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For more information about Boiling Point mail tmerritt@usa.net
Boiling Point is a novel about what might happen if the US dug itself a hole so deep, the natural divisions of culture and territoriality asserted themselves and the nation broke apart. Additionally it is the story of several friends and acquaintances in different parts of the US who get caught up in the events in different ways. Included here are excerpts which introduce you to the setting and main characters. If you are interested in reading the book please mail me. It has not been published outside the web so any publishers are welcome to correspond as well. Thank you for your interest and I hope you enjoy.
But Wait! Is this what you think will happen Mr. Merritt? [A Map of the emerging nations]
American Belief Radio- The commercial equivalent of NPR, broadcasting over the Internet
Mack Kolbraski- High minded Platonic young man from southern Illinois wishing to preserve freedom.
Richard Morgan- The evil (or more evil depending on your view) cousin of LBJ and Governor of Texas.
Faye & Jeff- Couple from Colorado, Jeff a photographer, Faye a Humane Society worker.
Hank Connelly- Leader of the opposition in Texas Legislature, under the thumb of Morgan.
Mark Kandel- Cynical 'Cultural Director' (read press agent) for the California Peace Party.
Texas buildings lash back at the heat by creating meat-locker temperatures. I hate that almost as much. The bookstore where I worked, chilled me into illness more than once. Maybe that's why everyone there suffered from allergies so badly. On a day, hot and icy like any other I took off the long sleeve shirt I customarily wore over a black T-shirt and headed out the back door. It's a nice bookstore; well-lit, cheap books which we don't pay anything for unless they're really good. It's slightly interesting work at best, boredom at worst.
Outside, the world waited, hot and oppressive. I almost went into climate
shock exiting from the refrigeration into the sauna. It took me 20 seconds
to start sweating. The heat of Austin, Texas settled on me like a drunk
at a bar stool. I got in my car and gingerly put my keys in the starter,
careful not to touch the searing hot steering column. The radio ignited
with a flip of my wrist and waited for the car to cool. I hadn't been listening
to much radio since the latest budget crisis started. I almost got as disgusted
at this fiasco as Helen did at any news. A talk show host's animate voice
barked out a monologue about the budget bill and the fate of the country,
once again, hanging in the balance. The yammering ground to a halt and
the American Belief Radio theme music carried in Greg Whitney, the deep-voiced
slow-speaking ABR voice of reason. His tone and pitch promised the truth.
"As Congress nears the deadline for the emergency economic plan, the President called for compromise. Republicans still call the social programs "Johnson-like" and claim they will weaken the nation. Congressional Democrats accuse the Republicans of trying to destroy developing communities within the nation while sending the country into further depression. Speaker of the House Carmen Hinojosa made a fiery speech today from the floor calling for a last ditch compromise."
'We cannot continue to exhume the past while ignoring the needs of our many communities. This is not a Republican, Democratic or Libertarian issue. We must come together for the good of the PEOPLE of America,' the speaker intoned.
"Meanwhile, the South Dakota National Guard still fights to keep order in Pierre, where Native American radicals demand governmental reform. The armed uprising resembles the third L. A. riot.
"And finally, the Texas Legislature removed its National Guard from federal control. Texas Governor Richard Morgan strongly denied that this was a secessionary move."
Morgan's etheral voice broke in, 'We feel to more flexibly respond to the rising tide of crime among the poor, that an independent unit which does not need to mess with the federal bureaucracy every time it is needed, will be much more effective.'
"Critics call the separation unconstitutional and fear that Texas will not use it to fight crime. I'm Greg Whitney for American Belief Radio."
"Thank you Greg, you're listening to ABR's America Considered. Let's hear now from ABR Washington commentator, Damian Mortley, with Eye on Washington."
I let the motor run, intent on the broadcast. Customers escaped the heat through the back door of the book store, visibly straightening as they felt the cool air embrace them. I cracked my window and lit a cigarette. One of my less favorite Netradio columnists began to exhort another of the multitude of perspectives on the governmental crisis. How could the budget be in such bad shape when there were so many people who knew exactly what needed to be done?
I looked up and noticed a man in a gaudy orange shirt that said 'Texas' and a baseball cap with a huge 'T' on it.
"Damian Mortley huh," the man said.
"Yeah," I said as unfriendly as I could manage after a hard day in retail.
"A bunch of fuckin' Liberal bullshit if you ask me. We need to throw everybody out, if you ask me."
"I didn't," I said, realizing I was way too tired to get in an argument. I decided to anyway.
"You vote last election?" I asked the man.
"Oh well, I usually vote but I was on vacation in New Orleans."
"Coulda voted early," I pointed out.
"Yeah but you know, spur of the moment shit like that throws off the best plans."
The man began to walk away.
"You have plenty of time to whine though don't you," I shouted after him starting my car. The man flashed me a dirty look as I moved out into Guadalupe Street rush hour traffic. I extinguished the radio and listened to the silence.
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THE ADDRESS
"It's 9:00 at KLBJ Austin," a local voice toned in over the news theme.
"This is American Belief Radio News, I'm Greg Whitney. The President has announced a nationwide media address for midnight tonight. We'll bring that to you live but first a summary of today's other top stories.
"The group Lakota Nation reinforced its midnight deadline for Native American autonomy in the Dakotas by surrounding all state buildings, including the capitols, with armed men. Police and National Guard troops stood watch to prevent disturbances but remained inactive. The South Dakota legislature, in need of federal funds, has not paid the police force in over a month. Guard troops will wait until the budget passes, before attempting to disperse the Lakota Nation militants.
"Texas Governor Richard Morgan threatened to do, quote, 'whatever is necessary' to protect Texas' interests if congress fails to pass a satisfactory economic package. Texas removed its National Guard troops from federal control today. Many fear Texas might secede before the Supreme Court rules on the removal. Officials on both sides of the issue call these fears alarmist.
"And now, we take you to the White House for the President's address:"
In his office next door to the capitol, Governor Richard Morgan sat silhouetted against a moonlighted sky. He fumbled with a pencil as he waited for the address to begin. He knew what was coming. The damned federalists wouldn't listen to him. They had finally pushed things too far. If the President's address went as expected there was only one God-given course Morgan could take to protect the family of honest people given into his care.
The pencil broke.
He swivelled out of silhouette and leaned in toward the speaker on his deskset. His gnarled features glowed blood red in the monitor's light. Deep crevices of black lined his face where years of maneuvering and deal-cutting had left their mark. His cold blue eyes burned with anticipation. His face grew angry at the idea of what the President would say but deep inside his glacial soul he wanted this excuse more than anything in the world. It wasn't for freedom, it wasn't for Texas, it was for Richard Morgan. He wanted the chance to realize what he knew he had been born to do. Take the reigns, any reigns, and lead a people to a higher, better state.
A gavel sounded, "Ladies and Gentlemen, the President of the United States of America." Staged applause erupted through the speakers.
A man with a slightly southern accent began to intone in the methodical Pattern that had swept him into office.
"Good evening fellow Americans. I called this address tonight with the hopes of bringing you the good news of an economic compromise that could work for all. Unfortunately, the political gridlock of partisanship has prevented that compromise from being reached and tomorrow the nation goes bankrupt. I have, regretfully and with trepidation, prepared an executive plan that I hoped I would not have to use. But I will... because this nation is too great and too proud to sink into the embarrassment of bankruptcy."
Morgan's eyes glowed and spun with raging delight. Across town and slightly uphill, Steve's heart sank at what he guessed would follow.
"Therefore, effective at noon tomorrow, I will sign executive orders declaring martial law in many parts of the nation where police forces go unfunded. All remaining money will be transferred, on emergency status, to the military, which will fill the positions left empty by Congress. Those left unemployed by the federal government will have assistance and several corporations have agreed to provide easy hiring to former federal employees. Eventually we hope to hire you back. The executive orders will limit the military to performing civilian roles under civilian law. Each order will be effective for only one month at a time, to allow us to re-evaluate what is needed each month. This will not be a dictatorship. These orders will remain well within constitutional limits. If Congress can pass a plan which will put the federal government back on its feet, then these orders will be countermanded immediately.
"I thank you for your patience and assistance and I know together... as Americans... the nation can pull through the tough times ahead. Let us not forget the words of our greatest president, Abraham Lincoln; 'United We Stand, Divided We Fall.' Thank you, God Bless You and God Bless America."
"This is American Belief Radio"
"The New Saturn Kennedys are Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere. And the financing
is better than ever before...."
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40 miles east of St. Louis in the small town of Greenville, Illinois, I sat at the poker table eyeing my two buddies, John and Gehrig. I knew they were steamed at this last hand and I was lapping it up.
"Sorry boys. Couldn't help it."
"Shit, Kolbraski. Let me see your sleeves," said John.
"Shut up John, I've got short sleeves," I said flapping them open.
"That supposed to convince me of anything?" said John. Gehrig went and sat in the corner to smoke. He knew I didn't approve of his habit so he always got as far away from me as possible.
"Hell of a thing that announcement," Gehrig said to nobody.
"Damn," said John getting up. "Why'd you have to bring that up Gehrig,"
"I don't know that its such a BAD thing necessarily. Maybe it's what we need to get back on our feet."
"Or destroy the country," I said, annoyed.
"What's left of it," added John.
"Why are you two always so down on the nation. We're still the third largest power in the world. We're second in food production. We even have one of the top 10 military forces."
I shared a glance with John.
"Listen to your numbers Gehrig. No firsts. And yet, the government just keeps on goin' as if nothin' is wrong. Shit man, I'm not a big UN fan but I'd almost rather see us hook into one of those economic stupidship things than live under federal martial law," I spat out.
"Yeah, well, what are you gonna do about it Kolbraski. Go to your Psych Association Meetings and whine about Cortex research?" needled Gehrig.
A sly smile crept across my face like a bug. John laughed. "Yeah, Gehrig that's exactly what he's going to do,"
"Shut up John," I said quickly. We didn't need to lead Gehrig that way. Not yet.
"I didn't say nothing," John mused as he took another Coke out of the refrigerator.
Gehrig stood up. "Well Kolby, you wanna ride in together tomorrow?"
"Yeah I'll meet you at McDonald's at 8."
"Sounds good. See Ya John."
"Bye Gehrig."
I waited for the door to close.
"Can't you keep your big mouth shut," I said turning on John. "He gets more suspicious all the time."
"Why don't you just invite him in?" asked John staring directly at me.
"Because. I don't want to take that responsibility. You joined all on your own, without me. You remember how much we talked about whether we should both be in this thing? I think it should be like that for everybody."
John shook his head, "We all heard from someone, Kolby. It might as well be from you. Besides with you and me its bit different."
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The night wore out giving way to sunrise. The summer sun rolled through one more day as Helen hunted jobs and Steve hunted reasons. The sun beat through the office window of Texas Governor Richard Morgan as he eyed the bill that could likely become a piece of history. His allies in Congress had drafted the Secession Resolution on his request. He held the fate of Texas and perhaps the US in his hands. He could still back out and he would, if he weren't sure that this was the only way to maximize the benefits.
He held it up to the light, a piece of history. His to make or not make, gleaming black on white, waiting for his gesture to send it into motion. A man making history with the sun beating on him, warming him, making him feel the rush of the moment flood through him and exhilarate him. In his mind, he imagined himself sharing a timeless experience with Caesar, Napoleon, even Hitler. He pressed the intercom button significantly.
The sun moved on, scorching New Mexico and Oklahoma, where the military patrolled small town streets and the court system welcomed its first MP's as bailiffs. It streaked up the mountains of Colorado, shining on a woman biking up a hill in Denver.
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characters]
Faye rolled up to my house and carried her bike up the porch. She had tied her blonde hair in a bun and wore granny glasses with a white T-shirt and jeans. She knocked over a stack of old Denver Posts as she went in the door.
"Helooo! I've come to rob the house. Give me all your money now."
I jumped out from my hiding place behind the door, blasting away with a potato gun.
"God, you idiot," Faye said laughing. "What's your problem."
I tried to jump past her to get another round off.
She pulled me down on the couch and we kissed.
"How's life on the farm?" I asked.
"We found two very nice kittens two very nice homes today, thank you."
"You're so dedicated."
"I know," she said, "What do you want to do about dinner."
"Well, I thought about ordering pizza."
"I wanted to go out to eat," she whined.
"I can't. I'm waiting for a phone call, you know, from Professor Croslin. It's about that photo grant."
I had put in an application for a grant to shoot indigenous people in the Black Hills of the Dakotas. There was a lot going on there with the Lakota Nation activists and I thought I had a pretty good chance at the grant. Geez, I mean, who could turn down politics, native Americans and natural beauty all wrapped up in one beautiful little funded package.
"Well fine, be that way," Faye smirked and picked up the phone. She teased me but she knew how much I wanted this grant. "Shall I cook or you?"
"You cook. I'll handle the ambiance."
I turned on the radio and looked for a disk to play. Although Faye wasn't into Slick as much as I was, we both liked The Couldabeens, a New Orleans band with a small following in Denver. I searched around but couldn't find their Disk, PunkRoseTart. The radio played a Nouveau Lounge group from Boston, covering 'Mas Que Nada' and it interfered with my concentration. Nouveau Lounge makes me want to start heaving bowling balls through plate glass windows. Suddenly, the music stopped and I snapped my head up.
"Ladies and Gentlemen your attention please. A red alert state of national emergency has been declared for the states of North and South Dakota, more information to follow.
(Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep)
This is not a test. This is not a test. Citizens in the States of North Dakota and South Dakota are advised to seek shelter and stay indoors. Assistance is on the way from the United States Army. Do not take part in the fighting. Defend yourself only in extreme necessity. Do not take up arms and enter the conflict. Repeat. Citizens of North Dakota and South Dakota are advised to seek shelter and stay indoors. Assistance is on the way from the United States Army. Do not take part in the fighting. Defend yourself only in extreme necessity. Do not take up arms and enter the conflict. (Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep)
The previous was not a test. This was a national emergency broadcast
system alert. If you did not hear all the instructions, you are advised
to call 411 or 911 immediately. Once again if you did not hear the emergency
broadcast system instructions call 411 or 911 immediately."
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I rolled down my windows as I approached Morgan's Mercedes. He looked out at me with his severe expression, which meant he'd been thinking about himself too much. Aside from being a member of the opposition party, Morgan scared me because of his penchant to babel about himself and Texas as if one and the same entity.
"Hello Hank," He said, his voice crackling like the West Texas ground he grew up on.
"Rich," I nodded. I rarely called him Governor, not only because I didn't want to feed his fire but also because we had been junior senators together and had formed a friendly opposition. Hell, Rich Morgan had ensnared, by personality alone, the entire, Texas Senate, House, and Janitorial staff from the moment he stepped through the capitol doors. He had that strange political talent of changing your mind as you spoke, without him even saying a word or making a gesture.
We let the silence fill up.
"What's the story Rich," I finally said, giving up the waiting game.
"Well.... See, the Theocrats in my party want a prayer bill," he said, fidgeting a bit. "Hell's bells, they're crazy Hank but its not much and I believe we can hold them right there if we give it to 'em."
"Not Public Prayer," I said drily.
"Uh, Yeah, that's the one. No big deal. Its not like its compulsory or nuttin.' People don't have to do it."
"But you know we're dead set against it. Can't have it, in fact," I answered as plainly as I could. I didn't like the direction of this meeting already. I still wasn't sure why I'd agreed to it. Damned odd.
"Right, well, uh.. Course my moderates don't want it either. We can stomp it altogether, I think, but we're gonna need help..."
"On S.R. 8713," I said.
"Right. 8713. That's the one... and I've, been think.., well, that don't have nuttin to do with this," he said quickly.
"What?"
"Nah, Nah, it wouldn't be right. Could be seen as unethical. Just occurred to me is all." He shook his head to brush away the words he'd just said. They fell right in my lap as I have no doubt he planned. Emphasis through de-emphasis. An old trick, one of many, that seemed to only work for Morgan.
"What?" I said, getting impatient and wary of the maneuvering going on.
"Well, hell Hank let's just forget what I said about 8713 for a minute and just suppose it passes somehow for any reason under the sun. The point is, we're gonna need diplomats, foreign ministers.., whole bevy of treaties to work out, startin' with Mexico since we already have some with them from before."
"And?" I said trying to hurry Morgan toward the point.
"Well and there, since you've had such good experience with the Mexicans..." I smirked at his outdated term for Latinos, "...in your district and have done a few of those trade jaunts here and yon, I just wondered, should the need arise, if I can count on you as uh. well.. our man in Mexico so to speak,.. if its needed of course," Morgan finished smiling.
"If its needed," I said with a hint of sarcasm. The cards were on the table. I should have driven away right then but I always hung around 'till closing time. I always finished my beer. And I always had a terrible hangover because of it.
"If needed. Whaddaya say?" a winning smile that almost seemed genuine glowed on Morgan's face.
"Sure Rich, why not," I said resignedly. It wasn't so much that I didn't see a way out. I had just resigned myself that Morgan would either get me or squash me and I was in no mood to be squashed.
"Well I'm glad to hear you say that, 'cause I just wanna believe that we all here can work together around our differences. I think you can be said to be a real team player Hank."
"Yeah Rich. So 8713?"
"Oh yeah right. So if we had a bit of support on 8713 that'd help us keep the theocrats quiet, since we'd have plenty else to keep us occupied," said Morgan.
"I'll see what I can do," I said.
"Thank Ya Hank. Sure would be swell, a team player like you an' all. Good example, I say. Bipartisanship. Why, we could take a picture for the papers, show there's no gridlock on Texas soil," a look of lofty ideals appeared on his ancient face.
"Sure, Rich. We could do that. Mexico, ya say. You can do that too, I suppose. OK then, 8713. I'll remember. I'll be there," I said flatly, already disappointed in myself.
"Thanks Hank... Oh and Hank... the wife don't know where I am right now. Let's keep it that way and pretend we just kept the windows up and passed each other in the night." He winked. It made me shiver.
"Sure Rich. Goodnight."
"Night Hank."
We rolled up our windows and proceeded back down the hill in opposite directions. He headed downtown to the Governor's mansion, despite his remark about the wife. The idea of Richard Morgan fooling around with some young thing was not only highly improbable but rather disconcerting. I went back to my hotel to phone my friend Professor Croslin in Colorado. We had met on a censorship task force under former Governor Alice Lindsay. We shared many views and my amateur interest in photography had given us a wealth of common ground. Over the years, we'd kept in touch and Croslin always made sure I had a rope to climb out of the pit of Texas politics. He told me once, he'd made it his solemn oath to keep me from getting lost in the fantasy world of Texas politics. He always made me feel better when my job got me down and this time the job really had me down.
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The phone rang.
"Lieutenant Kandel here," I said, despite the fact that I abhor all the pseudo-military garbage the cultural staff has to go through. Why I even have to HAVE a title I don't know, but at least make me, reporter or editor or something, not Lieutenant.
"Hey Lieu-ten-ant," sang Stephanie on the other end. OK Let's be honest, when she said it like that she could call me anything.
"Shall we celebrate the end of para-military operations and the beginning of political bureaucracy with a beer and pizza."
"All Right Steph. Wanna meet at your place."
"Actually, meet me at HQ. I want to show you the new command structure too."
I drove down to Hollywood & Cahuenga to meet Steph at the LA Peace Corps headquarters. We still housed ourselves in the same old brick office building we started with, on the northeast corner of the intersection. The LA Peace Corps had once been small but now that it had evolved into the California Peace Party and most recently the State of California, our little office was crammed BUT the higher ups thought it best to keep a continuous local profile than move into some shiny high rise complex. Besides, now we had City Hall and the Capitol for our own personal use.
The Cultural Affairs Department which handled press relations and local cultural preservation stuffed itself into one half of the 2nd floor. The smell was atrocious. Most of us worked from our desksets at home, to avoid some sort of critical mass explosion that would assuredly take place if we all showed up in the office at once.
Don't get me wrong, I don't hate my job. I feel good about the things I've done. I worked hard to keep the city from bulldozing South Central and annexing it for office buildings. I've also done a lot of cultural work setting up community groups in South Pasadena, which is heavily Latino. Sometimes I felt a little weird about being the only Anglo from my sector but nobody else seems to mind.
I avoided the old double door elevator. It scared me a little. It always looked on the verge of failure. NOT that I'm claustrophobic but I get impatient real fast. I'd go bonkers stuck in an elevator for more than 5 minutes.
I bounded up the stairs to the Department. I forged my way through the small decaying lunch bags, old umbrellas and power tools, into Steph's office. Steph sat facing away from the door working at her desk. She turned as soon as I burst in. She was gorgeous; long black hair and deep chestnut eyes, set narrowly on a wide face and she wore this bright pink lipstick. Like most CPP'ers she had joined to stop the violence and take control of a situation the government let get way out of hand. She joined after her parents were killed in a robbery.
I joined for different reasons. OK, let's be honest, I'm still not sure what all of them are. Its sort of a mixture of idealism, practicality and hope. Nothing really traumatic has ever happened to me directly but man, I've seen enough shit go down that I had to do something. Practically, it keeps me on the side of the fence where I think the winners will eventually be. That may sound crass but everyone's selfish to a certain extent, whether they'll admit it or not. The LA Peace Corps was an honest, no bullshit organization and, most importantly, actually achieved something. There, that's as close as I'll ever get.
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