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(No "action" in this one, FYI)
 
This is one of my favorite episodes, though.
 
 

North Hollywood is a great town. I've had a shitload of fun there ever since I could drive. And they've got a terrific indy bookstore I don't get to nearly often enough...
That's where the book signing was. My second book - well, under my real name - and it wasn't doing any better than the first one had. I was baffled, because naturally I thought my novels were "important".
Actually... it was my fifth book. And that morning, I signed off on the final galleys for number six. Ready to print. I used a different name for that one, just as I had three times before.

Anyway, I had a good time at the bookstore. Home turf. People were good to me, ready to be entertained, and I signed a bunch of extra copies for the bookstore to sell later. My wife looked good... It seems the more praise I'm getting, the more devious my expression gets, so that gets her going, which gets me going when I notice the look in her eyes. I had every reason to expect we were going to have ourselves an outrageous time after we finally got the kids to bed.
Some people hung back, and I decided they were shy. One dude in particular was always just outside the door, smoking. And watching. Mid-twenties, maybe. Chicano, thin, decked out in leather. The first time I got a decent look at his face, I thought about a friend from school, Xavier. His little brother? Naah, that couldn't be him...
Well, I was there to be gawked at, right? The mysterious dude was probably just another writer, understandably hating the fact that I was getting some attention and he wasn't. But I kept wondering if I knew him.

I tend to hang around too long at things like this. Talking too much. I think it's a nicotine deficiency, but my wife just rolls her eyes. I saw her gabbing on the cell phone, and then she ambled over and slid her arm around my waist. One of the boys was "full of snot", according to Grandma. He was prone to ear infections...
We looked at each other and sighed. His medicine was right there at home, and it worked like a charm - but even after my wife's mother gave it to him we could rely on a lot of whining. He wanted his mom. Our little drama queen...
We had to act like parents, so two or three hours of righteous fucking was probably out the window. I kissed her on the top of her head as she dug for her keys and then I walked her out to the SUV, checking to make sure there weren't any creeps hiding in the back seat.
As she rolled off, I stretched real big and yawned. Then I went back inside to say goodbye and get my helmet. The shy character was still there, about ten meters from the door, looking the other way. I pumped the store owner's hand yet again, thanked the staff and walked out, making sure my riding gloves were still inside the helmet -
"Conley."
I looked up. He stood right there. He had a little grin on his face. Acting calm, but I could see through that.
"Mysterious dude," I shot back. He stopped smiling. "Joke," I said quickly. "Just a joke."
"Ah." He took a quick drag, nodding. He wasn't Hispanic, but he had a hell of a tan. "I would, uh, really like to talk to you about something."

Even his voice was cool. Low and rough. Staying up late, overdoing things that weren't good for him...
What did he want from me?
"Talk," I finally said. "Do you mean, talk - or do you mean..." I let it trail off, and he looked mystified.
"I mean, uh, talking."
"Nothing else."
He finished his cigarette, and then he reacted. "Oh, I get it. You think I want to have sex with you."
It was my turn to stare. "Well..."
"No. Nothing like that," he said immediately.
I nodded once. "You could've let me down easy..."
After a pause, he grinned again. "Sarcasm. I get it."
Odd. I looked at the ground.
On the one hand, I supposedly had a sick kid at home. A hypocondriac in training... My wife thought she was more sympathetic. She'd be in full mommy-mode, hinting that I was in her way. I got that as much as any of the kids -
"Smoke?" he said, pulling out a pack.
Camels. Camel nonfilters. I stared just a little too long. Dammit...
He chuckled, and moved 'em a little closer.
"Shit. Yeah, thanks..." I patted my jacket, and found an old matchbook in a stash pocket. "Trying to quit," I mumbled, as I lit up.
Bliss. A groan of relief oozed out of me. I was already picturing my hands, peeling open the next pack I was going to buy in about fifteen minutes. The little thrill of rebellion, and the dark look on my wife's face -
"I'm not dangerous," he said quietly.
I stared at him. "No one's ever said that to me before. 'I'm not dangerous.' So I guess a dangerous p-"
"Do you drink?"
"Do I drink," I chuckled, like he'd asked something dumb. What the hell. I felt like celebrating. "You buying?"
"You bet."
Definitely something weird about him. Intriguing, though. "Tell you what," I said. "On this road, not even a mile that way, there's a little shithole. Rotten Val's. Maybe the last cigarette machine in L.A., hidden there in the back."
"Rotten Val's," he said back to me. "Got it."
I backed up a little, and waited for him to walk off. He headed for the only other bike in the lot. Same model as mine. Nice paint job. Dark purple. Mine's dark blue...
That purple had been my second choice, though.

It wouldn't have been cool for me to wait for him, so I tore out of the parking lot. It was hard to miss Val's. Big red sign. He didn't know about the dirt driveway, but I did. I timed it right. He overshot the turn, as I intended, so he had to go down to Tujunga to get around the center median. One of those traffic signals that makes you sit there for five minutes...
I dropped the kickstand and dug for my phone. She was still on the 5. Might be a little late, I told her. She snickered. Ran into somebody. Then she nailed me for smoking. It's creepy how she does that. To distract her I said I'd be at Val's - confessing before she interrogated me.
She asked if it was that cute guy hanging outside the bookstore. I stammered something, and she laughed again. When I asked her how she tagged him, she said he reminded her of me, ten years ago...
I stalked into the bar the way the locals do. Went over and pumped Melvin's hand - there never was an actual "Val" - and grinned at him through the smoke as he insulted my mother. Same as ever. I got a ten out, slammed it on the counter and demanded some quarters for the machine. But the health department was on to him. That was a little sad - but he reached under the bar and came up with a new pack of Camels, so my grief could wait.
When the mysterious dude arrived I was walking over to a booth, with a beer in each hand and a cigarette hanging out of my mouth. A smirk came over his face.
"So," I said, nudging his beer closer to him, "let's talk."

"This place is great," he said, getting his pack out. "They let you smoke in here."
"That'd be against the law," I chuckled. He didn't get it, so I continued, "You see any smoke in here? I sure don't."
"Ah..." And then he added his contribution to the haze. "I've got a lot to learn."
That struck me as an really odd thing to say - coming from a cool young turk - but I just nodded. He sipped his beer, and made just about the same noise as me, earlier, when I'd fired up my first Camel in, uh, almost three weeks. It was the best compliment I'd ever heard anyone give a Budweiser...
"Don't get out much?" I said quietly.
He gave me a weird look and a couple belly-laughs. "No. You could say that. I don't get out much." But his eyes were shining, as if he was real fuckin' happy about that.
"I know you from some place?" I asked. "Vernon?"
"Vernon... is a place? No. I, uh, grew up in Orange County."
That was a big fat lie, and I knew it before he was even done talking. Definitely. A weird feeling came over me, different than the last one. It wasn't fear, either. Something else -
"I need to know something," he said, "and I don't know the right way to ask it."
"Just come right out and ask."
"The best way, I mean." I took a drag and squinted at him. He thought some more, and nodded to himself. "It's about... a book."
Rabid fan, I decided. Painfully shy. "Uh-huh."
"A book by Collier Tikelski."
That was the last thing I wanted him to say. But it had been a possibility, the way he was reluctant to say it. After glancing to see if my path to the door was clear, I looked back at him. "Who?"
He stared me down. "The book is 'Seriously Funny'."
I did my best to look puzzled. He started to smirk. Intense fucker. Then something hit me -
"Wait. What's that title, again?"
He repeated it, and I sat back. That was the title the editor wanted to use... for the book I'd just finished. She was in New York. How the hell did this dude know about it?
He was watching me, and damn if he wasn't enjoying himself. "You wanted to call it 'Compulsory Glee'." He pulled something thin out of his pocket, and slid it across the table. A photograph...
Galley page. The first page of the final manuscript. "Collier's" signature, right there. Three lines were drawn through her stupid title, and my preference written above it in capital letters. I'd done that, what, ten hours ago?
In the photo, the paper looked old. Yellowed.

"Did you break into the FedEx truck?," I finally said.
"No."
Man, was I busted. He had a fuckin' photograph of the final galley. "How?"
"It's a long story," he chuckled, tugging calmly on his smoke.
I thought about getting up and walking out, to my bike. Go.
The photo -
And that was when I realized I wasn't leaving, because the mystery would kill me. Curiosity. And he knew it. What did he want?
Instead, the words that came out of my mouth were, "There's no way you could have seen it. I sent it off today."
He opened his mouth - and his smile faded. "No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did," I snapped. "This afternoon."
"Today... Conley," he said patiently. "You're going to send it tomorrow."
We stared at each other.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"
His mouth started to move, but he was having some trouble getting his thoughts together.
I glared at him and got another cigarette going.
"Will you... listen? Really listen?" he said - and the tone of his voice surprised me. All earnest, and hopeful. He looked like a little kid who just heard the ice-cream truck coming. It was so unexpected that I had to laugh. Nervous tension.
"If you'll answer some questions." He nodded fast, all happy again. "What's your name?"
"Tycker."
I said it to myself a couple times.
"My good friends call me 'Tyc'," he said shyly.
I knew a hint when I heard one. "Okay. Tyc, Look," and he looked happy and grateful, as if I'd complimented the way he rode his bike, "before you launch into your weird story, I'd rather hear it when I don't need to piss so bad."
"Okay."
"You wanna wait here 'til I get back, and then...?" and I made the universal barhound gesture which means we'd switch places. He nodded right away.
"It wouldn't hurt," I drawled, over my shoulder, "if there were a couple more beers here where I get back."
And there they were...

When he landed back on his side of the booth, a big sigh leaked out of him. Getting himself a new smoke, he scooted back until he was leaning against the wall, boots hanging off the seat. Just like I was. Bookends.
"Try to keep an open mind," he said.
"Sure," I nodded, trying not to giggle. Too fuckin' weird -
"This photograph," he said, pointing vaguely at it, "was taken right before I... came here."
"Is that so."
"Ask me when that was."
"Now, look -"
"Ask me, fucker."
I stared at him. He leered back. Oh ho. I raised my eyebrows, and looked at the ceiling. "When w-"
"March 3rd, 2046."
"Twenty... forty six," I said.
He nodded again, and took another drag.

I squinted at him. He didn't look crazy.
"C'mon."
He held up his hand, to get me to shut up - not an arrogant gesture, just way too calm about it. Anyway, it worked. "Wait. It gets better."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Way better."
"Well. Then, uh, fire away."
"You and I have... a lot in common."
I laughed at him. "Oh. What are you - my grandson?"
"No-ooo," he said suggestively.
"Well, I don't have a tw-"
No. He knew that already. I could see it in his face. I'm not a twin.
That only left one thing.
His eyes were shining, and he grinned like a little kid.
Crazy. I closed my eyes. It was a shame, really. The guy looked so together -
"Tyc... No."
"Yeah."

"No. Look, I'm not buying that... Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
He drank beer, and kept looking at me.
I laughed, then. Shook my head. "No." I lowered my voice and leaned toward him a little. "You are deluded. Mistaken. You hear me? That's not possible, they don't exist -"
"Is that so?" he chuckled.
"That's so," I added, firing up another smoke. "Not people. Animals aren't even stable yet. Something about junk DNA."
He leaned over, and kept his voice down. "2046."
"No way."
"I am."
"No way!"
"I'm a clone."
"Tyc -"
"Of you."
For a good ten seconds I had no idea what to say to him. "A clone."
"Yup. Your clone," Tyc nodded.

Okay, time for me to go. Wait'll my wife hears about this one...
I looked down at the photo.
That galley was in the belly of a plane in Memphis, or maybe it was headed into one of the New York airports already. New, white paper. I'd sealed the box myself and taken it right to the shipping place on Highland.
There was no way Tyc could've seen it.
And he was still leering at me. I knew that expression immediately - from the inside. It was the same crazy grin I had on my face when I seduced my wife, knowing before she confirmed it that I'd already won. So that's what I looked like...
I wasn't important enough for anybody to go to all this trouble, just to scam me. He didn't look insane. He smoked like a fiend, but so did I when I was in my twenties. Tyc sat there, comfortably, as if he came with the booth, leaning against the cracked red vinyl.
"Where's the camera?"
"Huh?"
"Some TV show. Right?"
He sighed. "You picked the bar, Conley."
I stared at him for a few seconds. "Yeah. Sorry."
My apology made him leer again. "I know - you want some proof?"
"Proof. Yeah. That would be nice..."
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, and started talking quietly.
I recognized it.
It was the first couple paragraphs of "Compulsory Glee".

Hearing that was one of the most chilling, profound moments of my life.
I was reminded immediately of the time when my wife made me take her on a cruise. The second or third night, real late, I was getting her revved up, licking my way into her - and she put her hand on my head to stop me. Something rustled, and she started to talk. My head snapped up, because I recognized a climax scene from 'Laugh Trap.' The tassle of a bookmark hung down - and I didn't have time to stare at the cover of my first Tikelski book, because my giggling, perverted wife got my hair and pushed my head back down where it belonged. She kept reading a scene she obviously liked a lot, and I skipped the buildup and went for gold. Her composure fell apart, but she made it through a couple more paragraphs before she threw the book at my legs. There was another half-page before the character was allowed to ejaculate, so it was a fine place to be marooned, with those images flashing through my head and my wife squealing louder and louder...
Tyc was reciting my latest book with his eyes closed. It was the biker version of what my wife had sounded like. Not only did he enjoy the words - Jester's view of the empty street, the ropes springing out of the doorway, pulling him into the old warehouse - it was uniquely personal and wondrous for him.
Well, not unique, technically. I sat there with my mouth hanging open.
Damn near word-for-word... and that scared me, because a perfect performance would've been more suspicious, somehow.
He finished, and opened his eyes. Carnivorous fucker, studying the effect of what he'd done. Tyc chuckled at me, full of triumph, and thought for a second. Then he started rattling off a different scene from the middle of the book. Jester's caught in the hanging stocks when dawn finally breaks, it's the start of another day for him, just like the months before it, and more and more feathers are starting to attack -
He stared at me, that time. Sentence by sentence -
"Alright," I said. "I get it."
"Now, let's talk about your body."
And he told me the name of a disease.

Home run.
I was the carrier of a bad gene. Some kind of palsy with a long name. I only found out in '96 when my cousin died from it, and we all had to get tested. Thankfully, carrying that gene meant I couldn't contract the actual disease. My sisters, another cousin and one of my kids were carriers. And so, I was told, was Tyc.
They'd told us the odds of anyone having this gene were one in three million.
Tyc was the first person I'd come across, outside the family, who'd even heard of it before.
That was unsettling, but it didn't constitute proof. The fucker kept talking, though. Where he had moles on him. His blood type... His eyes were sensitive to light, nothing he couldn't handle, but early sunlight was somehow the worst. And I didn't think there were three people on earth I'd ever told that to - about me. Midmorning sun, without dark shades, was like torture.
Other stuff, too - all impossible for me to verify, right then. He talked about creaks and clicking joints, but they didn't match all that closely. I think he could see he was losing me. Tyc snapped his fingers, and starting describing... a slight curvature.
I sagged back against the wall.
He started talking, hesitantly, about how he got himself off. Every heterosexual insecurity came up, and eventually I told him to shut up. But it was too late. He'd been reading my mail again. And I knew jack-off techniques weren't necessarily all that individual, but it was embarrassing to hear the way I operated from somebody else... or maybe it was too flattering. Weird as fuck.
The son of a bitch kept talking.
It didn't all match, but a whole lot of quirky little things were right on the money. Hell, he knew stuff I'd never even told my wife - the kind of trivial shit I figured would bore anybody. We all got our little flaws. And preferences. It was unsettling to hear mine out of somebody else's mouth. And, again, I found myself more convinced because he wasn't perfectly accurate.
Tyc told me what foods made him gassy. It's not the usual list. But I had to nod my head.
After about ten bizarre little "coincidences", I lost count.

"This isn't possible," I said hollowly.
He nodded a little, looking as if he understood my reaction. "Kick in the nuts, huh?"
"Why did you tell me all that?"
"Why not? It doesn't matter anymore."
"Look, I'm confused enough as it is -"
He held up a hand. "Are you gonna sit there and tell me you mailed off 'Compul' - uh, 'Seriously Funny' today? You're absolutely positive it won't get... you won't hand it to the shipping company tomorrow?"
I nodded.
"Then they fucked up," he said. And he laughed.
"What?"
"I, uh... There's no way I can do what I was sent here to do."
Another lie. I don't know why I thought that, but I did. "And what was that?"
"Well... Conley... We wanted to ask for some changes."
"Uh -"
"In the book."
"Because?"
"Jester's story is... real important."
"Oh," I said. Sure -
"Like a textbook."
There was a very long pause.
"You've got to be shitting me."
"Uh-uh."
"How could that possibly be..." But I stopped talking, because I had a horrible idea.
He studied my face. "More like a blueprint."
"Fuck."
"Your books - especially that one -"
"Now, you're not actually gonna tell me people... go through what Jester did?"
"I did," he said simply. "Thirteen months."
My eyes must've gotten huge. He added quickly, "I loved it. I'm gonna do it again, later this year."
"No," I whispered.
Tyc opened his mouth, closed it, looked all around, and pulled off his jacket. Tattoos covered his arms. Solid sleeves. He leaned over and pointed to a few, one by one.
I knew his tats. Well, some I recognized - and the theme of the others...
My eagle, my barbed-wire, the flames covering his left forearm. Same as me, in the same places.
His finger was making sure I noticed Jester's tats, slightly faded, in Tyc's brown-black skin.

And even then I wanted to write him off as a seriously twisted fan, a runaway from some maximum-security asylum.
He scanned the bar again, and pulled down on the collar of his black t-shirt.
That tattoo on his neck turned out to be a joker's head, with gloves about to grab it. Right about where I'd placed it on my fictional character. It was in the book I'd handed to the FedEx clerk that same afternoon.
"You look scared," he said, pulling his jacket back on.
"I'm... Uh... Fuck, I'm so sorry."
"What? No, no, no, no. Don't be. I chose to do 'Compulsory Glee'. I mean it."
"You... uh -"
"It was my senior exam."
I started rubbing my forehead.

Tyc got a wild, faraway look in his eyes. "Shit. You bet. And it was an honor, Conley. My nickname -"
"Shut up," I hissed. He reared back. "Don't talk for a minute. I gotta think. Okay? Just sit there."
He shrugged - no offense taken - and checked out the waitress. Debbie. Melvin's daughter, a lesbian but real friendly, cunning enough to work the crowd for the tips, damn nice to look at...
That was it. I was being played.
Tyc was good.
I may have been flattering myself, but if there was anyone in the world who couldn't lie to me...
Fuckin' impossible.
How did he get his hands on the new book?
That was when I got it. Clear as day. It wasn't what he had told me - freaky as all that was. The psycho was holding out on me. What he knew, and hadn't told me, was the real key. He had an agenda.
He was running me around in circles. There had to be a reason.
I had to get more information out of him.
"Shit," I groaned, lighting a cigarette. "I wish I'd never written it. Any of it."
But he was gone, lost in thought. A dream come true for him - that's what I thought, looking at his face, the way he looked around. "They said you might feel that way. It's too bad... I was so fuckin' happy, stuck there."
They, huh? "I'm pulling it," I said. "Fuck it. No book."
"Way too late," he grinned, getting another cigarette. "You don't get it."
"I've done a terrible thing -"
"Oh, the hell you have." He sized me up, sadly. "You don't trust me. You're wondering what I'm gonna do -"
"Well, shit -"
"It makes sense. I wouldn't trust me either," he said smoothly. "I'm blowing your mind with this shit. And people don't do risky things unless they wanna get something..."
He was getting way too close. "Let's get out of here," I said, to distract him. "I don't need Debbie overhearing. I'd never hear the end of it."
"Debbie?" he asked. "Oh. Her."
"Yeah."
He bobbled his head, as if he as weighing options. I did that same fuckin' head-bob. Who had been coaching this guy?
No one, I thought, cackling at myself. He comes by it naturally. Tyc is you.
Jester was actually Tyc. Did that mean I was Jester? He was standing in for me. In the book -
I started getting up. Time to move. Tyc followed me.
Melvin sold me a pint bottle, I and threw an extra five at him. We got on our bikes...

The ride took about ten minutes. I had about fifty things going through my mind. Emotions all over the map.
From what he said - and those tats - I had to consider the possibility that Tyc had actually been through... what Jester endured. He said he "loved" it. Couldn't wait to do it again. Thirteen months sounded about right. I should know.
I created it. Shipped it off to the publisher, just that afternoon.
Somebody liked it enough to make it come true. And brainwash Jester - no, dammit, brainwash Tyc into enjoying it...
I was responsible -
Something hit my left boot.
Tyc was putting alongside me. I looked at him, and he deliberately kicked me again. And the look on his face was pure mischief.
Tip-to-toe, it was like riding... next to a mirror. Or an old photo of myself.
I didn't waste time with the fact that he was the idealized version, better in most ways than I ever could be. I kicked him back.
He nodded, and I had to laugh. It felt good.
Then I left him in the dust.

The whiskey just hit the spot.
Slouching on my bike, I watched the street. Tyc had passed by, once, and I was pretty sure he saw me.
It was a place to hang out. We wouldn't attract attention, there was no foot-traffic that late - and plenty of cars going by. Including fuzz. But I'd sat right there before. With my front tire almost on the sidewalk, the streetlight made it easy for the cops to scan me, and I'd only gotten hassled by a rookie once. He made me pour my beer out, and got back in his car...
And the Southland Burger Planet parking lot was a safe place, for me. That was where a cop saved me from turning into my dad - outlaw scooter trash. Meth labs, armed robbery, twenty-to-life, the whole deal. Three in the morning on a weeknight, I sat there thinking about the meaning of life and all that shit, and the cop rolled in. Old bear of a guy. He had my number - and I was sitting there with a half-dozen joints and ten cross-tops in my pocket, waiting for the handcuffs to come out. But he was one shrewd son of a bitch. He took my bottle away - and had himself a good swig. Sergeant Bob. We chatted like old buddies for an hour, and he decided I was harmless enough. I left at dawn, fighting with the new idea that being a citizen might not totally suck after all, if there were guys like Bob out there. And a fuzz, yet. He was one of my groomsmen, which drove three-quarters of the wedding guests absolutely nuts and amused the hell of my wife and me.
Tyc pulled in...
"Asshole," he said, toeing his kickstand down. "Gimme that." So I did. He took a pull, made that long exaggerated "aaahhhhh" sound, and hooted softly. "Thought you were gonna get away, huh?"
I stared at him. "Careful, there. You might say too much."
"Paranoid." But he looked uneasy. Score one for me, I thought, smiling at him. Take that.
I took the bottle when he held it out, and wiped the mouth with my t-shirt.
"We're gonna get busted, drinkin' here. On the street."
"Oh, fuck 'em," I said cheerfully, still glad that I'd rattled him for a change. "I got better things to worry about."
"Heh." He got a smoke lit, and looked around as if he owned the town.
If Sergeant Bob hadn't retired yet, and he rolled up right then - would he think he was seeing double? Hey, badass, you never told me you had a brother...

"Let me tell you a story," Tyc said.
"Shoot."
And he took another drag, watching a Jeep full of high-school hotties go by.

The story was not what I expected. I'll give him that.
It started out predictably enough - things continue to get worse. Humanity speeds up the tape, as if it wanted nothing more than to get the annihilation over with... And then the Guards showed up. I heard the big 'G' in his voice.
They were invisible. And they made everything better. Obviously this kid's history books had been written by the winning side, but I saw no good reason to point that out. Nobody was sure what they were - aliens, ghosts, the collective subconscious. It didn't matter. There was no way to stop 'em. And they were real fuckin' curious about people.
They gathered up all the nukes and made 'em disappear. The nuclear waste stockpiles were next. Toxic landfills, bioweapons. Just gone.
Machine guns, artillery shells, cluster bombs. All of the armaments were taken away. The rest of the guns went next...
The Guards didn't want their new pets doing anything stupid like killing each other.

Peacefully, relentlessly, they took over the governments. They were friendly but firm, answering most questions freely, and it appeared they could do anything they damn well wanted. Scholars and scientists were handed the answers to every major problem, from the ecosystem damage and an asteroid-deflection plan to genetic disorders. The Guards worked with them eagerly. All they had to do was ask...
And their fascination with the human body was endless.

One of them met up with a young guy in Mexico.
That was the start. The only name Tyc had for him was "Primero". He'd talked to the guy many times. Leaning over, I was struck with how much he was enjoying himself, now that he'd come to this point in his ridiculous fuckin' story, as if he'd daydreamed about it a lot.
Primero ran off to Mexico City and raised hell for a few years with a motorcycle club. He managed to get out and go home when his favorite uncle died. He stuck around and kicked the drugs, grew soybeans and tumbled the local senoritas, playing the field. Some nights he'd get on his bike and roar down the highway until the urge to get stoned went away...
Anyway, this Guard and he were becoming friends - if such a thing was possible, I thought, but I kept listening. They traded stories, and laughed together. One night it brought him a present - slamming a bottle of tequila down on the table. He declined the offer. The Guard, teasing him, picked up his riding gloves and grabbed his arms. When it had pulled the gloves on him, it made his hands reach out and get the bottle...
It got him shitfaced and carried him to his bike, driving him about sixty miles down the Baja Peninsula. I didn't remember the name Tyc said - some point that stuck out into the Pacific, about halfway down. The Guards had taken over a square kilometer, moved everybody else out and paid them off with fine new houses and ridiculous amounts of gold. A fortress had been built there, near the waterline, walled off by enormous fences. Primero stared at all this as he was brought inside.
They were happy to see him, and they carried his ass right into a room that was a cross between a luxury hotel suite and a prison infirmary. Cuerto de Primero. He looked at the surf through windows that were taller than he was... as the Guards said reassuring things to him, and strapped him to a rack.
There were dozens of things they wanted to try.
Even from the beginning, Tyc was told, they hated pain. When he told them they were hurting him, that experiment immediately stopped. Naturally he started telling them everything was painful, and they laughed, telling him the parable of the boy who cried 'Lobo' too often. Primero wised up, and the tests continued... with the Guards just as quick to believe him, when he yelled, as they had been before.
After a few hours they decided to doublecheck the more interesting observations.
Tyc said the guy laughed as he told the story, remembering how frightened he was. And pain was not what he feared, right then. Hell, no. Within the first fifteen minutes, the Guards were rubbing cream into the outer side of his arms, talking among themselves - and he was petrified that the rubber gloves would slide under. Stroke his bicep... or his armpit. And he had never been restrained before that night. His tension was noticed, but eventually the Guards' hands stopped rubbing him, and gently squeezed his knuckles instead. And he was so fuckin' relieved.
Much later, they decided he had been tested enough - for that day. They gave him water and a cigarette. An invisible hand messed up his hair. What would you like to eat, Primero? Your favorite foods. Just tell us...
But none of them made a move to loosen the fuckin' straps. Just let us confirm a few things, one of the Guards told him. His "friend" took the cigarette away, and reminded its peers that he needed to sleep so he'd be ready for the next day's exams. They promised it would be only a few hours tomorrow, and they'd let him go home.
Primero forced himself not to groan when he saw two gloves sauntering down, coated with their slippery cream.
They squeezed his cock a few times, but that did not surprise him. Talking to each other, they asked him to move his fingers all around, while the gloves laid on his hands and felt the muscles move underneath.
He watched the greasy fingers let go, and hang there... but they didn't wander away. The Guard's hands floated down, increasing the rush of adrenaline with every passing second.
And now, Primero, move your toes around. The structure of your hands and feet is surprising, and so versatile...
His earlier fear was nothing by comparison. They were intending to wrap those fingers around his toes. And the very thought of them, even just holding on, made him insane. He saw his doom hang there, just about to touch his feet - and he shouted at them to go away, babbling frantically, thrashing as hard as he ever had. The straps held his ankles all too well.
His panic tipped them off, and the room became quiet. His friend the Guard was talking in his ear, trying to calm him.
The fingers reached down... and Primero said that was a moment that was burned in his memory. What was about to happen was so clear to him, and so impossible to stop -
They closed around his toes.
He stifled a laugh. But the thought had already been working on him, or so he told Tyc.
As soon as the gloves tightened their grip, Primero squealed at them. But they slid around the upper part of both his feet -
And he started to laugh.
The gloves flew off. When he quieted down, he noticed the silence in the room. Nothing moved. The jar of cream was hanging in the air, and even the lid had frozen in the middle of being screwed back on...
Primero's kidnapper spoke first. The one who'd been comforting him. His amigo.
"Do that again."

A male. A biker...
Screamingly ticklish.

The Guards found it addictive.

From his history lessons, Tyc knew that they put out a call for volunteers. Secretly, they went "hunting" for suitable victims. He laughed about it - those Guards, his tone seemed to say, what a bunch of rascals...
They had increased the number of tests - which confused the prospects enough to hide the real thing they were looking for - and invited only a small percentage to stay at their "research facility". Most all of them were men.
And in each case, the poor slobs who walked in or were carried in looked at the lonely ocean, as they heard the door lock behind them... and took a cue from the slowly growing illumination to scan the padded cell, the racks and stocks and swings and special chairs, the wire shelves full of supplies. They stared at magic gloves which were cruising up to greet them, a twisted welcoming party carrying gags and feather-dusters and always, without exception, the thick restraints.

Eventually they took over most of Baja California. Entire complexes sprang up with miles of fencing, some kind of force field reaching way off the coast, and trucks rolling in at all hours.

The rest of the world saw more amazing things - food and water provided everywhere at a minimal cost. A simple way to make cheap hydrogen, which made entire industries unnecessary. New medicines and behavior modification techniques all but did away with the hospitals, the nut wards, all the prisons...
Every week there was some new miracle. The Guards were kind, they were cooperative - the most benevolent dictators Earth had ever seen.
And people were glad to give them a few kilometers of coastline in Tasmania, Wales, Greece, the Ryukyu Islands, Patagonia, North Carolina and two other places which Tyc couldn't remember.

The Guards started collecting every word that had ever appeared in print about five loosely related topics.
He didn't remember that whole list either.

It was impossible, and ridiculous, but 'Compulsory Glee' brought some of their favorite ideas together - tightly interlocked - in a way that pleased them more than damn near any other book they'd found.

"Did you grow up in Baja?" I asked him quietly.
He just nodded.

Time travel was no big deal to him, because he'd seen it all his life...
Ever since high school, there have been invisible hands - if they're hands at all - "borrowing" my notebooks, and diskettes, and journals. Artwork from the internet that excited me. Notes and ideas I never published anywhere...
It was so easy for them to go back to when I was 14, and collect my sperm off the sheets. Drug me and take a few cells from the inside of my cheek. One needle, thinner than anything people could possibly manufacture, sucked a tiny bit of my stomach lining... into the future.
It was a tribute, Tyc kept saying.
Their way of thanking me.

Skip to 2022.
After ten years of experimentation, and varying degrees of success, eighteen boys came into the world. Different recessive traits were activated - blonde hair, loose-jointedness, little shit like that. Not only were they healthy little fuckers, but certain other improvements had been made. Their nervous systems were augmented.
Tyc was customized, I guess, for one thing. He had the usual range of abilities, but the Guards had whipped up a batch of people that were biologically engineered to excel at... well, what Jester went through.
One of them turned out to be so much like me that he was groomed and conditioned to become Jester. So far as he knew, Tyc was the first...

"Slaves," I said quietly.
He looked over at me. "No."
"But you can't see it. It's all you've ever known."
That hit a nerve. He kept his mouth shut and thought for a while... "Look around. Poison everywhere. The U.S. Constitution is all but dead, right? You can't afford to let your kids out of your sight... and millions die every fuckin' week because they aren't getting their basic needs met." He smirked, and dug out a new pack of cigarettes. "Even if it is slavery, Conley - which it isn't - I'll take what I got over what you got in a hot second. Did you really think this society was going to turn itself around? Like it was going to last forever? Suddenly gonna turn the corner, and everything gets all better? I know you're fuckin' smarter than that."
And I was glad he was like me in that way - more going on upstairs than he let on. "Freedom isn't -"
"Please. You don't have it either. Narrowly defined little areas... sure. Just like me."
It didn't add up, somehow. "Well, I'll give you this," I said. "You've seen both, uh, time periods. And I haven't."
"Thank you." He snapped. And he shot me one more dark look before he growled it off. Then he smirked, happy again.
"I just don't want to be responsible. For what they've done."
"What they've done is made me one... delighted son of a bitch," he said calmly. "Every fuckin' day of my life."
I started to say "brainwashed", and caught myself. "I can't handle this. I always wondered if my books would fall into the wrong hands."
He took a drag. "Oo-ooh. Wait. I see. I get it! You think you gave them the idea -"
"Well, maybe a method or something. One they liked."
He chuckled. "One?"
"I'm gonna be sick."
That made him sit back. "No, you're not. Think. Stop and think. They discovered tickling... before they found your books."

"Well. If it wasn't me -"
"It wasn't," he said, all excited. "Not just you. It was, like, a hundred people. Writers, and artists. Some of 'em had to be, uh, their favorites."
"Shit."
"I'm telling you, it's a whole different game."
"Oh, I got that... You must hate my guts."
He laughed, and grabbed my arm. "Totally wrong. Grandpa. You're a major dude."
"So they told you."
"Yeah. They taught us... Well, obviously they taught us what they wanted to teach us -"
"Bingo."
"What?"
I sighed. "I was agreeing... That last thing you said. 'Bingo' means the same thing as... bulls-eye?"
"Yeah. We've still got darts, in 2046."
"Terrific."
"Fuckhead." But he was chuckling. "Aw, you don't know how long I've been waiting for this. Meeting you. I've been preparing for about a year." Tyc exhaled, and the look on his face was pure innocence, no manipulation at all.
"Why?"
"You wrote 'Compulsory Glee'," he said. Simple as that... "I always dreamed of being Jester."
"Tyc, I just couldn't be more sorry -"
"Shut up," he laughed. "I'm not sorry. I don't -" And he snapped his fingers. "I think I got it."
"Got what?," I muttered, thoroughly depressed.
"You." And he chuckled again.

"Conley. Tell me - were you really raised in a family? Mom, and Dad, off to school every day?"
"Not every day... but yeah."
"I wasn't. That's why you don't understand. We were raised together. Collective family. Got it?"
"No. A whole bunch of... parents? Every woman is 'Mom'?"
"Yeah! Always somebody around. Anytime. But mostly, you know, it was the Guards."
I shivered.
"No, no, no... dammit. Listen up. The first memory I have is just lying there, in the middle of the night, and I'm hearing laughter. Recordings. Every night. Kids laughing, then teenagers... and finally, men. Big guys. It's in all of our music, too." He struggled to find the words he wanted. "It's normal. Get it? That's what we know."
"Go on."
"Every day, Conley. From the time we were hatched. The Guards. Always there." He shrugged. "And our parents. Tickling us. So happy... We'd wrestle around and tickle each other. And the Guards loved it. Making up all these games, so we could get each other good." He sighed again.
"Every day, huh?"
Tyc nodded. "Waking up, falling asleep. Middle of the afternoon. The older we got, the more the Guards... They'd start in, and wake me up, and after a while I'd see a coil of rope falling on my legs. Keep me there all morning. Then, all night... But it was the Guards, see? They love me. Never done a single thing to hurt me. Any of us."
I was pissed off.
And intrigued.

Imagine that. Tickled, every day. The thing that woke you up, and wore you out so you fell asleep. The reason they ambushed you more and more often, as you got older and your hormones kicked in. Easing into two days straight, and a week, maybe a month...
Jester.
And if that was all you knew, why wouldn't you look forward to those marathons? Affection - hell, all that attention - the proof that you were important enough to play with, day after day?

"I think I get it."
He looked at me. "Seriously? Naaaah. Picture it. A hundred gloves floating through the door at bedtime... and nobody's afraid of 'em. All of us squealing with excitement, trying to get away - you know, playing around. But I never got away. Not once. They always caught me. Pinned me down on the bed, just like everybody else -"
"Stop."
"No! It was wonderful. When I was twelve or thirteen they started hauling me down to one of the boats. And all these playrooms they've got, every theme you can think of, it's like Dizzyland -"
I started to correct him, but then I just shut up.
He dove back in. "I didn't even mind going to school. The rewards were incredible. And the punishments, well, they weren't too bad either. I couldn't wait to grow up."
"And become Jester."
"Yeah. Dammit. That's right. I wanted that. I worked hard, doing what I was told. And I got it. I'm not going to apologize for that, and you shouldn't either. Tight-ass. You can't even imagine how much fun I had."
I reached for a cigarette, but my pack was empty. Already?
He held his smokes out right away. "So don't you go feelin' sorry for me," he said menacingly. We both cracked up.
Picking my words carefully, I paused before I lit up. "Am I correct in thinking that you'd read the book before -"
"Read it?" he laughed. "Fuckin' memorized it, almost."
"Then it seems like the element of surprise would be gone."
"Huh?"
I closed my eyes. "Jester doesn't know why he's being dragged into the warehouse. He wakes up, day after day, and it seems like it's never going to end. After enough time he forgets he used to be a clean-cut, respectable guy, he stops thinking about his life before he was -"
"Oh, sure."
"So... If you knew how the story went, before you..." Fuck. I almost choked. "...lived it, you missed out on all that tension."
He shook his head. "No, I didn't."
"Why not?"
"The Guards. They made me forget it all, right before it started."
"Well, of course," I said sarcastically.
"You're not thinkin', Conley. No, wait, you can't imagine forgetting it all. You wrote it! What a guy... And here we are, hanging out. Incredible. I loved that book, and they raised me to live that book. So - the day comes, right? Finally. And I have one last smoke, throw it down. I'm looking down the street they built, just for this. At the warehouse! Ready to bust. So excited I thought I was gonna pass out, right there. And they laugh and say, 'Alright, fucker. You ready?' And I nodded. The next thing I know, I'm walking down the street, relaxed but I'm keeping an eye out for muggers. My name is Jessup. Night is falling, and I'm on my way to the bus station, walking up to a big ol' warehouse that looks solid enough but it's about as forgotten-looking as a building can look, and then I cross the street and I'm next to it, looking ahead..."
"I know the story."

He waggled his head, just a little, and snickered. "Of course you do."
"And you liked it."
"Oh fuck, yeah."
"You're gonna... do the whole thing again?"
"First chance I get."
I smoked and thought about it. "But how could you enjoy it? As it's happening?"
"C'mon, now. Author. Sure, the first part is more frustrating, but I get off on that tension. The pressure. When you just can't laugh hard enough. And it's obviously not gonna end soon..." He stopped talking for a second. "When the tickling keeps coming, I gotta relax. Just get into it." His voice changed. He's quieter. Remembering - or maybe dreaming about what Jester went through.
"You were forced to enjoy that."
"I get that. Really. No choice. But I wouldn't change a thing... even if I could." He cocked his head and looked at me. "You had to be enjoying yourself when you wrote these books. Right?"
If he only knew. I nodded my head.
"With all the little details in there... And dude, let me tell you, it makes for an incredible experience from the inside... I really can't understand why you'd be afraid of it."
"I'm not af- "
"Aaaaa-aaaaah." He found my denial pretty damn entertaining. When I looked back at him, he was leaning closer, hanging on my every word. Exaggerated smile.
I couldn't help but smirk, and nod.
"Yeah. Heh heh. Y'know, look, I got no business telling you about 'Compulsory Glee'... But I see another side of it that you can't. Unless you've been tickled like that, in the past -"
"Nope."
He got himself another cigarette, nodding thoughtfully.
"I mean -"
"Jester learned to like it," he said quietly.
"That's called fiction." But as soon as the words left my mouth, I started to laugh.

He laughed too. An easy laugh. I mean, it was gravelly - and listening to it, I had no trouble believing Tyc had roared until he was hoarse, too many times to count - but it was light-hearted, too. A dark, suspicious-looking thug, laughing like that.
We looked each other in the eye.
It occurred to me that we could be friends. He had some secrets, but Tyc was a straight-shooter at heart. Easy to like. And it was obvious he admired me...

"I can tell you, Conley, first-hand... it's frightening only until you figure out what's up. I mean, being dragged into that fuckin' warehouse, tied to the chair, helpless - you can only hope you're not gonna get hurt. And then, as you remember, about ten seconds later, heeeeere it comes. A feather. One little feather. Instead of being afraid of the unknown - of everything - you're suddenly afraid of that one thing. What it represents. It's a whole different fear. I got so relieved and amazed and angry, all at the same time -"
"You know, I didn't think of that," I said vacantly. "As soon as you know what's going to happen, it's not... so terrifying."
"Hell, no," he shot back. "And a few hours later, when I had better reason to be convinced... Well, I didn't feel that terror. Ever again."
"Thirteen months?"
"And too busy to worry about it. Had me a... a matter of greater urgency? Is that the phrase?"
"Close enough. Too fancy for a biker to say, though."
"Check."

I looked at my phone. 12:13.
As if I wasn't dead enough, there was a message. Text message, from the wife. I'd forgotten to take the damn phone out of silent mode, and she forgot to remind me. I braced myself when I scrolled down...
When the first words are "You fucker", it's not exactly reassuring. But she was messing with me. If I came home with something covered in chocolate I figured I'd still get laid in the morning. The kid was okay. Respond, no matter how late, so she'd know he hadn't offed me. Then take the time to sober up before I rode home.
"Good news?" Tyc said.
"Overall... yeah." I sent a reply - all OK, amazing night, love your tight forgiving ass...
And I could picture her, snoring, with the phone next to her head so she'd hear the beep when my message arrived.
"I should probably be getting back," Tyc said, all shy again.
We looked at each other, and I realized I didn't want him to go. So many things to ask. He was good company, even when he wasn't talkin' shit. I finally decided to tell him that, and I threw in that he'd better look me up next time he was in the decade. Then I had to explain the joke, but it was worth it.
We both sat there and smoked for a minute. I had a lot to think about, and he was sneaking looks at me...
The phone beeped again. She'd responded with a message, and not a call. Knowing her, that was a good sign. "Yeah, yeah. Sleepy mom, do not wake or U R dead. Love."

"What's the rush?" I teased him. "Just set the wayback machine back a little more."
The reference flew right over his head. "Uh, to tell you the truth -"
"Finally."
His eyes got narrow, and he showed me his teeth for a couple seconds. "I can't wait to get home. All this talkin' about it..."
"But didn't you fail? In your mission?"
He gave me the weirdest look yet. Trying not to laugh out loud. "Uh, yeah. No. I mean, I didn't fail."
"You're as bad at lying as I am."
"They got the day messed up," he said, laughing defensively. "Their fault. I've should've been here yesterday."
"Thursday," I said automatically. "It's Saturday now."
"But I did my job. So..." And he paused. When I didn't react, he made a little sound like he thought I was an idiot. "Celebration? Welcome-home party?"
"Poor guy."
He laughed like a maniac. "Yeah. Feel sorry for me. I'm gonna get jumped by a whole shitload of Guards, happy to see me... That's not the main reason, though. I didn't expect it would be this weird, being away -"
"What's her name?"
"No. Good try, though." Tyc looked out at the street, all thoughtful again. "I miss my kid."
"You have a kid?"
"Uh-huh. He's almost three. Cute little guy."
Ticklish little guy, I thought. "If you named him Jester, I'm going to kick your ass."
"No, no. I'm Jester. That's what they call me."
I considered two choices. "Collier?"
His head whipped around. Busted.
"Col, for short."
"Yeah." Damn, I liked surprising him. He looked exactly like a kid getting caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you pissed off?"
"No..."
"I owe you a lot, man."
"Saint Conley."
"C'mere. There's something I wanna give you."
"Don't go thinkin' I'm gonna let you stick your tongue in my mouth -"
"Oh, fuck you," he laughed. "Get over here."
I shrugged, and made a big production of getting off my bike...

The streetlight was behind me. I had a little better view of his face. He was looking all around, real sneaky fucker. Digging in a pocket. Held something out -
I took it. It was a quarter.
"I guess I expected drugs," I joked, staring at it.
"Hold on to it."
I shrugged. "Okay."
"This is one of the best nights of my life," he said, handing me another cigarette. "I didn't know if you'd be an asshole or not."
"Thanks."
"I mean, like a coward." He was scanning the street again. I actually wondered if he was going to kiss me. But he didn't bring his head any closer to mine, so I just smirked at him.
"Nope. Not especially." I kicked out smoke, and put my matches away.
He waited until I wasn't moving - and he clamped a hand over the scruff of my neck. I hadn't expected that, since he wasn't all that drunk... but it was a high compliment from a biker. "You are my hero," he said, looking me right in the eye.
"Fuc-"
And I fell.

Tyc grunted. I landed on him, and we rolled -
My palm dug into warm sand.
He screamed - and it made me jump. It turned out to be a happy whoop.
I rolled a little further, and recognized a sound. Waves.
The ocean. Moonlight -
"Yeah," he roared.
There was sand on my fingers. I stared at it... "My bike."
He laughed at me. "Don't worry about your fuckin' bike, Conley. Or mine. They're only gonna be left alone for about five seconds."
I watched him get up. That was when I noticed the massive building behind him. Huge windows.
Tyc looked at me and growled. It was an "I won" kind of a growl. He got a cigarette going, and handed it to me.
"Wha... What..."
"Two thousand forty-six." He kicked off his boots and hopped around, in a big hurry to get rid of his socks. "Whoooo-oooo. How the hell did you ever get used to wearing clothes all the time?"
I stared at him. He lit another smoke, tugged on it hard... and then he sighed. It was possibly the happiest sigh I'd ever heard. When he looked toward the building, a big-ass grin came over his face.
"They're coming. Yeah."
"Who... Who's coming?"
He chuckled.

"No."
"Cheer up, dude. We're here!"
"Take me home. Tyc -"
"I can't. It's pre-programmed... Oh." He grabbed my hand, and pulled me to my feet. His face came right up to mine. "Look at me. Right here. You are going to go home. I promise. I swear it. No time will pass, there, and I'll bring you back myself."
"How do you know what... they're gonna do?"
"You live here!" he laughed. "In 2046! I met you. Only once, 'cause they didn't want to screw up this plan. They'll introduce you. Don't ask me how it's fuckin' possible, I never really understood that time shit anyw-"
"And my family?"
"All of 'em! They're here. All okay."
His face was full of... joy. An open book. No concerns. If there had been cruelty in his eyes, I would've hated him. And I didn't see psychosis, either, so there was no reason to pity him. He was in his element. And he was jazzed. He'd done a wonderful thing - for the Guards - but the way he was looking at me, it was like he'd just bought me a new bike. He pulled it off, something incredibly great, and I just didn't realize it yet but I would and then we'd both have a hell of a good time...
"Home! Col-baby! the Guards - yeeeeeeaaaah!" he said, pulling his clothes off.
"Why me, Tyc?"
He wheeled around, taking another drag. One finger was pointing at me... "You. The Great Tikelski. I did it. And he's cool... Did you think I was kidding? They love you!"
"Swell. That's just... swell."
He punched me on the arm. "Are you gonna get it. Fuck. And they wanna hear from you, too. Interviews, lectures. We're gonna hang out a lot."
I saw movement behind him. Birds? Please, let it be birds...
"Am I gonna get it," I said hollowly.
Tyc crowed. "You and me both."

Oh, they're not birds. They're flying, all right. Head-level. But they're not birds. Shit!
"Hey!" he yelled, greeting them. "You sons of bitches! Look who I brought."
Hide me.
No bird is shaped like a hand. I knew better than that...
White gloves, zipping over to us. And Tyc was giggling. Waving! Some of the gloves waved back.
I looked at him, and he looked at me.
"We're gonna have fun," he promised.
The gloves came to a halt, surrounding us. Too close -
He stuck an elbow in my ribs. "Guess what you get to do."
"Have a heart attack," I said calmly, taking a hard drag. And I was relaxed. I really was. It was some whole new kind of fear. But not terror - he'd been right about that. I couldn't seem to get that panicky feeling. I knew what they were gonna do, and every fuckin' cell in my body was filled with dread.
"Naaaah."
I'm going to be tickled, I thought. No... I'm going to learn to love being tickled, so I don't go absolutely insane. But I wasn't stupid enough to say that out loud. Or maybe it was too obvious. Tyc knew it. And so did they.
"I give up," I said. "What?"
"You get to be Jester too."
I took one last tug on my smoke, because the hands were looking pretty restless... "I'm doing the book. Is that it?"
"Bingo," he said.
"Cute."
"Plus a lot of other stuff. The whole deal."
"Yeah, you say that like it's a good thing -"
Soft fingers started taking hold of my wrists.
"No," he shot back, "It's a phenomenal thing."
The gloves were every bit as gentle as I could've hoped for - but they didn't hesitate to force my hands behind my back. Metal was nearby, jingling -
"I'm not giving up my nickname, though," Tyc said, giggling like a little kid. "You're gonna have to share it with me."
"Well, that makes sense... Is there any way at all I can convince them to let me go back t-"
Cold, wide manacles snapped around my wrists.

18feb2003