“Everyone. Please settle down.”
The clamor continued even though Jorge had spent the last five minutes calling the meeting to order. All the gaveling, yelling, and miming had been in vain. Finally, a shot rang out followed by a dull thud as if a large sack of oranges had fallen to the floor. A pack of twenty rats, which had never known the blight of scurvy, scuttled out of their holes and dragged the loose oranges and the dead body of the former sack holder back to their lair.
“Thank you,” Jorge said with feigned sincerity. “We don’t have any more time to waste, so let’s get started.”
“Where’s Pierre?” a voice called out.
“He’s unavailable and sends his condolences. If all goes well, he’ll get here near the end. Now, if I may continue, everyone, remove your hats and bow your heads for a moment of silence.”
The rasping whoosh of a hundred or so caps being removed filled the lobby of the abandoned hotel the Tortugas used to conduct business.
“What are we doing?” Genny whispered to her neighbor.
“One of ours has fallen,” a stocky young man to her right answered.
The image of an elderly woman sprawled on the ground passed across the corneas of her mind.
“Didn’t she have one of those medical bracelets?” Genny asked.
“Huh?” the young man asked, the spiderweb tattoo crinkling around his eyes. A moment later, he understood and shook his head in mild disgust. “No. Not fallen. Dead.”
“Dead? Who was it?”
“Shhh!” another man shushed.
Genny made the stretched-out frog neck and cheeks of ‘Oops, sorry.’ and fell silent. For about ten seconds.
“Was it Walter Cronkite?” she asked. “I hope it’s not him. I won’t know who to trust if he’s gone. The way he reported the news with absolute neutrality. He’s certainly no communist, globalist shill.” She paused and turned towards the guy. “I’m Genny, by the way.”
“Pedro.”
“Oh! You’re Pedro.”
Pedro gave her a peculiar look. “Anyway, it was O’Haggis,” he said.
This time, Genny’s ‘Oh’ was equally surprised but more troubled.
“Didn’t you hear?” Pedro asked.
Genny shook her head.
“Somebody killed her last night. In that alley by the churro cart. I can’t believe you didn’t notice all the barneys here this morning.”
“The Barneys?” Genny nervously scanned the room for a flock of not so friendly dinosaurs.
“The fuzz.”
Lint.
“The po po.”
Genny’s intestines cramped.
“The boys in blue.”
Bald guys playing drums.
“La chota.”
“Ah. The police,” Genny said. “Why didn’t you just say so?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So, how’d it happen?”
“Someone stabbed her fifty times. Poor girl. Nobody deserves to go like that.”
Genny’s face scrunched as it would when she tried to process information that didn’t make sense. Her mouth opened and closed a few times without any sound coming out. A question eventually formed.
“I heard she stabbed fifteen people to death. Before she reformed and joined the environmental club, of course,” Genny said.
It was Pedro’s turn to face-scrunch.
“I’m not happy she’s dead,” Genny continued, “but to say she didn’t deserve it … I can’t go that far. It actually kinda sounds like poetic justice.” Her right brain immediately began composing a poem but quit when it couldn’t find a rhyme for Cronkite.
Pedro looked at the wrapped package by Genny’s feet. “Who’s that for?” he asked.
She giggled with anticipation and delight. “You’ll see.”
“You are una chava extraña,” he said.
“Are you done?” Jorge asked, looking directly at Genny.
Her face burned red. “Uh … yeah … sorry. Proceed with the moment of silence.”
Exactly thirty seconds later, Jorge raised his head and replaced the cap. “Thank you all for the show of respect,” he said. “We know Siobhan O’Haggis and – who was the guy I just shot?”
“Giuseppe,” a voice answered.
“And Giuseppe ….”
“Naranjero.”
“Right. We know Siobhan O’Haggis and Giuseppe Naranjero would appreciate the kind thoughts you sent their way.” The tip of a tear formed in his eye as he looked skyward at memories which floated above him. “I miss you already, Siobhan and orange guy. I’ll never forget the time we clubbed those people to death.” He stopped and looked at Genny whose jaw had dropped to her chest. “Those people were clubbing baby seals. We had no choice.”
Genny nodded with understanding.
Jorge continued. “What a glorious day yesterday was. And now, just like that, they’re gone.” He sniffled the way Country would when his allergies acted up. “I can see them looking down from heaven, surrounded by the souls of their loved ones and all the dinosaurs that have gone before them.”
“From heaven?” Genny whispered to Pedro. “After what they’ve done?”
Pedro nodded. “Yeah. It’s in the post-modern addendum to the Bible. The book of Tolerations. Everybody gets to go now. Unless you’re a self-important, blustering atheist, of course, in which case you get reincarnated as a college professor.”
That explains a lot, Genny thought.
“May I?” Jorge asked.
“Please,” Genny said.
“As you know,” Jorge said, “today is a big day for us. This is the morning that we choose which of the new recruits will be officially welcomed as full-fledged members of the Esnapping Tortugas!”
The applause vibrated against Genny’s eardrums.
“We want to extend a hearty thanks to you for spending the last six months delivering packages, wearing silly hats, protecting the turf, and following every order without question, regardless of how nonsensical they might have seemed at the time. That is the mark of a true Tortuga. We know it hasn’t always been easy. Some have fallen by the wayside. Others have suffered unwarranted (no pun intended) persecution by the boys in blue. A few have even given their lives to the cause. But I want to let you know that the wait, the pressure, the trials were worth it. Today, those that have been chosen are not simply entering a club with awesome jackets ….”
Genny’s nervous, happy giggling increased.
“… nor is this just an induction into a meaningless organization such as Phi Beta Kappa. Today, you have found a family, a place to belong. And by family, I don’t mean the kind that lives on opposite coasts and sees each other every few years at Thanksgiving while awkwardly pretending they wish they were back home. No. I mean, brothers and sisters. First, maybe second, cousins at the extreme. But we’re more than that. We’re true family. We have each other’s backs during the good times and the bad. We live by a code which says, ‘Never betray one another but rather give your life, if necessary, to protect each other.’ Our water is thicker than blood.”
Jorge put his hand over the microphone and whispered to the person on his right. “Remind me to talk to the mayor about the sewer system.”
“This is the life you have chosen,” he continued. “These are the people who will, who must, replace your previous relationships as if the former ones had never existed. Your loyalty to the Tortugas will be your highest calling. Your membership in the group your singular devotion. Your reward will be this.” He extended his arms and pointed over the crowd. “Your new family.”
Again, the crowd erupted in maddening applause, even Genny, who really hadn’t been paying attention. Hoots and hollers, cries of joy and laughs of anguish, saturated the air already dense with emotion and smog. A few of the more limber members turned cartwheels across the stage as a trio of confused bears rode unicycles in figure eights. The atmosphere felt more like the Hollywood fundraiser, ‘Changing Hearts and Minds One Soul at a Time, So Help Me Satan,’ than it did a gang induction. Genny began to frown without knowing why.
Jorge lowered his arms, and the chaos died away. The lobby became silent and remained that way for the length of time Genny spent brushing her teeth after breakfast. A sharp crack split the silence.
“Last clap,” someone yelled out.
Jorge shot him a 9 mm look. “We have an extra opening,” he said before the body thudded off the worn carpet.
A person in the front raised his hand.
“Yes,” Jorge said pointing his pistol at him.
“Um. Well. I was wondering ….”
“Spit it out,” Jorge said.
“Yes. Of course. Well, I was hoping you wouldn’t mind telling us what happens to the recruits who aren’t chosen.”
Jorge smiled to put the person at ease. “Nothing really. We simply give you a parting gift and send you on your way.”
“Really?”
Jorge shrugged noncommittally. “Anyway. Mick here ….” He pointed to the person on his right. “… the head of HR, will read off the criteria used to choose the new members. After which, the selection committee will decide by vote who will be inducted into the 1994 class of Tortugas. Two-thirds necessary for approval with each member allowed one veto.”
Nervous shuffling replaced stoic standing which had previously ousted semi-concealed anxiety. Mick walked to the podium and cleared his throat.
“Pursuant to State Law 63-4, concerning the induction of members. All organizations wishing to retain their charter within the borders of the state of California must adhere to diversity guidelines as specified.”
A groan went up from the crowd.
“We are Tortugas!” a person yelled. “We come from Aztec blood tinged with the smallpox immunity cells of the Spanish. Our people have always been one. We don’t need no stinkin’ diversity.”
A number of heads nodded in agreement.
“With all due respect, Austin, we have always been a diverse people,” Mick said. “Carlos over there is Puerto Rican. O’Haggis, rest her soul, came from the jungles of Belize. Steve’s from the Yucatan. And I originate from the land down under.”
Hell? Genny thought.
“San Diego,” Mick said as if in reply. “You see, diversity is an essential part of our identity. Our strength. Without it, we are simply white nationalists intent on enslaving people of color. Racist, homophobic, islamophobic, transphobic, Christians of paleness. Is that what you want to be? Is that who you are?” Mick pointed an accusatory voice finger at Austin. “Because that’s not what I want people to think of me.”
Austin hung his head in shame, mainly because he had no idea what Mick was talking about. Umberto, who kept a year-round, dark tan so racism wouldn’t infect his mind, wasn’t sold on the argument.
“I’m not buying it,” Umberto corrected the narrator. “If experience has taught us anything, it’s that the more diverse we become, the worse off we are.”
Mick scoffed. “Give me one example,” he said scoffingly.
“I’ll give you several,” Umberto said. “Nihao Kai Lin. 1985. Got us addicted on checkers. We spent so much time playing that we lost Hampton Park to the Crips. Or what about when the black families began moving into our neighborhood and replaced all the white kids at the high school. Our debate team won the city championship five years in a row.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Mick said.
Umberto rolled his eyes. “I suppose. If you like being known as a graduate from a nerd school.”
Mick shrugged, clearly unconvinced.
Umberto continued. “Have you forgotten when we inducted Hans and his Christmas strudels? Or the Estefans and their never-ending conga lines? The Zinns and how they crossed out all the lines in our books and wrote new ones in the margins?”
Mick shook his head. Beads of sweat formed above his brows.
“No? Yvgeny and how he put jalapeños on everything? Polovski and his constant diatribing against communism? You don’t remember any of that? It was enough to make you want to climb into your figurative shell and re-emerge with a literal lead pipe of forced homogeneity.”
“Nope,” Mick said. “Don’t remember any of that.” He crossed his arms over his chest.
“You’re lying, Mick,” Umberto said. “I can tell.”
“Whaaaat? Noooo. Pfffshh. What makes you say that?”
“Whenever you lie, you get all sweaty, and you start to whistle uncontrollably.”
Mick checked his lips. They had indeed formed themselves into a pucker and had begun to tweet out Mozart’s lost etude for flute: ‘Ich bin ein Lügner.’
“Why, Mick?” Umberto said. “Why would you lie to us.”
“It’s California state law,” he stammered. “I … we don’t really have a choice.”
“Miiiick?” Umberton said. “Tell us the truth.”
Mick sighed, his lungs deflating like a pufferfish bumping into a sea porcupine. He kept his eyes low so no one could look into them. “They said, if we don’t follow the diversity policy, the governor will order a bunch of hippie chicks from Berkeley to come down and screech at us.”
“Err,” Umberto said.
“Motion passed,” the crowd said in unison.
“Good,” Mick said. “Now that that’s settled, I will list the criteria we used to select the candidates. Holding to the guidelines set forth in the Affirmative Action Act and detailed in State Law 63-4, all clubs must have proportional representation for each population group found within these here United States. If a representative from a particular population group cannot be found, then a viable alternative will be chosen from a category closely aligned. That said, here is the breakdown based on our demographics. Five will be chosen of Latino, but not necessarily of Mexican origin. Two must be white. Seven will be of Chinese or Japanese descent. Four must be flatulent but not from lactose intolerance. Two vegans will be included, from either the tofu or the kale divisions. Forty-seven percent, give or take, will be women, leg-shaving optional. Thirteen will suffer from triskaidekaphobia. One person will be neo-conservative, one of those ‘ethical’ types who will fold at the slightest ridicule. Four point six ….”
As Genny waited for the introduction to end, she noticed Pierre standing in the side doorway. He seemed to be staring at her with an expression somewhere between irritation and loathing. Distracted, she didn’t hear as Mick finished the introduction, read off the names of the inductees, and began to call up individuals for awards.
“Genny?” Mick repeated. “It’s your turn.”
“Huh?” Genny said, recovering from her stupor. “Oh. Yeah.” A half-smile forced its way on her face. She turned to Pedro and handed him the package by her feet. “This is for you.”
“For me?” Pedro asked with obvious delight. “What is it?”
“Just something I made,” she said. Her tone was impersonal, aloof.
She let her eyes wander back towards Pierre, whose own shot poison darts at her. Pedro tore at the wrapping paper, but Genny didn’t care. She didn’t watch as he pulled out the hand-crocheted scarf with the delicate embroidering that read ‘Snitches get stitches’ as Pierre had requested. She didn’t see two well-muscled enforcers grab Pedro by each arm nor hear as they dragged him out protesting his innocence. The only thing on her mind was the frightful look on Pierre’s face.
A long finger beckoned for her, and she followed Pierre out of the lobby. Together, they walked in silence down the long hall that led outside. When they reached the back exit, Pierre stopped.
“I am very disappointed,” he said.
“What happened to your accent?” Genny asked.
“I just do it when they’re around,” he said. “I’m not really Korean.”
That was a Korean accent? Genny thought.
“But that’s not important,” he continued.
Genny froze at the harshness of his voice.
“What is important,” he said, “is what you are going to do about it.”
“I … I don’t know what you mean,” she said.
“Are you saying you haven’t heard?” He cocked his head slightly to one side as though that would give him a better view of her.
“Haven’t heard what? Pierre, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your friend, the one I said you shouldn’t see anymore.”
“Country?” Genny asked.
“If that is his name.”
“What about him?”
“He killed Siobhan.”
Genny’s confusion now mixed with trepidation. “No.” She shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t do that. Not Country.”
Pierre nodded. “But he did.”
She stared at his lips to see if they would pucker into unrestrained song. They didn’t.
“What makes you say that?” she asked.
“A little birdy told me,” he said.
“What kind of bird?” Genny asked. “Was it a blue jay? Because they’re notorious liars. Not that it matters. I know him. Country would never do such a thing.”
Pierre grabbed onto Genny’s arm with a little too much force. “You might want to consider where your loyalties lie,” he said. “Is he really a hill you want to die on?”
“He’s my friend, Pierre,” she stated as almost a petition.
“Your friend?” He spoke with derision. “Didn’t I hear you say that all he does is ignore you. That he doesn’t care about you anymore. That’s a friend?” He let her arm drop. “Even if somehow he didn’t do it, which he did, it’s time to put aside the past, time to let him go. We’re your family now, Genny.”
He caressed her cheek for a moment to let his words linger a bit more and walked away. Genny watched until he disappeared around the corner. Her heart pounded in her chest. It was too much for her to believe, too much to bear if it were true. Placing her hands on the sides of her face to rub her temples, she slowly rocked back and forth.