Page 76 of Swerve
“I don’t know,” Knox says, leaning in to get a better look at the chickens. “There are two in there.”
He pulls the corner of the crate forward, leveling it on the grass. But just then the latch at the top pops open, and the two chickens fly upward like a phoenix rising from the ashes. They flap onto the grass just beyond the crate and land, only to fall over. They get up and try to walk and fly at the same time.
“You get the one on the left,” Knox says, taking off after them. “I’ll get the other one.”
And that’s how we end up on the side of I-66, chasing after two chickens whose destiny has somehow just taken a one-eighty turn. It takes us five minutes or more, and I can’t even imagine what the cars driving by must think. I catch mine first, but only after all but throwing myself on top of the chicken, her outraged clucks making me laugh even as I hold on tight to her, turning over to lie on my back and stare at the sky that is now bright blue again.
“Got her!” Knox yells out. He is laughing too, and a minute later, he’s standing beside me holding that chicken as if it’s the prize at the end of a battle that has overthrown a rogue dictatorship.
He drops down beside me, holding his chicken on his chest. We both drag in deep breaths until we can talk again without gasping. The chickens cluck softly now, no longer fighting us, and I have to think they somehow know what they’ve escaped.
“For a psychiatrist,” Knox says, “you’re not the sanest person I’ve ever met.”
I start to laugh again. “Coming from you, I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
The Senator
“I’ve come to know that what we want in life is the greatest indication of who we really are.”
?Richard Paul Evans
HE’D EXPECTED PUSHBACK from the younger senator. From everything he’d heard, the guy was a straight-up arrow. Driving all the way out to Loudon County for dinner might interfere with the eight hours of sleep he publicly declares necessary for his well-being. Arrogant little shit.
Hagan knows he sounds like a pissy old fart, but sometimes the arrogance of his underlings was more than a little hard to take. They thought they knew everything. Had it all figured out. Riding high on their ideals and the certainty that they were the sole mediums for all solutions to human problems sent to them via the universe.
Will Arrington wasn’t the first upstart he’d had to shape into a new way of thinking. There had been others before him. With the right inducement and the appropriate compromising position soundly documented via today’s technology, there had yet to be a resister.
He actually looks forward to these virgin initiations. There’s the power aspect for sure, but something innately satisfying about bringing the proud to a slightly more acceptable position of humility.
He gets up from his desk, pulls a key from beneath the middle drawer, and walks over to the filing cabinet in the corner of the office. He opens the drawer, then pulls it out altogether. He reaches inside and uses a second key to open the door carved into the actual wall. It’s small, six inches by six inches, but large enough to hold the small boxes of Rohypnol. The oval, greenish-gray pills are hard to get these days. He uses four layers of purchasing to get to the actual dealer so that he’s as removed as possible. These newer versions of the drug make clear liquids turn bright blue and dark drinks cloudy. He’ll need to make sure Arrington orders red wine or a dark soft drink. As a last resort, coffee at the end of the meal will do.
Also known as roofies or the forget pill, it’s his favorite inducement because most people don’t remember what happens when they are under its influence. He knows from personal experience that the Proprietor records what goes on in the rooms at the Hotel California.Which is where Sergio comes in. He has agreed to get him a copy of the video. He knows it’s risky. The proprietor would do away with Sergio in a heartbeat if she knew of their agreement. Not that Sergio is going to tell her. He’s got his own motivation, admitting once that he is saving up for a new life on an island somewhere. Hagan just hopes it’s not anytime soon. But then, given the way the guy likes to spend money, probably not.
He places one of the small pill boxes in the pocket of his suit jacket, makes sure it’s securely hidden.
Tonight’s the night, to quote an old Rod Stewart favorite. And then everything’ll be all right.
Knox
“I did not become a vegetarian for my health, I did it for the health of the chickens.”
?Isaac Bashevis Singer
THEY ARRIVE AT the entrance to Hotel California just before four o’clock. Knox makes the right turn onto the long, paved drive that leads to the hotel.
The chickens are sitting side by side in the middle of the back seat, their heads tucked close to each other.
“I can’t believe they’re just sitting there like that,” he says, glancing at Emory.
She reaches back to rub each of them, and, amazingly, they seem to like it. “They know they’re safe,” she says.
“I’ve never spent any time around chickens, but they seem content.”
“Wow. It’s beautiful,” Emory says, as the hotel comes into sight.
“Yeah. Explains why it’s a getaway for the wealthiest of the wealthy.”
Knox turns the Jeep into the parking lot to the right of one of the enormous oaks on the front lawn. A half dozen cars are lined up in the individual spots, all Mercedes or better. He notices a couple have Washington, DC, plates.
