Free Bad Monkeys by Matt Ruff Page A

chest, pink pom-poms, plus this wig—a yarn wig, like a pink mop head with pigtails.
    That does sound a little strange. On the other hand, San Francisco…
    Yeah, I thought of that too, but the other thing about this guy, nobody else seemed to be able to see him. The woman I shared the room with had end-stage brain cancer, so she was out of it, but there were nurses and doctors coming through all the time, and they never so much as glanced at him. I tried to draw attention to him without, you know, actually saying anything—if it turned out he wasn’t real, I didn’t want my morphine drip pulled—but no dice.
    So finally I gave in, and tried talking to him: “What do you want?”
    “What’s the magic phrase?” he said.
    “What?”
    “What’s the magic phrase?” He lowered his pom-poms and puffed his chest out.
    “Omnes mundum facimus,” I said.
    “That’s it…Now look under your pillow.”
    It took some major maneuvering, but eventually I slipped my good arm under the pillow. My hand closed around a coin. The coin.
    I was more relieved than I could say, but I was also pissed off: “ Now you show up? Where the hell were you when that asshole was beating the shit out of me?”
    “That was an oversight,” he said, frowning. “Not my department, you understand, but I am sorry—it was a busy day, and details got missed.” He brightened again, and laughed. “‘Get fucked, killer…’ I like that. That showed spirit. Not a lotta brains, but spirit.”
    “So why now?”
    “Well I know you got hit in the head, but you are aware of recent events, right? The organization I represent—that that coin represents—is holding a recruitment drive.”
    “You want me to help fight terrorism?”
    “No! There’s people all over the country lining up to do that .”
    “Well what, then?”
    “Well the thing about one big evil taking center stage, it tends to draw attention away from all the other evils. So now somebody’s got to swim against the tide, to make sure those other evils don’t flourish from neglect. You could be a part of that, if you’re interested.”
    “But why now?” I persisted. “Those other evils, they were always there, so why didn’t you come for me sooner?”
    “Omnes mundum facimus,” he said. “You looked up the translation for that, right? You know it doesn’t mean ‘Wait for further instructions’ or ‘Stand around with your thumb up your ass.’”
    “No, but…”
    “Let me lay another saying on you: ‘Many are called, but few are chosen.’ Now the implication is that the few are special—brave enough to answer the call, or worthy enough to be chosen. But there’s another way of looking at it. If many are called, and few are chosen, maybe that’s because most of the many have better things to do.” He shook a pom-pom at me accusingly. “You had a life. It was hoped you’d do something with it.”
    “Great,” I said. “So you’re telling me you’re the booby prize?”
    He laughed again. “I do like that spirit. I—we—can use that spirit. So the question becomes, are you willing to let it be used? Are you ready to be one of the few?”
    “You know I am.”
    “All right, then…Tomorrow night, between seven and seven-fifteen, you’re to go to the top floor of this building. Turn left out the elevator, and look for a door marked Examination One. If you come early, or show up late, it’ll be just an empty room. But if you come on time, you’ll meet a man named Robert True, who’ll tell you what the next step is.”
    That was all he had to say to me, but still he sat there, watching me and smiling. “Go ahead,” he finally said. “Ask it.”
    “OK. Why are you dressed like a cheerleader?”
    “You know what a nondisclosure agreement is, Jane? This outfit serves the same purpose. What do you suppose would happen if you told the hospital staff about our conversation?”
    “They’d cut off my drugs.”
    “You got it,” he said, and winked. A few