The Colosusseum
Thinnius Mulligan pulled his car off to the shoulder. His passenger was dead asleep to his left, head slumped in the middle of his chest. The ‘69 Mustang rumbled on before coming to a spasmodic halt. The sleeper came to in a flash.
“Slow those pigs down! They’re speeding!”
“I had to pull over. Wake yourself up. There’s ice on the windshield.”
“Ice, you bastard. Where is ye ice pick? I’ll fix this.”
“There will be no ice-pickery on my glass! I don’t have one anyway. There is a scraper in the trunk.”
They were en route to New Haven, stopped at the one yard line on I-95, rushing to make the demolition of the colosseum. The old monolith was deemed impractical to keep around in light of the potential killing on hotels and condominiums to be made. Explosives were planted on each level, wired to the “IMPLODE” switch that was in the hands of an eager technician a few blocks away.
Thinnius honked and the passenger threw up his hands and fell out of sight. He honked once more, stuck his head out into the hail then honked again, yelling for speed.
“We’ve got to stop this demolition, this is no time to catch snowflakes!”
“For the love of God, cease your fire!”
“But you’re the finest man with a scraper I’ve seen east of any coast. Don’t tell me I’ve got you on a bad day.”
“You filthy blandisher! The demolition commences in two hours. We’re less than ten miles out. I consult the maps, you do the driving. Twist your ears and let some of that hot air out.”
“We need at least twenty minutes to steal the detonator. And another fifteen to park. The place will be swarming.”
“Is this worth your time, dear sir?”
“What? Have you lost your mind? Of course it’s worth my time!”
“Then answer me this,” he yelled through the wind, “how could you, gentleman and scholar, afford to jeopardize your moment of heroism by . . . relying on me?”
“Either I’ll run you over or you’ll liberate my windshield within thirty seconds.”
The engine roared on and the flash from the floodlights knocked the scraper from the blinded man’s hand.
“I’m driving to New Haven in twenty seconds. You’re on the clock.”
The engine revved up and down. The passenger jumped up next to the engine block and did his best to drown out the carving.
“You’re a menace! How could I trust myself in riding along with you? You’ve lost your sense and I’m to be thrown in prison for the rest of my life with you as my cellmate!”
The side door jerked open and the passenger slumped inside, throwing the icy plastic into the well.
“Furthermore, this is my car, and I intend to drive out of the city when we’re through. I’ll have you scratch the cold on Bethany Mountain and then show you what a defroster is.”
The car jerked forwards and fish tailed onto the deserted highway. The passenger barely caught himself from being flung against the window.
“Put your seatbelt on. You’re no use to either of us in a coma.”
“I should feed you to Cerberus before I go upstairs.”
“You’ll go up two then be escorted right back down, by two pissed off angels with swords and a lost property box.”
“On second thought, that dog wouldn’t even have you.”
“When I pull off right . . . “
The frozen cherry bobsledded towards the exit.
“. . . Now, it’s time for you to get serious. We’ll park on Fair, I’ll run it towards Crown and bum rush the techies. After I nab the button, I’ll meet you coming southbound on State and we’ll drive straight to the open 34.”
“What are we even going to do with the switch? They must have backups.”
“I’m not entirely sure what THEY’LL do. It’s more of a grand gesture than act of war on our end. The news’ll cover it live and the word will spread. From then on, I can’t call it. The reaction will either be so pure, a real heritage effort, you know, that these townsfolk will mobilize to stand strong against the city-death of becoming a hotspot, the sacrificial re-naming ceremony to “City, City,” or they’ll change the demolition time to three minutes later, and all goes on as planned.”
“WE should have planned. Revolution can’t be called in a matter of minutes. Ho hum, we’re martyrs for naught.”
“Sure we are. Give it some time and someone will coin our cause.”
“I suppose that’s when we become famous, huh?”
“My, my, you 9th inning coward. You should have shaved, given that fear of yours. The face you die in will be the one they make t-shirts of. And that 5′o Clock shadow looks like it’s trying to hide you, a thank-able favor.”
“A thank-able favor, a thank-able favor. You’re an orphan and your mother was a forward thinker of a fortune teller. Just which part of New Haven do you hope to see, realistically? The college students rallying against luxury apartments and those county high schoolers protesting the new night joints, all waving around their fresh fakes? The real downtowners, the ones who live there, all protesting the opportunity?”
“They’ll be forced pushed out! Where will they go, up? Out is who has the money already! I don’t promote underage drinking and as for the students, well, why don’t they continue spreading out into the homes that already exist?”
“The ethnic boroughs can’t be moved into, they already had to be given separate titles within the Haven. There are college kids who may stay in the Elm and I doubt you’re suggesting tenement style boarding for all. There’s GOT to be development, you sod. There are more people and we need more things.”
“Union is a block up. Fair is the next. Are you with?”
“Of course I’m down. I’m just trying to familiarize you with the moneyman’s view, since after all, he’ll be the Judge.
The Mustang started to crawl.
“Well, I see that we’ve got a full tank of gas and those bombs are set for t-minus-seventeen. Saddle up, Thinnius, and godspeed.”
The passenger slid over to the driver’s seat as Thinnius leapt from the still moving car down onto a sheet of black ice, slipping backwards and regaining his balance against the hood. He shimmied to the sidewalk, checked for traffic, and gave a salute to his accomplice before sprinting off towards Crown. There was a loud shot, low and long, then another, and another, and another, followed by a hurtling gust of ice and frozen air racing through the streets. The passenger stepped out of the Mustang and looked to the sky, as did Thinnius, who had ducked for cover only a few hundred feet away. A plume of dust and debris shot into the sky like a tornado and hung for an instant, then fell straight back down to out of view from in front the obstructing neighborhood. There was a great tumblage of sound, of crashing and roaring, and afterward, in the wake of such a calamitous event, what seemed to be the sound of nothing.
Traffic sounds resumed as normal, the wind purred again. The people in the streets unfroze and business carried on. The sky was still white and the hail continued to fall. It was as if the ten surrounding blocks all blinked together for nine seconds. Thinnius trudged back to the car, head down, fists crammed in his pockets. The passenger yelled out.
“If you move with haste, my good man Thinnius, we may be able to dine at the Yankee Doodle, before that too, is blown up.”
