Death in the City (16 page)

“Our lack of jobs, especially in the police force after the terrible cafe tragedy weeks ago, is not the only issue we face together, as a city and a nation. We must eliminate the deficit and get Joe Plumber back on his feet again. As mayor, I will distribute wealth to the needy and open animal shelters and organic farms on every major street. I will fix every pothole, so no more of our children will end up like little John Corbane, who broke both of his arms after hitting one with his bike last summer.” A collective ‘aww’ from the crowd. “Vote for me, Derek Derek. Together, we can make the world an incredible and beautiful place, one city at a time.” He shouted the last sentence over booming roars.

When Death was finished with his inspiring words, the polls opened, and that day the city had a new mayor. Death won by a landslide (with 92% of the votes over Greenwich’s 7% and 1% for write-ins) and soon found himself in a meeting with his advisors, laughing and whooping and popping open hundred-dollar Moet et Chandon in celebration.

“Congratulations, Mayor Derek,” shouted Izzy. “Here’s to a great term for our newest public figure. And I swear on my mother’s life that I will not try to have you overthrown in order to take your place.”

“Thanks,” said Death, beaming with tears in his eyes. Life could not get easier or happier than this. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys.”

Death slid out of the election party when Izzy was opening the fifteenth bottle of champagne and took a walk down Maine Street. He wanted to relax after such a demanding morning. So, he went to Freepay.

By observation, Death saw that people enjoyed buying things. In fact, it seemed to be their absolute favorite thing to do, even more than talking or thinking. So he wheeled out a cart of his own and began in the frozen foods section. Mounds of fish sticks and pizzas and chicken and burgers stood before him. He instinctively went for the most colorful packages he could find.

Then there was the cereal aisle. Rows of brightly colored boxes sat upon the racks, and Death chose all his favorite colors: red, black, orange, and purple. In his excitement he stood on the crossbar by the wheels of the cart and rode it down the aisle. He soon lost control and fell off, landing on the back of his head.

“Excuse me, sir,” said a woman. Death sat up and looked at her. She was pudgy and had a round lumpy head, upon which sat a mess of tangled black hair. “Your runaway cart hit my child.” Death peered around her to see a young boy lying in front of the cart, holding his arm.

“I’m really sorry,” said Death. “I lost control of the basket.”

“Say, aren’t you Mayor Derek?” asked the woman.

“Yes, I am.”

“Say hi to the mayor, James,” said the woman, patting her freckle-faced child on the back. “You were nearly concussed by the nice public official.”

“Oh, but I really didn’t—“ started Death.

“Hi, mayor,” said James.

“Hi James,” said Death. “Sorry I almost broke your legs.”

“I just wanted to tell you how honored I am to have you as our new leader,” said the woman. “I voted for you, and I’m proud of it. I know you’ll do a great service for this city.”

“I will?” asked Death. “Oh, I mean yes, of course. I’ll fix…potholes and…stuff.”

“I’m off to teach my boy how to ride a bike,” said the woman. “Isn’t that right, James?” James looked up at his mother. “We need to buy a helmet first, so we’re off to Cosby’s Sporting Goods. Safety always comes first, or he’ll get hurt or even worse, he’ll be dead. Isn’t that right, James?”

“Oh, no need to worry about that,” said Death. “There is a zero percent chance little James here will die, so you won’t need a helmet or anything.”

“Excuse me?” asked the woman, her smile vanishing.

“I just mean, there’s no such thing as dying anymore. So he should be good.” He looked at James and smiled.

“You’re telling my son not to wear a helmet while riding a bike?”

“Yup, exactly.”

“And what if he falls, moron?” she snapped. Death felt a sudden tension in his forehead. “What if he hits his head on something? What if he gets hit by a car?”

“Well, it’s just that you mentioned him dying and—“

“Clearly you enjoy the idea of children who are hurt and in pain,” said the woman, crossing her arms.

“But I thought dying was the worst thing that could happen to humans,” said Death. “Isn’t that what you people are always worried about?”

“Come on, James,” said the woman. “We have no time for people like this. I never would have voted for you if I knew you didn’t even have good Christian values”

“Christian values?” repeated Death. The woman took her son by the shoulder and led him away to the vegetable aisle. Death shrugged and proceeded to the checkout line.

“That’s going to be three hundred and forty-seven dollars,” said the young pimple-faced man running the register. “Went a little heavy on the cheese balls, huh sir?” He pointed to five oversized tubs of generic brand cheese balls, which were a delightful shade of unnaturally bright orange.

“Oh, uh, here’s my money,” said Death. He handed over the twenty thousand dollar Freepay check and left the store. Back on Maine Street, he took in the sight of his rainbow of a shopping basket. “That was fun,” he said. He left the cart on the sidewalk and walked back home.

“You really socked that Greenwich guy,” said Tim. Death had called him and Maria to his house early in the afternoon for a chat and coffee in the kitchen before another scheduled speech in the park. “Talk about a landslide. You must have put a lot of effort into that one.”

“No, not really,” said Death, shrugging and sipping his coffee.

“Well, you must have some great advisors.”

“No, Barry Gregory said they were the cheapest he could find.”

“Your promises must have really grabbed attention then.”

“Didn’t make any.”

“Your suit?”

“Almost,” said Death, leaning over the table. “Izzy told me it was all about the speeches. The key is to talk about nothing for a really long time and to make eye contact. And to keep mentioning that you’re part of the working class.”

“Oh, so lying,” said Tim, nodding.

“What?” asked Death.

“I almost forgot,” said Maria. “I picked up the paper for you, it was on your doorstep.” She held up the Evening Post and Tim took hold of it. “Oh jeez, Derek, what’d you do?” he asked, holding the paper up and scanning it frantically. “You hit some kid and told him that he shouldn’t wear a helmet when he rides a bike?”

“What?” asked Death. Maria glanced at the front page.

“Wow, you said you didn’t care if he died?” she asked.

“Is this in the paper?” asked Death, taking hold of the Evening Post.

“Yeah, check it out,” said Tim.

“That happened a half hour ago,” said Death. “There’s no way.” Sure enough, on the front page was the title: “NEW MAYOR OF HAIR HATES CHILDREN.”

“But I don’t hate children,” said Death. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“You didn’t tell that kid he wouldn’t die if he didn’t wear a helmet?” asked Maria.

“Well yes, I did say that. But it’s true, he won’t die.”

“Well,
we
know that,” said Maria. “But if you aren’t ready to tell everyone then you can’t just mention it to people you don’t know. It’ll freak them out.”

“I guess you’re right,” Death sighed.

“Gonna be honest with you, Derek,” said Izzy, twirling a large silver coin between his fingers as he sat in his big leather office chair. “People didn’t really like that stunt you pulled at the supermarket.”

“But I didn’t do exactly what that woman said I did,” said Death.

“Doesn’t matter. You’re a public figure now. You have to watch every single move you make, or the media will eat you alive.”

“But why?” asked Death.

“That’s just the way it is,” said Izzy, standing up. “Luckily, you have me to set the record straight. I suggest that you start in right away with some legislation and mandates. People love that stuff. And you can trust me when I tell you that I am not using you in order to shift into your position of power at a later date.”

“Okay, great,” said Death, smiling and nodding.

Soon Death was standing at a podium in front of the citizens of Hair. He looked at his speech card (which he had never seen before now), and put his mouth to the microphone. “My fellow citizens,” he read. “Thank you for choosing me, Derek Derek, to represent this amazing city. It is my privilege and honor to be here today.” The crowd cheered. Death found his words to be distant, as though they were not even coming out of his own mouth. “First, I plan on filling in all the potholes in the city by the end of this hour. I already signed a form that will not only ban factory dumping in local rivers, but will also create or save forty-thousand jobs within the next month.” Death knew this was a lie, and it threw him off. “In the next two weeks I plan to hire two hundred new police officers, and to fund public programs that the previous mayor had to cut in order to make room for bars.” After a lengthy pause, Death cleared his throat, laughed nervously and kept reading.

“I have also put in some new policies for our many social and legal issues. Firstly, I will up the war on drugs to a full-scale attack.” Most of the people in the crowd applauded. “I will also work to clean the streets of smut. Our war on prostitution and pornography will be waged full out. This will not only create jobs for our police force, but will save our children from corruption.” The cheering grew dimmer, though still present. “I will also wage a war against terrorism in this city, and close off the borders to all potential terrorists.” The applause grew again, and Death felt better about himself. “I will do this by installing fences along all borders, racial profiling, and heightened security with secret police and special task forces.”

Death threw his hands in the air, but most people just stared. “I also plan on making this a dry city. No more alcohol, in any form. Families will no longer be corrupted by the drink made by the devil himself.” Death counted four people in the crowd who cheered as he wondered why Satan never told him that he invented alcohol. It seemed like something he would have bragged about.

“Um…yeah,” said Death. The crowd was eerily silent before a dim wave of inquisition flooded over them. “Well, uh, I have also noticed an abuse of the first amendment.
Therefore, I will form a strict limit on free speech, press, and peaceful assembly. I plan to put a ban on any questionable radio and television shows, videos on the internet, and violent video games. I also plan to ban gun rights, tobacco, safe sex programs and contraceptives, cheap and effective nuclear power, immigration as well as emigration, and profanity, while at the same time raising taxes and creating more animal rights programs. Together, we will make this city the best place to live in the entire world.” A wave of boos and shouts of hatred crashed into Death’s ears.

“Okay, that one didn’t work so well,” shouted Izzy over the din. “But we’ll get them next time.”

“Why are we banning everything?” asked Death.

“Because they’re vices and people should not be doing them.”

“I guess that makes sense,” shouted Death. “But can’t people decide that for themselves?”

“No,” shouted Izzy as a rotten tomato from the crowd splattered onto Death’s turned back. “Bad vegetables, that’s really cliché.”

At home, War appeared next to Death, who was exhausted but did not want to be rude to his old friend. “Hi,” he said. “How are you?”

“I’m doing fine,” said War, gliding his fingertips along the brim of his top hat. “I was just in the Middle East. Suicide bombers are having quite a time over there now that they realized they can’t die. So you’ve made this interesting, but I can’t decide if it’s more fun.”

“Interesting’s a start,” said Death.

“I need to talk to you about something personal, though,” said War. “I attended the speech you gave a few minutes ago. I don’t care about much of what you said, but you absolutely cannot abolish guns. People use the terms ‘war on drugs’ or ‘war on pornography,’ but they don’t particularly mean anything. Real wars involve actual fighting, winners and losers, and I simply cannot have—“

Brian cut War off by bursting into the living room. “I am so angry right now,” he shouted.

“Oops,” said War.

“Uh, why?” asked Death.

“I don’t know,” said Brian, walking over to the couch.

“I tend to do that to people, sorry,” said War.

“I’m sure it has everything to do with you,” said Brian “Or maybe it’s just because you keep bringing your creepy friends over, Derek.”

“Should I leave?” asked War.

“No,” said Brian. “I’m sure you want to maim me, or make me violently ill or something. But I won’t have it. Not this time. You stupid jerk.” He lifted his fist back and punched Death in the face. As Death felt the sting of the blow course through his face, Brian fell to the floor, dead.

“Shoot,” said Death. “I was trying really hard not to reap him. He was pretty funny.”

A knock came to the front door. War said “Think about what I told you, please,” before snapping his fingers and vanishing. Death opened the door to see Tim standing with his arms crossed and Maria behind him.