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Greenwich, Connecticut
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“It’s a holiday,” Shannon chirped as she came down the stairs. “Beer, hot dogs, hamburgers, baked beans, and more beer. Today we celebrate the freedom and demise of the United States. Who wants to join in.”
“Me, “Tyler waved from the sofa. “The rest of these beasts of burden may also join in,” he said, waving toward Betty and Ann, who were asleep on the floor. “Shall we call a caterer?”
“Why?” Shannon shrugged. “They don’t have beer.”
“Well said,“ Tyler sighed as he struggled to his feet. “I must shower. I shall return.”
“Upstairs to the left,” Shannon said.
“You’re kidding,” Tyler smirked. “I only shower in my own domicile. Yours is replete with mold, cooties, and all sorts of contagion. Thank you, but no thank you.”
“I managed to live through it,” Shannon yelled as Tyler departed. “Fucking Betty Crocker.”
“Huh?” Betty muttered as she sat up.
“Shut up, you moron,” Shannon sighed.
Tyler returned half an hour later and sat down. “Where do we get food? I haven’t eaten lately.”
“How should I know?” Shannon huffed. “Where’s what’s her name?”
“She left when you were unconscious,” Betty giggled. “She said something about getting laid and you can’t. She’ll be back when her check clears.”
“The local grocery stores will be open until noon,” Tyler said. “Dispatch the polio victim to procure picnic food for us. I’ll pay.”
“You’ll pay if you keep making fun of me,” Betty said.
“You know what to buy,” Tyler said as he handed Betty some money. “Get some vinegar and water for yourself,” he smirked.
“Oh, you’re a funny one, you are,” Betty snapped. “You wait until you see what I do with one of the hot dogs I’m going to buy.”
“I can’t wait,” Tyler grinned. “Now, go do your shopping before we turn you over to the Audubon Society.” Betty left in a huff. “I think I got her,” Tyler grinned.
“Yeah, and you can have her,” Ann said. “I can’t believe I’m related to that dummy.”
“I can,” Tyler grinned. “There is a strong family resemblance where intelligence is concerned. Body fat is another matter.”
“Some day you’re going to stop picking on me,” Ann said.
“And that day will never come,” Tyler said. “So, after we consume our hot dogs and other undesirable food products normally consumed in desperation by average Americans who still believe they live in a free country and act accordingly on this ridiculous holiday in response to the inane ramblings of the criminals whom they have so stupidly elected to represent their wants and desires which will never be realized due to corruption and greed, what ridiculous efforts shall we engage in so as to attempt to save the very lives of the uneducated trash who in their aforementioned stupor, committed the unforgivable sin of giving up their liberty, which they appear to treasure so much, by turning all of it over to scum who do not have the common decency to even pretend to be on their side?”
“Huh?” Ann said.
“What’s next?” Tyler said.
“Oh, Why didn’t you say so. Shannon? What’s next?”
“Who fucking cares,” Shannon said as she settled into her sofa with a beer. “I guess California is toast.”
“Don’t you want to help?” Ann exclaimed.
“Nope. Do you?”
“Only if it increases my circulation,” Ann said. “There are a lot of assholes in California. My paper depends on assholes.”
“Great, we have to risk our lives, not to mention leaving our air conditioned homes, to save assholes so Coleman can make money.”
“You got it,” Ann said.
“Okay, we’ll do it.”
“You were going to do it anyway,” Ann said. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have gone to Area 51. You hate airplanes.”
“I hate California, too,” Shannon said. “But I hate government even more.”
“There is still someone connected to the government out there who is going to carry out this plan,” Tyler said. “A friend of the dear departed Colonel Simms.”
“And they have five more nukes,” Ann said.
“And like Tyler said, they got them out of Cagney’s basement and replaced them with dummies bigger than the dummies who are in charge of this shit. They worked a switch at Nellis. Simms didn’t work at Nellis. The guy who made the switch either worked there or flew the plane. The Nellis logs will show who went where and for how long. My bet isn’t the pilot, he would have no reason to stay in the hangar with the plane. To do so would arouse suspicion. Therefore, the bad guy is an aircraft mechanic.” Shannon sat back. “Did I just say that?”
“Indeed you did,” Tyler beamed. “And an amazing display of deductive reasoning it was, considering your semi inebriated state. I applaud you.”
Betty returned half an hour later loaded down with bags of food. “Where do you want this stuff?”
“In the kitchen. Tyler knows how to cook. He’ll do it. I have to call somebody to find out if this bullshit threat will even work,” Shannon said. “Give me my rolodex.”
Shannon perused the raft of names and picked one. “This dude will know,” she said. “He’s a real poindexter. You know, taped glasses, a pocket protector, and a two inch......” she looked at Betty. “Never mind. Go start the barby. And give me the phone.” Minutes later, she had Professor Rodney Philips of Yale University on the line.
“Happy fourth,” she chirped. “Shannon Flynn here. Yeah, that Shannon Flynn. What’s that supposed to mean? You’d better be kidding, you little nerd,” she laughed. Hey, I have a question for you. Can California shear off from the rest of the country?”
“What have you been drinking?” Philips said. “Of course not.”
“What about that thing there, somebody’s fault,” Shannon sighed as she gulped a beer. “It wasn’t my fault, I can tell you that much.”
“The San Andreas Fault,” Philips said. That represents a sliver of the western portion of the state. It won’t shear off, but it could cause monumental damage through earthquakes. All the major cities are west of the fault. It hasn’t happened in a long time. You’d need like an 8.0 to really do the kind of damage you’re talking about.”
“That’s what I told my last date,” Shannon giggled. “He had a 4.0. Oh, sorry, professor. No offense.”
“Very funny. What’s this about, pray tell, a book project?”
“Something like that. What if the perp planted five nukes along the fault?”
“The nukes would do more damage than the earthquakes they would cause, I would suppose, but such a blast would certainly trigger some rather unpleasant tremors. They would effectively shake most of the western part of the state to pieces. I know about L.A., you know,” he sighed. “There is this new invention called TV. This isn’t a book project, is it.”
“Not exactly,” Shannon said. “We have it on good authority that such an event is about to happen. The nukes are missing from where they are not supposed to be missing from.”
“Great,” Philips said. “Well, don’t go west of the Mississippi for several thousand years if it happens.”
“So the California in the ocean thing is bullshit.”
“What difference does it make? An event as you’ve described would end the viability of the state, not to mention the surrounding states. The area west of the fault would simply cease to exist. It would be a pile of radioactive rubble two hundred feet deep. It would probably burn for twenty years and pollute the entire nation with radioactive smoke. Millions would die within two days in California, much worse than Los Angeles. Another fifty million would die across the nation, perhaps more. It would end the nation as we know it.”
“Could they still manufacture beer?” Shannon asked innocently.
“You can’t be serious. Is that all you worry about? Millions die, and all you want is beer?”
“If I can get it, yes. What would happen?”
“Most of the nation’s water would be polluted from fallout. Your beer would make a good night light.”
“Son of a bitch,” that’s it,” she said. “I’ll be in touch if I need you. Thanks for the info.”
“So, what did the esteemed professor have to say?” Tyler sighed.
“It’s crap. California can’t break off. However, the entire state would be wrecked and on fire for twenty years and fifty million people would die across the nation. And here’s the worst part. There would be no beer due to polluted water.”
“What?” Tyler yelled, jumping to his feet. “Did you say no beer? Give me your telephone immediately.” Tyler grabbed the phone from Shannon and dialed a number. “Yes, Jerry, this is Tyler Brooks. Yes, happy fourth to you, too. I have a question. How much Coors Light do you currently have in your inventory? Really? That much? How long would it take to deliver all of it to my home? No, I am not kidding. I am deadly serious. I will have a certified check waiting for you. Come get it personally if you like, but I want that beer. All of it.” He covered the receiver and nodded to Shannon. “He’s a distributor. He has sixty thousand cases.”
“Jesus, that’s a lot of fucking beer,” Shannon said.
“Indeed it is,” Tyler giggled. “Uh, yes, Jerry. I’m still here. Yes, I’m drunk, but I want that beer. Where will I put it? How should I know? How do you propose to deliver it? Oh, I see. Sixty tractor trailer boxes. How much land would that require? Oh, an acre or an acre and a half? I have thirty acres, more than enough. I’ll buy the trailers, too, in that case. Yes, I have the money, you twit. Park them at the back of my property. Oh, don’t worry about winter. I am fabulously wealthy, I’m sure I can afford some heaters. Yes. Thank you. Start tomorrow, yes. 1.85 million? You got it. Bye.”
“You bought all that beer?” Ann said. “That’s awesome.”
“Indeed I did,” Tyler huffed. “No natural or man made disaster shall impair our right to be impaired. Life without beer would be like being a sex addict and marrying Miss Coleman. The frustration of not being able to acquire what one wanted would be unbearable.”
“You are so dead,” Ann said. “After we finish all that beer. How long would that last?”
“Three days around here,” Betty muttered.
“Let’s see,” Shannon mused. “If all we do is party with plastic over the windows to keep the pollution out, we’d probably go through a case each every day. Except for chicken legs. She gets the glow in the dark water, I guess. That’s what, 20,000 days, that’s about 55 years. Yeah, that should do. We won’t live that long. We’re all set. Can you keep it fresh, Tyler?”
“I will take all measures necessary to insure the survival of the product,” Tyler said reverently. “Air conditioning, heat, lead shielding, whatever it takes. No substance ever deserved more care than this one. It is our very life in a can.”
“You like it in the can,” Betty giggled.
“Shut up, fart breath,” Ann snapped. “You keep it up and I’ll put you on the next plane to California.”
“There are no planes to California,” Betty said.
“We can arrange for one,” Shannon said. “Go get the food ready for Tyler. Disasters,” Shannon sighed. “Isn’t there a poem about a disaster, Ann?”
“Yes,” she said.
“I know of one,” Tyler said. “A railway disaster.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.’”
“I was thinking of a different one,” Ann giggled. “Here I sit, broken hearted. Tried to shit, but only farted.”
Shannon screamed with laughter, and beer shot out of her nose. “Stop that!” she gurgled. “I can’t take stuff like that.”
Betty hauled all the food out onto the deck and checked the fire. “Come on, Chef Tyler, we’re ready to rock and roll.”
Tyler got up and started cooking hot dogs and hamburgers. “I require cheese,” he said, eyeing Betty’s crotch. “Not that kind, either.”
“Very funny. It’s under the tin foil. Anything else?”
“The buns are missing,” Tyler said as he loaded the grille.
“Right there. Are you blind?”
“I was talking about your buns,” Tyler smirked. “But then again, one so ungainly as yourself would have no need of such accoutrements.”
“You really are something,” Betty said. “I’ve never been insulted in language I couldn’t understand, before I met you.”
“Buy a dictionary,” Tyler sighed as he closed the grille. He looked off to the west, where a clear blue sky gave no hint of what may come later. “Nice day,” he sighed. “Enjoy the view while it lasts.”
July 4, 2009