Grey

critics. We don’t make our SymmetryMax products for critics! RiverGroup makes our stuff for love. And our love is stronger than ever!”

I wanted to scream at him, but told myself to be patient.

“Believe me,” he continued, “we’ve got some secret and stunning surprises later, so stick around for the whole incredible show.” On the huge screen behind him appeared a series of complicated neon pie charts that zoomed in and out, broke apart, and reassembled themselves like a mad geometric ballet. As he spoke, his girl, maybe thinking this was her moment, began licking her lips and caressing her chest. As people hooted and yelled, Father would smile and wink as if he thought it was for him. “Today,” he said, “RiverGroup SymmetryMax Super- Secret-Pass 45.882 is used by forty-two percent of the market. Our SecretSuite is the standard with fifty point three percent. And our new SecretDuper Embedded CodeBitch Asymmetry-Regulator is the measure for critical applications with a whopping twenty-two percent!”

The screen was filled with numbers and graphics all flying around like gnats. I took the vial from my jacket and gazed at the flesh inside. My poor Nora. I couldn’t believe what he had done to her.

“Yeah!” said Father, who had noticed Jenni now stroking her crotch. He started doing his pelvis thrusts at her. “It’s about love, Ultra children! It’s about love and love is all about forgiveness. We’re still strong. We’re still there for you! We love you!”

Clutching the vial, I shouted, “We hate you!” and felt like I’d been possessed, like the Ultra color of the suit was contaminating or infecting me. For a moment, I wondered if I should tear it off before I lost my mind.

Walter stared at me. Across the table, though, green-faced Jun pointed and said, “That’s right!” With what looked like venom in his eyes, he added, “Sweet hate!” It was odd that Father’s biggest client and one of his oldest friends had just agreed. Or maybe he was drunk on carrot and had no idea what he was saying.

Sirens began whirring. Blinking orange lights surrounded the stage. Hospitality girls ran toward Father and Jenni with helmets.

“You know what this means!” said Father, apparently done with his boring business charts and his ridiculous dance. “Time to rage!”

The announcer said, “Attention! Attention! Please don your safety helmets and make sure they are securely over your ears and eyes.” The voice sped up again. “By attending the RiverGroup product show, you wave all rights expressed or implied, includin—without limitation—the right to sue for optic nerve, ear drum, spinal cord, or any sensory damage, and you will not hold RiverGroup, its affiliates, or subsidiaries responsible. Safety helmets provided are not endorsed or guaranteed by RiverGroup, and should they fail, are not the liability of RiverGroup. In the event that a situation arises concerning injury, our hospitality girls will assist you, but they are not medically trained personnel and cannot and will not be held accountable for further injury or negligence.” The voice returned to its normal speed. “To introduce our first song, please welcome the gigantic and super-celebrated epic star of Blood Bile and Cum 2, Erik Heimlick!”

As Father and his girl took their seats, he turned away as if he were going to ignore me the rest of the show.

From stage right, Erik came rushing out covered in nothing but his own glistening sweat. “I will shatter your nuts!” he said, as that was the dreadful catchphrase that had made him famous. “Wow!” he continued, peering all around, “This is… I don’t know… I mean… there aren’t words to describe it… gosh… it’s just so beyond words!”

“I saw Tanoshi No Wah,” I told Father.

“Shut up! Shut up!” he roared, then glanced about as if afraid what everyone would think. In a shout-whisper he added, “Don’t mention that shit. It’s all fucking lies. All of it! God damned lies! Now shut your mouth, or I’ll beat you right here.”

“Go ahead!” I dared him. In that instant, I didn’t care. I wanted him to blow us up with a stupid punch.

“Don’t ruin this for me!” he said, through clenched teeth. “I’ve got this whole thing working lardly—don’t fuck it up! Shit-face bastard licker, can’t you just shut up?”

“Excuse me!” chimed a hospitality girl covered with melted lemon ice cream, “What volume would you like, sir?” She held out my helmet and smiled.

All around the others were putting on their safety helmets. The ones right in front were given clear plastic to cover themselves. I told her, “As low as possible.”

She flicked rocker switches on the back of the helmet, handed it to me, and then moved on to Walter. Meanwhile, Father had slipped on his helmet, turned away again, and folded his arms over his chest.

As I slipped on mine, I felt my hands vibrating. But I was ready. I was just action now—a tiger, ready to make my leap.

On stage, Erik was back on script. “I’ve got something I know you’re gonna love—Aluminum Anus. The Ultra band of all time!” The crowd roared. He made an angry face, and then, as if taunting the audience, and like he did in his horrible channel movies, shouted, “You stupid bum cums! You plastic cunts! You spoiled brain cakes! I don’t think you’re ready!” The crowd howled. “Are you? Are you really ready?” The seventy-three thousand shouted back yes. “No!” he waved a dismissive hand. “No, you’re not ready for Ultra!” They answered again, louder. “I mean real Ultra! Not that fake crap, but real, genuine, certified Ultra. Aluminum Anus Ultra!” Now they were in a frenzy. Erik’s carbonate plastic smile flashed brilliant white. “Okay then! Maybe you are ready! Maybe you’re ready for a new song from their unreleased epic, Pulverized Entrails.”

As if he had disappeared without a trace, Erik was gone. The spotlight that had illuminated him ebbed away until the PartyHaus was pitch-black. For several moments, everything was still. Then the crowd began shouting.

– Give it to us!

– Bloody our ears!

– Make me pee red!

– Hiro, you lousy bastard, flatten me!

Father stood, pumped a fist in the air and said, “I’m gonna try!” as if happy for any attention other than mine.

A naked man walked to the middle of the stage. Another, dressed in black, stepped beside him. The man in black was holding something, a stick maybe. In the darkness, I couldn’t tell.

The first man’s face slowly came into focus on the giant screen behind them, where before Father’s pie charts had flown like giant insects. He was handsome with a proud nose, dark green eyes, and full lips. What struck me was how vacant, neutral, and nothing was his expression. It was the gaze of those perverted sculptures in the dungeon.

The two men just stood there, so I leaned toward Father again, and said, “I know what you did.”

With his right hand, he tried to shush me away like a housefly.

On stage, the man in black spun around and wielded a ball-peen hammer at the head of the naked man. We saw the blow in close-up on the screen and with the impact of metal against skin, came the recognizable blast of the colossal Ultra drum. The beat was hard and powerful, like a solid smack in the face.

I held still for an instant, as if any additional force would set off the nitrocellulose. Then I moved into the chair for Elle, and scooted it behind Walter, hoping his body might shield me.

When another hammer blow hit the naked man, I could see how the force rocked his head and neck and sent him wobbling. A line of blood ran from the top of his scalp. Another blow brought another enormous thud of drum and a thick spill of blood flowed across his eyes, which made him blink, as it must have stung. Gradually the hammer’s rate increased and with each hit came the same solid thud. Blood streamed over his eyes, nose, and mouth. I felt terrible for him.

Finally, a blow cracked his skull open and when it did, the head exploded and sent out a detonation of sound so loud, it made the floor bend and twist. It swatted the drinks from the table and blew the shrimp loops into the air like confetti. Had I not been behind Walter, I’m sure I would have gone up in flames.

In an instant, the stage was filled with more than a dozen drummers attacking the black and chrome munitions drums that sat before each like rocket launchers. The sound was a continuous roar, like a hurricane, a train, and a never-ending series of exploding bombs. Father and the LETTT brothers grabbed our table to keep it from buzzing away. My chair began to rotate counterclockwise and Walter’s started going in the opposite direction.