Book of Bravery: A Novel 2,000 Plus Years in the Making

CHAPTER IX

Sketches

The 9.7 magnitude quake that destroyed Rome was the largest in recorded history. Now that it had transpired, Marx was strangely disappointed. He'd anticipated it would have given him much more satisfaction than it did. After five minutes of watching the televised disaster, he was bored. Nothing could fill his void. He turned off the television, got properly dressed, and then exited his office.

On his way to the lift, Marx made a detour to the boardroom where War was alone, drawing with a pencil in a sketchbook on the table. The bearded man looked up at his visitor, who stopped at the doorway. Neither smiled at the other.

'Rome is no more,' Marx said coldly. 'Death certainly makes the rest of you three appear lackadaisical.'

War ignored the comments and returned to his drawing.

Marx entered the room.

'Do you know what the definition of lackadaisical is?' he asked War, who ignored him and kept drawing.

'Of course, you don't. Lackadaisical — lacking enthusiasm or being spiritless,' Marx said as he began looking at some of the drawn-upon single pages spread on the table. One was of cult leader Chuck Goyette talking into a microphone, and another was of an unsmiling Death in her skinny-fit jeans. Then, he saw a sketch of himself seated in a chair with the picture of Mao looming behind him.

'Cute,' Marx commented sourly. 'Why do you draw like this? Stop yourself from going mad? That's what Goyette thinks. He implied you can't handle this realm's reality.'

War still didn't reply or react. He just continued drawing in his book.

Marx dropped the sketch of himself back onto the table.

'Our schedule has moved forward. Day after tomorrow, we leave for China and North Korea. There, your input is finally required,' he said before turning to go.

Marx exited the room and made his way to the elevator.

On his way down, he thought about the lack of emotion he saw in War, just as he'd earlier witnessed in Famine and Death. All dullards. Chuck Goyette, though, was another thing. He came in advance of the others, spending two years fronting Temple Science Ministries. From day one, he was as emotional as any typical American, if not more so.

Marx considered such oddities as he left his building, crossed the road, and entered his multi-roomed nightclub, The Devil's Pleasure Palace. He waved away two bouncers who usually hung around him to ensure he wouldn't be bothered by club patrons. Usually, the club was bursting with clientele on mind-bending substances, some doing deviated things. Tonight, there was hardly a soul about. The broadcasting of the end of one of the world's most iconic cities on TV kept them away.

After getting a drink, he sauntered into the club's dimly lit dance area. The large space was near empty save for dancers in two gibbet-like chrome cages that hung from the ceilings. Arty versions of the device that imprisoned Quintus centuries earlier. The space around them blared techno music. A youthful but overweight DJ in a booth was responsible for that. It was just how Marx liked it and somewhat reminded him of a softer version of the sounds he heard in the first ring of the fourth circle of Hell.

Marx felt his cellphone buzz in a trouser pocket. He took the call. It was Vacher calling from Reno. He sought out a quiet room in his club to talk.

The Playground

On his cellphone, Vacher was hiding behind playground equipment centered in a dimly lit park. Beside him, Irfan tried listening while keeping his eyes open for police. The Pakistani heard some yelling at the other end of the call after Vacher briefly explained what occurred at the diner. When Marx calmed down, Vacher switched on the speaker so Irfan could fully listen.