Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse

“Sure.”

“Can I get you anything?” the stranger asked. “It’s a bit early for a good stiff drink, but we have tea and coffee. Some water?”

Mortimer sat forward. “Listen, no offense, but who the hell are you?”

“Oh, my, but of course, we haven’t been introduced.” The man offered his hand. “I’m Joey Armageddon.”

Mortimer gulped as he took the hand. “Ah. Then, yes, I guess I’d better have some coffee.”

XXXVI

A matronly woman in a blue pantsuit brought the coffee. It was excellent and strong.

“Thank you,” Mortimer said. “This is wonderful.”

“Don’t get used to it.” Joey Armageddon looked apologetic. “Coffee is almost nonexistent in the continental United States. Nothing’s come up from South America for years, not through Florida anyway. I’ve ordered all coffee stores to my personal stash.”

“I’ll buy some from you,” Mortimer said.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Right.

“I understand you have cigars,” Mortimer said, changing the subject.

“Hand-rolled by Cubans.”

“You have Cuban cigars?”

“No,” Joey Armageddon said. “I have Cubans. Refugees. They hand-roll the tobacco we get from Virginia. You can get a box from the tobacconist near St. Elmo Station.”

“Mr. Armageddon, am I under arrest?”

“That’s what everyone thinks, but not really, no. Mr. Tate-may I call you Mortimer?”

“Please.”

“Mortimer, I think we’re in a position to help one another.”

“I can’t think what I can possibly do for you.” Mortimer had not imagined the seemingly simple man before him. He’d pictured a warlord on a throne of skulls with slave girls in dog collars. Not a polite gentleman in a modest, tasteful office. Still, this was Joey Armageddon. What favor could Mortimer Tate do for a man like that?

“You’d be surprised,” said Armageddon. “What is it you think I do here, Mortimer? Just run a fancy saloon? Humor me.”

“More than one saloon,” Mortimer said. “And more than just a saloon. A store. An eatery.” He scratched his chin, thought about it. “But more than that too. A rallying point. A place everyone knows.”

“Good,” said Armageddon. “Very good. You’re a thinking man. I like that.”

“Thanks. I went to college.”

“Stay with me while I elaborate. I hope you’ll see that we’re doing some important work here.”

Mortimer sipped more coffee, nodded.

Armageddon put a serious look on his face. “We are doing nothing less than rebuilding civilization. I know that sounds high and mighty, but it really is just that simple. In the dark ages, the Catholic Church was the single institution to stand against illiteracy and barbarism. One institution, preserving language and knowledge. Well, this is America, Mortimer, and there are too many different churches with too many different truths. It would have to be a different institution this time. It would have to be us.”

Naked ladies and hooch. Sure. Mortimer said nothing.

Armageddon chuckled. “I can read your mind. I know how it sounds, and I know what you’re thinking. But have a look at the big map, and I think I can convince you.”

Armageddon stood, pulled down the blind covering the window behind him. It turned out to be a map of the southeastern United States, pink flags stuck in different cities across the surface.

“Each of these flags is a Joey Armageddon’s Sassy A-Go-Go. Nashville, Louisville, Oxford, Wilmington, twenty- one locations in all. Not all are doing well. I can’t deny it. The lack of leadership in some of the franchises has set us back. You probably remember what it was like in Cleveland.”

“You know I’ve been through Cleveland?”

Armageddon nodded. “Shelby made it out. We’ve been keeping track of your progress, Mortimer, and we know your situation. Part of the reason we think you can help us. But more about that later.”

He turned back to the map. “You saw the village when you came in.”

“The village?”

“The collection of merchants clustered around the St. Elmo Incline station at the bottom of the hill,”