Jackpot. Chapter 8

Back at his compound, the Important Client calls his good friend, the Chief of Police, and half the cops in town surround the office of Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited. The workers have taken up strategic posts throughout the smoking wreckage, and the police are concerned that any attempt to breach the premises might result in the building’s total collapse. So they wait outside, prepared to starve them out. At dusk the Chief gets a call from a scrambled voice identifying itself as “The Prince of Danger.” The Prince declares that the workers have claimed the company for themselves, and asks law enforcement to respect the due process of laissez-faire capitalism and let the executives of Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited take it back if they are worthy. The Chief chews his donut thoughtfully, decides he’d better call his boss.

“They’re workers, and they’re using big words, but they’re the same big words you’re usually using. You know, talking about lacy fairs and such. They’re talking about the company like, well, they’re telling you to come and take it. And that reminds me of that famous flag, the one that says COME AND TAKE IT on it. It’s an American flag, and that gets my blood pumping. But they’re also breaking the law, so I just don’t know what to do here, sir.” Exasperated, the Chief of Police rewards himself with a donut-sized bite of another donut. 

The Important Client takes a long drag of his cigarillo, then bursts into laughter. “Don’t those fools understand? We’re thick as thieves, you and I. The police force isn’t some unbiased executor of blind justice! No offense.”

“None taken.”

“They may have confused you by adopting the nomenclature of us Creators, but pay no mind to their cheap ruse––this is no different from any other parasitic uprising.”

“What do you want us to do, though? There’s no way we’re getting in there without a fight––a big one. We’re gonna lose people, sir.”

The Important Client covers his mic. “What do you think, Leroy?” 

Leroy looks up from his sudoku. “They’ve stationed their cannon, and I reckon I’ll take it.” 

“You’re a damn fool, Leroy. But a brave one. It’s what us Creators have got to be to Create in this world of parasites.”

Tired of all this talk of Creators and parasites, Leroy says nothing. 

The Important Client uncovers his mic. “We’re going in, I’m sending Leroy over.”

“Who?”

“Leroy McMenahan, CEO of Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited, that’s who! Await his instructions.” The Important Client hangs up and stubs his cigarillo in the soil of a potted fern. “Before you go, let me tell you the mistake I made.”

“Reckon I already know.”

The Important Client smirks. “Is that so? Go on.”

“You blew smoke on my friend’s bonsai tree.” 

This isn’t what the Important Client had in mind, but it’s the correct answer. Leroy leaves before the bewildered tycoon can dredge up the forgotten incident.

Leroy pulls into the cordoned parking lot and is stopped by some cops at the perimeter. He rolls his window down.

“I’m Leroy. The Chief’s expecting me.”

The cops are suspicious, but one of them radios the Chief and sure enough, Leroy gets the green light. He drives through the rows of parked cruisers until the Chief waves him down. He parks and steps out.

“What’s the situation?”

“Bad.” The Chief points to the building with a sandwich wrapped in wax paper. “They’ve got the whole place covered. There’s no way in without a fight.”

“Is that so? What about––”

“Let me walk you through it.” The Chief points out every spot the workers have covered, illustrates every angle of approach and why it won’t work, pre-empting all of Leroy’s questions.

Leroy whistles. “Well I’ll be. This is a doozy, alright.”

“That’s for sure. Seems like the only thing to do is starve ‘em out,” says the Chief, taking a bite of his pastrami melt.

Leroy’s thinking gears start turning. 

“What are you thinking about?”

“I reckon there’s something y’all ain’t thought of.”

It’s not easy, but after a long and complicated plan involving distractions, the sewer system, and a whole lot of luck, Leroy pops out of an air duct into the abandoned food court. The Burrito Bell is cracked, the Micky Ronaldinio’s M is an epsilon, and the Carlos Jr. has lost its innocence. The building shakes and dust falls from the ceiling. Leroy walks across the tiles, his footsteps echoing. When he notices a blinking security camera, loudspeakers crackle to life.

“Welcome back to Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited, Leroy!”

“Arbuckle!” he shouts.

“Well, well, well, you know who I am. But come on, Leroy, I’m the one calling the shots here. You should call me Mr. Arbuckle!”

“And you should call me Mr. McMenahan!”

“I don’t think so. See you at the top––if you’re still alive!” Arbuckle cackles and signs off. 

It’ll be a long, hard climb, so Leroy reckons he ought to partake in some sustenance before he makes the trek. He weighs his options before stepping behind the counter of Carlos Jr. He washes his hands and eats a cold cheeseburger sitting on the counter. It’s a big burger, and he might have bitten off more than he can chew. He spots a conspicuous pile of trays in the corner of the kitchen right as it explodes and charges at him. Like an air dancer at a used car dealership, Leroy dodges his assailant and grabs him by the wrist.

“Not today!”

The pudgy boy starts blubbering and crying. “I’m sorry! Please don’t take me to the Prince of Danger!”

Realizing he’s dealing with a scared kid, Leroy lets him go.

“Don’t worry, I ain’t one of them.”

“Oh, thank God.” The boy leans against the counter and catches his breath.

“Carlos, sir.” The boy points up at the sign. “No relation.”

“Leroy,” says Leroy, extending his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

They shake hands, then Carlos’ eyes go wide. “Wait a second. You don’t mean––you’re Leroy McMenahan?”

“That’s me.”

“You’re a living legend!”

Leroy smirks. “And what did I do to deserve that insult?”

“You’re in, like, half the examples of good business practices in my textbook!” Carlos pulls the book out and points to a black and white photo of Leroy cutting the grand opening ribbon at the first Saguaro Sombrero Solutions Unlimited factory. A tanned hand reaches into the photo and holds the ribbon taught. “Everything I ever learned about business, I learned from you. I’m planning on opening my own burger joint one day! I hope you’ll pay me a visit.”

“You can count on it Carlos,” says Leroy, flipping through the book. “But your book sure has a lot of misconceptions about my company.”

Carlos looks worried, like a child realizing he’s about to be told Santa isn’t real. “Like what?”

“Well for one, there isn’t anything about José in here.”

“Who’s José?”

“Who’s José!” Leroy throws his hat on the ground. “Without José Jones, this company wouldn’t exist!” The building rumbles.

“No offense, Mr. McMenahan, but does your company still exist?”

“Exactly. Things ain’t been right ever since José left.” He puts his hat back on. “But as long as this building’s still standing, I can’t give up. I can’t let some computer nerd and his goons get the best of me.”

“Then let me help you. I know a thing or two about computers and I’m a green belt in karate! Hi-ya!” Carlos shows off some moves.

“Kid, don’t put yourself in danger just ‘cause someone wrote some nice things about me in a book.”

Carlos laughs. “Please, those jerks upstairs treat me like crap every day and now they’re gonna wreck this place and I’m gonna lose my job. So if you don’t think I’ve got a dog in this fight, think again. Hoowagh!” Carlos thrusts into the Tranquil Lotus fighting stance, but Leroy’s already started towards the stairs.

After only a few floors, Carlos is too winded to continue. He stops to rest. 

Leroy looks back and sighs. “I ain’t gonna wait up for you, Carlos!”

“Sorry, Mr. McMenahan. I’ll catch up later.”

Leroy shakes his head. He didn’t sign up to be a babysitter. He keeps climbing until he’s blocked by a pile of rubble. 

“Damn it!” Leroy looks down the stairwell shaft, down through squares and squares converging to infinity. “Carlos! How far are you?” He hears his voice ping pong like a coin bouncing down a deep well. 

Carlos’ voice echoes back up, but the reverberation obscures the words. 

“What was that?” 

Carlos answers again, but Leroy still can’t understand him. He leaves his bandana behind as a marker, then opens the door and enters the nineteenth floor. 

A deserted office. Some fallen chairs and scattered papers, but otherwise as it would be after-hours. The bulletin board displays the usual announcements regarding company potlucks and sales quotas, but also flyers calling for shorter hours, an end to bullying, and for Leroy to say goodnight. He’s not sure what to make of this last flyer until he hears wind and ducks just in time to dodge a baseball bat. He kicks out behind him and lodges his spur in the assailant’s knee. The goon shouts and breaks away from Leroy, swinging again and hitting him in the ribs. Leroy crashes to the carpet and rolls under a desk like a golf ball into a cup and the bat comes down again, splitting the desk in two, landing in Leroy’s hands. He struggles to keep the bat up until the thug changes his strategy and yanks it away. Leroy gets up and faces his enemy.

“Remember me, Leroy?” The man’s wearing a dark pinstriped suit with a rose pinned to the chest. His eyes are hidden behind impenetrable sunglasses and his black hair is slicked back. 

“I recognize your face. But I reckon I won’t after this.”

Bat over his shoulder, the man smirks. “I was in charge of the ad campaign for that tequila deal. And these,” he arcs his bat around the room. “Are my associates.” Salarymen emerge from behind desks and potted plants, a few even jump down from ceiling panels. “Why don’t you quit while you can?”

“You think this is enough to make me quit?” 

The ad man laughs. “Oh you aren’t quitting, Leroy. You’re fired! We made this company, we made you. Without us, no one would know your name. And now it’s our time to––”

Suddenly half the salarymen fall, blood spurting from gashes in their arms, chests, and necks. A soggy red paper airplane circles the room and lands gently in Carlos’ hand.

“I forgot to mention that my dojo specializes in white collar combat.”

“Carlos!”

The ad man grits his teeth. “Get him!” 

Leroy and Carlos stand back to back and fend off the first few attackers. Carlos grabs a floor lamp and takes on five goons at once. Leroy fights mano a mano with the ad man. They block and dodge each other’s blows, each thinking ten moves ahead. After two incredible flying kicks collide midair, they backflip away from each other and land on their feet.

“Not bad for a cowboy,” says the ad man.

“I ain’t had a fight this good in a long––” Leroy is interrupted by the crack of Carlos’ lamp on the back of the ad man’s skull. His eyes roll back into his head and he drops to the floor. Leroy turns around and gazes at the pile of bodies. “You did good, Carlos.”

“Thanks, boss. I guess all that training came in handy.” Carlos blushes and scratches the back of his head.

That was more than just training. 

“Let’s keep moving,” says Leroy. The duo forge through the office and wheeze up ten more flights of stairs.

“This seems too easy,” says Carlos. “Besides these stairs, of course.”

A loudspeaker crackles. 

“Don’t you worry,” says Arbuckle. “It’s about to get a whole lot harder. Why don’t you pay me a visit on the next floor?” He cackles and disconnects.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” says Carlos.

“Don’t worry. Arbuckle may be a whiz at those computers, but he won’t stand a chance against the old one-two!” Leroy punches the air. “Let’s go!”

They enter the next room. It’s empty, white, and large as a gymnasium. The door locks behind them, the lights cut out, and a green neon grid spreads out across the floor, walls, and ceiling. A purple cube appears by the exit, then expands into four cubes, then sixteen, until Leroy and Carlos find themselves confronted by a jagged, geometric bull. Twenty feet tall, it snorts data and scrapes its virtual foot on the ground. Leroy snaps into a powerful fighting stance. A translucent, holographic Arbuckle appears midair.

“Welcome to cyberspace!” he says.

“Cyberspace? What’s going on here, Arbuckle?” shouts Leroy.

“While you fools were busy with the advertising department, I was programming your downfall. T.A.U.R.O.S! Destroy them!” The bull roars and charges. Leroy and Carlos jump away and the bull runs between them into the wall. It turns around and scrapes its hoof on the ground, preparing to charge again. 

Arbuckle cackles. “T.A.U.R.O.S. is far too mighty even for you, Leroy! Run all you want, it won’t do you any good!” 

The bull charges again. Leroy jumps up and lands on its nose, but it shakes him off and he smacks into a wall. He slides down to the floor and the bull charges at Carlos. Looking for a place to run, Carlos spots an old terminal by the exit.

“Leroy!” he shouts. “If you distract T.A.U.R.O.S. I think I can use that terminal to stop him!”

Leroy stands up and dusts himself off. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve taken a couple computing classes at community college. I’m not the best programmer, but if I can hack into Arbuckle’s system and override the database mainframe, I just might be able to shut this program down and get us out of here!”

“I didn’t understand a word you just said, Carlos, but I trust you. Let’s get a move on!” 

Right as the bull’s about to trample Carlos, he cartwheels off to the side and over to the terminal. 

“Hey, over here!” shouts Leroy, waving his hat. The bull turns and charges at him. Leroy kicks off the wall and jumps across the room. Carlos starts hacking.

“I’m the greatest programmer I’ve ever met,” says Arbuckle. “There’s no way you can hack into my system!”

“We’ll see about that, Arbuckle,” says Carlos, typing up a storm. “There, I’ve logged in.”

Arbuckle folds his arms and floats closer to Carlos. “Impressive. But you’ll never crack my encryption wall!”

Carlos’ fingers are a blur, the keyboard clatters like plastic rain. He hits enter and torrents of green text pour down the screen. “Looks like I just did.”

Arbuckle breaks a sweat. “Impossible!”

The bull charges and Leroy kicks it in the side of the face. It swerves and shakes itself off. 

“Yeehaw!”

“Uh-oh,” says Carlos. “I’ve never seen this kind of data before!”

Arbuckle breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s because you’re just a stupid kid in way over your head. Looks like you’re not ready to play ball with the big boys.”

“Don’t be so sure about that, Arbuckle!” shouts Leroy, knocking the bull up into the air with a swift uppercut. “That kid’s got more spirit in his pinky than you’ve got in your whole soul!”
“Spirit doesn’t mean a thing in cyberspace!” says Arbuckle. The bull gets up with great effort. “It seems T.A.U.R.O.S. could use a little help. Computer! Rejuvenate life points! Increase strength values! Maximize speed!” The bull glows and grows even larger. Its shadow stretches across the grid and covers Leroy.

“Come on, Carlos, hurry it up now,” says Leroy, backing away. The bull teleports across the room and knocks Leroy into the air. 

Carlos types faster. “I’m almost there. I just have three more firewalls to break through.”

“Each one harder than the last,” says Arbuckle, stroking his hairy chin. “By the time you even crack the first, both of you will be hanging from T.A.U.R.O.S.’ horns!”

The bull raises a hoof and swats Leroy into the wall. Leroy slides down like egg on a windshield. 

“You’re right,” says Carlos. “As things stand, hacking these firewalls will take too long. Unless I give Leroy a boost!” 

A suit of robotic armor materializes around Leroy, his right arm morphing into a blaster. 

“Now go get him, Leroy!” 

Leroy stands up on shaky legs, charges his blaster, and shouts with all his might as he shoots out a massive energy beam, pinning the bull to the wall and rippling the grid.

“No!” shouts Arbuckle. “That’s not allowed! Computer! Generate three more T.A.U.R.O.S.” Three cubes materialize and unfold into identical bulls. They each charge at Leroy, but he blasts them all away with ease.

“I’ve broken through the first firewall!” says Carlos.

“Not bad,” says Arbuckle. “But the next two are impossible to crack.”

Carlos types for a second. “He’s right, Leroy. This next one alone is far beyond my capabilities.”

Leroy fires a shot at Arbuckle, but it passes straight through him.

“Tsk, tsk, Leroy. That’s no way to treat your host. Now, time to end this. Computer! Generate ninety-nine cyberdactyls!” 

A flock of triangles expand and unfold into a seething mass. The cyberdactyls swoop and screech with all the speed and terror of their prehistoric counterparts. Then they start skipping frames and lagging. The grid blinks on and off. 

“No!” cries Arbuckle. “Undo! Undo! Undo! Cancel! Reset!” The grid blinks off. Arbuckle and the cyberdactyls and Leroy’s power suit vanish. The exit unlocks.

“Let’s go!” shouts Carlos, jumping up with his fist raised. He runs through the door with his arms stretched behind and Leroy saunters after him, in awe of the beauty and power and savage indifference of technology.