Kaiju Agonistes

March, 1984

“We got you, you son of a bitch.”

Richard Nixon is seventy-one and feeling it. This morning his joints are unusually full of sand. New York weather is the price to be paid for leaving San Clemente, stepping out of exile and back into the world. He looks around at the tastefully appointed private waiting room, at the subdued lighting and rich wood panels. He sets a hand against the wood, as though stroking the carapace of that creature in the Pacific, which in a sense he is.

“We got you. You think you won. You think you tamed us, but the truth is we tamed you.”

His Secret Service man, his legacy security, stands blank-faced in the corner, pretending as always that the former president speaks a language he does not understand.

“You used to be a monster. Now you’re just a clerk, a giant bank clerk, planted there in the middle of nowhere. You bent to us, fucker. You hear me? We made you that. We made you that.”

“Mr. President! What an absolute honor. I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, I came as quickly as I could.” The branch manager is a perky middle-aged woman with soft dark skin and proud gray cornrows. All of Messenger’s people wear some form of the creature’s extruded resins as a badge of authenticity; hers are gleaming black bangles clattering on both arms. “I’m so pleased. I voted for you twice, you know.”

“That’s…that’s a brave admission, ma’am.”

“How can I help you?”

Nixon grits his teeth. He thinks of Kissinger. Henry bought in early, the shit. Of course he did. While the 37th president of the United States of America has coasted through his wilderness years on intermittent speaking fees and inadequate savings, Kissinger rode the goddamn space monster like everyone else. Early retirement. Bought himself a yacht. Nixon has seen it. He never knew they made yachts that big. Nixon sighs.

“Well, ma’am, I suppose I’d like to open an account.” He takes his hand off the wall, squares his shoulders, and grunts. “And I guess I’d like to…take a look at your damned investment schedules.”