Being an attorney in the 22nd century was an objection to honor.
“Your Honor, I object!”
“Sandra, I haven’t even made my appearance yet.”
Sean Flanagan’s legal nemesis could not have cared less.
“Judge Campos, I object to even having to attend this frivolous hearing. Defendant’s counsel should be sanctioned for this gross abuse of the Sovereign judiciary.”
All three holograms were remotely appearing from home. The legal community was conditioned to believe this constituted a grave imposition on their time. Truthfully, the required full-body scan was the only reason Sean wasn’t in shorts.
The Honorable Helen Campos heard it all before. “Counsel, I haven’t had one of my clerks do a deep dive into the case law yet, but I’m pretty sure both parties have to make a formal appearance on the record before you can lodge a baseless objection.”
“Your Honor, I move for an immediate mistrial given the Judge’s impertinent and preemptive categorization of my objection as baseless. Frankly, I am shocked and appalled by the court’s conduct here today.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Helen turned toward the clear flat-screen framing her AI-operated courtroom deputy M.E.L. The two shared a smirk. “Your strenuous but legally impotent objections have been noted for the record despite them not being on it. As for the request for a mistrial—”
Judge Campos tilted her head. She squinted off into the distance over Sandra Burke’s shoulder to suggest she was thinking it over.
“Denied. Now, counsel. Would you like to make an appearance for the record, or do you want to continue barking nonsense at me like a street preacher wearing a sandwich board?”
“Sandra K. Burke, Esquire of Burke & Associates, PLLC…”
Burke & Associates was one attorney.
“…P number one seven…”
Jesus Christ, Sean thought to himself.
“…three seven four eight. Counsel is appearing on behalf of the Plaintiff, Goodwill Funding. The originating complaint in this matter was filed on—”
Judge Campos waved her off. “The Court has a full docket history, Ms. Burke. This is where you’ve been filing all of your voluminous pleadings. But thank you. Counsel.” She held her hand out toward the opposition in search of a desperate lifeline.
Sean rolled his eyes and went next. “Sean L. Flanagan, appearing for the Defendant, Alex Lattimore. My P number appears on no less than eight separate pieces of paperwork currently entered in this matter. In case the court remained curious.”
Sandra was only two years out of law school and still took herself way too seriously. Her side eye made it clear she didn’t care for Sean’s flippant attitude. A State Bar complaint was in the offing against her colleague if he wasn’t careful.
She had a template at this point.
Randy Mason watched this insult to American jurisprudence unfold from the back row of the empty courtroom. They didn’t even bother with bailiffs anymore. He wasn’t sure how much longer the travesty would continue, but he was willing to wait.
The summons and complaint he received was not going to be taken lying down.
For the next fifteen minutes, Sandra Burke continuously objected to water being wet while Sean Flanagan had an internal debate about switching his attorney designation to Inactive. Finally, the judge took mercy on everyone and ruled in favor of the Defendant’s motion for summary.
“I’ll see you at the appeal,” Sandra’s hologram snake-hissed across the aisle.
Her client’s demand was for less than $4,000.
Goodwill Funding decided to let sleeping dogs lie.
“The claim against the Defendant Alex Lattimore is hereby dismissed and the case is now closed,” Judge Campos announced. “That concludes the Court’s business in this matter. Live by the Sovereign, Die by the Sovereign.”
Counsel on each side chanted the same legally mandated mantra back to her in unison before dematerializing.
The judge placed a much-needed coffee derm on her forearm. “Talk to me, Mel, who’s the next contestant on The Price Is Right? Let’s see. The Court now calls case number 2120-82197-AB, Sovereignty of Patrick Cooper v. Randolph P. Mason.”
A holographic female appeared on behalf of the Sovereign’s Legal Department while Randy Mason made his way up to the opposing table.
“Before we begin Mr. Mason, please be aware that the Court is imposing costs in the amount of one thousand dollars today for the Defendant’s appearance. You can pay the balance at one of the clerk kiosks out front before you leave. If the amount remains outstanding after twenty-four hours, a warrant will be issued for your detainment. Accidents happen, but let’s avoid a repeat of this in the future if possible.”
Randy was already lost. “I apologize. You’re fining me for appearing in court?”
“Appearing in person,” Campos clarified. “It swallows up desperately needed resources.”
Randy took a theatrical look around the room before returning his gaze to Judge Campos. “What resources? I haven’t seen an actual person inside of this building since I got here. There wasn’t anyone manning the metal detectors. I could have come in here with an AR-5000 under my overcoat and sprayed the place with laser fire.”
Helen and Mel’s artificial eyes both went nuclear. “I’m sorry, Mr. Mason, was that some sort of threat? I can declare you hostile and have you hooded if you prefer. Is permanent sleep paralysis your preference?”
The Defendant realized an immediate course correction was required. “Your Honor, no, I apologize. I was just commenting on how short-staffed the Court appears to be—with humans, anyway.” He glanced at the court deputy’s pixelated head to underscore the point.
The look on M.E.L.’s face suggested he didn’t appreciate the inference. Helen Campos wasn’t far behind. “Mr. Mason, I will not allow you to stand there and insult my staff with your offensive Technicant rhetoric. Anti-mechanism is not allowed in this courtroom, or this Sovereignty. This isn’t Munich, sir. Since the violation occurred in my presence, I’m going to go ahead and issue a bench ruling right now on the charge of stochastic terrorism. Randolph P. Mason, how do you plead?”
Ignorance, honestly. “Not guilty, but your Honor—”
“The Court finds Randolph P. Mason guilty on the charge of stochastic terrorism.”
Randy’s head and mouth both dropped at the same time.
“Mr. Mason, I am going to hold off on detainment for now, but you will be required to complete 200 hours of community service within the next sixty days and make a donation in the amount of $10,000 payable to the AML.”
“Ten thousand dollars?” Randy had the money. He just wanted to keep it.
“I want that AML receipt in my chambers within the next seven days or a show cause hearing will be set. Comply and the matter will be dismissed. Failure to abide by these terms will result in you being remanded into custody for a five-year detainment. Mr. Mason, do you understand this conviction as I have just read it to you?”
“I do, your Honor,” Randy confirmed, “but I think this is a complete miscarriage of justice.”
“It is so ordered,” the Judge confirmed without sarcasm. A smack of her gavel made it official. “Now, in the matter of SPC v. Mason. Counsel, please make your appearance.
“Kameron T. Jernigan, appearing on behalf of Sovereign Patrick Cooper.”
“Thank you, Kameron.” Being on a first name basis suggested the ladies were in a book club together. Her disposition deadened as she turned her head toward the Defendant. “And you, Mr. Mason? Do you have an attorney?”
“I’m appearing in pro per today, your Honor,” Randy proudly declared.
“Oh! Looks like someone’s been syncing into the Solicitor Network,” Campos snarked back in response. She and her computerized deputy both began snickering at the self-appointed legal eagle. “Please state your full name for the record.”
“Randolph Perry Mason.” Randy closed his eyes. He knew what came next.
“You’ve got to be joking. Your name is Perry Mason? I’m sorry, is this an episode of Law & Disorder? Are we being filmed right now?” Judge Campos began surveying the courtroom for potential hidden cameras. She wanted to be in on the prank.
“Nope. That’s just…my name.”
Ms. Jernigan turned her head to hide the holographic laughter. It represented her best effort at being polite. Secretly, she thought the Defendant was really cute. Counsel didn’t want to offend him, even though it was pretty funny.
“So, Mr. Mason. You received a complaint for abandonment from SPC. Looks like the property needs to be cleared for a SkyDrive express lane. Perfectly acceptable municipal purpose. You’re being offered ninety days to vacate the premises. Normally these matters are resolved between the parties before a court appearance is required. What’s the problem?”
“It’s my home. It’s my property. I’ve never missed a payment. That’s the problem.”
“It’s not, though.” Helen exhaled lightly and removed her eyeglasses. “I don’t need to see a copy of the mortgage you signed with Sovereign Patrick, because they’re all the same. Surrender clause is standard. Military or municipal. Entirely at his discretion. If it falls into one of those two categories, it flies. This isn’t the Government Era. They only owned you. The Sovereigns own everything.”
“Well, then I want to challenge the municipal use classification,” Randy responded. “I consider it my civic duty to prevent more imbeciles who can’t drive from flying cars.”
“Sorry, but the law merely dictates that you receive equitable compensation. There’s no mechanism available for you to challenge the classification. By the terms of the complaint, you’ll be paid the Sovereign Equalized Value of the property, and you’re being granted right of first refusal on a piece of brand-new construction in Monroe. The legal threshold has been met.”
“First off, the SEV on my house magically decreased by $200K overnight as soon as Sovereign Patrick decided he wanted the place,” Randy informed the judge. “When did it ever make sense to let the buyer set the price on something? How about I give you sixty bucks for your SkyDrive? Does that sound equitable to you?”
“There’s that tone again, Mr. Mason,” the judge offered in admonishment.
Randy felt like he had a trap door under his feet. “And as far as Monroe, ever been? It’s like a city-size cornfield achieved sentience and then committed suicide. We’re in the 22nd century. Why are there still trailer parks? I don’t want to live there.”
Kameron T. Jernigan was full-on cackling at this point.
Randy caught wind of it and smiled for a moment.
Judge Campos wasn’t amused. “If Monroe isn’t to your liking, you’re free to spend your money elsewhere. I’m going to go ahead and sign the Order for Probable Judgment today. Ms. Jernigan, please ensure the Sovereignty has payment in the amount of $932,000 prepared for the Defendant when we reconvene in thirty days for the status conference. Mr. Mason, I urge you to speak with an attorney in the interim to confirm the foregoing if it helps to set your mind at ease. Notices to Appear will be issued and now I’m going to walk the dog. Have a good day.”
Within a few seconds Randy was alone and left wondering what to do next.
He started by paying his fine.
Mr. Mason let out an exasperated sigh as soon as he left the building.
Court had really taken a toll.
***
The demolition of all he held dear was well underway when Randy returned home.
Cranes towered over his backyard fence like incoming industrial-strength kaiju. Three blocks away represented the last Maginot line of defense. Pretty soon the entire neighborhood would be overtaken by the Sovereign-approved space freeway. Tracer bullets of light race-tracked above his head and inched closer every day.
The future was right outside his front door.
Randy remained a strong proponent of the castle doctrine.
A crew of hard hats were forty-five minutes into a five-minute break on the corner when he landed. The wafting smell of their synthetic spliff hit him like a ton of bricks as soon as he exited his vehicle. He had a second-hand contact high in less than two seconds.
Mr. Mason’s android sales figures were already suffering. Fear of a forthcoming robopocalypse left everyone on the planet with a non-electric pulse on edge. Randy’s increasingly uphill climb to reach his monthly sales quota was only exacerbated by the ceaseless echo and thud of construction,
After a couple of sharp coughs, he decided it was time to finally broach the subject.
“Hey gentlemen, just out of curiosity, when will you be calling it quits this evening?”
They laughed, and they laughed.
When the guffaws finally died down, the portliest member of their fluorescent vest posse responded. “Foreman says we’re switching over to 24/7 starting tonight. Orders from above. There’s going to be a night crew coming through when our shift ends. You might want to invest in earplugs.” The suggestion was met with more laughter from his high-minded cohorts.
Randy raised a single flattened palm toward them before heading home. “Thanks for the heads up, guys. Always good to see the Municipal Department hard at work on our behalf.”
He could hear the chuckling at his expense all the way to the front door. The posting he discovered upon arrival was no laughing matter.
-Notice To Vacate-
Sovereign-issued mortgages included a rather unfortunate acceleration clause. Unbeknownst to Randy, invoking his legal right to a preliminary hearing on the abandonment demand reduced the normal ninety-day period to sixty days. In two months, time, he was going to be out on his ass.
He ripped down the highlighter-yellow slap in the face and carried it half-crumpled into the home.
Randy took a few moments at the kitchen table to review the document once more for any additional fine print before discarding it in the trash. On cue, the sound of super steel jackhammers exploded through the windows and reverberated throughout the entire home. The resonant sound pulsated through his veins and caused his head to throb.
He located a bourbon-barreled beverage in the refrigerator to help drown his sorrows. Upon popping the tab, a geyser of beer shot upward into his eyes and drenched his favorite dress shirt. Dropping the can in the process caused its spray propulsion to push it across every corner of the kitchen like a punctured oxygen tank. Randy returned the favor by mopping the floor.
It felt like the universe was conspiring against him. A higher power was doing everything possible to ensure his house was no longer a home.
***
“I’m sorry, Mr. Mason. Unfortunately, based on your personal circumstances, you simply don’t qualify for Chapter 17 bankruptcy.”
Randy took the judge’s suggestion and sought the advice of an actual attorney. He didn’t feel that he was receiving adequate counsel. “How can that be? Life liquidators weigh my individual value against my anticipated lifetime earnings to calculate my WAR. Worth Above Replacement determines the percentage of my debt I repay over ten years. They take everything but the house and car. Where do I have it wrong?”
Kenneth S. Coffey, Esq. offered him a sympathetic shake of the head. “Your legal analysis is spot-on, Mr. Mason. The only thing you neglected to take into account is the demand for abandonment. By law, that supersedes everything else. Point of fact, filing a 17 would be construed as an attempt to defraud the Sovereignty given their preexisting legal claim to the property. It would automatically waive the remaining period you have to vacate. They could have you out on the street by tomorrow, and they would no longer be required to compensate you for the privilege. You would lose everything.”
Randy looked completely dejected. “So, what’s Option B, then?”
“There is no Option B,” Mr. Coffey confirmed. “Death, I guess. Although they would still get the house. You just wouldn’t have to stick around to watch them flatten the place.”
“Was that supposed to be a joke?”
“Not at all.” There wasn’t a trace of humor on the attorney’s face. “This isn’t unheard of. During the Government Era, you couldn’t discharge federally backed student loans in bankruptcy, even if all that education you paid for couldn’t buy you a job. The Sovereigns are a monied aristocracy. You are a land holder. Not its owner. Trying to deny them what is rightfully theirs would be feudal.”
“I forgot about the Golden Rule. He who has the gold is typically a tool.”
The comment caused Coffey to percolate with laughter. “You’re not wrong, Randy. That’s why it’s in your best interest to take what they’re offering and move on with your life. The Justice Department wasn’t set up by the Sovereigns to aid the citizenry. Its only purpose is to protect their own interests. For them, it’s just an unfortunate coincidence that human beings happen to fall into that category.”
Randy gathered his paperwork. “Well, I appreciate you taking thirty minutes to speak with me today. I’d like to take care of my tab while I’m here. How much do I owe you?”
“I normally charge a thousand for an intake, but I want to do you a solid. Call it $500.”
“You charge a grand for an initial client meeting? I’m not retaining you.”
“I know. That’s why you’re getting the reduced rate.”
***
“Sir, you’re not allowed to countersue the Sovereignty.”
Randy crossed his arms in front of the filing clerk. “Why not?”
She and her coworker looked at him like he had a third eye. “I mean, technically there’s no law against it, I guess. It’s just a really dumb idea. You do know that, right?”
Mr. Mason decided to make a political statement and go down with the ship.
If he couldn’t keep the home, the Sovereignty wasn’t going to get it, either.
“I appreciate your thoughtful legal analysis, but I spent the past few days reviewing the Sovereign Charter. Every single one of the declarations regarding land ownership. My mortgage contract. All of it’s pretty clear. Houses of worship are exempt. And wouldn’t you know it, just yesterday I filed the Articles of Organization to be declared a Sovereign Church.”
“I’m sorry—you live in a bank?”
“I do now,” Randy confirmed with a shit-eating grin. “The Hazel Park Ministry of the Almighty Dollar was officially consecrated this morning. Hallelujah! I got the holy gold power in me. We’re going to be doing battle with the silver-tongued Devil this Saturday if you ladies would like to stop on by. Never thought I’d be a father of finance, but here we are. Sometimes you don’t find religion until later in life.”
“What you’re saying is sacrilege,” the clerk in the adjoining window called out. She clutched the dollar sign pendant hanging around her neck before repeatedly rubbing both thumbs over the tips of their adjoining index and middle fingers. It was the standard ritual blessing in the Sovereignties.
“No, ma’am. I’m no heretic. Just a simple wealth monsignor looking to build his own book of numbers,” Randy responded. “And don’t worry. I’m going to personally serve the Sovereignty with the paperwork this afternoon.”
“Mr. Mason, I urge you to reconsider,” his assigned clerk whispered. “I understand losing your home isn’t ideal. I went through it myself. But you don’t know what you’re up against. God may be for you, but the rest of the Sovereignty will be against you. That’s not a fair fight.”
She slipped a court-stamped copy of the pleadings through the window slot and Randy placed them in his file folder. “I appreciate your concern, ladies. But sometimes it takes a martyr to help people see the light. Y’all have a blessed day full of enrichment.” He turned and began to stride toward the elevator.
When he glanced back one final time before the ding, he saw both clerks with their palms and eyes raised to the sky. They concluded the display with simultaneous money gestures while staring him down.
They were praying for his everlasting soul.
***
Kameron couldn’t believe her eyes.
The home on the corner of Carlisle and Felker was being converted into a religious institution as she pulled up. Father Mason’s makeshift billboard in the front yard was hand painted and nail hammered. The reverend of revenue was busy replacing his storm windows with stained glass. Embossed dollar signs surrounded the establishment. His green sports coat was emblazoned with the same symbology. From a distance he looked like a more deranged Riddler.
Randy Mason’s current level of sanity remained an enigma for Ms. Jernigan.
The work crew across the street concurred with Kameron’s assessment.
When he spotted his new potential congregant exit her vehicle, Randy ceased all activity and moved to meet her halfway. “Welcome to the Ministry of the Almighty Dollar, ma’am. First sermon is this Saturday. Were you looking to join my flock?”
“I’m actually a parishioner already at a couple different churches. Checking and savings. I’ve always believed in diversifying my devotion.”
Randy squinted before coming to a stop five feet in front of her. “You look familiar to me. Have we met before?”
A file folder was in her left hand. She raised the other to offer a handshake. “Hi, I’m Kameron. Kam. We were in court together a week ago. It’s okay if you don’t remember me. I was a hologram, and you were busy being beheaded.”
Randy snapped his fingers in mock confirmation. “You look different without the executioner’s mask. So, what can I do for you, Ms. Jernigan?”
“You remembered my last name?” They were officially flirting.
“It was on the complaint for abandonment. I was throwing darts.”
He meant that literally. The paperwork was festooned with holes now.
Kameron chose to disregard the explanation. “The Sovereignty received your countersuit. I figured I’d serve you personally with our reply.” She handed off the documentation. “Guess it’s going contested in three weeks, unless I can talk you out of it. Please let me talk you out of it. This is not going to end well for you.”
He turned sideways so they could take in the view together. Randy lifted his unoccupied arm and pointed back at the converted home with all five fingers. “Are you kidding? Things have never been better. I’m building a basilica of bucks. The power of cash compels me.”
Ms. Jernigan shook him off with a smile. “You realize if the judge rules in the Sovereignty’s favor—which she will, because she’s in Patrick’s pocket—you will lose your right to compensation. No check for the SEV. No right of first refusal on the Monroe property. And if she finds your little house of worship here to be a hoax, you’ll lose the home, too. Maybe wind up in a Detainer on five-to-ten stretch. This is a dumb strategy.”
Randy forcibly shivered while rubbing each elbow with the opposite hand. “Oh, dear. Whatever will I do if I can’t relocate to Monroe County? There’s a reason it’s at the bottom of the state, Ms. Jernigan. It’s the anus of Michigan. Being shit out of luck suddenly doesn’t sound so bad.”
Kameron turned her attention to the open garage. She paused for a moment before pointing. “What the hell is that?”
Mr. Mason admired his handiwork. “Oh, that? I bought a bundle of fake gold coins from Party World and filled up a kiddie pool. We’re going to kick things off with a round of money bin baptisms on the front lawn this weekend. Scrooge McDuck would have been proud. Pretty soon the whole neighborhood will be swimming in the dough.”
She walked up the drive until she was just outside his ecclesiastical laboratory. “I see you’re building a Change Machine as well.”
The clear plastic tube was eight feet tall. He just finished jury-rigging a leaf blower into the side of the church confessional for maximum circulation. Its floor was lined with fresh dollar bills. “Yeah, it’s a real cash grab. It’ll absolve you of all your sins. Every dollar washes away another misdeed. Care to become a convert?”
“No, I’m already a believer,” she confirmed. “Capital self-punishment was never my bag, anyway.”
Randy entered the garage and placed the file folder down on his workbench. A sudden epiphany redirected his attention back to the guest. “Say, I need someone to handle my marketing if I’m going to grow the business. Any interest on your end?”
“I’m a lawyer, Mr. Mason.”
“Exactly! You’re already proficient in pointless bullshit. That’s the exact skillset required to promote a church. Plus, you’re extremely pretty. You’ve got PR point person written all over your face. It’s the perfect profession for you. Maybe you just missed your calling.”
She shut her eyelids halfway and blushed. “You know, it’s a rare feat to be able to insult and compliment a lady in the same breath. Congratulations, I guess.”
He grabbed both lapels and tilted forward in mock appreciation. “I’ll even make you a partner if that helps sweeten the pot. You’d be getting in on the ground floor of a potential billion-dollar business. As things stand, you and Hugo would be the only shareholders.”
“Hugo?”
“That’s my dog.” He hiked a thumb back toward the door in confirmation. “He’s in charge of corporate strategy, but I’m thinking about giving him his walking papers. After he’s done shitting on them. Lazy asshole just sits around all day doing nothing. I constantly catch him sleeping on the job.”
She snorted. “That’s very funny, Mr. Mason. In any event, don’t you sell robo parts for a living? I don’t think you’re in a position to look down on my line of work.”
Randy smiled. “Uh-oh, looks like someone’s been cloud-chasing me. Link Stalker. Any particular reason you decided to research my professional bona fides?” He flitted his eyes at her like a preteen girl.
“I felt bad after the hearing. I just wanted to make sure there wasn’t an obituary.”
“No, I regret to inform you and your bosses that I remain very much alive. They’ll have to pry this place out of my cold, dead hands. Speaking of which, I have a lot to do to get it ready for Saturday services. I appreciate you dropping off the extra toilet paper for me, though.”
“I’ll see you, Mr. Mason.” She was halfway to her SkyDrive when she said screw it and turned back. “Would you like to have a drink with me later, Mr. Mason? Randy. Assuming you haven’t already taken a vow of commercial celibacy.”
Now Randy was the one blushing. “Even if I had, I’d break it—but do you mind me asking why? I feel like if I was your father, I’d tell you that you could do a lot better. As you can see, I’m in a bit of a transitional phase at the moment.”
“What can I say? You make me laugh.”
“With, or at?”
“It’s a combo.”
“I’ll take it. Seven o’clock at Mabel Gray?”
“That sounds good. I’ll see you there.” Her wave goodbye signaled a goodnight kiss might be in the offing if he didn’t screw it up somehow.
Once she was airborne, Randy turned to find all five members of the construction crew giving him a thumbs up from the curb.
He gave them a smiling one finger salute in response and went back to work.
***
Judge Campos stared at the paperwork before returning her gaze to Mr. Mason. “I’m sorry. Reverend Randy? That’s what you’re going by now?”
“Yes, your honor.” Randy was practically preening when he responded. “I experienced a true awakening of my faith since my last court appearance. It’s never too late to find God, ma’am.” Mason made the money gesture and Campos was forced to return the favor.
Kam was smirking to herself behind the Plaintiff’s table. She kept her head down to avoid any possible inference that she was now sleeping with the enemy.
Ms. Jernigan was appearing from the Defendant’s guest bedroom. Randy’s lack of a blow dryer left her dark brown hair trending toward black through the holographic haze.
The sound of Hugo barking at the trash pick-up downstairs filtered through both their feeds. Randy and Kameron’s eyes exploded simultaneously. Judge Campos squinted at each of them with suspicion.
He breathed a sigh of relief when the hum of the floating GarBarge receded further down the block. “I apologize for the disruption, your Honor. My dog loves waste.”
“Appears to run in the family, Mr. Mason,” she replied. “I urge counsel for each side to keep their canine companions on a leash while court is in session.” Judge Campos stared at Kameron for two seconds too long.
“I’m sorry as well, your Honor,” Kam said. “Potty training. My little Ozzie likes to make an announcement every time he paints the target on a puppy pad.”
The joke was sufficient to allay the judge’s skepticism. “It’s quite alright, Ms. Jernigan. As for you, Mr. Mason, you do realize your sudden religious epiphany seems rather convenient, right? You wouldn’t be the first citizen who attempted to defraud the Sovereignty in this manner. Currency cathedrals are our most sanctified institutions. Blessing yourself as a church with illegitimate intent carries serious legal ramifications. There’s a reason it says In Gold We Trust on every piece of Sovereign currency. Nothing is more sacred here, sir.”
“Judge Campos, I assure you my money-theism is a genuinely held belief,” Randy lied. “There is but one God, and I worship at the altar of the Almighty Dollar. Just like it says on the sign. My property is intended to be a parish of pure righteousness. I promise you.”
Helen studied the photographic evidence in the courtroom file supplied to her by Mel. The chapel was freshly minted with all the typical green-hued iconography. She admired the dollar sign set atop the newly installed steeple. Pneumatic tubes providing after-hours donation deposits were mounted in three columns on the side of the garage. Change Machine. Baptism Bin. Paypal Pulpit. Hell, there was even a glass bowl full of communion Dum-Dums laid out for the customer congregants. She had to acknowledge that Reverend Randy hit every mark.
“Ms. Jernigan, what does the Sovereignty have to say about all of this?”
Kameron made every effort to adhere to her professional code of conduct. She had to tread a fine line to ably represent her employer without undercutting her might-as-well-be boyfriend. “In fairness to the Defendant, the filed Articles of Organization and Faith appear to be in order. The FDIC has certified it will insure his devotion. At this point, determining the legitimacy of his religious enterprise would be at the court’s discretion. The Sovereignty will abide by that ruling.”
Ms. Jernigan wasn’t the only one being pulled in competing directions. Given the proof, Helen Campos was predisposed to find for the Defendant. She was weighing the preponderance of evidence against her desire to continue serving as a magistrate. Adjudicating the matter in favor of Randy Mason would portend only bad things for her own legal future. Right or wrong always took a backseat to the Sovereign interest.
“Well, I think there’s only one way for this Court to make a definitive determination,” Judge Campos stated for the record. “I’m going to have to come by and see this house of worship in action for myself before I make a final decision. How does Sunday sound?”
“We’re actually closed on Sundays,” Randy confirmed. “Day of rest and all.”
Judge Campos felt silly for forgetting one of the basic tenets of church doctrine. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. Saturday, then?”
“There’s a sermon at noon, your Honor,” he said with a smile. “We’d be happy to have you. No better way to spend the weekend than celebrating our legal tender lord and savior.”
“Saturday it is, Mr. Mason. I urge you to put pen to paper and get to work. You better preach the gospel like your life depends on it—because it pretty much does. This status conference is hereby concluded. Final judgment will proceed in thirty days. Live by the Sovereign, Die by the Sovereign.”
The couple echoed the prayer and then reconvened in the kitchen to compare notes. If Randy Mason was going to survive this spiritual test, he would need all the help he could get.
***
Kameron was desperately corralling her clothing along with her indestructible NAM-coated attaché case. “Are you kidding me, Rand? I can’t have Helen Campos seeing me congregating around this heathen house. Forget about losing my job. I’d probably get thrown in a Detainer. No more sex for either one of us.”
“Oh, I think I could still find someone dumb enough to sleep with me.”
She froze in place. “Do you need me to delineate the tiered levels of stupidity embedded in your silly little joke?”
Without another word he began helping her hunt down her shoes and socks. “Sorry.”
“Uh-huh,” she responded before resuming the search. “Just make sure you set up the drone so I can watch the proceedings remotely. I’ve always wanted to see a car crash in real time. Stick to our script and maybe you’ll survive.”
They made out for ten seconds at the foot of the stairs before she scampered out the doorway. “I’ll see you tonight. Don’t break a leg.”
“Thank you. Please be careful flying home,” he replied. From the front stoop he could see the work crew seated on the curbside making googly eyes at his girl. “Hey, are you guys going to actually construct something at some point?”
They shrugged their shoulders with legitimate uncertainty.
He rolled his eyes into a door slam. Randy fed Huey a synthetic steak meal before making his way to the bedroom to change into his church attire.
The first guests started to arrive ten minutes after Randy finished setting up the plastic deck chair pews on his front lawn. He watched in nervous anticipation from the second-floor window as they filtered into their seats one by one. Randy spotted Helen Campos and her wife grabbing a couple of Root Beer flavored sacraments from the bowl set atop the communion table on his front walkway. He finally flicked the switch on his Soundwave to start the proceedings.
Traditional church organs blaring “Amazing Grace” and the like were replaced with a different kind of entrance music. The diabolical laughter sounded almost demonic. Randy’s devotees would have had to dig deep in the crates to determine the source.
The Million Dollar Man Ted DiBiase’s “It’s All About the Money” blasted from the loudspeakers outside of the home. Chugging guitars and percussive cackling had the entire congregation nodding their heads in anticipation. Even the Campos ladies got in on the action. The construction crew lined the street while Randy’s nonplussed neighbors stood signposted outside their front doors. By the third reprise, the crowd’s excitement could no longer be contained. An anticipatory chant broke out amongst the faithful.
“MON-EY! MON-EY! MON-EY!”
Randy knew he had them at full froth. It was time to satisfy their bank lust.
With his modified cash cannon in hand, he stood before the rising garage door in his lime green suit jacket and matching trousers. The screaming horde erupted into full blown pandemonium when they caught sight of the rector of riches.
His converted air gun was originally designed to fire tennis balls for man’s best friend. Randy and Kameron spent the previous evening rubber banding wadded up dollar bills together for alternative ammunition. When he began popping off the bankroll ballistics into the sky, several gleeful supplicants leapt from their chairs and raced one another to retrieve the faux Franklins from the lawn.
Once the last foul ball landed in the grass, Randy placed the artillery behind the pulpit ten yards from his front door and held his arms aloft to quiet the crowd.
His entreaties fell on deaf ears. Soon a new chant burst forth. Mr. Mason met the moment with a wide smile and a pair of money gestures.
“RAN-DY! RAN-DY! RAN-DY!”
He spotted Helen Campos in the crowd. She seemed to be genuinely enjoying herself.
When the rabble’s frenzy cooled, their rouser grabbed the mic and began his homily.
“Let me ask you folks—does everyone here have a price?”
Cries of hallelujah and amen were shouted back in response.
“Is everyone here going to pay?”
Mmm-hmm, and that’s right.
“Can you all be bought?”
Yes, sir and you know it.
Kameron’s father was an amateur carpenter in his spare time. She requisitioned a freshly lacquered twenty by twenty-foot wood platform for Randy’s future performances. He began gyrating and half-stepping on his little makeshift stage like a 20th century Pentecostal preacher at a tent revival. Watching the replay of his dance routine later that night in front of his wall-size HoloFeed would cause a spritzer-fueled spit-take on Kam’s part.
A couple of ladies in the front row were so taken with the display they had to fan themselves. When the man started speaking in foreign tongues it was almost too much.
“Pesos, dollars, pounds, and yen—bank those bucks and let me in! The Kingdom of Heaven calls your name, if it’s a love of money that you claim! Do we have any holy warriors in the audience today?”
“Right here, reverend! I’m a Deacon of Defaults for the Bank of Patrick! I devote my life to the deity of dough!”
Randy made the money gesture next to each of her ears. He followed up the effort with a single tap to her forehead as a sign of supreme exaltation. “Blessed angel. Praise be to Sovereign Patrick for employing you. Whatever would Earth Two be in your absence? What a noble profession you’ve chosen my dear. And what about the loan sharks? Has anyone here committed themselves to the grandeur of credit and debt?”
An arm shot up from the second row. Its sandy haired owner still had spots. “Minister Mason! I’m a VP of debt portfolio management with Orbit One! My division was responsible for more credit kills across the globe than any other loan shark last year!”
The oohs and ahs spoke for themselves.
Randy’s own unoccupied arm reached for the sky. “Oh, my lord in Heaven. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a real live reaper man with us today. What is your name, you saintly soldier of God?” He pushed the mic into the stranger’s face as a demand rather than request.
“Michael Barnes.”
“Mr. Barnes, how many single mothers’ SkyDrives did you repossess last year?”
“Hundreds of thousands. Too many to count!” His mirth was matched by the audience.
“How much have you garnished from the wages of the Sovereign citizenry?”
“Billions and billions!” It was clear he took great pride in the achievement.
“How many homes do you currently own, Michael?”
“Three—so far.” The subsequent hand claps could have cracked the sky.
Randy returned the microphone to its rightful owner and stepped back toward the pulpit. An index finger remained locked onto Mr. Barnes and was dragged along for the ride. “This right here is a true man of faith, everyone. Someone who understands the supremacy of want over need. You might not be able to take it with you, but it’ll be one hell of a ride to your final destination, sir. Integrity need not apply when dealing with the indebted. They spat in the face of our God. Heaven no longer sanctifies poor spirits. Only the rich man can pay for passage. The eye of the needle is irrelevant if you can’t afford the camel.”
His idolatry was met with a thunderous ovation and throaty laughter in accompaniment.
Even Helen Campos joined the fray.
“Whether in a penthouse in Paris or a pup tent in Patagonia, the lord of luxury remains the prime mover in the Sovereignties,” Randy continued. “Here at the Hazel Park Ministry of the Almighty Dollar, we dedicate ourselves daily anew to the veneration of the one true God.”
Randy placed the microphone down on the lectern and grabbed a crinkled dollar bill in its stead. When he raised it above his head with both hands, the entire flock rose to its feet and extended their arms to the sky. It may as well have been a command from Sovereign Patrick himself. Each of them looked like they were serving as the base of a cheerleading extension.
The construction crew across the street matched the same gesture.
Even his friends and neighbors got in on the action.
Randy had the audience in the palm of his hands.
A good salesman always knows when to press the issue.
“Now, which of you congregants is interested in opening a checking account today?”
***
An insistent knock at the front door after midnight awoke all three bedmates.
Hugo’s ferocious woofing and howling in response belied the impotent nature of the forty-pound guard dog with crossbred Corgi legs. His Malamute head made him look like the most adorable canine minotaur in all of creation. He was all bark and no bite.
“Huey, shush, calm down,” Randy commanded. He pulled his own legs free from under the covers and reached for the U of M T-shirt Kam forcibly removed from his body just a few hours prior.
-Go Blue-
Kameron turned over in annoyance rather than alarm. Ms. Jernigan had court in the morning. “Who the hell knocks on someone’s door at this time of night? If they delivered food to the wrong house, take it and tell them to get lost. Look at Hugo. He’s shaking.”
“That’s because he’s still traumatized by what you did to me earlier.” Randy rubbed his eyes and put on his slippers. He pocketed the Holo-Deck laying on his nightstand. “If you hear another loud bang, lock the door and call the Sec-D.”
“That’s reassuring.” She began spooning with the real man of the house. Within a few seconds the two appeared to be in Snooze Mode.
“You’re both useless to me.”
He didn’t catch the single raised finger he received in response.
Randy gently descended the granite-marble floating staircase on his tiptoes. The effort wasn’t intended for noise suppression. Between the slick brush satin finish and the aerated gaps between each slab, Hugo looked at the climb as something akin to the Bataan Death March. His owner grew accustomed to carrying him over the threshold each evening when it was time for bed. The dog even put one paw on his cheek for good measure.
Kam requested “Up Where We Belong” a few nights back as they scaled the stairs. It almost caused the pair to plummet off the top rope when Randy couldn’t stop laughing.
Twin shadows filled the frosted rectangular window frames on each side of the door. Randy grabbed the collapsible bang stick that was kept permanently squirreled away at the bottom of the coat closet. He maintained a firm grip around the grounding pad so he didn’t catch a buzz from the extended bludgeon.
With the side of his head pressed against the black walnut veneer, he posed his initial inquiry through the closed entryway. “Something I can do for you two?”
Randy could just make out the figure on the left turning his head to lock eyes with his partner. His response was sent in the same direction. “Good evening, sir. Sorry to bother you at such a late hour. Unfortunately, this couldn’t wait. We’re here on official Sovereign business.”
“Official Sovereign business typically doesn’t take place after midnight.”
Randy Mason could not have been more wrong.
A light snickering erupted on both sides. “I understand your reticence. Typically, you’d be right. We work in a different department, though. Can I present you with my credentials for an ID scan?”
It wasn’t a question. “Sure. Hold them up to the camera.”
They were who they claimed.
Security Department protocol mandated he open the door or risk detainment. Randy deactivated the stick and leaned it against the wall to avoid any potential misunderstandings.
Two smiling Sovereign representatives greeted him on the other side.
Each was suited in ten-thousand-dollar gray ArmaNike. The stuff was laser-tailored to ensure the appropriate fit.
Despite their affluent attire, Minister Mason remained on guard against potential embezzlement. “Agent Dexter, what is the SCD?”
The partners shared a quick glance before returning their attention to Randy. “Sovereign Control Department. We’re an off shoot of Intelligence. Our mandate is to maintain municipal order through…alternative means.”
“I’ve never heard of the SCD. It sounds like an STD.”
His comment caused everyone to chuckle.
Agent Dexter shook his head in agreement. “Our section is a bit more off the books. We tend to operate under cover of darkness.”
“Clearly,” Randy responded.
The agent continued with the interrogation. “Anyway, we’re not here to interrogate you or anything, Mr. Mason. Quite frankly, under normal circumstances the consecration of a new bank would be a cause for celebration. But the location of The Almighty Dollar poses a problem for Sovereign Patrick. You know. The man who owns you.”
For the first time since their arrival, the agents took on the severe disposition more suited for Sovereign officers.
Randy had been waiting for them to walk through the door.
He put on his invisible cleric’s collar for the newly arrived guests. “Gentlemen, I assure you, I adore the Sovereign. Our ministry offers nothing but worship and reverence for his richness. Of character, I mean. We also honor the dollar. All denominations are welcome to attend my church. Blessed be the wealthy for they shall inherit the earth. Intestate, but still. The Sovereign always eats first.”
All three men made silent money gestures.
“Sovereign Patrick acknowledges and appreciates your veneration,” Agent Dexter confirmed. “That’s why he’s willing to relocate you to the Salvation Temple Church on 10 Mile Road. The interchange for I-75 and 696 is right there at your doorstep. Millions of potential parishioners flying by every day. It’s an incredible business opportunity. Play your cards right and you could be named an apostle one day. Then we’d be talking billions.”
Randy was perplexed. “Salvation Temple is a secular church. They worship Jesus Christ. I’d get crucified. Pun intended. Lifting the Bible up next to banking in terms of importance is blasphemy. No one’s going to want to pool assets with a pagan.”
“You’re quite right, Mr. Mason,” Dexter confirmed. “The building would have to be torn down first. But then Patrick will build you a real church from the ground up. A phoenix rising from the ashes of atheism. Nothing could be more poetic or pious.”
A brief look at his quiet colleague brought the relationship into focus for Randy. Agent Dexter was his superior officer. The kid was still studying.
He was also scared shitless.
Randy returned his attention to the primary. “Once again, there appears to be a disconnect between myself and the Sovereign. You see, this isn’t just a banking institution of higher worship. It’s my home. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this place, and now Patrick wants to hang me out to dry. Am I supposed to sleep in the janitor’s closet at Salvation Temple?”
“Of course not, Mr. Mason. Don’t be ridiculous. Patrick will build you a rectory. Since you’re so devout and all. We figured you’d want to remain on the premises to practice your faith 24/7. Unless your fidelity to finance isn’t what you claim.” Agent Dexter narrowed his eyes.
“No, I’m a true believer when it comes to banking,” he lied.
“That’s fantastic.” Dexter resumed smiling. “Agent Larkin and I were afraid we might have to recommend you to FinCEN for a fifteen to life detainment. Religious crimes carry a stiff penalty in the Sovereignties. Good to hear you’re not a counterfeiter.”
The two men stared one another down. Randy finally resumed the conversation. “I have a hearing before Judge Campos in the 43rd District in a few weeks. Maybe we just let her decide if I have a valid claim to remain on the premises.”
“That’s one way to play it.” Dexter turned to his partner. “Larkin, go start the SkyDrive. I’ll be right there.”
His underling shuffled down the sidewalk and disappeared from view around the corner.
Agent Dexter removed an old-fashioned zippo lighter from his coat pocket. He flicked the wheel once and it sparked to life. Dexter let the flare dance back and forth between them. “You like to play with fire, Mr. Mason?”
Randy smirked in an effort to appear unbothered by the insinuation. “You a smoker, Agent Dexter? You really should quit. My grandmother died of lung cancer. Last generation to do so, but still.”
“Never smoked a day in my life.” He kept the flame going while he eyeballed every inch of the doorframe for emphasis. His vision eventually returned to Randy. “I saw you’re unmarried. No girlfriend? Boyfriend? Something in between?”
“I just started seeing someone recently,” Randy nodded in affirmation. “She’s a lawyer. Way too smart and beautiful to be with me. We really hit it off. I’ve fallen pretty hard. Do me a favor and don’t tell her. I’m trying to play out the string as long as she’ll allow it.”
Agent Dexter appeared to be reminiscing. He snapped the trap shut on the lighter and returned it to its resting place. “Lawyer, huh? Believe it or not, that used to be my line of work.”
“You must have been really enjoying yourself.”
“Actually, I liked my life just fine. Take care of her, Randy. Take care of yourself, too.” Agent Dexter’s head dropped to the ground. He spun around and headed to the car without looking back. “If you’re not careful, you could lose both in a blink. You have my word on that.”
For some reason, Randy Mason was sad to see him go.
Even though he was happy to watch him leave.
Kam and Hugo were both anxiously awaiting his return from under the covers. No matter how hard she fell, the dog would always love him more. Huey came to the foot of the bed and started licking his hand like there was no tomorrow.
She was wearing his other U of M T-shirt. “Who was at the door?”
He patted his best friend’s head. “Nobody. Jokers looking to scare me on behalf of the Sovereignty. Said they were agents from the Control Department. Sounds made up, honestly.”
Kameron’s eyes exploded out of their sockets. She shot up in bed like the Undertaker.
“The FUCK did you just say?”
***
“They’re going to burn the house down, Randy.”
“Did you not watch the playback? I already did that earlier today.”
He still thought this was a joke. “Yeah, no. I don’t mean that figuratively. They will burn your freaking house down if you don’t do exactly what they say. I’m sorry, but we might need to stop having sleepovers until they’re done sniffing. I can’t get released into MoWyo.” She was shaking and pacing across the Brazilian Rosewood flooring in his professionally appointed dining room. It cost $1,200 per square foot. The room had yet to host a single dinner.
Randy rose from the gray slate designer Mercado Benz table and took up arms against his ally. He wrapped her in an elevated bear hug that scrunched her shoulders together. “Is this about your sister? You’re not getting sent to MoWyo like Tina, dummy. You’re on a partner track and you’re ridiculously beautiful. If anyone is getting sent to the goulash, it’s moi.”
Kam tilted her head up, but she wasn’t smiling. “I think you meant gulag.”
“No. I didn’t.”
She wriggled free from the embrace and took a step back. Kameron crossed her arms to validate her displeasure. “Control is just a bullshit word they chose to make their purpose more palatable to the public. Chaos Department is what they’re called behind closed doors. I would know. I have a backstage pass. Remember?”
Randy was outraged. He mirrored Kameron’s pose. “If they want to go to war with a reverend, let them draw swords. I’m a money changer. Other than Patrick himself, there’s nothing more sacrosanct in all the Sovereignties. It’s a bluff. I’m calling it.”
Kameron huffed and puffed. She grabbed her coat off the chairback and began putting it on. “I can’t be with some loser who’s too dumb to realize he’s already won. They’re offering you a piece of property worth twenty times this place. You discovered your calling. Somehow, you stumbled into me. There’s no reason for you to be doing this, other than dickishness.”
“This is my home, Kam.”
She slung her diamond-embossed Birkin bag over her shoulder. “Who cares? You can build yourself a multi-million-dollar compound in Pontiac and live with the rest of the gentrified folks if that’s your desire. Have you seen the mega-mansions they’re putting up on MLK Boulevard? They’re disgusting. You act like this place is Shangri-La or something. It’s a shack.”
“Kameron, I’m sick of the Sovereignty thinking it owns all of us. That it owns me.”
Ms. Jernigan looked like she was cross-examining a small child on the witness stand. She turned hostile. “It does own you, dummy! It actually, factually owns you. You’re lucky to be on a roster, by the way. Sovereign Patrick’s offering you a bundle to play backup QB and hold a clipboard. Keep messing around and you will get cut. In every sense.”
Randy put his hands on his hips. “I bent over backwards to play by the Sovereignty’s rules, and now they’re breaking them. It’s bullshit. A bridge too far. Someone has to stand up for righteousness.”
“Oh, Jesus Christ,” she sighed. It was the second time the Son’s name had been blasphemed on Mr. Mason’s property that evening. Kameron took two steps toward the exit and then stopped her forward progress. “Talk about drinking your own bathwater, Randy. That stuff’s going to make you sick. I’m starting to feel ill myself. If you ever manage to dislodge that boulder from your shoulder, give me a call. But I can’t have you weighing me down anymore.”
Hugo followed her all the way to the front door. She leaned down and gave him a kiss on his wet snout. “Goodbye, boy.” The way Kameron gently stroked the valley between his eyes before departing said as much.
When she slammed it shut, the dog looked back at him with grave disappointment.
-“You did this”-
Randy placed an index finger on the black dot on his neck. “Disable Pet Link.”
The microchipped pooch instantly reverted to Bark Mode.
Randy’s best friend didn’t need to be networked with the man to convey his disgust.
When Hugo slept on the downstairs couch that evening, it spoke volumes.
***
Judge Campos hadn’t yet entered the establishment when Randy materialized, but Kameron T. Jernigan was behind the Plaintiff’s table. She pretended to review paperwork to avoid looking in his direction.
After a singular stare down by Randy that lasted thirty seconds longer than was socially acceptable, he turned his head to survey the surrounding area.
Agents Dexter and Larkin were in the back row to observe.
Their placid smiles were screaming threat.
M.E.L. came into the picture. “All rise. The Honorable Helen E. Campos now presiding.”
The judge beamed in and smiled at each of the parties, including the agents.
Randy knew instinctively it was not a good sign.
Following formal appearances, Judge Campos got right down to business.
“First off, Mr. Mason, I want to state unequivocally for the record that this Court was thoroughly impressed with the dedication to monetary science being exhibited at the Ministry of the Almighty Dollar. Between my wife and I, you have two new congregants for life.”
Minister Mason put his hand to his chest. “Your Honor, it was a pleasure to host both you and Veronica. I look forward to having you in my house of worship for years to come.”
“Yes, the 43rd District hereby formally endorses your ministry as a legitimate religious institution. You can file that certification along with the deed to Salvation Temple. It will legally establish your right to operate as an independent Sovereign Bank henceforth.”
The reverend realized he was being steamrolled. “I’m sorry, your Honor, but—”
Judge Campos held up a single flattened palm in lieu of an actual instruction to not interrupt her again. “As for the residence located at 22306 Carlisle Avenue, the Court has taken your argument under advisement Mr. Mason, along with the Sovereignty’s, and unfortunately your failure to consecrate prior to issuance of the Notice to Vacate is fatal. The reply brief supplied by Ms. Jernigan and its accompanying case law is on point here.”
He shot Kam a look for doing him dirty.
The judge continued. “In re Houser clearly established a bank’s legal right to operate is superseded by a Sovereignty’s preexisting demand to vacate for municipal purposes, particularly when an alternative banking site is supplied to the claimant. I see no reason to overrule precedent here in light of Sovereign’s Patrick’s gracious accommodations.”
“Your honor, I strongly object.”
“Oh, you strongly object. Mel, make sure to take this one down.” Her sarcasm was not difficult to decipher. “On what basis are you strongly objecting?”
Randy briefly glanced at Kameron for a lifeline before remembering she was his adversary. “Umm, I don’t know. Unfair? Prejudicial?”
“Are those questions?”
The reverend was left reeling. He made money gestures with both hands in a last-ditch effort to buy himself some time. The two second timeout wasn’t worth the aggravation emanating off Helen Campos in the aftermath.
“Your honor, I’m a man of God. This is sacrilege.”
“No, Minister Mason. This is just the law. No one’s denying your right to proselytize or practice the lord’s work. You just can’t bank directly under a Sovereign-approved Sky Bridge any longer. Objection denied. Is there anything else?”
“This is complete nonsense,” Randy shouted. “I’m being railroaded.”
When he looked over at his opponent, she was desperately mouthing stop with raised eyebrows.
Helen Campos shuffled the pixelated papers and placed them back in the accompanying file. “Minister Mason, if you’re unhappy with today’s outcome, you’re welcome to appeal, but I must tell you that is doomed to failure given the foregoing facts. You’d be spinning your wheels when you’re better served sermonizing about the Good Books.” She held up her pocket copies of The Way to Wealth and The Art of The Deal to establish her meaning.
“What if I refuse to leave?”
Randy could feel Kameron burning a hole through him from fifteen miles away.
Even Mel’s simulated mouth appeared to drop.
Helen Campos thrust her head back like Randy took a swing. “Excuse me?”
“What if I chain myself to the radiator or something? Is the Sovereignty going to forcibly remove a cleric from his chosen church? I’ll make sure Channel 5 is there to capture every frame of the forced closure.”
The eyes of Judge Campos shifted to the two Chaos Agents in the back. Randy could hear them rise and exit stage left.
He had a feeling he knew where they might be headed.
Helen shook her head. “Minister Mason, you’ve got a good thing going here. A bright future. I think you’re in line to be an apostle one day with the kind of devotion you demonstrate. I urge you not to self-immolate on anti-religious principle. The last thing we need in this world are more Buddhist monks. What good did they ever do? Just a bunch of poverty-stricken paupers. Don’t join the ranks of the underprivileged. There’s no nobility in going for broke.”
Kameron formally chimed in for the first time. “Your Honor, with the Court’s approval, I’d like to provide Mr. Mason with a 72-hour window to vacate the premises.”
“That’s two days longer than is normally recommended under the circumstances, Ms. Jernigan. Are you sure Sovereign Patrick will be amenable to providing that kind of leeway?”
“I’ll make it sing, your Honor.”
“I don’t need your help, counselor,” Randy snarked across the aisle.
“Yes, you do, Minister Mason,” she countered. It was empathy rather than anger, even though Randy was only offering her the latter.
Kam was pretty sure she was in love.
It will make you do dumb things.
Randy Mason was a perfect example of that idiom.
“Minister Mason, I concur with Ms. Jernigan’s assessment on all counts. The Court hereby finds in favor of the Sovereignty’s claim for abandonment. The property located at 22306 Carlisle Avenue in Hazel Park is to be surrendered by the Defendant within 72 hours. The keys can be dropped off at any Security Department precinct. Mr. Mason, please be aware that a failure to abide by this court’s order will subject you to a minimum detainment of ten years and a fine of fifteen million dollars. I urge you to collect your belongings and vacate.”
“Your Honor, if I may.” Randy was entering his plea.
“You may not, Minister,” Campos confirmed. “Court is adjourned. Live by the Sovereign, Die by the Sovereign.”
By the time Kameron completed the sentence in turn, Randy was already gone.
***
“Randy, where the hell are you going? Why aren’t you packing?”
The minister was in his car when she made the call. “Because I’m not leaving, Kam. I meant what I said. I’m flying to Super Home Depot on Beaver Island and buying a bunch of titanium chains and some shackles. And then I’m flushing the key. They’ll have to blowtorch me out of the place.”
“You think that’s a threat, and it is, just not in the direction you’re intending,” she said. “They’ll set you on fire. Listen, just come over to my house, okay? Let’s talk this through. You still have three days.”
“I’m done talking, Kam.” He swiped her dashboard hologram down and kept his eyes on the road. Randy had to reject her incoming calls five times before she finally took the hint.
***
Unfortunately, the Chaos Department beat him to the punch with the blowtorch.
When he returned to his house on Carlisle an hour later, the place was already in the process of burning to the ground.
He had to land his SkyDrive a half block down with all the Anti-O trucks blocking the way. He ran the entire distance until he found himself standing side by side with the busiest construction crew in the state of Michigan.
“Hey, dude. Your house is on fire.”
“Thanks, fellas,” a hunched over Randy responded. He struggled for breath while the Sovereignty’s Fire Department sucked up all the remaining oxygen in the room.
Randy tried to control his red-hot anger when Agent Dexter made his way across the street. He knew an assault charge against a Sovereign official would leave him floating senseless inside a deprivation chamber for the next fifteen years.
“Mr. Mason. Just the man I wanted to see.” He smacked the paperwork into his awaiting palms along with Hugo’s leash. “Your certificate of religious devotion and the keys and deed to Salvation Temple Church are inside. I put a Sakstrom gift card in there for you as well so you can buy yourself some underwear and a new suit. Pleasure doing business with you. Sorry for your net losses.”
Dexter had to pull Larkin away from the flaming wreckage.
It appeared he was on the verge of tears.
The junior agent stared back at Randy all the way to the car.
One of the orange vests covered in fluorescent Māori-style face tattoos posed a question.
“Who were those assholes?”
Randy took one last look at his ash heap of a home. “Agents of the Sovereignty. Looks like they’ve got everything here under control. Take it easy, gentlemen.”
“You, too,” their appointed spokesperson responded.
The crew watched Randy and Hugo walk off into the sunset together.
They began digging up his past the following morning.
***
- “I like our new house, Randy”-
Hugo seemed legitimately excited. The remnants of the chemically enhanced quarter pounder in his belly probably didn’t hurt. Eating the juiced-up beef was the equivalent of smoking canine crack.
He was panting and admiring the stained glass of Salvation Temple Church from a sitting position. His owner was seated on the cement next to him finishing a chocolate milkshake.
“This is just a tear-down, Huey. It’s not our home.”
Randy’s real roost was flame-broiled.
It reaffirmed his opinion that BK was bullshit.
He did not in fact get to have it his way.
The dog’s excitement ceased to dampen.
- “Can I have my own room?”-
Randy patted his pooch on the head. “Every room is your room, Hugo. It’s just my name on the deed. That’s how it is with you dogs.”
Their ongoing back-and-forth was interrupted by a new arrival in the parking lot.
They both instantly recognized the driver when she exited her vehicle, but only one of them went bounding over to greet her.
- “Kameron! Kameron! Kameron! Look! Randy! It’s Kameron! It’s Kameron!”-
His owner brushed himself off and rose to his feet. “Thank you, sir. I can see that.”
She was desperately trying to fend off his advances without much luck. Hugo was practically trying to stick his tongue down her throat while she hugged him around his own. “Buy me dinner first, boy. What’s he saying, Rand?”
“He wants to know if you’re back for good.”
Hugo didn’t say that.
She kept her eyes on the pooch. “I don’t know. Tell him daddy’s still in the doghouse.”
His attention shifted to Randy.
- “Don’t screw this up, dummy”-
He muted the dog and met Kameron halfway. She was slinging a four-pack in one hand.
“I saw what they did.” Kam snapped off a bourbon-barrel quadruple ale and handed it to Randy. “I’m sorry. It’s difficult to outsmart those half-wits. Did you take a peek inside yet?”
He turned his head toward the church. “Yeah. It smells like the Shroud of Turin, and it looks like Jesus Christ carpentered the place himself.”
Randy really did make her laugh. “Well, it’s going to be rubble in short order. Who needs a historical holy site, anyway? You can make it whatever you want it to be.”
“I’m sorry.” He placed a palm on her cheek for emphasis. “I thought the house was everything to me—but that’s you now. If it’s a choice between the two, let it burn.”
Kameron caressed his hand. “Careful. You keep talking like that and we’re going inside to purify the place.”
They kissed until they had to come up for air. “It’s no longer architecturally sound enough to support that sort of thing, Kam. But can I come over? I have to start looking for a motel with a monthly rate in the morning.”
She shook him off. “No. You don’t. Why don’t you just stay with me? Mi casa es su casa.” Kameron smiled with one corner of her mouth and raised a single eyebrow. Her expression suggested it was both question and answer.
“Actually, I think technically tu casa is the correct informal possessive pronoun.”
Kameron feigned annoyance. “Gracias, señor. Do you want to go live in Mexicantown or with me, cabrón?”
Randy leaned over and kissed her again before responding. “The latter.”
“Good,” she smiled. Kam bent over halfway and patted his partner. “You’re coming, too, super pooper. We’ll have to go run out and buy you boys a couple of new water bowls in the morning. Maybe some puppy pads for your daddy.”
Hugo reared on to his hind legs and a group hug ensued.
Randy didn’t realize it until that moment.
He found a home.
