Happy Utopia Day, Joe McCarthy

Chapter 8

I think they should get a man with a net and take him to a good quiet place. 

—Senator Joseph McCarthy 

I walk back to the bar and hear a yell from the stage. “Yeow!” Four girls surround a large man in leather. I recognize Joemore from the picture on Ninjenna’s phone. He has a huge grin on his face. Strippers gyrate their hips against him and paw him with their sparkling-nail-tipped fingers. Joemore raises his fist into the air. “Cannonball, my man.” He looks too happy to be concerned about a beating from Ninjenna. 

The bartender raises his fist into the air and salutes Joe-more. It hits me. The bartender must be Cannonball, the one President Wright referred to before I boarded Marine One. 

I pull out a stool covered in red vinyl and sit at the far end of the bar. Two men sit at the other end. They face the stage, drinks in hand, their backs leaning against the bar. 

“Are you ready for a drink?” Cannonball asks me. 

“I’m a little short on cash. Could I have a water?” 

“You’re in the wrong place to be short on cash, mister.” 

“I’m not sure if this is the wrong place or the right place.” I look around and lower my voice. “I’m looking for some sort of government program.” 

He sets a glass of water in front of me. “Program?” 

“Fixer brought me. I’m sorry. He didn’t make it. He died on our landing.” 

Cannonball scrutinizes me. “If I did know anything about a Fixer, I wasn’t expecting him today.” 

I remember the change of plans at Andrews Air Force Base. I try to think of that Gulfstream pilot’s name. “Riley! Were you expecting Captain Riley today?” 

“Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.” 

“The president sent me,” I say in frustration. “I’m a liaison. I’m supposed to visit Emergence.” 

“Shh.” Cannonball looks around. He walks to the end of the bar to fill a waitress’s order. His dark brown skin is smooth on top of his hairless head. The waitress laughs at something he says, and a smile spreads across his amiable round face. 

Cannonball returns. “There’s nothing I can do for you. If this Captain Riley of yours were here, then maybe things would be different. But as you are alone, I’m afraid you’ll just have to be on your way.” 

Red candle lamps flicker from the tables that surround the stage. Joemore dispenses dollar bills. He whoops and hollers. An urge to flee grows inside me. What the hell am I doing here? Joemore leaves the stage and a new dance routine starts. 

Cannonball returns to washing glasses. 

“They call you Cannonball?” 

“What of it?” 

I look him in the eye. “I was thinking about a sandwich.” 

He looks up. “What’d you have in mind?” 

“Roast beef with red peppers.” 

Cannonball raises an eyebrow. “My favorite.” 

“I know.” 

“And how would you know?” 

“Would you believe the commander in chief told me?” 

He dries his hands with a towel and throws it down on the counter.