Title: Remember the Alamo
Author: Sparcck
Recipient: vagabond_sal
Featured character: Mitchell Hundred
Summary: A landmark goes missing, protesters are a vague annoyance and the mayor bitches a lot.


*

"Hm."

Journal looks up at him, and he can see her breath. He breathes out, and he can feel the heat of it on his cold lips, but there's no fog.

"Hm," she echoes back at him, and she wraps her arms all the way around her middle.

"That's..."

"Art?"

There are four kids -- two with spiked hair and lots of metal in their faces, one on a skateboard and one girl in a red coat and red beret, pale legs and white knee socks with shiny black shoes. They're spinning the emptiness where the Alamo used to stand.

Mitch smiles and tips his head down to her again. "I guess."

"Especially if you like girls in knee socks."

Journal nudges him with an elbow and he snorts but nods. "Well," he says thoughtfully. "Yeah."

*

SOMETIMES I FORGET WHAT DAY IT IS. SOMETIMES I FORGET WHAT FUCKING YEAR IT IS. AND WHEN I WAKE UP, I IMAGINE YOU LOOKING AT ME AND I THINK....

TALKING TO MACHINES.

OH.

THERE, YEAH, JUST THERE DON'T STOP. DON'T--

*

Iced Cube
A Village Landmark Goes Missing
by Jennifer Snow


On Tuesday, the Astor Place Cube that sits and spins and shades skate punks, mysteriously disappeared. One day it was there, and the next, Tony Rosenthal's "The Alamo," made in 1966, was gone-- all 2,500 pounds of it.

>>Full Story

*

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From: Dave Wylie (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Mayor Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 13:35:19 -0500 (EST)
Subject: Remember the Alamo

I know you're "meditating" but I also know you can hear this, Journal is standing at the top of the stairs and before you bitch her out, I made her do it.

This cube thing is already getting on my last nerve, Mitch. There are a whole bunch of hippie protestors outside, don't ask me how they got here so fast -- don't they ever sleep? I'll have someone call Parks, although when I mentioned it, that one guy intern, you know, with the hair, looked at me like it was beneath him. So you can imagine how I'm feeling at the moment.

This is maybe the last thing we need right now, since we're looking at re-election.

Also, Journal won't shut up about it.

Are you done yet?

-D



:::BLUE TOOTH TAKE A FUCKING MEMO FOR MY GOOD FRIEND DEPUTY DAVE

From: M. Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Deputy Dave (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 013:37:19 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

Hello, Journal, no, don't try to stop it, my voice is overriding any physical commands.

No, I was not sleeping.

David. Try to understand. I'm all for public space, moving art is good for the community etc. Obviously the goddamn thing didn't get up and walk away, and since I didn't tell anyone to take it down, I'm assuming it's in good hands somewhere and will be summarily returned.

Am I a crazy person? Why am I even thinking about this?

Please, carry on with whatever you all were doing before you decided to bug me with stupid shit.

Journal, you should know that Dave thinks you should shut up about it. He told me so.

Kisses,
Mitch

*

"There's a second protest over on the west side."

"Another goddamn stadium protest?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Mayor?"

Mitch turns around, almost smacking right into Candy. "No," he says, and turns back, still walking.

"You haven't even heard what I was going to say!"

"I know I won't like it. How much longer can we go without a press conference on this, David?"

Dave shrugs. "You want my opinion."

"No, I want your reasoned, professional advice."

He points to Candy with his lighter, fishing for a pack of cigarettes with his other hand. "My advice is talk to your Chief of Staff."

"Mr. Mayor."

Mitch sighs and scratches at the circuits in his cheek. "How much longer can we go without a press conference on this?"

"No, it's not that. There's another thing."

He rolls his eyes. "Other?"

Candy smiles and snaps her gum. "Isn't it always, boss?"

Mitch snorts. "No smoking inside, Mr. Deputy Mayor."

Dave is holding a cigarette between his clenched teeth. "I'm actually waiting for you to say I can go."

"Go."

He waves over his shoulder. "I'll call you about the--"

"--Thing, gotcha. Meeting at 2, don't forget." He turns back to Candy and holds out his hand for a stick of gum.

"It's wintergreen," she warns and holds the pack out to him.

He picks at the foil and a piece slides out. He shrugs and unwraps it, pops it in his mouth. "One thing I've learned, Candy. The Stones had it almost right -- you pretty much never get what you want, but when it's close, I'll take it."

She smiles, infectuous, and he grins back. "So, the thing," she says, pushing her glasses onto the top of her head.

"The thing. Walk with me."

"Sure, boss."

Mitch slants her a glance. "Is this new?"

"I'm trying it out. What do you think?" She shuffles a stack of papers into his hands, relieves him of his can of coke and re-orders the post-its that get stuck to the bottom.

He squints on eye shut. "I don't know yet, actually."

"I'll keep on it."

"Good thinking. About the--"

"--Thing. It's the War Resistance League."

Mitchell rounds the corner into his office. "I thought that fell into a category."

"Usually, it would."

"Today's going to suck, isn't it."

Candy lowers herself into her chair in front of his desk and crosses her legs. "You know it, boss."

*

IT'S ALMOST LIKE, LIKE I DON'T REMEMBER HOW TO TALK TO PEOPLE.

TALK WITH PEOPLE. HUMANS. LIKE ME.

I NEED...NEED....

THIS IS CRAZY, CRAZY, FUCK, YES, CHRIST, YOU FEEL SO. FUCKING. GOOD.

*

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From: Dave Wylie (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Mayor Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 16:58:59 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

Mr. Deputy Mayor gave me his blackberry, so I could keep in touch. He said you would want to be kept up to date, no matter where you where and what you were doing. I think he might have been pulling my leg. But better safe than sorry.

I'm at Parks. No on here seems to know what happened to the Alamo, either. And much like you, they don't really care.

You know, it's funny, you'd think people in the public service would care about the public. I guess I should erase this. But I figure four years later, give or take, and I'm still working for you....

Well. I'm on my way back. Mr. Deputy Mayor has his pager with him.

He didn't tell me to tell you that.



:::PAGER, PAGER, AH, THERE YOU ARE YOU LITTLE FUCKER. GO AHEAD AND BEEP TO YOUR TINY BATTERY-OPERATED HEART'S CONTENT, OVERRIDE MANUAL INPUT.

*

"Yes?" Mitchell smiles into the phone, holding it between his ear and shoulder, puts his feet up on his desk.

"Ass."

"Oh, Mr. Deputy Mayor. How did I know it would be you?"

Mitch can actually hear Dave grit his teeth. "Mitchell. Would you please tell my pager to stop. I was in a meeting--"

"No, you weren't."

"I was."

"With who?"

"Cablevision."

"Why were you--"

"And the MTA."

"They deserve to--"

"And the Knicks."

Mitchell snorts. "I hate basketball. Fucking Spike Lee."

"You don't understand basketball. There's a difference."

"I can have you fired."

"You cannot. And for fuck's sake--"

"PAGER GOOD WORK TAKE A KNEE."

There's a moment of blissful silence and Dave sighs, long and lusty.

"Fan-fucking-tastic."

"Now get back in there and go get 'em, slugger."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather--"

"Please. I have this cube thing. And your protestors. And there was some Bush thing, again, down in Brooklyn. That was fun."

"You know, Mitch. You used to be one of those people."

Mitch rolls his eyes. "Did you seen those girls in the little thongs with the Cherry for Kerry slogans written on them? I was never one of those people."

"Modest."

"I'm hanging up."

"I'll tell the Transit Chief you said hello."

"Make sure you do that."

*

I NEED TO REMEMBER. HOW TO TALK WITH THEM.

I'M SO CLOSE.

TOUCH ME TOUCH ME PLEASE TALK TO ME.

*

:::BLUE TOOTH TRANSCRIBE

From: M. Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Deputy Dave (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 18:03:46 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

Journal, I need you back here. Now.

M

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From: Dave Wylie (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Mayor Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 18:05:22 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

Will do, Boss.

J

:::BLUE TOOTH BLAH BLAH BLAH

From: M. Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Deputy Dave (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 18:06:55 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

What have I told you and Candy about the ganging up.



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From: Dave Wylie (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Mayor Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 18:08:58 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

It makes you cranky?



:::BLUE TOOTH SAME OLD

From: M. Hundred (mitchell.hundred@gracie.nyc.gov)
To: Deputy Dave (dave.wiley@gracie.nyc.gov)
Date: Tue, 8 Mar 2005 18:10:49 -0500 (EST)
Subject: RE: Remember the Alamo

I knew there was a reason I kept you around.

*

HONESTLY YOU SHOULD HAVE MORE PRIDE IN YOURSELF BECAUSE YOU KNOW I DON'T.

YOU KNOW I--

I'M RIGHT THERE I'M RIGHT THERE FUCK LET ME TOUCH YOU WAIT WAIT--

*

Journal's knock is a lot like her, firm but not aggressive. "You wanted to see me. Um, again?"

"Yeah." Mitch smiles at her. "Found out what happened."

She smiles back. "You did?"

"Yup."

"Hm."

"Hm, indeed."

"All you had to do was ask."

"Yeah. It turns out there was an intern of mine, and she went to Parks, and they told her what happened, too."

"But she didn't tell you."

"Nope."

"Hm."

"That's what I thought."

Mitch pauses. "You want to get out of here."

Journal smiles and hunches her shoulders, and the fuzzy strings of her fuzzy wool hat brush her collarbones. "You know it."

*

"Mitch."

YEAH.

"You're doing it again."

FUCK AM I?

"Yeah."

CAN YOU JUST.

"I don't know. I guess...."

PLEASE PLEASE OH FUCK--

*

The lights flicker. The clock radio on his bedside table goes off. David's blackberry, Mitch's pager and Journal's cellphone all ring.

Journal snickers and lifts her head, pulling her mouth off Mitch with a wet smack. "If I didn't know you were talking to me, I'd be pissed."

"With you," Mitch stresses, dragging his fingers through her hair. "With."

She grins, and lays her head on his belly. "Right. I forget."

"I used to, too." He scratches her scalp, and she sighs. "Thanks for reminding me."

"Softie."

"Stupid cube."

"You love it."

"I do. The cube, this city, and every damn protester. Also, mayoral interns."

"Perv."

"Well," he says, and laughs. "Yeah."

*