The Pseudo-Chronicles of Mark Huntley

Paradiso Lost - 11/04/04

Thursday, November 4, 2004

Got a few moments here to take a breather. It's going to take more than a few moments, though. Yeah. Yeah, I've got a lot to say. Step in the Wayback Machine with me, if you will. 

The rest of Election Day went by uneventfully, right up until around nine or so, when Peter and Tom and Dan delved into the pre-game stage of the game in earnest on the networks. Then I got the phone call, and everything went to hell. 

After finishing up some Thai food that we'd ordered in, we were lounging in the front room of the suite (the boys' room, as you recall), watching the ABC election coverage. (We'd been watching NBC, but had to switch the channel after Brokaw brought on that fuckshit Tim Russert for commentary.) I remember it was just when Naomi had made some snide remark to me about Naderites and Jim Jones that the little jingle of my cell phone started up. 

We all froze for a second, then looked at each other and smiled sheepishly. There was no need to freak out. We'd known that Rafael was going to call sooner or later with news about election-related mischief by the purples. The only question was just what it was going to be. 

"Hello?" I said, calmer than I'd hoped. There’s a good assassin.

"You need to get out of there," Rafael's voice said without preamble. 

"Sorry, what?" 

"Get out of the hotel, now," he growled. The usual music in his voice was gone. Just discord now. "I don't know how, but they know where you are. They're coming right now. The muchos, Mark!" 

My stomach dropped out. "What— shit!" 

I wasn't about to debate the man. No time for that, if he was right. 

I took the cell phone away from my ear for a second and gestured at Rence and Naomi. "Rafael says we've gotta go, right now!" 

Both of them stood up and headed for the door, then looked back at me inquiringly. They probably thought I'd meant it was time to carry out some plan to stop the purples from screwing up the election. Well, we'd get out of the suite faster if they were under that impression. No stopping to pick up complimentary toiletries from the bathroom. 

I brushed past them, grabbed my new jacket, tossed my friends theirs, and opened the door, and the three of us headed left down the hall to the elevators. Hotel Paradiso didn't skimp on luxury even in the halls. Our feet whispered as they flew over soft blue carpet (no point in lying about the color now), and expensive-looking prints lined the walls. Were we leaving this place for good already? I'd known it could only be a temporary solution to my homelessness, but—

"Mark, are you still there?!" Rafael barked. 

"Yeah, yeah," I said, pressing the phone tighter against my ear. I punched the down button on the elevator. 

"Are you leaving yet?" he said, sounding frantic. "Head for the stairs! Whatever you do, don't take the elevator. They're down there. I—" 

"All right, all right!" I jerked away from the elevator as if the button had electrified me on a delay. 

"Come on," I told my friends. “We’re taking the stairs." 

"Huh?" Rence said. "Why?" 

"Just come on!" I strode down the hall, knowing they'd follow. Sure enough, a second later I heard the scuffing behind me. 

"We've got people— pocos, I mean, in the hotel who saw them come in," Rafael pattered on in my ear. I yanked the door to the stairwell open and headed down two steps at a time, Rence and Naomi close behind. "Based on their physical description, of course, not from auras, since the pocos can't— you are going down the stairs, aren't you?"