The Failure (13 page)
T
hey entered the store, Guy and Billy, Billy and Guy, wearing their baby-blue ski masks and brandishing obviously fake pistols, and the tellers, counting money behind their cages, barely looked up. One supposes that they see this sort of thing on a regular basis, maybe even with baby-blue ski masks. It’s difficult to say, just as it was difficult to read the expression on Charlie’s face as he stared at the masked duo from behind Window 3, frozen with what could be shock, but looked enough like shock that Guy actually double-checked his watch to make sure they were on the right day and time. Which of course they were. Guy went up to Charlie’s cage, and in his best menacing whisper, which by the way is not very menacing, he said, “Hand over the cash in your drawer, punk.”
Charlie shrugged, looked down at his drawer, and after a moment’s hesitation that Guy thought, at the time, was a magnificently ad-libbed piece of acting, removed it from his register and handed it through the slot in the Plexiglas window. Obviously the drawer itself would not fit through the slot, so he started removing bundles of cash and pushing them through the slot, where Billy stuffed them into a plastic garbage bag. Which is when Guy noticed that something had obviously gone very, very wrong. There was nothing like $100,000 in Charlie’s drawer. There was more like $12,000, the amount that’s normally supposed to be there, but not this morning, the morning of Guy and Billy and Charlie’s elaborately worked-out plan.
-What gives? Guy hissed at Charlie, who again shrugged, pushing rolls of goddamn quarters through the window by this time.
-Couldn’t do it, bro, he whispered back, further infuriating Guy by the use of the word “bro.”
Guy could only imagine the different shades of magenta his skin must be turning underneath his baby-blue mask.
-That’s it?
Couldn’t do it, bro?
Why couldn’t you do it?
-Ask Violet.
-Yeah, I’d like to ask Violet, Charlie, but she ain’t fucking here just at the minute, is she?
-What?
The sirens were already audible. They had at most thirty seconds to get out of there.
-We have at most thirty seconds to get out of here, Guy said to Billy, who had just finished stuffing cash into the plastic bag.
-What?
-Get out! Guy shouted, grabbing the bag from Billy and heading for the door.
35. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT WAS JUST DUMB, IN THE IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH OF THE KOREAN CHECK-CASHING FIASCO
W
here’s Sven? yelled Billy, racing out the door after Guy, ripping off his baby-blue ski mask.
-First of all, who told you to take off your ski mask? asked Guy. -And second of all, I don’t know. He’s supposed to be here. Right here. Literally right where I’m standing. In a tan Ford Mustang.
-I’ve never even seen a tan Mustang.
-That doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You’ve never seen God, right?
-This is your fault. You hired the driver and the driver is not here and the car is not here and now we have to take the probably stolen car, which was not, N, O, T, the plan.
-I know. I’m sorry. Can you kind of hurry, though? I’ll apologize all the way to wherever we get to before the cops nail us.
-I just …You always do that, and it lowers my self-esteem. Which is not good for my self-esteem.
At which point three police cars, sirens wailing, sped past the check-cashing place without slowing down. Guy and Billy looked at each other. Guy took off his mask and shrugged.
-Now I don’t know whether we’re really unlucky or really lucky, said Guy.
-I’ll get the car, said Billy.
I
’m strong, said Violet.
-Yes, but are you Army strong?
-I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think you’re book hot?
-I’m definitely not TV hot. You’re like movie hot, though.
-Seriously? Do you mean indie movie hot or blockbuster movie hot?
-You’re right on the edge. You’re maybe rising starlet hot?
-That’s so sweet.
In the dark the wallpaper, bland rows of tipped pyramids on a white background, acquired a sheen of sweat. Emotional humidity. Guy had no way of stopping her. Smoke from his improperly stubbed cigarette curled upwards from the ashtray balanced on his thigh and flowered in unexpected ways near the ceiling, dissolving at length in the murk. He couldn’t stop her. Her bare shoulders reflected striped moonlight onto the piled pillows. They talked for a while longer but talking only drew tighter the tense cords banding Guy’s stomach. His throat clenched. He had a coughing fit and lit another cigarette. Moths beat at the window screen, alarmed at the sudden silence. Truth is, he didn’t want to stop her. She opened her eyes; he saw narrow gemlike slits glitter on the moon-dappled and striated bed. The distance between her hand and his chest was negatively charged, prickly with latent energy. The angel of perception shifted; Guy turned away and leaned on a nervous elbow, watching the blue glow of her digital clock on a nearby end table register the slowly scrolling text of time.
-What are you thinking? asked Guy, after a while.
-If you have to ask, then I really don’t think there’s much point in me being here.
-I mean besides that. Obviously. I don’t know anything about you.
Violet sat up in the bed, alarmed.
-You’ve never wanted to know anything about me.
-Yeah, I know. It’s uncharacteristic.
-I don’t tell people stuff like that.
-Okay, first: stuff like what? And second: people? I’ve been demoted?
-And this is one of the reasons why.
-Just forget I said anything.
-I never understand when anyone says that. You did say it. It’s now part of my memory. I can’t choose which memories to remember and which to forget. I wish I could. And you’re telling me to forget it only doubles the chances that I’ll remember it.
-It’s an expression. I don’t mean actually forget, but act as if you’ve forgotten. Pretend, in other words, I never said anything about how I don’t know anything about you, and I’d like to know something, not a whole lot, but maybe where you’re from, your middle name, favorite flavor of ice cream …
-I’m lactose-intolerant. I don’t eat ice cream.
-There, see? Now I know something about you. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?
-Unless I was lying. I do that a lot.
-Yeah, me too. Like, for example, when I said I was a rich Internet entrepreneur.
-I never believed that.
-It was still a lie.
-Okay.
-Truth is, I
will be
a rich Internet entrepreneur. I just need some cash to fund my prototype for this really ingenious new technology that …You stopped listening, didn’t you?
-Uh-huh.
-Okay. Well, maybe you’ll listen to this: my plan to raise the cash involves robbing a Korean check-cashing place.
Violet chuckled softly. -Right.
-Seriously. I’ve got a guy on the inside. Whole thing’s worked out.
-Please don’t do this.
-Why?
-Not that it’s any of my business, but you’ll get caught, you’ll go to jail, and I’ll have to forget, or rather pretend, that I ever knew you. Which would be a shame because you’re not entirely worthless.
-This thing is foolproof.
-Is Billy involved?
-Of course Billy’s involved. He’s an integral part of the plan.
-Then it’s not foolproof. If Billy’s involved, by definition your plan is not foolproof, and you will get caught, whether immediately or eventually, and then … all that stuff I already said.
-You’ll change your tune when I show you the money.
-There were so many clichés in that sentence I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
-How about instead we just have sex?
-Only if you promise to drop your foolproof plan. Seriously.
Guy waited an appropriate length of time, pretending to consider.
-Fine. Okay. I promise to drop the plan.
Violet unhooked her bra and threw it on the floor.
-Liar, she said, reaching for Guy’s pants.
S
o that’s, like, more or less how it works.
-How what works? asked one of the investors.
-Pandemonium. I just demonstrated it.
-What do you mean?
-When you clicked on that website, you got advertised to. Or however you want to say it.
-What was the ad for?
-Ah. Yes. For demonstration purposes, I chose a public service announcement regarding dental hygiene. Just because, well, we needed a demonstration, and you know, dental hygiene is extremely important.
-I didn’t see anything, said one of the investors.
-Didn’t you? said Billy.
-No.
-Exactly. Now imagine you go to this site three or four times a day. And you get exactly the same message, reinforced at the subsensory level.
-What message?
-Exactly. That’s the beauty of Pandemonium. Ipso facto.
-I don’t think that’s how you use “ipso facto.”
-Hey, where have I seen you before? asked another investor.
-I don’t know, said Billy. -Do you go to the Whole Foods on Fairfax?
-No.
-Oh! I know, said another of the investors. -You’re the mountain lion—fighting guy.
-Umm … said Billy.
-That’s right! It was on YouTube. Extremely awesome.
-I don’t really like to be pigeonholed … I mean, did I fight a mountain lion? Yes. I did fight a mountain lion.
-This guy fought a mountain lion?
-Do you even watch YouTube? It was only the most popular video for three weeks straight.
-Someone from IT put a block on YouTube at my workstation. I think he was pissed because I made fun of his hair.
-Are you talking about that guy Roger? He’s kind of creepy.
-Anyway … said Billy. -About Pandemonium.
-How on earth did you survive a fight with a mountain lion?
-I … uh … mostly I just threw clumps of dirt at it and stuff. I don’t remember much of what happened, to be honest.
-That’s right! You fell over and knocked yourself out on a big rock right before the end.
-That was the best part. I almost fell out of my chair. The mountain lion came over, pawed at you a little, then just trotted off. Maybe he thought you were dead.
-I always just assumed it was a fake, chimed in another investor.
-I can assure you it wasn’t fake, said Billy, rolling up his sleeve. -I’ve still got a scar …
-Whoa. Dude, that is seriously gross.
-You know, we could use this, said one of the older investors.
-How do you mean? said Billy, unrolling his sleeve.
-This … fake Internet advertising thing. I mean, maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t.
-I’ve got charts …
-Everybody has charts, son. But what everybody doesn’t have is the guy who fought a mountain lion. That represents something.
-It does?
-Tenacity. Courage. Survival instinct.
-Hey, said Billy. -I recognize you from somewhere. Don’t I?
He pointed at one of the other investors, an attractive redhaired woman in sober business attire.
-I can’t imagine where, she protested.
-You’re in the Moped Marauders, said Billy. -In fact, you’re like the leader of the Moped Marauders!
-Julia? said one of the others. -What’s he talking about.
-I really have no idea …
-You do ride a moped around Los Angeles, pointed out one of the investors. -Last time I was down there you drove up on it.
-It’s not a moped. It’s a Vespa.
-What’s the difference?
-Is it light green? asked Billy. -I mean to say, is it tourmaline? And you have a matching helmet?
-How does he know that? Julia, how would the mountain lion guy know that?
-My name’s Billy.
-Look, what I do on my downtime is not really anyone’s business …
-It
is
you! exclaimed Billy. -You guys surrounded my car once.
-We don’t do that, said Julia flatly. -We only go after the Critical Mass crowd. Bicycles, she added, for the benefit of the others. -They’re like these crazed fascists who want to take over the streets for bikes. Bikes!
-I had dogs tied to my bumper.
-You’re
that
guy?
-I don’t even want to know why he had dogs tied to his bumper.
-I bet we can find it on YouTube.
-Can I make a sort of confession? said Billy. -I always thought you were really … well, I sort of have a crush on you. As a Moped Marauder.
-Really?
-So your name is Julia?
-Julia Fractal.
-That’s your real name?
-Why wouldn’t it be my real name?
-No reason.
-Were you ever in that bar on Fairfax across from Cantor’s?
-I’m rarely
not
in that bar, said Billy.
-You and your friend did some kind of mind reading trick on me and a friend. Mostly the friend. I wasn’t really buying it, but I couldn’t figure out the trick.
-I’m sworn to secrecy on that, sorry.
-What if I said I’d go to dinner with you?
-Here’s how it works, said Billy.