A Place Beyond Shame 11: What to do when the Lines Blur

I remember my first discussion with Nick Van Zandt quite clearly. I had responded to an e-mailed invitation from a dummy account. As per his instruction, I came alone. It was about 3am on an April night, musky and damp. I stood if front of the bleak and closed Virgin Megastore in Times Square and watched the blank screen of the giant Television that hung above the Warner store. I wanted drugs. Lots of them. Anything to help me process what this madman was saying.

"And so what you’re telling me, is that this is happening?"
"Yes."
"The girl is&is dead?"
"Yes."
"And you’re the Messiah."
"A Messiah."
"And you want me to take this& and make a game out of it?"
"No, Sean. Not a game. An experience."
"Jesus."

I leaned back and swallowed hard. This was a LOT of information to take in.

"Why me? Why not Wick, Skarka, Stafford, Pramas or Tweet? Somebody with a rep?"
"You were available, you knew the right people, and I kinda dug yer stuff in B lood-Dimmed Tides."
"You’re kidding."
"No, no& Rorqual. Giant living Caerns. Neat."
"As I recall, reviewers didn’t much like the&Chrissakes! You’re Nick Van Zandt! You look like him and talk like him and walk like him and it says Nick Van Zandt on your driver’s licensee!"
"So?"
"SO, I CREATED YOU! YOU’RE NOT REAL!"
"No, you see, that was a miracle. I made you think you created me."
"And those tugged-out Tupac lookalikes that came with you and went to the McDonalds. They’re in the Squad?"
"Yep."
"So what you’re saying is that&"
"Yes. The Last Exodus is now."

I sat down on the grimy wet sidewalk and held my head in my hands.

"The stripper in Washington and the guy in the McDonalds? I sent them. The guys who kicked your ass in Vegas? They were with the Regime. They didn’t want any of this getting out."
"But&I& Why&"
"Because people need to know. They need to prepare. We can’t go to the news with this, nor would we want to. We need to keep this – pardon the pun- underground. It’s gotta be a movement. Listen, I’ll bring you the entire manuscript as soon as I finish it. In the meantime, we’ve made some arrangements for you and your little group- what was it? Sin Sister?"
"Synister."
"Synister. Yeah. The Order has found a group in Nutley who can fund you&"
"Digital Creek?"
"Yes, where your brother works. Go in there and talk with a man named Dave Olmsted. He’ll put you in business- literally. I’ll bring you information, and I promise I’ll get the manuscript to you before Gen Con."
"Hunh? But I’m so busy&I have this new thing from Jacksonville, and I wanted to do some freelance work for Skarka’s thing. UnderWorld."
"Don’t worry about that. It’s handled."
"What?"
"We’re gonna flood his apartment."
"Why?"
"You’ll see."
"& So it’s all true."

"Pretty much. I don’t know where you got the idea Emerald City is New York, though&"
"It’s not ?"
"No, Em city is Washington. New York is an Atlantean ruin called Terminal City."
"Oh."
"Sometimes things get garbled. As I understand it, the messages will come in a bit clearer if you’re on a boat or a raft or something."
"You’re kidding."

I stood up again and looked at him. It was sort of like the rush a writer gets when looking at an illustration of their work that’s really dead on, only moreso. He smiled.
"I understand how odd all this must be&"
"No, no. No you do not."
"Well, I gotta run. I’d suggest you do too. There’s a cell of Sanhedrin coming up Broadway in about ten. The Crush. Gotta love Giuliani’s New York. "

I sat on the sidewalk for a long time before dragging myself back to the Path train. This was going to take some serious getting used to.