Morgan licks his lips and chuckles. It is a hot, dry day in the park; one of those that warms the eyelids and makes them heavy. Away from his tidy desk that was once covered with piled-up receipts, Morgan lays down on the couch in his office, his head nestling against the soft cushion of the inside arm. He chuckles again. He has not fallen asleep yet, but he has already started dreaming. His half-open eyes are glued to the positive number on the screen of his calculator that he holds on his chest. It doesn’t have enough zeros yet, but he dreams of a day, not too far away, that it will. Thanks to the popularity of the Messiah Show, the dream is within his grasp.
Morgan chuckles again. He doesn’t know why, but he doesn’t need a reason either. Everything is cute and funny to a sober drunk. Some get a kick of Champagne, some of cocaine, and Morgan of positive cash flow. That is the state of nirvana in Morgan’s religion. He doesn’t even have to do accounting anymore since Sagar has already back to his post. But it is hard to resist when the balance is so beautifully positive and the sexy digits are all lined-up behind each other, thrusting the business forward to its ultimate, divine purpose: getting bigger. He puts the calculator on his lips and kisses the handsome number on the screen. And he chuckles again.
“Mr. Morgan,” the hysterical voice says through the walkie-talkie sitting by Morgan’s left ear. “They’re coming. They’re coming. Over.”
Morgan springs up, throws the calculator to the side of the couch, and snatches the walkie-talkie. “Morgan here. Who just said that? Who’s coming?”
“The police. The police are coming. Over.”
“Kathy, is that you?”
“Yes, yes. Over…Oh, my God. They’re so many. It’s an army.”
Morgan lowers the walkie-talkie and stares off into space. He takes deep breaths to lower his heartbeat. He survived 9/11, and he can survive this too. Hopefully. Come on. Think, Morgan. Think. Who might be behind this invasion? Whom hasn’t he paid enough? Goldman? No, that son of a bitch wouldn’t dare to cross Morgan. It must be Chase, that double-crossing bastard. I knew I shouldn’t have gone to her for the loan. But, Morgan still has her video? Nah, she wouldn’t take the risk. Think, Morgan. Think. The police are just puppets. Behind the curtain, there is a dead man—or broad—who runs this puppet show. But who? Goldman? No, Morgan has already ruled him out. Out of ideas, Morgan raises the walkie-talkie near his mouth again. He doesn’t know who is the one holding the strings in this puppetry, but he might know the one who can cut them loose. “Kathy. Whatever happens, don’t let them in. I repeat. Do not let them in. I’m coming over,” Morgan says and rushes to his desk.
“How…how do you want me to do that? Over,” Kathy says through the walkie-talkie, fear obvious in her trembling voice.
“Try,” Morgan says through grinding teeth, grabs his iPhone from the desk, and searches through the address book on its cracked screen. Come on. Come on. And he finds it. He presses on Joshua Hansen and runs out of the office while the phone is dialing.
Coming through the cloud of dust, the cars approach the entrance gate. They drive so fast as if no closed gate can stop them. Kathy counts ten police cars, assuming they are police cars, although none is using police sirens and only a few of them are colored as such. The rest are vehicles that she has only seen in war movies: Three high-clearance Jeeps, one armored vehicle with a machine gun on top, and two trucks that she can only assume are filled with soldiers armed to the teeth. Only tanks are missing to make it an authentic battlefield scene. One after another, they come to a screeching halt before the closed gate.
Scared to death, Kathy stays within the glass-walled reception area next to the gate, peering through the dust
Holding their rifles, four guards, each beefier than the next, jump out of the back of one of the trucks. They sprint toward the SUV with the tinted windows. With their fingers on the triggers, the guards stand around the SUV, one on each side. A young man in a light blue suit emerges from the passenger door, adjusts his tie, and opens the rear door. Sporting green sunglasses on his large head, the high-ranking commander steps out of the car. The colorful medals have not left much space on his black uniform. Based on his headshots, she had expected him to be as towering as Thanos, the giant villain in Avengers movies. However, once he stands at ground level beside the guards, he turns out to be much shorter. Much, much shorter, in fact. Even Kathy must be a head taller than him.
A police officer in dark blue uniform jolts before Colonel Sakai and salutes him in an overly passionate way. He must be a sergeant or something.
With his flat face betraying his indifference—or confidence—Colonel Sakai slightly lifts his hand, and using his four fingers, motions the sergeant to the reception.
The sergeant gives another passionate salute to Colonel Sakai, hitting his boot on the ground as if he smashes a cockroach into nothing. He turns on his heels and marches toward the reception office. His face resembles a criminal who broke out of jail using the police uniform as a disguise.
Kathy considers rushing over to win his favor by opening the door for him.
Holding a paper in his right hand, the sergeant forcefully kicks the door open.
Jumping back in fear, Kathy steps back behind the counter to create a safe distance from the nicely-dressed beast. With a gulp, she tries her best to hide the fear in her voice as she says, “Welcome to Eden Adventure Park. How may I be of—”
The sergeant interrupts, his voice so loud as if Kathy is a mile away, “We’ve got reports of illegal activities of a terrorist who works in this park—”
They must be after Omar then, Kathy guesses.
“—by someone named Jesus Freeman.”
What?!
“This search warrant permits us to enter.” The sergeant throws the paper on the counter when Kathy stretches out her hand to take it. “Open the gate immediately,” he shouts, his hand reaching for his holster.
In retrospect, Kathy should have accepted that job offer from her cousin in Wilderland Zoo. Feeding savage hyenas must be safer than what she does now. With her heart racing at its peak, she says in a trembling voice, “I…ah…I gotta…I…have to show it to…ah”—she gulps—“to the park’s director, Mr.”—Somehow Kathy cannot remember his name—“ah…Mr. Morgan. Yes. Mr. Morgan. He will—”
While opening the button on his holster, the sergeant shouts at Kathy, “Now,” his merciless, flesh-tearing teeth showing through his wide-open jaw.
With her pounding heart plummeting into her stomach, Kathy jumps back. “Yes…yes, Sir. Yes.” With her eyes on the sergeant’s holstered gun, she leans forward to press the green button on the counter. Her hand hits the open Coke, tripping it over. With her eyes still locked on the gun, she cannot care less about the counter soaking wet. Kathy presses the green button and lets out her breath.
The gate makes a brief screeching noise but remains closed. With his eyebrows drawn together, the sergeant turns his furious gaze from the closed gate onto Kathy.
Kathy gulps in fear, now panting as fast as her pounding heart. She presses the button again, this time harder, all the way down to the bottom.
The door still doesn’t open.
With her shivering hand, she pushes the button over and over.
“Jail will be a difficult place for a pretty girl like you,” the sergeant says with a devilish smile while leaning in. With his head slightly tilted, his predatory gaze scans all the curves on Kathy’s body.
“No, officer. Please,” she responds hysterically as she bursts out crying. “I swear to God. It jams sometimes.” She hopelessly keeps pushing the button.
While growling, the sergeant takes out his gun, and barks, “Enough is eno—”
With sweat running down his flushed face, Morgan enters the reception from the staff door that opens directly to the park and raises his hands in surrender.
The sergeant trains his gaze and then his gun on Morgan.
Morgan has the walkie-talkie in one hand and the iPhone in the other. The white hands-free headset shines in his right ear. “I have the mayor on the phone,” Morgan says through panting breaths. “He wishes to speak with your commander.”
The frustrated sergeant cocks the gun.
Kathy screams.
The sergeant roars at Morgan, “For the last time, open the goddamn gate, now.”
Morgan, however, seems relaxed as if the savage before him is roaring from inside a cage made of unbreakable steel. Having partially regained his breath, he says on the phone, “You heard that Josh? OK, one sec.” He slowly lowers his iPhone and presses a button on its screen.
The sergeant follows that closely while keeping his gun trained on Morgan’s chest.
“They can hear you now, Mr. Mayor,” Morgan says, his voice echoing through the speakers all over the park.
The voice over the phone yells, “Get on the fucking phone, Charlie, or I’ll send you back to guarding the damn zoo that you came from.”
With his shaky hands, the sergeant lowers his gun while, over his shoulder, he looks back through the glass door.
Colonel Sakai hastily runs into the reception, followed by two of his beefy guards. He rushes to the counter and picks up the desk phone before Kathy. “I’m here, Sir… Sir?” His head barely above the counter, Colonel Sakai looks like a child in a Halloween costume. He looks up at Kathy when he gets no response from the idle line.
“Over here, Colonel Sakai,” Morgan sneers. “Allow me to disable the speaker to save you from public humiliation.” Holding his phone up, he presses a button on its screen. “If it’s not too late already.”
Colonel Charles Sakai darts over, stands on his toes, raises his arm, and snatches the iPhone. “I’m here, Sir… Yes, Sir… No, Sir… No, no, no, no. We just… But… Yes, Sir.”
The sound of the police sergeant uncocking his gun grabs Kathy’s attention. He looks like a toothless, neutered dog who knows his barks intimidate no one. Casting a remorseful look at the floor, he holsters the gun.
“No, Sir,” Charles continues over the phone. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll be there in 15 minutes or less.” Charles hangs up the phone and looks up to find Morgan.
Standing by the door, Morgan holds the exit door open. With a smirk dominating his face, he shows the intruders out.