“What the hell do you want me to do?” Morgan shouts in the hands-free headset hanging from his right ear. His free hand holds a cigarette, on which he takes frequent drags as if it is giving him the oxygen he needs to breathe. With the index finger of his other hand, he keeps stabbing the giant Enter key on the calculator that lies on the corpse of unpaid bills scattered all over the desk. The long string of digits of the disappointing negative number on the LED screen, however, does not shrink, no matter how hard he presses the key. “Jesus,” he sighs. He badly needs a miracle.
He’d pray for one, but Morgan is not a particularly religious person today. In the past, nevertheless, he has experienced being a devout Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, and Atheist—once all in one weekend. It depends on which sells better. Having started off his career as a successful car salesman, he never had emotional attachments to the Chevrolets he sold; nor to the LCD TVs, religions, and real estate.
“Yes, Charles, I do know the terms of the fucking loan, but you gotta give me a break here.” Morgan stabs the Enter key harder, taking his agitation on the calculator. Having rested in the drawer for many years now, the calculator has been almost a precious piece of memorabilia, until now that the stupid thing doesn’t show any promising number. As the director and owner of such a big business, he should not even be punching numbers anymore. But, what choice does he have when that Wall Street rat, Sagar, barely shows up at work anymore ever since the business is going downhill? Sagar has called in sick today, but he is obviously interviewing for a new job, probably with one of those FinTech companies. Never trust a Wall Street rat, never. Unfaithful, avaricious bastards.
“I’m trying… Listen…listen to me, Charles. I am trying everything to bring the park back to its full capacity after that fucking incident. But these things take time. People don’t even come near the park anymore. You know better than I do that marketing is a slow—”
“Jesus, we got a problem. Over,” Morgan hears the voice of Kathy, the girl from reception, through the walkie-talkie that is buried under a pile of paper bills.
“Hang on a second, Charles,” Morgan says over the hands-free headset, fishes out the walkie-talkie, and sharpens his ears for the ongoing, unexpected radio conversation.
“Jesus is here,” Jesus responds over the walkie-talkie. “What’s up? Over.”
Morgan leans toward the walkie-talkie to listen more closely.
“Your fans again,” Kathy says, “but a lot of them. There are too many this time. Over.”
A big grin dominates Morgan’s face, his eyes seeing nothing but a lot of people holding up their credit cards in their hands.
“Alright!” Jesus says. “Coming over. Over.”
Morgan hurriedly snatches the walkie-talkie off the desk. “Jesus, Jesus, this is Morgan speaking. Can you hear me? Can you hear me?”
Morgan hears nothing but his own heavy breathing. The dragging silence is killing him.
“Yes, Mr. Morgan,” Jesus says finally over the walkie-talkie. “Jesus is here. Over.”
“Stay put. I repeat. Stay put. Do not leave your post. Got it?”
“Ah,” Jesus says and follows that with an awkward silence. “But people are waiting for me. Over.”
Morgan says over the hands-free headset, “Gotta go, Charles. I’ll call you back,” and hangs up without waiting to hear Charles’s goodbye. “Kathy, keep them waiting. I’m coming,” he says over the walkie-talkie while he runs outside his office toward the reception area at the entrance gate.
Holding on tight to the walkie-talkie, Morgan sprints toward the entrance gate of the adventure park. Or this is what he tries. Back then, when he was 60 pounds lighter, he used to walk faster than he runs now. He is indeed not in a good shape. He would have cut down on cream and bacon years ago if he knew that one day saving his empire would depend on running fast. His paunch must be showing through his mostly untucked shirt. Who gives a damn? Looking good is the last resort for desperate, poor people to get laid. When you are an emperor, you could look like an ape and it makes no difference to bitches. The lesson that he has learned the hard way is that in this life there are two groups: losers and winners; winners being the ones with more zeros in their bank account. And that is what Morgan has been chasing ever since: More zeros.
“Mr. Morgan,” Jesus’ agitated voice says through the walkie-talkie, “I’m confused. Can I just go to the gate for five minutes? Over.”
“No.”
“Can you at least tell me why? People need me. Over.”
“No.” Before Jesus asks more questions, Morgan reaffirms his order using the only word he can say while running. “No… No… No…”
There it is. The sexiest scene Morgan has seen in weeks. A large crowd gathers behind the entrance gate like mindless cattle that need just a bit of direction to become the force of good. Or a good force for business.
Hang in there, beautiful ones. The shepherd is coming, Morgan thinks and runs faster, charged with the exciting opportunity awaiting him.
Kathy has stuck her head out the window next to the gate. With her mouth half open and her eyes wide, she watches Morgan approach.
Morgan reaches the window, finally, panting his lungs out. While taking heavy breaths, his hand leans against the window. With the sleeve of his other hand, he wipes the sweat off his forehead.
Kathy says nothing. With her mouth half open and her eyes wide, she just waits for Morgan to regain his breath and demystify the situation.
Morgan tries to spit out a few words between his consecutive gasps for oxygen. “Talk… To… Me.”
“Yeah. These are Jesus’ fans. The other days, Jesus would meet them at the parking lot, and it was fine, but today there are too many. Out of control.”
As Kathy utters those sweet words, a big smile gradually grows on Morgan’s face.
“The parking lot is full already. Some cars have even parked on the side of the road. They say they want to talk to Reminder Jesus, the leader of the God-forgivers movement.”
What the fuck is a remainder? Or was it a reminder? Morgan asks himself and then answers his own question, Who gives a shit? He grabs Kathy by the neck, pulls her toward him, and shows his excitement with a passionate smack on her forehead. He then looks into her puzzled eyes and says, “Starting today, sweetheart, we sell only all-included tickets. Got it?”
“Sure!” Kathy affirms, the expression of confusion on her face saying otherwise. “But…to whom? We barely have any visitors?”
There will be, once Morgan upgrades these freeriders to paying attendees. “Leave the magic to the magician,” Morgan says and smacks Kathy on the cheek. He hands over his walkie-talkie to her and opens the staff door next to the gate.
The reception area is filled with murmuring people of all ages and colors. Diversity at its best. Just the way Morgan loves it. In the eyes of Morgan, all the customers are equal. The more they pay, the more equal they are.
Through the crowd, Morgan finds Kathy back in her place behind the reception counter. Biting his lips, he shoves people out of his way to reach her. Like a bull charging on a matador, he gets more excited the closer he gets to her. His adrenaline peaks when he arrives. Without missing a moment, he places both hands onto the counter and hops on it like a pro acrobat.
Or that is what he attempts. Not the best move for a 5.3-foot man carrying 220 pounds of weight.
Somehow, Morgan ends up lying on his belly on the counter, his ass facing the people in the reception area. He really needs to get in shape. He can tell some people are staring by the sound of murmur settling a bit. “You wanna give me a hand?” he growls at Kathy, who is just standing there like a confused penguin.
Kathy rushes forward and pushes Morgan off the counter.
“Up,” Morgan yells.
“How would I know?” Kathy cries and pulls Morgan up on the counter.
During the struggle, his phone falls out of his pants pocket onto the ground, but Morgan is too excited to care about any crack that might have damaged his iPhone. As hard as it is, he finally drags the rest of his body onto the counter. He carefully gets on all his fours, and with a bit of help from Kathy, manages to keep his balance while standing up on the counter. Above them all, where he belongs.
The murmur has completely stopped by now. All the wallet-holders in the reception area have turned to him, their curious eyes awaiting Morgan’s final move.
Morgan raises his right hand like the Pope greeting visitors of Vatican City from the top of St. Peter’s Basilica. “Pilgrims,” he shouts, “Welcome to the land of Remainder, Prophet, Guru Jesus. From now on, His Holiness will greet you inside.”