The Tick People, page 2
“Give him the shot,” Fernando said.
“The shot? Are you kidding?”
“We don’t have a choice.”
Johnson opened the emergency panel and hit the red button. A syringe the size of a tanker truck was launched at the dog’s throat like a missile. It pierced its thick hide and green fluids blasted into the beast’s bloodstream. Within seconds, the dog was knocked unconscious. The tail went limp before it even rose off the ground.
“The sedative worked,” Johnson said. “His heart rate is lowering.”
Fernando nodded, but didn’t say anything, removing his hat and rubbing his fingers through the sweat in his hair. He cursed himself for not thinking things through when he put together that last video. Of course the food images would excite Old Gloomy. He felt like such an idiot. His father would have beaten him senseless if he were alive to see his son make such a stupid mistake.
“Do you know how much it costs the city to make just one dose of that sedative?” Mr. Olsen scolded Fernando. They were in the privacy of his office, but the boss was yelling at him so loud that all Stressmen in the station could hear.
“I know…” Fernando said.
“No, I don’t think you know.” Olsen pointed his chubby finger in Fernando’s face. “If you take all of our annual salaries and multiply them by ten, that’s how much taxpayer money goes into producing a single shot. And this is the second dose we used this year. The mayor is going to want my head for this.”
Fernando had nothing to say in his defense. “I know I screwed up. It was a stupid mistake.”
“Stressmen can’t afford to make mistakes,” Olsen said. “If a doctor makes a mistake, he could lose a patient. If a cop makes a mistake, an innocent man might spend the rest of his life in jail. If a Stressman makes a mistake, thousands of people die, a district is wiped out, and the city’s economy goes to hell.”
“Nobody died,” Fernando said. “There was no damage.”
“This time there wasn’t, but that was our last shot. It could be months until we get another. If that dog feels another burst of joy before then, there will be damages. There will be deaths. And it will be your fault.”
Fernando locked eyes with his boss. The man’s forehead bulged with pulsing angry veins. His skin was wrinkled but tough like cowhide.
Fernando broke eye contact. “It won’t happen again.”
“Of course it won’t happen again. You’re on suspension without pay until further notice.”
“Are you serious?”
“Damn right I’m serious. The only reason I’m not firing you is out of respect for your father. You’re lucky he’s not alive to see what a fuckup you’ve become.”
Fernando looked down at his hands and shut his mouth tight before he opened it and said something that he’d regret. He knew Mr. Olsen was just giving him a hard time so that he’d never make the same mistake again.
“I understand,” Fernando said.
The boss turned away from him, going toward his filing cabinet to get back to work.
“Go home,” Olsen told him in a softer tone. “Take some time off. Watch some depressing movies or something. Then I want you to think about what it really means to be a Stressman. I can’t use you unless your head’s in the game.”
Fernando nodded. Then he left the room. The last thing he wanted to do was think about what it really meant to be a Stressman. That kind of thinking was what weakened his resolve in the first place.
CHAPTER TWO
BACKBONE
That night, Fernando went for a few beers at Backbone Tavern which was located in the center of Old Gloomy’s spine. Thick, coarse hair grew from the ground like bamboo here, covering the hard mountainous ridges that jutted out of the earth like boulders of bone.
“Keep them coming,” Fernando said to the bartender, as he guzzled down the dog-tear brews.
Everyone in the place was giving him dirty looks. They knew the earthquake that day was his fault. They could tell by the way he was drinking in his profoundly guilty manner. Normally the customers were very respectful and proud of their neighborhood Stressman, but whenever Old Gloomy did something wrong they’d all turn on him in an instant, quick to make him a target of abuse. Not even the bartender would talk to him when he ordered his drinks.
“What a disgrace…” He thought he heard somebody say. “Stressmen these days just aren’t what they used to be.”
He wasn’t sure if that was something somebody was really saying or if his subconscious was altering their words. Either way, Fernando didn’t look at them. He just kept drinking.
The beer served in many Gloomville taverns were brewed using Gloomy’s tears instead of water. It gave the brew a thick, rich flavor, which most people found to be unpleasant. Personally, Fernando loved the flavor of the salty wheat beer as long as he didn’t think too hard about how he was drinking fermented body fluids that leaked from a giant mammal. But whether the flavor was good or bad didn’t matter. The point of brewing with Old Gloomy’s tears was because it was believed to cause sadness in those who consumed them. Since happiness was not socially acceptable in Gloomville, bartenders had to be extra careful about what kind of liquor they served. They wanted their customers to become sad-drunk, not happy-drunk.
When Fernando’s sister arrived at the bar, he’d already taken down several beers. However, he was not nearly as drunk as he wanted to be. She glared at him with her penetrating librarian eyes.
“How have you been, Little Bro?” Bethany asked in her precise, condescending manner. She wiped the snowball-sized dog dander from her business skirt and sat down beside him. “I see you’ve gotten started without me.”
Bethany was not too happy to see so many empty beer glasses on her brother’s table. She knew he’d just been suspended from work, but it wasn’t like him to solve his problems with alcohol.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Long enough to get cut off if I was in any other bar,” he said.
She snapped her thin pointy fingers at the bartender and ordered a drink using her own version of sign language. Then she looked back at her brother. “When did you become so pathetic?”
He tossed the rest of his beer down his throat. “About two hours ago.”
“Well, you’re thirty years old. You should start acting like it.”
“I’m not thirty yet.”
“You will be at Midnight.”
The bartender brought Bethany her drink and another for Fernando.
“Happy Birthday to me,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he brought the fresh beer to his lips.
“You know why I wanted to meet you today, don’t you?”
“I know it wasn’t to give me a birthday present.”
“You made a promise to me and I’m here to make sure you keep it.”
“What promise was that?”
Bethany took the tiniest sip of her beverage and wrinkled her lips at the flavor.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” she said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve promised me for years that once you turned thirty you would register with the Matchmaking Bureau.”
Fernando sighed and dropped his head to the table. “This again…”
“Yes, this again.”
He raised his head and took a long sip. He was too drunk and emotionally exhausted to be having this conversation. “I said I’d do it once I was in my thirties. Not on my thirtieth birthday.”
“Well, once Midnight comes you’ll be in your thirties.”
He held up his hands. “Look, I’ll think about it. That’s the best you’re going to get out of me right now. I don’t have time to deal with the Matchmaking Bureau and all that bullshit.”
“Actually, now that you’re indefinitely suspended I believe it’s a perfect time to register with the Matchmaking Bureau.”
Fernando shook his head. “I’m not doing it. No way.”
“Well, you don’t have a choice. I’ve already set up an appointment for you.”
He raised his voice. “Are you kidding me?”
The other patrons of the bar looked over at them, but he didn’t care.
Bethany pulled the paperwork out of her briefcase. “The fee, as you know, wasn’t cheap. Consider it your birthday present.”
“That’s the worst present you’ve ever given me.”
“It’s the only birthday present I’ve ever given you. But it’s also the best you could ever receive. You’ll thank me for it later.”
“I can’t believe you’re doing this to me. Are you sure you can’t push the date back? To next Fall maybe?”
“No, you have to go tomorrow. Otherwise, you owe me two thousand dollars for the fee. If you don’t want to go that’s fine, but I’ll expect a check by the end of the week.”
Fernando had to laugh. Even though it was not a happy laugh, the bartender gave him a dirty look for laughing in his cheer-free establishment.
“They’ll fit you with a mold in the morning and if your matchmate is in the system, which I’m sure she’ll be, then you’ll know who you’re destined to be with by the afternoon.”
“I’m not ready to start a family.”
“You don’t have to start a family right away. If you don’t like her you don’t have to start a family at all. But it’s important to get yourself in the system.”
“Why? If I’m not interested in starting a family then what’s the point?”
“You’re not going to do it for you. You’re going to do it for her. I know what it’s like to wait for my matchmate. Somewhere out there is a poor girl who’s been waiting her entire life for you. She can’t marry anyone else. She can’t have children with anyone else. She can only be with you. She probably registered when she was eighteen years old like most girls do. And ever since then she’s been waiting to learn who she was meant to spend her life with. You’ve seen those depressed girls in the Matchmate Bureau commercials. That’s how I was for years. It was like I was living in limbo until Harry finally registered.”
Fernando had gotten lectured a thousand times before. Usually, he just ignored her. This time he tried to argue. “But she could have died as a child for all I know. Or she could live on the other side of the world. Or she could be in love with another man even if he’s not her matchmate.”
“Yeah, and if that’s the case you’ll be off the hook. But you need to register so you know for sure. You just can’t leave that girl hanging any longer.”
“But what if I don’t like her?”
“I was worried about that too before I met Harry, but look at us now. We’re perfect for each other.”
“You said you didn’t like him the first time you met him.”
“Well, not when I first laid eyes on him. He was out of shape and had horrible fashion sense. But that was just superficial. By the end of our first date, I could feel the connection between us. I knew we were two parts of the same whole.”
Fernando looked down at his drink. Bethany placed her hand on his.
“Trust me, you’ll like her,” she said. “Even if you don’t want to like her, you’ll like her. You won’t have a choice. You were literally made for each other.”
“But that’s the problem…”
Bethany took her hand away. She didn’t like his new tone.
He said, “If I like her then I’ll be tempted to get married. I don’t want to get married. That’s why I don’t want to register. I was hoping that if I pushed it off long enough my matchmate would eventually move on with her life. We’d never have to meet. I would never be tempted to be with her.”
“You’d rather spend your life alone?”
“It’s not that I want to be alone…” Fernando had to pause to take a drink. “I just don’t want to ruin the girl’s life.”
“Aside from not registering, how could you ruin the girl’s life?”
Fernando shrugged. “I’m a Stressman. I need to fill my life with misery and sadness. There’s no room to be happy. I don’t want to do that to a girl. I don’t want her to have to go through what Mom went through.”
“So that’s what this is all about? You think you’ll end up like Mom and Dad?”
“People in my profession shouldn’t marry. If Dad wasn’t a Stressman, then maybe Mom…”
“What?” Bethany raised her voice. “You think Mom killed herself because Dad was a Stressman?”
“Of course she did.”
“Dad had nothing to do with it. Mom was a chronically depressed person long before she met Dad. Just ask Grandma. They were perfect for each other because Dad was a Stressman.”
“But I don’t want a relationship like theirs.”
“Well, maybe you weren’t meant to be a Stressman. Did you ever think of that?”
Fernando didn’t respond to that question.
“You were suspended from work,” she said. “You keep complaining about not being as good a Stressman as Dad. Maybe you’ve chosen the wrong path in life.” She pushed the paperwork closer to him. “Go to the Matchmaking Bureau tomorrow. Meet your matchmate. Perhaps she’ll help put you on the right course.”
Fernando looked at the papers for a second. Then put them back down and drunkenly shook his head. “No. I’m a Stressman. I don’t want to get married.”
Bethany stood from her seat. “Then explain to her that you don’t want to get married. You owe that much to her.” Then she stormed out of the bar.
Fernando ordered himself another drink and used the paperwork as a coaster. In order to get his sister off his back, he would make his appointment at the Matchmaking Bureau. But if the girl he was supposedly destined to spend his life with wanted to meet him, she was sorely mistaken. The most she was going to get out of him was a phone call.
CHAPTER THREE
MATCHMATES
Centuries ago, human beings had the ability to mate with anyone they wanted to, even those they didn’t particularly like. They didn’t have matchmates back then. The closest concept to a matchmate was someone they called a soulmate—the one person you were destined to be with. Very few people ever found their soulmates during their lifetime. So few, in fact, that the idea of soulmates was more of a myth. Those who thought there was one perfect person they were destined to be with were only destined for disappointment.
But over time, mankind evolved in a very peculiar way. Men and women became incapable of breeding with anyone other than their intended soulmate. This was because there was a change in the shape of human genitalia. The penis evolved into the shape of a key. The vagina had taken the form of a lock. And every one of them had a unique configuration. So there was only one male for every female, only one key that fit each lock.
Fernando Mendez, after twelve years of putting it off, was finally going to see which lock his key was designed for. He was in the lobby of the Matchmaking Bureau—a centuries-old organization that was in the business of finding people’s matchmates. Fernando couldn’t wait to get it all over with. He cursed his sister for putting him through such a humiliating ordeal.
“Wait… what exactly do you want me to do?” Fernando asked, holding up the bucket of putty.
The lady with the orange curly hair rolled her eyes at Fernando and let out a patronizing groan. She had been nice to all the young men and women who were in line before him, but she became a complete bitch the second she saw Fernando. Perhaps it was because he was a decade older than everyone else registering. Many people in modern society hated those who, as they say, “hide their keys.”
“How many times do I have to repeat myself?” she said, tapping her long sparkly nails on her desk. “Take these pills, then—”
“Wait, you didn’t say anything about pills before?”
She took a small paper cup of pills from behind her desk and handed them to Fernando, glaring at him as if it were his fault she forgot to give them to him. “They make sure you keep an erection during the molding process.”
“When do they kick in?”
“If you came in when you were younger you probably wouldn’t have needed the pills.”
“That didn’t answer my question.”
“Once your erection is set, place your key into the molding bucket. Wait an hour until the putty hardens. Then go see the doctor to get it cut off.”
“You cut it off?”
She rolled her eyes again. “Just the mold. Not your key, of course.”
Fernando looked down at the bucket of putty. “Of course…”
A doctor guided Fernando to a private room where he could create the mold, but the room turned out to be not quite as private as he’d been led to believe. It was full of naked guys, sitting in a circle with putty buckets on their crotches.
“Great…” Fernando said.
There was something awkward about sitting in a room with a bunch of naked guys with erections, especially when you’re the only one in the group who felt awkward about it. The other guys, all college-aged, sat back and relaxed as if they were in a sauna, watching porn on the television screen in the corner.
Fernando sat down on a bench between two large sweaty guys and took his pants down to his knees. That was as naked as he planned to get. His erection didn’t come right away. He had to just sit there, holding the bucket in his lap, pretending he had his penis inside the putty. It was too awkward to sit there without the bucket in his lap.
“That bitch’s lock looks tight, yo,” said the teen sitting next to Fernando as they watched the porn film on the screen. “I’d unlock the shit out of that.”
Fernando didn’t make eye contact with him.
“I bet my bitch is going to be even hotter than her,” the kid continued. “I just know I’m gonna be matched with a hottie. She’ll have an amazing rack for sure.”
