plaintive “Meow” now and then—usually when a sharp pebble bit into his palm.
Honeyman entered the Brewery. Immediately, someone shouted, “Hey, wipe your feet!”
Honeyman did as ordered, looking around.
The Brewery was now completely renovated. All the black paint had been scraped from the windows, allowing the sunlight to flood the cavernous interior of the first floor. The kettles and vats all gleamed, there were chairs and couches, Ping-Pong and pool tables, pinball and video games scattered about, and a thick rug covered the floor. There was even a tiled, paint-splattered target area where people could practice firing their Survival guns.
A muted subterranean roar from the presses in the basement made Honeyman wince.
Honeyman collared a passing woman he didn’t recognize. “Where’s Earl? He called me over.”
“In Vat Number One.”
Honeyman found the structure labelled Vat Number One. There was a door in its curving metal side. Honeyman knocked; the door swung open.
“Rory, my moll,” said Erlkonig, “good to see you. C’mon in.”
Honeyman climbed three stairs into the vat. Erlkonig shut the door.
A padded couch ran along the interior wall of the vat, broken only by the door. The floor was carpeted. There was an audio-video center and a small refrigerator. A giant hookah gave off an aromatic pungency. Ventilation was accomplished through the pipe that had formerly fed in the liquid contents.
“The Beer Nuts have really come up in the world,” said Honeyman with what he hoped was palpable cynicism.
Erlkonig didn’t bite. “A pampered worker is a productive worker.”
Honeyman snorted. “You call what you do work?”
Erlkonig took umbrage. “Hey, man, you think running a worldwide fiscal empire is easy, why don’t you try it? This should be your job anyway. If you hadn’t jumped ship on us, I wouldn’t have had to pick up the reins.”
“That’s a mixed metaphor.” Then: “Worldwide?”
Erlkonig waved a hand negligently. “Forget I said that. And let’s stop bickering. I want to show you something.” Erlkonig dug in his pants pocket and came up with a spondulix. Honeyman took it. The ink was blotchy, the sandwich depicted on the front looked like a stack of pancakes, and Honeyman was portrayed on the reverse side with what seemed to be a wen on his nose and a downward cast to his eye.
Handing the note back, Honeyman said, “I’d fire the guy at the mint responsible for this.”
“We didn’t do it,” said Erlkonig with obvious relish. “It’s a counterfeit.”
Honeyman had thought he had heard everything, but this took him completely by surprise. He felt personally violated somehow. Bad enough to have the Beer Nuts churning out spondulix in his name, but at least, when all was said and done, they were still his friends. To have strangers making free with his image, as if he were something from the public domain! He felt sullied and sick. Now he knew what it must be like to be the Mona Lisa or the Statue of Liberty.
“We’ve got to stop this,” said Honeyman. “Do you have any idea who’s behind this? Have you managed to track them down?”
Erlkonig laughed. “Slow down, man. You’re looking at this all wrong. We don’t want to stop this, we want to encourage it. We’re not the government, and we don’t necessarily want a monopoly. The more spondulix in circulation, the better for all parties. There’s plenty of wealth in this country, once you free it up from government strictures. Let whoever it is duplicate spondulix. It all helps us undermine the dollar.”
Honeyman stood. “I can’t believe this. I am now supposed to be known throughout the world as some kind of misshapen hunchback, just so you can keep filling your coffers? This is almost the last straw, Earl. I’m warning you, I’m tempted to blow the whistle on this whole deal.”
Erlkonig seemed unconcerned. “How, man? We’ve got entire city and state governments in the bag.”
“What
Honeyman entered the Brewery. Immediately, someone shouted, “Hey, wipe your feet!”
Honeyman did as ordered, looking around.
The Brewery was now completely renovated. All the black paint had been scraped from the windows, allowing the sunlight to flood the cavernous interior of the first floor. The kettles and vats all gleamed, there were chairs and couches, Ping-Pong and pool tables, pinball and video games scattered about, and a thick rug covered the floor. There was even a tiled, paint-splattered target area where people could practice firing their Survival guns.
A muted subterranean roar from the presses in the basement made Honeyman wince.
Honeyman collared a passing woman he didn’t recognize. “Where’s Earl? He called me over.”
“In Vat Number One.”
Honeyman found the structure labelled Vat Number One. There was a door in its curving metal side. Honeyman knocked; the door swung open.
“Rory, my moll,” said Erlkonig, “good to see you. C’mon in.”
Honeyman climbed three stairs into the vat. Erlkonig shut the door.
A padded couch ran along the interior wall of the vat, broken only by the door. The floor was carpeted. There was an audio-video center and a small refrigerator. A giant hookah gave off an aromatic pungency. Ventilation was accomplished through the pipe that had formerly fed in the liquid contents.
“The Beer Nuts have really come up in the world,” said Honeyman with what he hoped was palpable cynicism.
Erlkonig didn’t bite. “A pampered worker is a productive worker.”
Honeyman snorted. “You call what you do work?”
Erlkonig took umbrage. “Hey, man, you think running a worldwide fiscal empire is easy, why don’t you try it? This should be your job anyway. If you hadn’t jumped ship on us, I wouldn’t have had to pick up the reins.”
“That’s a mixed metaphor.” Then: “Worldwide?”
Erlkonig waved a hand negligently. “Forget I said that. And let’s stop bickering. I want to show you something.” Erlkonig dug in his pants pocket and came up with a spondulix. Honeyman took it. The ink was blotchy, the sandwich depicted on the front looked like a stack of pancakes, and Honeyman was portrayed on the reverse side with what seemed to be a wen on his nose and a downward cast to his eye.
Handing the note back, Honeyman said, “I’d fire the guy at the mint responsible for this.”
“We didn’t do it,” said Erlkonig with obvious relish. “It’s a counterfeit.”
Honeyman had thought he had heard everything, but this took him completely by surprise. He felt personally violated somehow. Bad enough to have the Beer Nuts churning out spondulix in his name, but at least, when all was said and done, they were still his friends. To have strangers making free with his image, as if he were something from the public domain! He felt sullied and sick. Now he knew what it must be like to be the Mona Lisa or the Statue of Liberty.
“We’ve got to stop this,” said Honeyman. “Do you have any idea who’s behind this? Have you managed to track them down?”
Erlkonig laughed. “Slow down, man. You’re looking at this all wrong. We don’t want to stop this, we want to encourage it. We’re not the government, and we don’t necessarily want a monopoly. The more spondulix in circulation, the better for all parties. There’s plenty of wealth in this country, once you free it up from government strictures. Let whoever it is duplicate spondulix. It all helps us undermine the dollar.”
Honeyman stood. “I can’t believe this. I am now supposed to be known throughout the world as some kind of misshapen hunchback, just so you can keep filling your coffers? This is almost the last straw, Earl. I’m warning you, I’m tempted to blow the whistle on this whole deal.”
Erlkonig seemed unconcerned. “How, man? We’ve got entire city and state governments in the bag.”
“What
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