“Seenyour Rodrigo? Ahhh… Esta Judas,” Judas said, struggling with his broken Spanish, his flabby face turning red.
“I know who it is. What do you want?” Rodrigo yelled back in perfect English.
“Seenyour Thompson brought back another big load of something last night. I don’t know what it was, because it was covered, but there was a lot of it. I think it might have been drugs or something.”
“I don’t pay you to think. Is that all?”
“Si… I mean yes.”
“Fine, call me when you have something useful to report.” With that, he hung up.
“But, should I…” Judas moved the phone away from his ear and looked at it to confirm that Rodrigo hung up on him.
“Bloody fucking drug dealers,” he yelled at his phone, slamming it down on the table in front of him. The flabby folds of his arm, absorbing the blow, swayed back and forth. His wispy white eyebrows were furrowed in fury, and the blood vessels under the pale skin of his forehead popped out.
He wished he could check out Thompson’s house further and see what he was up to. However, all his windows were tinted or mirrored so that you couldn’t look in them. It looked like he had security cameras, so he couldn’t very well stick his face up against the window.
“Bloody hell,” Judas shouted again.
He had other work to do. He stuck his bloodshot right eye into his telescope and swung it around to the Smith’s residence at 24, who as luck would have it were barbequing in their swimsuits on their terrace. Mrs. Smith was hot and was wearing a nice bikini.
Judas forgot about Thompson and stared intently in his telescope, licking his lips at what was unfolding before his eyes.
~~~
Rodrigo didn’t have time for this now. He knew he would have to deal with Max soon, but he had been avoiding it for years, ever since his father Felix “El Chorro” Menendez put him in charge of their Sonora Mexico operations. Max was a friend of the family since the day he kicked their asses in the streets of Puerto Penasco when they were picking on that maricon Miguel. He knew Max was up to something and was probably hording some contraband, but he didn’t want to anger his father, as much as he would like to take down Max once and for all. Maybe it would be soon. He took in the last draw of his Dos Equis and put it down loudly, purposely interrupting the only two men in the room, who were focused intently on their own beers, their game of dominos, and the older one regaling with bravado to the younger one about his sexual exploits. Rodrigo only had two esclavos at the compound to check on this lead. The rest of his ascinos were already at their homes, ready when he needed them for something important.
“¡Cabrónes,” he yelled, enjoying the fear his power created.
“Averiguáis la casa de Señor Max. That maricon Judas called and said Max brought back another shipment. Park a block away, and watch what happens tonight and tomorrow and report to me. Stay in your car and wait for my call, unless you see something. If you do, report to me first. Do not engage him.”
“No problema, Rodrigo,” one of the two replied.
“And be careful,” Rodrigo continued, “We know he has weapons and how to use them. So tread lightly, or you might end up muertos from your stupidity.”
“No problema, Rodrigo,” they said in unison, stood up and left without asking another question.
9:30 P.M.
“This is not science fiction, Clyde. This is fact.” Max was very animated at the challenge laid out before him by Clyde, saying in so many alcohol-flavored words that he was just another “George-Noory-listening fool” who believed in any crazy scenario and that this most recent one didn’t have even a remote element of truth. Game on.
The debate started when Clyde said he could run his whole house on his new iPad. Max said it wouldn’t matter when the next big CME wiped out all his electronic toys, what would he have to show for himself?
Bill was going to enjoy this, mostly because Clyde was such a pompous SOB, who was due for a tongue-lashing. Max was just the man to do it.
“Every one hundred years, the Earth experiences massive solar storms like the one that hit in September 1859.
“The whole world as far south as Cuba witnessed auroras in the skies for several days. All telegraph communications went down. Telegraph lines exploded, raining sparks and fire on terrified witnesses, even electrocuting some. There were no other electric gadgets then and no computers with circuit boards. Nothing else for the EMPs to fry.
“Now imagine if this were to happen today. Anything that could have conducted electrical current did, because of the massive magnetic waves that pummeled the Earth then. You think your iPhones, iPads, TV’s, & and other useless things would survive? No, computers run everything we have now: cars, appliances, pacemakers, games. Everything we depend on runs on electric and would be fried in an instant with a large 1859-sized EMP. Power grids would go down permanently, and would take ten to twenty or more years to replace. No power for twenty years. All sectors of society would collapse: banking, medicine, factories, transportation, farming. All wiped out. It would be the end of our world as we know it.” Max had his prey cornered, and he wasn’t going to let up.
Clyde was looking a little ashen. Everyone else was silent, listening intently. “This was Max at his finest,” Bill thought.
He continued the assault.
“Worse yet, I’ve only mentioned a rather common solar event that happens every two to four generations and the next one will happen during this very one, while we are alive. In fact, scientists estimate better than a fifty-percent chance it will happen before your next girlfriend’s boob job.”
Clyde just glared at him. His girlfriend, awaking from her catatonic state, realized some attention was on her, but didn’t know why.
Max, smiling continued, “But there is the potential for an event which is so much worse than this.”
“Every few thousand years or so, the Earth gets pummeled by solar super storms that are hundreds of times worse than what it experienced in 1859. We’re talking months of fire and brimstone, the likes of which the Bible talks about with the destruction of evil Sodom & Gomorrah. Know this; when that happens, your ass is toast. You will not survive.” He was speaking to all the guests now.
“But, I just may. Not because I’m smarter than any of you… aside from Clyde here.” A few chuckles erupted around the room. “It’s because I have planned for the end of the world. I’ve hedged my bets, while you, Clyde sit on your lazy butt watching MSNBC on your satellite TV, worrying about such trivial issues as what politician sex’d pictures of his lower anatomy to some young intern. I’ll be ready Clyde when our world comes to an end. What will you do?” Max ended confidently.
“Mmmm. What about all those preparations for the coming Zombie Apocalypse, Max? I seem to recall a similar tone of certainty emanating from you about five years ago. How’d that work out for you?” Clyde’s rebuttal was quick and damning, to be sure.
“Come on, Clyde, I vanna go now. Dis talk is boring,” Clyde’s very pretty Slavic sounding girlfriend said, while tugging his arm towards the door. “I vanna go dancing at On The Beach.”
“Okay, fine. Thanks, Bill and Lisa, for the wonderful party.” He leaned over to kiss Lisa.
“Bye Sally,” waving across the room to her.
“Both your women get sexier each time I see them,” to Bill while shaking his hand.
They were gone just as suddenly.
Not long after everyone left, Max did his best to stay awake while Bill & Lisa cleaned up. It would have been a good time to tell the Kings what was coming, but he was in no shape to do it now. After two days of no sleep, rigorous manual labor, worry about the end of the world, and now the alcohol from Bill’s margaritas, Max was done.
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