Commandant has Kell wrapped in chains and a blindfold is on his forehead,
just above his eyes. They are on a scattershot schram on Eberhart's Grand
Canal. There are two speedboats trailing the schram and a fleet of patrol
cars following the schram's progress on the streets that abut the canal.
They are looking for the spots where Kell has dumped bodies. Suddenly
Commandant sees a news helicopter overhead and he bursts into action.
"You there, patrolman Jenkins!"
"I'm Halloran, sir," the policia responds.
Commandant turns to Brinks and says, "Boil this one in his own juices.
He's uppity."
The schram comes to a sudden stop and Commandant begins raving, demanding
explanations from the crocodiles that float past on the canal. Brinks
tries to calm him down by saying that the motor's broken. Commandant squares
up against the smoking engine and demands to know how this could happen.
"Maybe this guy's got psychic powers," Brinks tells him, referring to
Kell.
"Damn right!" Commandant agrees. "Kell, you worm. Did you have anything
to do with this?"
Kell turns as far as he can in his chains and says, "There's a spear sticking
out of it."
"We ran the Nubians off," Commandant says with rage. "No fucking spear-chuckers
here! What, you think one of those Olympic javelin throwers is in Eberhart?"
"No, the spear gun," Kell explains. "Somebody shot me with the spear gun."
Commandant considers this and then says, "Brinks, this looks like the
work of teenagers. Cancel the prom."
Commandant straightens up and wipes his uniform clean. "Whip out the
oars," he instructs Brinks. "We're gonna by god go down the Canal in the
Greek method."
"Don't trust me no Greeks," Brinks replies.
"Their seamanship was sound," Commandant replies. "For god's sakes, you
gonna run with the bulls or pull daisies?"
Kell pipes up with, "Say, Commandant, any chance you'd be willing to look
the other way in exchange for some Baroline?"
Commandant removes his baton and closes in on Kell. He taps his badge
with the baton and says, "What does that say?"
Kell's one remaining eye tears up and he blubbers, "Cash bribes only."
"That's right, hippie. Now keep your trap shut or we'll bring out the
mace hose."
"Mace hose is clogged," Brinks says.
"What have we got then?"
"Clam chowder hose."
"Oh, away to fuck. This is why we don't have nice things, Brinks! This
is why we don't have nice things!"
Brinks leans toward the rear of the ship and unzips his fly to urinate
over the edge, onto the penguin groups that trail in the schram's wake.
"Don't do that!" Commandant demands. "Penguins adapt to the
ammonia in urine and soon they've got a damn blood lust! How are we going
to fight them? Clam chowder hose?!"
"How about you get me some Baroline?" Kell shouts, suddenly panicked over
the situation. "My arms are gonna fall off!"
Commandant instructs Brinks to urinate on Kell. Kell snaps and begins
to lay out everything he knows. All the groups vying for power in Eberhart.
The lesbians, the feminists, the white supremacists, the black supremacists,
the Muslims, the Christians, the Republicans, the free trade liberals.
"Slow down, son," Commandant says. "You'd think you're on the gallows.
Can you start over from the dog dish?"
Commandant listens patiently as the sail is lifted into place and the smell
of fire floats down the Canal. He takes Kell at his word, a sign of anger.
Kell begins to describe his contact, Johnny Whites.
"Johnny Whites is a black man from Iceland. His origin can be traced back
to East Asia. He sometimes eats grass and drinks bat's blood. He is a
master of the projected fart. He goes by the name of Johnny Whites because
he always dresses in red.
"But Johnny Whites is irrelevant here. Sherwood Altamont Birchwood, the
Overdose Billionaire, is the central funding member of the group. He has
an extended network both in Eberhart and back in civilization. A representative
serves as an advisor in the group and he is able to manipulate the whole
thing behind the scenes. The riots, the floods, the famine, the murders
are all at the behest of Birchwood."
"Birchwood is a desert loon," Commandant retorts. "Made his money from
grease fires. Only became the Overdose Tycoon when he began selling dishwashing
powder as heroin."
"That's right," Kell agrees. "He sold dishwashing powder but he set it
up as a fashion statement. He marketed it to the right people and they
were all willing to overdose on his garbage just so they could be part
of the in crowd. But there's so much more to the man."
"More to the man? You think I've got him figured all wrong? Well I'll
tell ya, son, you look like a stone junkie to me, sure as shit, and hallelujah
for the deep pockets of Eberhart's treasury."
"This group is more powerful than you can imagine," Kell pleads.
"I know all about your group. We've had men on the inside for years. Oh
yes, we've been to the annual and monthly meetings. There are children
on leashes being whipped while they carry around horse devours, yep yep.
Men are made of paper, they burst into flames when the magnifying glass
focuses on them.
"Last annual meeting, they had naked women walking around offering blowjobs.
Pressure-activated C4 in their cooch and when the members got a bit too
into it, they would suddenly explode and take out whole pockets of people.
Why do you think your faction is called the Anglers?"
"A roundhouse saloon," Kell tries again. "There are meetings
there on an irregular basis, no pattern to the meetings. I'm informed of an
upcoming meeting by personal ads in the daily post. They are completely harmless
on the surface but resonate deeply as a coded message."
Brinks says, "We know all about that too, Kell. I keep one of these
personal ads in my pocket for encouragement. Listen to this." He unfolds
a scrap of paper and begins to read, "My last fuck was with a French teenager
named Pierre. He came inside me without warning and I could have STD or
being pregnant. I had to douche all his cum out of me, there was that
much of it, the froggy bastard!"
"That's right," Kell says. "There's your proof. I'm not a murderer, I'm
an agent!"
Commandant switches on his microphone and says for the cameras, "Kell,
I'm a patient, modest, handsome man. Go fuck yourself!"
A plane crashes into the Canal and bodies begin surfacing after the impact.
Kell quietly claims credit for all of them.