Chapter IV, pt. III

Justin sat on Adam’s mother’s couch, staring at the finite space between his feet.

“Yo, G,” he said to Adam, rushing by, “I can’t get my mind right, you know what I’m saying?”

“Who is that man?,” Adam’s mother said to Adam, referring to Justin.

Adam had come straight through his mother’s door with pensive Justin faithfully in tow and went straight to the bathroom and had come out and rushed straight into the kitchen, past Justin, locked in a cosmic struggle of mind and body, and past his mother who asked, “Adam, who is that man?”

He grabbed her telephone and dialed franticly, mumbling, “can’t talk now, Ma.”

The phone rang.

“This is Mike Marsh,” the phone said.

“Marsh, this is Adam.”

“Adam,” Marsh sounded surprised, “that's so weird, I was just thinking about you. So,you got my message.”

Obviously, he had. Adam’s mother was pacing around the house, tidying things up a bit, you know, for her unexpected guests, “I wish you would have told me you were coming,” she said, pulling her coffee maker out of the corner, “and bringing company. I would have cooked something.” She checked her cupboards, “let’s see…”

“Adam, look,” Marsh said, “I saw you at the ballgame with Falconer.”

“You saw us there?”

“It was everywhere. The sports highlights, CNN, youtube. The play by play guys were going on and on about it, non-stop.”

Adam’s mother wandered into the living room and asked Justin if she could get him something to drink, she was making coffee, she also had Coke, orange juice, tea or water.

“I’m not thirsty, Mam,” Justin said, “been getting crunk, all the time, off the elixir of life, know what I’m saying?”

“Oh,” Adam’s mom replied, “okay.”

“Now,” Marsh continued, “I’m going to need to ask you to do something for me, in good faith.”

“I’m listening,” Adam said.

“Adam,” his mother low-talked, so her strange guest in the living room wouldn’t hear, “Adam, who is that guy?”

Adam dismissed her with an attempted polite wave and turned his back.

“That guy, Falconer,” Marsh continued, “he’s a prick. I need you to stay away from him.”

“I know he’s a prick.”

“Then what are you doing going to ballgames with him? How did you even get mixed up with a guy like that?”

“He contacted me.”

“G,” Justin called from the living room, “Geeeee!”

Adam’s mother raced over to the living room, wondering what all the fuss was about, as her coffee maker gurgled to life.

“Don’t you find it odd,” Marsh said, “that a guy running for President of the United States of America, the future so-called leader of the free world wants to take precious hours and minutes out of his busy schedule to spend quality time with you, and be makes sure to be seen in public doing so?”

“Well,” Adam said, “now that you mention it, I did find the whole experience rather puzzling, yes.”

Justin sauntered into the kitchen, “G,” he said, “determinism ain’t the thing, yo. It can‘t be.”

Adam turned his back again.

“Listen,” Marsh said, “Falconer is just another New World Order asshole, and they know, like I know, that the world is waiting for you to make a statement.”

“What you think,” Justin said, “if God predetermines all our actions,” he trailed off for a minute, “yo, you listening, G?”

“That’s why,” Marsh went on, “they’re trying to get to you first.”

“Like,” Justin continued, “then we ain’t responsible for our own actions, know what I’m saying? Cause we ain’t even in control of our own motherfucking actions.”

“Come to think of it,” Adam was now talking with a finger in his free ear, “he did seem to be trying to recruit me. He said I had a future in politics.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Marsh said.

“So, how come we’re still answerable to God, right? I mean, if that Motherfucker with the white beard up in the clouds is pulling all the strings, how can he blame us for the shit we do, right?. Holla at me on that, G”

“Listen, I’m leaving Dallas right away to come see you. Stay where you are, I'll call you as soon as I get there.”

“Coffee’s ready.”

“Um, fine, good. Now may not be the best time to talk, anyway.”