Radiomen (35 page)

~XVIII~

I
t was a rain-washed afternoon, blustery and dark. I felt chilled even though I was wearing a jacket, so I asked Jack to turn on the heat in the car as we inched along the Belt Parkway, headed out toward the Rockaway Peninsula. Digitaria was sitting in the back seat along with the Haverkit repeater, assembled from the parts that Jack had managed to acquire. It was wrapped in an old quilt meant to protect it during what I was beginning to think of as a ride to nowhere, because that was where we seemed to be going: nowhere fast.

The traffic was horrendous; there were multiple accidents and endless congestion caused by rubbernecking drivers trying to get a look at the smashed vehicles and trails of shattered glass. We had hoped to be out at the beach before dark but that wasn’t going to happen now; we were in the decline of the season, when the days seemed to close themselves out with a grim immediacy that brooked no negotiation with the light of afternoon. The fall horizon was already serving up the night’s cold slice of moon.

The only benefit I saw to the fact that we were way behind the schedule we had set for ourselves was that we might not meet up with Raymond. We were almost an hour past the time that Jack said he had told him we would be waiting outside the Sunlite Apartments. Jack had tried Raymond’s cell phone, but it went straight to voice mail so I was hoping that by now, he had just given up on us and gone home.

The closer we got to Rockaway, the more uneasy I became. I couldn’t sort out which thing was bothering me the most: the combustion that might result from Jack and Raymond meeting outside of the controlled environment of Jack’s studio or Raymond’s office, or the idea that a shadow man might really show himself to me on the grounds of a deserted building where I used to live. Or maybe it was the fact that I could hear my dog panting feverishly in the seat behind me. If there had been enough room, I knew he would have been pacing back and forth.

Finally, not far ahead, I saw the sign that said, “To the Rockaways.” Once we made it down the off-ramp, the traffic cleared up and there were no more delays. We followed a road that led through a series of small communities built on the canals that fed into the bays whose waters washed in and out of the ocean with the tides. Then it was over one last bridge, and we were—I was—back in Rockaway, heading down the peninsula to the vacant lots and broken sidewalks that were now the domain of the Sunlite Apartments.

As we went deeper and deeper into this desolate area, Jack kept asking me if I was sure I knew where we were going. I simply said,
Yes, I am. Keep driving.
Occasionally, we passed an old summer bungalow, half collapsed into a street that had been taken over by beach sand. It was too dark, now, to make out the deserted boardwalk just a few blocks away and the sea beyond, but even with the car windows closed, I could smell the salt tang in the air, or imagined I could. Deep water, seaweed, fish, sharks, the bones of whales. I could conjure up pictures for myself of what was out there, past what I could see.

Finally, we came to the right block. I told Jack to turn and we slowly drove along what remained of the blacktop, between the rows of thin, blackened trees that had grown up in this sandy soil. And then there it was: the squat brick building with its crumbling wedding cake fretwork, its missing doors and broken windows.

“Here?” Jack said. He sounded incredulous, but I couldn’t imagine what else he was expecting. I had told him the building was long abandoned, the neighborhood a ruin.

Out of habit, he was careful to parallel park at the edge of the blacktop, as if some municipal authority might still be concerned with the observance of local traffic rules. When he finally turned off the motor, I got out of the car, and my dog quickly followed me. He stood close by my side, his ears twitching as he looked up at what remained of the Sunlite Apartments.

“That’s right,” I said to him. “You remember, don’t you? You were here once before.”

Jack, walking up behind me, heard what I said and asked, “What are you talking about? Why would you have brought him here before?”

I was going to explain about my excursion to the beach last spring—in his car, as a matter of fact—when he had gone out to California, and about how Digitaria had run away from me and found his way to this same spot, but before I even started speaking, something distracted me.

“Look,” I said to Jack, pointing down the street, where I suddenly saw the blindingly bright headlights of a huge Suburban with blacked-out windows sweeping toward us. The vehicle pulled up behind Jack’s and the driver cut the motor. When the headlights finally dimmed, I noticed that there was another vehicle easing itself into line behind the Suburban. It was a blue van.

“Not good,” I whispered to Jack.

“Relax,” he replied. “It will be fine.” But I was not reassured.

We watched as the back door of the Suburban swung open and Raymond Gilmartin stepped out. As if he had come to keep a business appointment, he was wearing a dark suit and tie, just as he had been the last time I saw him. As he carefully smoothed out his clothes, another familiar figure exited the vehicle: Ravenette, dressed in some sort of faux hippie-chic dress that seemed to have been sewn together out of black scarves. They both, I thought, had the look about them of people harboring a deadly intent they did not want you to know about—not just yet.

I waited to see who would come out of the blue van, but no one did. It stayed tucked in its spot, behind the Suburban, with its lights off. It reminded me of the trucks parked in the alleyways in my neighborhood. The blue van looked like it was hiding.

“You’re late,” Raymond said, frowning. “We’ve been driving around, looking for a place to get coffee.”

“Miles,” Ravenette said, waving her hand as if to dismiss the blight around her as a personal affront. “We had to drive for miles.”

“Nice to see you, too,” I said to her.

We spent a moment glaring at each other and then I turned to Raymond. My intention was to be a bit more civil to him, but he didn’t give me the chance. He drank the dregs from a paper coffee cup and then tossed it on the ground.

“So now that we’re all here, let’s get on with this, shall we?” Raymond said. “I understand you have some sort of ritual you intend to carry out.”

He had addressed that last remark to me, in a tone so cold, so distant, that it made me feel pretty bad about him. Bad in a lot of ways, including the fact that he, too, apparently intended to behave like a jackass. It was disappointing. I wanted to think better of him but now, there seemed to be no reason to think much about him at all.

“There is no ritual,” I told him. “I’m just going to try something. Actually, I got the idea from Ravenette.”

She turned to Raymond and spit out a declaration of anger. “I told you that was what she would say.”

“Never mind,” Raymond replied.

Right after that, I thought I saw her make some sort of motion toward the blue van, but Raymond caught her arm and stopped her. This worried me and I wanted to make Jack aware of what she’d done, but he had already gone back to the car to get the repeater. When he returned in just a minute or so, he had removed the blanket, so it looked like he was carrying a big radio tuner—a squat black box bristling with wires and dials.

He put it in my arms and then stepped back, as if the thing might pose a danger to anyone around it. “Okay,” he said. “It’s all yours.”

It was dark now, fully nighttime. The rainy wind had blown itself out but inky clouds had placed themselves between us and the stars. The only illumination came from down the block. The one remaining streetlight in this whole area burned with a dim insistence as if sheer will, not electricity, was keeping it on.

Did I really have a plan? No. Just a feeling, just a guess about what to do. I walked across a path of rubble toward the wide, empty darkness where the front door of the Sunlite Apartments used to be, with my dog following me almost step for step. The building stood before me in two realities: the crumbling brick structure that I could see now, and the memory of what it had been in those summer days. I played on the wedding-cake balcony outside the rooms where the adults cooked dinner, dealt out a hand of cards and listened to one of Avi’s radios spin out the sentimental ballads that were popular in those years.

I put the repeater down in front of the doorway and waited. I waited for what seemed like a long time. Nothing happened. I was wondering if I was going to have to try to climb the rickety fire escape, when I suddenly heard Raymond’s voice coming from behind me.

“Well?” he said impatiently. “Is that it?”

I looked down at the dog, who was staring intently into the empty doorway. I was still thinking that something might happen when the dog suddenly turned around and began to growl. The sound ended in the kind of high-pitched yipping that I remembered from that last time we had been in the vicinity of a certain blue van.

And indeed, as I turned, I saw the side panels of the van slide open and two men emerge. They were young, trim, wearing jeans and hoodies. I tried to picture them in yellow goggles but quickly realized that it didn’t matter whether these were the men I had encountered before or not. They were generic people, Blue Awares, Raymond’s followers. They would do whatever he wanted them to do and I knew that whatever he wanted them to do right now was not going to be anything good.

Jack was standing near Raymond and Ravenette, but looking toward me. He didn’t see the two Awares until they walked right up to him. They had some sort of small, bulky objects in their hands; for a moment, I had the wild—though maybe not crazy—thought that they were holding guns. But no, that’s not what they were: I had watched enough episodes of cop shows on TV to recognize a Taser when I saw one in real life.

I watched as Jack finally realized what was happening. I was not totally surprised by his reaction. He laughed.

“Really?” he said to Raymond. “Who do you want to take prisoner? Me or the alien?”

“There is no alien,” Raymond said. “No radioman. Ravenette tried to tell Ms. Perzin that. You’re both in need of serious help. Counseling. We’re going to try to give it to you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Jack said. “You couldn’t kidnap a dog, so now you’re going to try to kidnap human beings?”

Raymond shrugged. “The event you’re referring to wasn’t authorized. This, however, most certainly is. However, it’s hardly a kidnapping. It’s an intervention. I am convinced that your hatred for the Blue Awareness is evidence of deep-seated engram damage. The problems and disappointments you’ve had in your life have become like a cancer affecting your mind, your ability to think clearly and to reason. We’re going to help you overcome all that. I told you about our retreat center upstate and everyone who listens to your show heard you say that you’d consider going. Well, now you are. It’s a wonderful facility; we have wonderful, caring Blue Box counselors . . .”

“Who also do wonderful things with sleep deprivation, hallucinogens and other nifty therapies, right? I’ve heard all about what goes on at your retreat centers,” Jack said.

“Everything the counselors do will be designed to help you. You’ll be able to change your outlook, the whole trajectory of your life.”

“Listen to me,” Jack said. He sounded firm, even reasonable, but the look on his face was beginning to rearrange itself into one of alarm. “I can’t just disappear. It doesn’t matter what I said on the radio. People will look for me.”

The answer to this statement came from Ravenette. “You’re going to send everyone an e-mail,” she told Jack. “Something witty and persuasive. That’s exactly the kind of person you think you are, right? Well, we’ll do you a favor. We’ll help you keep that fantasy going for a while. And that blog they have you writing on World Air’s website? Every week, you’ll post an update on your progress.”

“This is crazy,” Jack said. “Don’t either of you realize that?”

“What about you, Laurie?” Ravenette said to me. “Do you think this is crazy? Because basically, that’s what I think is wrong with you, too, and we’re going to help you get better. Heal you.”

“And you think no one will miss her, either?” Jack interjected.

“The vice president of the company that owns Endless Weekend is Aware,” Raymond said. “He understands how important it is that Ms. Perzin go through counseling with us. Ravenette really does feel that your friend is in imminent danger of having a breakdown.”

I was listening to all this with the same sense of duality I had about the Sunlite Apartments. I understood what Raymond and Ravenette were saying they were going to do but there was also a part of me that found it impossible to accept that it was actually going to happen. Not because they couldn’t do what they said but because I couldn’t really believe that they wanted to. Because if they did, it meant that
they
believed in what they said they did—really believed—and that seemed unimaginable to me.

And so—at the wrong time, in the wrong place—I had an insight about myself: there was a part of me that actually envied Raymond Gilmartin. Which was why I had been so willing to cut him some slack, empathize with him when all the evidence that I should do nothing of the sort was overwhelming. The fact that he believed in something, had some sort of deep faith, was a feat impossible for me to achieve. And I felt the lack of that, felt it over my lifetime, felt it enduringly, achingly. In that respect, even Ravenette was better off than I was. It was an awful revelation. I couldn’t accept the reality of someone else’s faith in anything beyond themselves because I didn’t have any myself. Perhaps that’s why I had finally allowed myself to believe in the radioman’s existence, to be willing to grant the possibility that he might actually be waiting for me in the Sunlite Apartments—because I wanted him to be.

But I didn’t have a lot of time to dwell on these thoughts. No matter what I did or did not believe, I had to face the fact that Raymond and his followers intended to herd Jack and me into the van and drive us off into some sort of blue oblivion. And there was no way that I could see to get away from them. The men standing beside Raymond and Ravenette were blocking the path to Jack’s car; we’d never be able to get to it before they got us. And trying to run away wasn’t an option either; where was there to run, in the middle of all this desolation?