The Town Car hummed down the highway in the April night like a shimmering white ghost as Robert Barnes leaned back in the passenger seat and closed his eyes. He supposed that a vehicle upgrade would be in order at some point, maybe an Audi. Unfortunately, a foreign car wouldn’t fly with the constituents so he would probably have to go American. How about a Buick? Buick’s were nice, safe and even Tiger Woods drove one. Barnes didn’t really like the Town Car, but he liked the image it projected.
Wealth, status, power, authority – all were important to the Boomers and their remaining parents. Those people had grown up in an era when the roadmap to success traveled through a variety of General Motors vehicles, when being able to afford a Cadillac was the ultimate symbol of showing you’d made it to the top. Those people were very important to both Barnes and the Party for the most elementary reason that they voted in droves. So much as he would like to push an Audi past 120 sometime, he knew that his interests were better served by a Buick.
Jesse hung up his cell phone and looked over at Barnes, careful to keep one hand on the wheel.
“That was Fred Downing. The article in Rising Tide is finished and he’s going to e-mail a copy for our review.”
Barnes smiled and nodded at the man across the seat from him. Jesse Treadway was his assistant, sharp and efficient and a damn fine staffer even if he did look disturbingly like Miles from the old TV show Murphy Brown. A glowing profile in the Party’s official magazine was just the thing to mark Barnes as one of the hot young stars and help fuel his jump from junior state senator to the U. S. House and beyond.
“There is one problem,” said Jesse.
“What now?”
“It’s your brother, Billy.”
***
The night air was cool and the wind swept down from the Rockies onto the prairie. It was a good feeling after being cooped up inside all day in hermetically-sealed, climate-controlled buildings. The country has its own beauty and Barnes missed being able to see the stars the way they shone out here.
He punched the number by memory into his cell phone and hit send as he leaned against the balcony railing. Home, even if he had left there at eighteen and never looked back. It would always be home and deep down, he knew that nothing would ever change that fact.
One ring. Two.
“Hello?”
“Billy.”
“Bobby!” The voice betrayed little, if any, surprise. “What’s the occasion? I haven’t heard from you since mom died. Shouldn’t you be up at the Capitol trying to ban gay marriage or something?”
Barnes flinched at the memory, happy that his brother couldn’t see the reaction. As if you don’t know why I’m calling, fat ass, he thought. He took a calming breath and reminded himself of the issue at hand.
“C’mon, Billy. I’m just doing my job and giving my constituents what they want. After all, they read the Bible, and like the good Book says, it’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve.”
“Surely you aren’t calling me to discuss the views of your mentally retarded Red America supporters? I think you know where I stand on that.”
“I think you know why I’m calling you,” said Robert. “It’s one thing for my brother to be a nut, because every family has a black sheep. But when you start messing with my livelihood, I have to get involved. I want to talk to you and I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.”
“What a coincidence,” replied Billy. “So will I. Why don’t you show up around fiveish and I’ll have you for dinner?”
“I wouldn’t presume to impose on you.”
“Nonsense. I must insist. I have a wonderful surprise for you.”
“Billy, I’m not interested in looking at your pornography or meeting your life partner.”
“Oh, I wish I had one just to see you squirm, but it’s nothing like that. I’ve been doing some renovations on the old place and I think you’ll like them.”
“Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at five,” said Robert and he hung up the phone. You could choose your friends, but not your family and although that wasn’t in the Bible, it should be. Billy had always been a pain in the ass of a younger brother and this latest idiocy was no exception. He would have to get Jesse to move some things around so he could fit the visit into his schedule.
Barnes grumbled and walked back inside his hotel room and over to his valise. He rotated the dials to the correct combination, popped the locks and opened the lid. The striated grip of a 9mm pistol protruded from the flap.
“I’ve got a surprise for you too, Billy.”
***
Five miles away from town down RR15, William Barnes hung up the phone. It was a wall mounted yellow rotary model, circa 1975. GE, not Nokia, was the manufacturer and the retro look fit in well with the rest of the room.
Renovations? Now that was a laugh because Billy was a bachelor in his mid-thirties and tended to wear things like overalls and a long bushy beard. The farm hadn’t changed since he inherited it from his parents ten years ago and probably never would. Designer suits and fancy cars were Robert’s thing, not his.
Which was funny, because during his rise from County Assessor to the state Senate, Robert had aligned himself as champion of the little man – those same people wearing the overalls and driving the ’85 Ford. As usual, perception and reality seemed to be mutually exclusive things. The locals voted for that Man of the People Robert Barnes and sneered openly at Democrats, liberals and other elitists. Of course the fact that Senator Barnes was much more the friend of large corporations rather than the farmer never seemed to trickle down to his constituents.
Billy walked out of the kitchen and down the hallway toward his office. Past the faded yellowing wallpaper and the few family pictures left hanging on the wall. He knew he should fix that sort of thing, but it just didn’t matter to him. Maybe if he ever got married, but that was unlikely because his job was his life and when he walked into the office it was obvious that said job was not farming.
In contrast to the rest of the farm, the office was sparkling clean. There was an L-shaped desk along the wall with a 21” flat panel monitor sitting on a Dell Desktop computer. Over to the right, a laptop was hooked into a network printer and a Linksys router. A Motorola cable modem sat nearby, its activity lights blinking green and amber.
For all the nauseating paeans to the bounty of the Internet that the public had been force-fed over the years, connectivity did have its benefits. It let all sorts of people who would have been normally compartmentalized in their tiny corners of Middle America go national. After all, it enabled Billy to become one of the most vicious left-wing bloggers online.
GWFCUKSTIK.blog.com (with the deliberate misspelling to get past the domain name police) was generating a rabid following with thousands of hits per day. He pulled no punches in his satire on the President and the ruling party, skewering them for their crimes, pretension, and hypocrisy. When there wasn’t anything newsworthy, he would make things up just to stir the pot, descending into the mud to wrestle the giants of the Right much like Jacob and the angel.
Not the sort of thing to endear him to his decidedly conservative neighbors, nor of course to his brother. Robert, God help him, would rise high in the hierarchy and go national, maybe even all the way to the top. However, having a family member who attacked your bosses on a daily basis might impose a glass ceiling on such ambitions. Thus, Robert’s reappearance and sudden desire to talk, as if they were estranged lovers going on “Oprah.”
There would be accusations and threats, probably a summary demand to cease all such actions. But Robert wouldn’t get his way and then things would really get ugly. Such a confrontation was inevitable and Billy had been planning for it for a long time. He laid his hand on a small, leather-bound volume next to the laptop and smiled.
***
“I don’t like this, boss,” said Jesse as he stared at the farm through the windshield of the Town Car. The place seemed to slumber in the spring afternoon, the sun reflecting opaquely off of the windows and closed front door. The car was parked alongside the drive leading to the place, a narrow gravel track a good hundred yards back from the road. It was ten minutes until five.
Barnes didn’t give a damn what Jesse thought. For all his uses as an assistant, the kid definitely wasn’t the Delta Force when it came to things like this. If you needed someone to leak a few quotes to the press or do research on the finances of your opponents, Jesse was your man. When it came to storming into the breach, however, some things were best done oneself.
“Trust me,” said Barnes. “I know my brother and he’s never been one to listen to reason. He got poisoned by all that liberal bullshit as a teenager and he’s never been the same.”
“And if he doesn’t listen to reason?”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Give him a hug?”
Jesse turned pale and Barnes pressed on. “Look, we aren’t playing a fucking board game here, we’re playing for high stakes. I intend to go a long way in the Party and I will not have my career hit a wall because of my shithead brother and his lies. Hard men are the ones who get ahead in the Party and I will be hard enough to do what needs to be done. I’m going to go all the way and I plan on bringing my friends with me. Are you tough enough to come along?”
Jesse swallowed, then nodded.
“Good. Give me ten minutes and then come through the front door with the affidavit. Make sure you keep your gloves on. We’ve got people that will take care of us afterwards, but let’s not make it any harder on them.”
Barnes got out of the car, feeling the gun in the pocket of his suit jacket with a gloved hand as he walked toward the farm.
***
Billy Barnes sat at the kitchen table, nursing a bottle of Bud and mopping the sweat from his brow with a sleeve. The plan which had seemed so crazy was on the verge of fruition, needing only Bobby to walk in the door for it to succeed. The book lying on the table was the key.
The book, sitting there in its ancient leather-bound cover was a grimore, a tome on demons. The plan was spawned of a drunken night surfing the Internet and was such a wild idea that Billy had instantly rejected it as foolishness. But why not, when you thought the thing through? He wasn’t going to get a gun and shoot his brother or find a hitman to do the job for him. Why not let one dark force devour another?
Unfortunately, there was surprisingly little good information bouncing around online and only by probing the darkest corners of satanic chat rooms and websites did he find the name of a book that might help. Armed with the title, it had been ridiculously easy to order the thing from the used book dealer page of Barnes and Noble’s website. One-stop shopping for all your demon summoning needs.
Once he possessed the grimore, things had progressed in fits and spurts but he finally reached a level of proficiency. Then it was simply a matter of baiting the trap with a blog posting he knew would force Robert to respond. Something nasty enough to threaten his precious standing and draw him here so the show could begin.
A knock sounded from the front room and Billy rose and walked over to the cellar door and pulled it slightly ajar. He could feel the power and the rage of the thing waiting in the pentagram down there and felt a brief pang of fear in the pit of his stomach. This whole thing felt wrong, but he had come too far to put on the brakes and he turned and walked to meet his brother.
***
Robert Barnes swept imperiously through the door, impeccably dressed as always in his charcoal pinstriped suit and conservative tie. He briefly surveyed the living room and kitchen, viewing them for the first time in twenty years. If the event kindled any type of nostalgia or emotion, it didn’t show on his face. Perhaps a faint twist of the lips indicating contempt, but nothing more.
“What’s the matter, Bobby? Not happy to be back home?”
Robert crossed the room and stood with his arms folded. “This isn’t my home.”
No shit, thought Billy clutching the grimore as he said, “Want a beer?”
“What I want from you is an explanation for this!” answered Robert. He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and threw it to Billy.
“No, I take that back. I don’t care why you did it. What I want from you is a retraction that you are going to sign and put on your goddamned Blog saying that you were wrong. Or you lied. Anything, but you’re going to take it back.”
Billy unwadded the paper and suppressed a grin. There, under the banner GWFCUKSTICK was the headline “STATE SENATOR DINES WITH GAY LOVER.” Then there was a picture of said senator, Robert Barnes, with another man, both sitting at a table in their sober business suits having drinks. Other than the headline, there was nothing in the picture to suggest anything untoward happening. A lot of people would shrug and say “So what?”
But those people weren’t the core of the good Senator’s constituency. They weren’t the ones who were going to send him to Washington D. C., or write the checks that would make him a national player. It would all come down if this accusation stuck, because you could lie, cheat, steal, even kill, but you couldn’t have that pink star sewn on your shirt. Not unless you wanted to fade quickly back into obscurity and sell insurance for the rest of your life.
Robert Barnes didn’t even remember meeting the man at the fundraiser. He was always meeting someone and how was he to know that the damn guy was that rarest of birds, the openly gay Republican businessman? Was he set up? It didn’t matter because what was done was done and you couldn’t undo the past. But you could fix the present.
“I can’t retract the truth, Bobby. That picture isn’t doctored.”
“No, but the headline is, you idiot! It’s a lie and you know it. So I’m going to call my assistant and he’ll bring in the retraction for you to sign. Then we can go back to not seeing each other and making sure this sort of thing never happens again.”
Billy shook his head. “Not going to do it.”
“I think you will,” said Robert softly, infuriatingly.
“You don’t rule the world, Bobby! You can dazzle the morons and do your guest appearances on Fox News while you wreck this country, but not everyone believes your bullshit. You can buy the elections, you can buy the news, but there are thousands of people like me who will bring you down!”
“Buy? Buy?” asked Robert incredulously. “You asshole, you can’t buy what isn’t for sale! A lot of people seem to agree with me and vote for me and send me letters and e-mails supporting what I stand for. Who are you to tell them they’re wrong?”
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the pistol. “Time is up. You either sign it now or your dead hand will.”
Billy merely smiled and spoke a word, a nonsense word Robert couldn’t believe that he heard correctly. Then there was a noise like something big was coming up the stairs and the cellar door began to swing open.
***
Jesse Treadway could hear the argument building to a crescendo as he stepped up to the front door. He hesitated on the porch, his hand on the knob, not wanting to be a part of whatever was about to occur. This wasn’t the way they said it worked when you debated the system in the YR meetings back in college. No, those were more about volunteering and making yourself useful to the local organizations and candidates, positioning yourself for a job. This was something disturbing and different and only the twin fears of failure and Robert Barnes drove him to turn the knob and step into the final seconds of his life.
***
The thing emerged from the cellar just as Jesse stepped into the kitchen. It was slumped, misshapen with no neck and an ebony body that seemed to drain the light from the room. The eyes glowed a baleful red and its mouth opened to reveal twin rows of razor sharp teeth set in jaws a good foot-and-a-half across.
Robert Barnes’s face was set in a look of shock that was priceless and the gun dropped from his numb fingers, thudding to the linoleum. Time hung suspended for a moment as if weighing a balance to see which would be the first victim. Then fate intervened as Jesse Treadway shrieked and turned to run.
“Kill them both,” commanded Billy feeling his stomach do a roll as he did so. Guilt? He would worry about that later because his main concern was going to be getting the demon back under his control. The grimore said that once those things started killing, they were hard to stop.
Terror lent Jesse speed but a taloned hand seized his throat before he made it halfway down the hall. He was yanked backwards and his legs pinwheeled in mid-air and his glasses clattered off the wall. He grabbed the black hand, desperately trying to loosen the vice-like grip that was crushing his windpipe. The effort was wasted as the demon shoved his head into its mouth and ripped it off. A jet of blood shot up and splattered the ceiling and wallpaper. One gulp and the demon dropped the still jerking body to the floor and began to close in on Robert Barnes.
“Goddamn you, Billy,” he whispered.
Billy laughed. “Taking the name of the Lord in vain will just get you in trouble with your Christian Coalition buddies. Why don’t you get God to save you? Surely a righteous man who has been to so many prayer breakfast photo-ops merits saving?”
The demon moved closer and Robert held up his hands as if to ward off the coming blow. Billy smiled, feeling the flush of victory. There was no telling how far this could go. Today Robert Barnes, tomorrow Karl Rove.
Then Robert said something and the demon stopped and… bowed? It was Bobby Barnes turn to smile as the thing turned toward Billy. This wasn’t part of the plan.
Billy screamed the command and mangled the pronunciation in his panic. “Fuck!” He fumbled then dropped the grimore. It seemed to fall in slow motion and by the time he looked up death was reaching for him.
“How- how did you…” he stammered.
Robert grinned. “You know I like to play both sides, Billy. A lot of us do, because you never know who is going to win and it helps to back the right horse.”
He looked at the demon. “Do it slowly.”
The screams began.
***
Robert Barnes closed the door of the farmhouse with a gloved hand, feeling for the gun in his pocket with the other. He had already made a phone call and this would all be taken care of, but he was too cautious to leave such evidence around. It was a shame that his brother killed himself in a fit of remorse after signing the retraction. Even more the pity was the disappearance of young Jesse Treadway. That was inconvenient as well, since Barnes would have to wait an appropriate time before hiring a replacement.
He got in the car and drove off without looking back. There were bigger and better things on the horizon and he had no time for home anymore.