Frank Klus - Azaleas Don't Bloom Here

“Dr. Grifton?” Sandy said, a bit unsure of things.

“Hello,” Grifton said, equally unsure.

“Did you do a treatment on me?”

“No,” Schmidt said, lying. “Neither one of us did.”

“I’m glad,” Sandy said. “I don’t think I could go anywhere with someone who destroyed my life.”

“YOU WERE TREATED!” Grifton shouted.

“Fred! You must apologize to Mrs. Casimir.” Grifton looked confused.

“There was an accident at the clinic. Dr. Grifton suffered a mental breakdown.” Schmidt thought it better not to go into any details. Sandy seemed unimpressed.

“The important thing is to get out of here. So let’s focus on that.”

“I have Pamela Piper’s cell phone,” Ev Moore said, “but thanks to that security guard, I don’t suppose she’ll answer it.”

“Can you leave a message?” Sandy asked.

“Yes, but she may not believe it’s me. That guard scared her off because he revealed that he could get their position from the GPS in her phone. I was coerced into revealing the encrypted code.”

Grifton sat down, apart from the others. His mind was still confused, and Schmidt knew he’d be of little help.

“Senator Moore—”

“Please call me Ev. It’s what people closest to me call me. May I call my wife? She’s got to be frantic.”

“Of course.”

He and his wife talked for almost an hour. Meanwhile, it gave Schmidt more time to think. By the time Moore hung up he had the semblance of a plan, but he would need Moore’s help.

“My wife and I are flying to New America,” Moore said. “We made sure we still had exit visas. Government officials are the only ones allowed to go right now. I wish I could take you guys, but it’s impossible. She’s flying in and she’ll be at the airport at six tomorrow morning. I’ll take a cab to O’Hare now, if you don’t mind.”

“Ev,” Dr. Schmidt said. “If you consent to help us now, I’ll drive you to the airport myself.”

“What can I do? Contact with Pamela Piper appears to be out of the question.”

“Do you know anyone else who can help us?”

Moore nodded. “Have you heard of Raymond O’Reilly?”

“Dennis O’Reilly’s brother?”

“That’s the one.”

“Sure, I’ve heard of him. He and his wife are a couple of bad asses.”

“He and his wife are assisting Pamela while she escorts her charge to New America. He won’t answer this phone either, but he has another number that he occasionally uses. I think I can get the number off the phone, but it will take me a little while.”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d try,” answered Schmidt.

“This phone is used by the NSA, and it has a way of gathering phone calls made from another phone. However, retrieving that information involves a good deal of searching, and matching that number with the owner of that number. When I find a match it lights up in green.”

It took Moore almost an hour, but he found it. Moore dialed the number. Ray answered. “Ray, this is Senator Everson Moore. I’ve escaped from that Hell House. Drs. Grifton and Schmidt rescued me, and they need your help.”

There was a pause. “Are you there, Ray?”

“Senator, how did you get this number?”

“Occasionally, NSA phone hacking can be useful.”

“Hang on, Senator.”

After another pause, “Ev? Is it really you?”

“Yes, Pamela. I’ve escaped from Hell House. Well, I was rescued by Drs.—”

“I know. Ray told me. Where are you?”

“I’m at the home of Dr. Schmidt.”

“We want to help you,” Schmidt said, grabbing the phone. “We have money. We can bring security in return for allowing us to go with you.”

“Give me a minute, doctor.”

“Dr. Schmidt?” Ray O’Reilly said.

“Yes.”

“Dr. Schmidt, I need Chad Armstrong, but he costs a lot of money. We may be talking in excess of twenty grand plus travel costs. He’s the only one who’s a match for the Hogs.”

“What’s your situation?”

“We’re about fifty miles south of the Canadian border, in western Minnesota, traveling east. I believe the Hogs are guarding all the roads leading into Canada. They’re probably behind us and maybe to our south. A confrontation at some point is probably unavoidable.”

“How do I reach Armstrong?”

“He won’t answer your call. I’ll call my cousin. He can arrange everything. Hold on.”

“Ev,” Schmidt said. “What’s their best plan of action?”

“They can’t continue to travel east more than two hundred miles. They’ll enter Roseau County and that’s RAC territory. It may be the Hogs’ plan. Force them in a situation where they can be easily captured. I wish I could be of more help.”

“Dr. Schmidt?” Ray said.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“Armstrong told me he’d help me for a flat fifteen G fee—cash, of course. When he gets me out of our jam I’ll send for you.”

“There are three of us. The third is a woman who has the fee for Pamela. Okay?”

“The more the merrier, I guess,” Ray said. “Look, in return for assisting in your escape, you are to use the cash to pay Armstrong. Bring the money in cash, and rendezvous with my cousin, Sean. I’ll give you his address.”

“That sounds like close to the Wisconsin border.”

“That’s right. Call me when the transaction is made. I’ll need to talk to Armstrong.”

“Oh, one more thing,” Schmidt said. “Senator Moore says you can’t enter Roseau Country. It’s about 200 miles to your east. It’s RAC territory.”

“Okay, thanks, but we should be fine here where we’ll wait for Armstrong.”

As he hung up, Schmidt turned to Moore. “Thank you for your help. I’ll take you to the airport now.”

“Thank you for the rescue. Oh, and one more thing. The same guard who blabbed to Pamela about coming for them, also blabbed to me about one more thing.”

“What’s that?” Schmidt said.

“You better leave right away because the order has already been sent to bring you two back.”

“They know where we live. That’s no secret.”

“I think you all should take me to the airport, and pack everything you’ll need because you can’t afford to come back.”

The four wayfarers stopped at a Hamburger Heaven restaurant, and grabbed a table to sit down and enjoy a meal. Eugene got the all-American dinner: quarter-pounder, large fries, and a large coke. Pamela went for the salad, and Cassandra grabbed a fish sandwich. Ray chowed down on the double beef “heartattack”.

They ate quietly until Cassandra spoke. “Hey Pamela, tell me something almost no one would know about New America.”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’ll tell you two things: there’s no sales tax on anything, and they did away with the penny. Nothing costs nine ninety-nine anymore. It’s ten bucks.”

They all laughed.

“Why do you have to buy your job?” Eugene asked. “It’s pretty much all co-ops, right?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“So why don’t you buy your way into the co-op? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?”

“In many cases it does. Buying your job is an option to buying a position in a cooperative.”

“How does that work?” Ray asked.

“It was my brother’s idea. His first employees didn’t have the money to buy their way into the cooperatives he set up, so he depended on billionaire investors when he set up his large industrial cooperatives. Many of them were the size of an entire city, with several hundred thousand workers. Redd could move them around as needed. Today, these independent contractors have their own cooperative. They go to wherever they’re needed, and their cooperative negotiates their payment. It’s great for special jobs where you might need a machinist specializing in a certain product. If they can’t use a specialist full time, they utilize the special hire. The benefit to the freelancer is that they enjoy the benefits of the co-op they belong to, and typically earn more money.”