. "Where are they?" he yelled.
El-Don was halfway through his burger and he wasn't enjoying his Carl's Jr. meal. Some guy named Rambo had joined them in the Shadowless Room. The man didn't even faintly resemble Sylvester Stallone.
"Do you see Rimbaud?" Buck asked.
"Yes."
"Good." Buck said.
"What is the enterprise called?" Rimbaud asked El-Don after he was introduced. He didn't like the looks of the man.
Sensing hostility, El-Don hesitated before he answered.
"Go on," Buck said, angrily throwing a fistful of cold fries into the fire.
"It's called the Intergalatical Telepathic Interface System," El-Don said.
"What does that mean?"
"A share in a data center for our apres death communication startup," Buck said and brought his fist down on the table.
El-Don nodded in agreement.
Rimbaud raised his eyebrows.
"We're going to facilitate ghosts to be able to talk to the living. Cut clairvoyants right out of business." Buck explained. "We will become the medium. We just have to bring the ghosts to the table." And this was why Buck needed a select group of men (Hero Pills was, in fact, tested only on men) to take the pills. But Buck was lying about at least one aspect of the business: once one of the selected men checked all sources and made contact with a ghost to mine any further and necessary information, a griefbot would be launched and the ghost would be retired.
"We can all be one big happy heavenly family," El-Don said, "in the afterlife."
"Sounds like a recipe for a plague of lawsuits," Rimbaud said.
"We are very vigilent," Buck replied.
"Not everyone wants to be pals in heaven. Take it from me." Rimbaud said.
"We offer a forgiveness plan," Buck said. "Payments on a monthly or yearly basis."
"Is this vision of eternity the Intergalatical part of the plan?" Rimbaud wanted to know.
"Yes. The telepathic part is a euphemism for AI."
Still no Rhino Ritz.
"Why do you need to find Lolly?"
"He has Keith Kumasen Abbott's notebooks and manuscripts."
"So?"
"They weren't sent to the university archives in Bellingham and won't be scanned and uploaded online."
"So, you can't make a complete griefbot," Rimbaud asserted.
"Right."
"You really want every griefbot, so to say, to hold water?"
"Yes. Bonafide." Buck fidgeted with the rifle he had pulled down from the wall. "Bonafide griefbots. God damn it," he said, "they probably stopped off for a drink."
"Well," Rimbaud said, "they are writers and, at the moment, they are not writing."
"Mila!" Lilith exclaimed.
"I know it sounds crazy but that Teary person is the one who is sending those letters like the one you got." Mila had just explained to her mother-in-law what she had discovered.
"Okay, I understand you but just know this, that woman is bad news. Stay away from her."
"Believe me, I get it. I am not planning on tailing her anymore."
"Just drop it, Mila."
"But you gotta stay away from her too, Lilith. And don't tell anyone about it."
"Well...I have to think about this."
"If you tell anyone, they will ask me what I saw. Especially the police. And then I am a witness and then that crazy woman will know about me."
Lilith stared at Mila.
"And as you said, Lilith, that woman is bad news," Mila said. "Believe me, I just wanted you to know. Only you."
"Let's just forget about this then." Lilith turned to her kitchen counter. "Here, these are for you." She handed Mila a package. "Maybe you can use them."
But Mila couldn't just drop the case. Especially when she saw the Suburu in the shop for a tune up. She popped a GPS tracker out from the four pack she had bought on Amazon and put it under the dashboard. Mila didn't trust TFM and she was kind of worried about Lilith.
#longmont #colorado #mormonism #gator #matcha #loveland #funeralhome #rabbitirzah #keithkumasenabbott #keithabbott #gertrudestein #ernesthemingway #rhinoritz #buckrogers
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