Go-Go Girls of the Apocalypse

XXX

They found Bill and headed for St. Elmo Station and the Incline Railway. The trolley car’s tracks climbed the steep slope of Lookout Mountain, terminating at Point Park, the Civil War historical site at the top. From the side, the trolley looked peculiar, slanted at a severe angle, but since it traveled up such a steep slope, it meant the passengers could sit in level comfort. The trolley was packed, 80 percent of the passengers male. There was an electric vibe in the trolley car, a spark of eager expectation as they headed to Joey Armageddon’s at the summit.

In some places, the grade was more than 70 percent, and as a kid, Mortimer remembered hearing that the Incline held the world record for steepest railway. He also remembered spectacular views toward the top of the mountain, but night had fallen now and all he could see were flickering pinpricks of light along the mountain and in the valley, scattered campfires and lanterns. He leaned out one of the windows, looked up ahead toward the end of the line.

Shimmering colored light crowned the top of Lookout Mountain, orange and yellow and a crazy purple shot through with searchlight stabs into the heavens. As they inched closer, the music grew louder, some sort of symphonic cymbal-crashing music. If the combined effect had been designed to heighten anticipation, it was working beautifully. Mortimer couldn’t wait to get to the top.

Mortimer no longer felt he was on a quest. The desperate urgency had drained from him. He still wanted to see Anne, still felt some sort of closure would be beneficial, but he had no expectations. What will be, will be. The future was his to shape. Perhaps he would find a house nearby, set up shop. The thought of further travel wearied him. No, he would not think beyond tonight.

He was a Platinum member.

Let the good times roll.

The top of Lookout Mountain hummed and buzzed and bustled with activity. Large stereo speakers hanging in the trees boomed the classical music, which Mortimer now recognized as the theme from Star Wars. More armed but ever-friendly guards in clean black suits watched over the crowd. The passengers spilled out of the trolley car into the throng. The crowd headed for a set of gates that took them on a circular path to the front entrance. Mortimer, Bill and Sheila fell into the slowly moving mass of people. It reminded Mortimer of the few times he’d been to a Tennessee Titans game, the expectant crowds drifting en masse through the turnstiles into the stadium.

Above them, music filled the sky, spotlights danced among the trees; it was the circus and the Super Bowl and a Hollywood premiere all rolled into one. Mortimer was simultaneously awed and giddy.

After five minutes of edging forward in the line, Mortimer saw a small gate in a white wooden fence off to the side. A discreet sign in small lettering read VIP ENTRANCE. He reached in his pocket, came out with the pink Platinum membership card. He grabbed Sheila by the hand, met Bill’s eye. “Come on!” He fast-walked toward the gate, pulling Sheila behind him.

“We’ll lose our place in line,” Bill said, but he followed.

Mortimer went straight up to the iron gate and then backed away immediately when a hand stretched through the bars holding a snub-nosed nickel revolver. The man on the other side of the pistol wore the standard black suit and gleaming white shirt, but a well-crafted, pink pin shaped like a mushroom cloud on his lapel possibly denoted some kind of rank.

He cocked the revolver with a thumb. “Good evening, sir. I’m the V.I.P. host on duty, and my name is Lars. I’m sorry for any inconvenience, but this entrance is reserved for special guests of Joey Armageddon. We thank you for your cooperation in avoiding unnecessary bloodshed and ask you to please step back in line.”

“Uh…” Mortimer took a half step forward, holding the pink membership card in front of him. He readied himself to jump back if need be. He didn’t quite have faith in the card’s ability to stop bullets, no matter how well it was laminated.

Lars reached through the bars with his other hand and took the card, read it, smiled at Mortimer. “Very sorry for the misunderstanding, Mr. Tate.” Lars made the revolver disappear into a shoulder holster and swung the gate open. “If you and your party could step this way.”

They walked through the gate, and Lars closed it behind them.

The other side was gardenlike, well manicured, with tall hedges bordering a path that paralleled the slow-moving line on the other side. Discreet lanterns lit the flagstone path.

Mortimer gestured down the path. “That way?” He hoped. It would be a hell of a lot faster than waiting in the huge line on the other side of the hedge.

“You need not walk, sir. I can arrange transportation if you like.”

Mortimer exchanged bemused glances with Bill. “Uh…sure.”

Lars picked up an old-fashioned phone from a pedestal near the gate and dialed three digits. “Yes, I need a sky chariot for a Platinum member and his two guests. How long? Fine.” He hung up.

To Mortimer he said, “It will only be a few minutes. You’re not scared of heights, are you?”