The Politics of Concrete

Johnny Faucet and Billy Sink—not their given names—were deep in the bowels of a concrete processing plant at a time when no one was supposed to be deep in the bowels of anything. Johnny, who fancied himself the brains, lit a cigarette beneath a smoke detector he had bashed with a borrowed sledgehammer. Billy had his ear to an inexplicably large vault and his palm on a small dial.

            “Listen, all I’m saying is it would be a great idea. We buy the rights to Terminator off some shlub for pennies on the dollar and turn it into a kid’s program. People are going to love it.” Johnny’s voice had taken on the frantic, crispy tone he often got after several cups of coffee, accompanying cigarettes, and good old-fashioned breaking and entering.

            “Uh huh.” Billy was doing his best to feign interest while also listening to the delicate clicks of the lock.

            “We’d make millions. Think of the little T-shirts that say: ‘I’ll be back’. Parents would eat that shit up.” Johnny paced, each footstep kicking up small plumes of concrete dust. “Fuck, I wish I had pen and paper for this gold.”

            “Uh huh.” Billy twisted the dial and heard a satisfying click. One of the vault’s three locks popped open. “One down, two to go.” He took his palm off the dial and wiped the sweat on his pants.

            “Are you even listening to me, man?” asked Johnny.

            Billy stood, leaving thoughts of the vault behind for a moment. He had a loaded gun in the back of his waistband. Shooting Johnny would certainly solve a lot of problems, but at the end of the day, he was fun at parties. “Johnny, no, I’m not listening to you. Why are we here?”

            Johnny spluttered. “You’re not—”

            “Why are we here?” Billy repeated calmly.

            Johnny took a long drag off his cigarette. “To prove our government is putting 5G receivers in sidewalks near schools to control the minds of our kids.”

            Billy nodded. “And what’s in the vault?”

            “Evidence,” answered Johnny.

            Billy let out a breath. So he had been paying attention. “Yes. Evidence we spent the last five years searching for.”

            “Hard years.”

            “Hard years,” agreed Billy.

            Johnny was still pacing. “You lost your wife.”

            Billy grimaced. “Yes, I did.” Billy’s wife had been less of a critical thinker than he was. When their daughter came out, she accepted it without question. Meanwhile, Billy saw the pattern. There were certain districts where kids just acted funny. Football players took up drama, young conservatives started reading Vonnegut, the list went on. Billy bought a 5G detector, his wife and daughter moved out. Pretty soon they’ll understand.

            Johnny stopped moving. “I’m talking too much again, aren’t I?” The twinge of shame was only slightly outweighed by the manic whites of his eyes.

            Billy brushed off the memories. “Yes, you are. I can barely hear the lock. At this point, we’re going to be here until morning. What happens in the morning?”

            “People get here.”

            “Right.”

            “So, I should shut up?”

            “Yes.”

            “Well alright then.”

            Billy turned back to the vault. He could feel it. They were close. The research, the work, the isolation, it was finally going to pay off.

            “But Billy.”

            Billy spun around, two breaths away from putting a bullet in Johnny and dumping him in a cement mixer. “Yes, Johnny?”

            “Do you think my idea was good?”

            Billy looked at him, all seriousness in the world. “If we get the evidence, I bet they’ll give you the rights to Terminator for free.”

            Johnny’s widened even further. “Bet your right.”

            “Now, Johnny, do your job and keep watch. Pull a gun out or something, make it look like you’re trying.”

            Johnny saluted and pulled his comically large revolver from its holster. Its chrome shone in the dim light, almost making Johnny look like a movie star—aside from the balding, scarred arms from nervous picking, and tobacco-stained teeth.

            Billy saluted back. He didn’t have any military experience and frankly didn’t believe in organized governments with firearms, but it felt right. Billy returned his attention to the vault. Without Johnny’s incessant yapping, the second lock was much smoother. Titan locks were flashier than they were secure. For most people, a vault that looked uncrackable was more important.

            The second lock clicked.

            “How’s it going?” asked Johnny.

            Billy blew out a breath and held it. “Fine, Johnny.”

            “Oh good. You think we could get Linda Hamilton to guest star?”

            Why on earth had he brought Johnny along? He’s dumb as bricks, but he’ll keep a secret. At the end of the day, Billy needed someone who could shut up and look intimidating holding a gun. One out of two wasn’t bad. “You want Linda Hamilton on your children’s show about Terminator?”

            Johnny nodded, the crazy flare back in his eyes.

“I’d watch that, but you know what you should watch instead?” asked Billy.

            “Landman?”

            “No, the damned perimeter.” It took all his effort not to shout.

            “Right, right, the perimeter, right. I’ve got this.”

            Billy tuned out Johnny’s relentless pacing and focused on the vault again. He liked locks. They were predictable. With each minute turn, gears spun and tiny mechanisms fell into place. It was orderly and reminded him of a time when things were simpler, when concrete was concrete, and he didn’t have to worry about what lay beneath. He spun the dial a final time. The lock clicked.

            Billy stepped back, looking at the massive wheel to open the vault. “You ready Johnny?”

            Johnny approached. “How long we been dreaming of this?”

            “Too long.”

            “Abigail is going to be so happy when she hears about this.”

Billy’s anger flared. The government would pay for what they did to his daughter. “A whole lot of people are going to be angry. This is the first domino in the revolution, brother.”

            Johnny clapped him on the back. “Amen to that.”

            Billy spun the vault’s wheel and pulled the heavy door. It swung open with ease.

            The vault was the size of a small office. Its walls were lined with filing cabinets and stacked wooden crates. Sitting in the middle, tied up to a chair, was a gagged woman in a tattered suit.

            “Holy shit, they have hostages," said Johnny.

            The woman squinted out at them. She tried to speak, but it only came out as muffled cries.

            “Help her,” said Billy. “I’ll check the files. If they have hostages, we might be in deeper shit than we thought.”

            Johnny put his revolver away and hurried to the woman, untying her gag.

            Billy went to the filing cabinets and started leafing through papers. Anything kept in a vault was worth reading, but they needed to be quick. He skimmed, looking for any mention of 5G or plans for the school district. What he found instead were names of powerful politicians, business owners, and billionaires.

            The muffled cries turned into words as Johnny removed the woman’s gag. “Oh, thank God you’re here. I don’t know how long I’ve been in here, but I was starting to lose hope.”

            “Those bastards. Here, let’s get you untied,” said Johnny. “Don’t worry, we’re here to expose these bad men for what they’ve done.”

            Billy continued leafing through the files. Not a damned mention of 5G in the bunch. Then, he pulled a file with a name that stopped him cold. The salacious details of the paper were clear in an instant. All familiar anger flared again.

            “That’s what I was trying to do,” said the woman. “I’m a journalist. These men are covering up a ped—”

            “Put her gag back in.” Billy put the file away and turned around.

            “What?” said Johnny.

            “Yeah, what?!” shouted the woman.

            Billy approached her. “I thought I recognized you. Johnny, gag her and check her pockets.”

            “But Billy.”

            “Now.”

            “I thought you wanted to—” the woman was cut off as the gag went in her mouth.

            Johnny searched her pockets. “Sorry, ma’am. I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding.”

            “It ain’t,” said Billy.

            Johnny pulled out a small press ID badge. “Oh shit,” he said.

            “Told you,” said Billy.

            Johnny showed Billy the badge. “She’s one of them!”

            Billy nodded.

            “What’s in the files?”

            “Propaganda she wanted us to find. Best you don’t look. Their forgeries are getting better every day.”

The journalist screamed through her gag.

“Oh save it. We know they’ll be by to let you out as soon as we leave.”

Johnny looked at the woman with genuine hurt in his eyes. “I can’t believe I trusted you.”

“Come on Johnny, let’s get out of here.”

            Johnny looked around the vault and stepped out. “It’s a damned shame.”

            The woman looked a them, a single tear rolling down one cheek.

            Without a word, Billy left and shut the vault’s door. He spun the wheel backwards and listened to the three locks click.

            “No 5G in the concrete, huh?” asked Johnny.

            “Guess not.”

            “Think it’s in the water?”

            Billy shrugged. “The fluoride would mess with the signal.”

            “Damn, you’re right.”

            Billy clapped Johnny on the back. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them.”

            Johnny smiled. “You really think so?”

            “Finding this vault means we were close.”

            “What about that brick laying company? Schools have a lot of bricks.”

            “Only one way to find out.”