Excerpts From Nonexistent Books

Hickenlooper stood by the chain-link fence, a gloved hand hooked around the wire. “I love watching airplanes, you know? Never had the eyesight to be a pilot, but I sure do love watching them fly.”

“Yeah,” Ruby said. “I know.”

“I had the urge to come out here just now to watch planes take off,” the officer continued. “It’s the strangest thing.”

“Is it though?” Ruby said, thinking back to the old landing strip and terminal before they’d faded away.

“It’s almost like there used to be one here, one I used to visit all the time, and it’s calling me back,” said Hickenlooper. “That’s dumb, of course. Airports don’t just disappear. There’d be some trace, you know?”

Ruby didn’t say anything, just watched the policeman as he lingered sadly at the fence.

“I guess what I’m saying is, this would be a really good place for an airport,” Hickenlooper said at length. “That’s all.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Ruby said. She began to move out of the pool of light formed by the squad car headlamps. “Have a good evening, Officer Hickenlooper.”

“Ruby.” Hickenlooper had turned away from the fence and was looking directly at her. “The mayor has a standing order for your arrest. You and your little friends.”

“Are you going to arrest me, Officer Hickenlooper?” Ruby said. “You really think what they say is true? You taught me in D.A.R.E. class in fourth grade, the one where the fire broke out. You know.”

There might have been an ember of recognition in Hickenlooper’s eyes, the memory of a smile. Then his face was chipped granite, and he was looking into the distance again. “I go on duty in fifteen minutes,” he said. “That’s all the warning you’re going to get.”

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The airstrip had been built in the 70s, when towns all over the state had been gambling that civil aviation was the future of transportation and flying cars were just around the corner. There was even a miniature terminal building and tower, shockingly large and well-built for such a tiny town. It had been such a tax burden that the city had sold it to a local company, TubeTron, for $1 in the 80s. It mostly handled cargo planes sending out weird-shaped custom pipe fittings, but a fair number of amateur pilots used it all the same, since TubeTron kept it open for general aviation as long as folks paid gate and fuel fees.

And given the sort of folks that flew, those fees were chump change.

“You see that out there?” Hickenlooper said to his partner, Faltermeyer. “That there’s an original Doctor Destroyer, Model 35 Beechcraft Bonanza. Cheap as a junior prom date, and just as likely to mess you up if you don’t handle her right.”

“It’s literally just an airplane, like any other,” Faltermeyer whined.

“Forked-tail is distinctive,” Hickenlooper said. “And you’ll note that this pull-off is directly next to Old Highway 313, right near where people like to speed. This is an official Deerton Police Department speed trap.”

“Then how come I’m watching cars and you’re watching planes?” Faltermeyer cried.

“Because you like cars. You’re a car man. ’57 Chevy in the garage and all that. Trust me, the moment one of these planes breaks the speed limit, I will be right there to let them know.”

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Like every member of the Deerton City Council, Linda Soderquist had a day job. When she wasn’t in the mayor’s office, she was running her business: the gas station with an integrated Subway restaurant out by New 313. Visible from the highway, it was a mecca to travelers headed north who needed an acceptably clean restroom and a sub that bore a passing resemblance to what was on the menu, since both were being maintained by cheap high school students earning $4 an hour since they could theoretically be tipped. The station was Linda’s pride and joy, and overseeing it was the closest thing in Deerton to printing money.

Overseeing it from a distance and by phone, that is. That place reeked.

Linda was checking the official city email account when an unfamiliar woman wearing a low-key business casual skirt and heels entered, carrying a manila folder. “Your notes for this evening’s meeting, Mayor Soderquist.”

“Oh. Thank you, Jane,” Linda said taking the folder absently. Then she looked up at the messenger. Jane was a blonde, or at least dyed an approximation of the shade into her beaten locks. This woman was a brunette. “Where’s Jane?”

“Oh, Jane had a family emergency, didn’t you see the email?” the woman said. “I’m her temporary replacement, from the agency.”

“Oh yes, of course,” Linda said, embarrassed to have been caught out for only skimming official mail. “The agency, yes. I suppose I’d better get city payroll on the phone, Mrs…?”

“Ms. Margrave,” the woman said with a light smile. “That won’t be necessary. The agency will take care of everything, and poor Jane needs the money more than I do.”

“Ah, wonderful,” Linda said. “What’s on tonight’s agenda?”

“Some modifications to the town charter to bring it into compliance with federal regulations, a vote on the library bond measure, and a discussion of the final preparations for Tuesday’s election.”

“Oh good,” Linda said, relieved. “You know, if it weren’t for Jane–she’s the only permanent employee here at city hall, you know!–I would be completely lost!”

“Don’t I know it,” Margrave said. “I can only succeed, never replace.”

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You must be better, we said
Not just better, but best
The last one was so miserable
Anxiety, misery, even death
You must solve this all
You must fix it all, for us
You have no choice, we said

Then you looked up at us
And said “I’ll be worse”
Better in some ways, maybe
But so much less in others
Indifference to hostility
Science to stubbornness
Rhetoric to violence

We saw in your face the end
The final act dawning loudly
For a hopeless doomed world
Glowing embers visible even if
The fire was only five years lit
The last was a surprise
You were deliberate

We look now at the next
Afraid to ask the same of it
We do not ask it to be better
Best is not even considered
We silently beg, instead
For a simple boon
That you not be worse

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