Chapter 9 – Report

Monday, October 5

“Listen to this, Dad!”

“What, Sean?”

I pointed to an article on my pad. “The government is investigating all the pant fires. It’s not just in the US, it’s around the world.”

“Let me read that.” Dad took the pad from me and began to read the article aloud, frowning.

“’ No one knows why people's pants literally started catching on fire every time they told the slightest fib’—Well, we do, don’t we Sean?”

I grinned. “We sure do, Dad.”

“’ —but it’s made for very exciting television and maybe not so exciting consequences for the person involved. Across all networks, television ratings are up for live news shows. Nine of the top ten viral videos are of newscasters or politicians bursting into flame.’” Dad paused. “So, I guess we’ve done something good.”

He continued. “’Needless to say, local fire departments have been very busy. Major businesses have taken to employing small groups of firefighters to follow behind certain people, usually public relations managers or lawyers, and spray them down with fire extinguishers several times per day.’”

“’None of this was more prevalent than in Washington, where firefighters are kept busy around the clock following every politician everywhere. The fire affliction crossed all parties and affiliations. Politicians' pants were constantly bursting into flame.’”

“Ha!” My dad laughed. “This’ll make voting easier because you’ll always know who was being truthful and who wasn't.”

“Are there any politicians who haven’t been burned yet?” I asked.

“Uh, none that I’ve heard of. Look, the issue’s gotten to President Lopez. He’s unleashed hundreds of analysts and scientific researchers on the problem. They’re really serious about this. Maybe we should tell them about our wish, Sean.”

“Won’t we get into trouble?”

“For what? Just wishing people would tell the truth? It’s not our fault that everyone is in the habit of lying. Let’s see. This is a national article.” Dad did a quick search and found the closest news outlet to our home. “Here. Our local TV station is on Peachtree Street. Come with me and we can tell them how the fires got started.”

“Have fun, guys!” Mom hugged us. We went to the car.

Walking into the station, I was surprised by how small it was. The studio looks a lot bigger on TV. The receptionist greeted us. “How can I help you?” she asked with a big smile.

“Haven’t I seen you on the news?” Dad asked.

“Yes, I do some reporting. I am also a receptionist and I answer the phone. I’m an intern at the station, Shelley Clark’s my name. What can I do for you?”

“We’ve got a big breaking news story—“Dad began.

“It’s about the fires all around the country!” I put in.

Without missing a beat, Dad continued, “—and around the world. We know exactly how and why the problem started.”

Shelley pounded wildly on her tablet. “This is great! This might be my big break into the news! Tell me all about it.”

So Dad and I gave her all the details.

“That is so cool! Let me get our news head, Fred O’Connell. “ She ran out the door. A few minutes she came back with a balding, middle-aged guy with glasses.

I recognized him from the local news and weather.

“Hi, Fred O’Connell. What can I do for you?” He smiled.

“We’ve got the cause of the burning pants problem,” Dad began.

“We were there when it happened the first time,” I put in.

“We were watching the news, the debate between the governor candidates.”

“And we all wished their pants would catch on fire when they lied.”

“Because we were so tired of the B.S. they were saying,” Dad finished up.

“Um, how is that possible?” Fred’s eyebrows climbed toward his receding hairline.

“We don’t know,” Dad admitted.

“It just happened, just as we wished.”

“Assume you did cause this, didn’t you know millions and billions of people lie every day?”

“Uh, I didn’t think of that,” I said.

“We just wanted politicians to tell the truth,” Dad said.

“Do you have any proof?” Fred frowned.

“Uh, no? Can you think of anything, Dad?”

“Er, no. Nothing except unwishing it. And I guess I prefer to hold politicians' feet to the fire to make them tell the truth.”

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“I’m with you there, dad.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see any way I can report this as a news story. I need some proof. If you think of something, let me know. Goodbye.” He turned and left.

We looked at each other.

“Well, we tried. Thanks for your help, Shelley.” Dad and I turned to go.

“Wait! I’ve got an idea.” Shelley called us back.

“What?” Dad asked.

“There’s a researcher who sent us an email looking for pants-on-fire stories. She’s with the Federal government. How about I reply to her with your story?”

“Sure!” I had a bit of hope.

“Lemme find the email.” She scrolled on her computer. “Here it is. Katie Garcia of the Oak Ridge National Labs. ‘Please send me any news stories you have pertaining to the mysterious pants and skirt fires.’ I’ll reply with your report. It seems to fit.” She looked up at us. “Now tell me your story again in as much detail as you can.”

We repeated everything in as much detail as we could remember. Shelley took our names and addresses and sent it off.

“Thanks so much! This might be my big break.” She gave us a big smile.

“I hope so!” I said as we left. She was pretty good-looking, with sandy hair and a round face and figure.

* * *

Monday, October 5

Liu Fu

I hated my job as a garbage collector in Beijing. It wasn’t just picking up the stinking, rotting food, vomit, and feces that people threw away and dumping it, as I was now doing by the incinerator. No, that was the easy part. Then I had to pick through it, looking for paper, phones, and computers, which would be cleaned and scanned for intelligence. That’s what I had to do next.

I began shoveling the crap into the hopper. If I saw any legible paper or electronics, I had to pick it out and put it in the intelligence bin. Ah. There was an old calendar. Woo! It was a girly one. I eyed it before tossing it in the bin. This still wasn’t the worst part of my job.

The tempting girl hurt me more than she pleased me. I knew I could never get a girl like that. They were all stuck up, and I had no money for a dowry anyway. Plus, all my money went to my parents for their apartment. I also had to feed them. In return, I got to sleep on the floor. This wasn’t what I wanted, but I could see no way out. But that still wasn’t the worst part.

“Liu Fu! Lucky Destroyer! Ha! Why haven’t you finished yet, you ugly, stinking excuse for a man?”

That was my boss, Gao Jin Hua. He was the worst part of my job. He began looking through the calendar, leering appreciatively.

I longed to wallop him, but I’d be fired and imprisoned. My parents would likely die or starve to death.

“Why are you staring at me when you’re running behind? Work faster!”

I began shoveling as fast as I could, making a dent in the pile of offal.

“Wait!” With his gloved hand, Jin Hua dug something out of the last shovel full in the hopper. He held a cell phone inside a bag of garbage that split.

“Look at this!” He screamed at me, shoving the phone into my face. It reeked and the screen cracked, but I knew the Party wanted all discarded phones to search them for illegal activities.

“I didn’t see it,” I said with my head bowed.

“But I did! I’ve got a new job for you! Open each bag of crap and look through it. Po Ping, come here and shovel behind us.” Another worker came running.

“Start!” He pointed at a bag of garbage.

I pulled it open. The stink doubled. I flattened the garbage and went on to the next bag.

“Faster!”

Garbage. Feces. Paper. I dumped that in the hopper. Broken junk. Nothing electron—what was this? A gorgeous brass dragon rested in my hand. I rubbed it clean with my glove. Wow. Why would someone throw this out?

“Why are you resting? Throw it away and move faster!” Jin Hua screamed in my face.

“Look at this. It’s worth some–“

“Take off your gloves! You’re not moving fast enough!” He knocked the dragon from my hand. It clanged on the floor, getting filthy again.

I bent and picked it up.

He took his baton and hit me on the head with it. “Drop the junk!” Bang. “Take off your gloves!” Bang. That one split my scalp. “Move faster!” Bang. I saw my blood splatter on the floor. “Or I swear I’ll fire you right now!” Bang. My hand went numb as he hit it as I shielded my head.

I snapped. I rose from my crouched position with a twist and hit him with all my strength. I meant to hit him in the jaw, but I hit him on the side of his face. His blood splattered as he dropped to the floor.

There was a bloody divot where the head of the dragon had hit him in the temple.

Po Ping stopped shoveling and stared. He ran to Jian Hua’s side and put his hand on his neck.

“He’s dead! I’ve got to tell the Big Boss.” He ran off at a sprint to the office.

Now I was dead. I ran to my garbage truck. Maybe I could get out in time.

Six feet from the door, a guard with a machine gun stopped me.

I put my hands up, trembling. I still held my dragon. Other guards came and surrounded me. The TV monitors stopped playing Communist anthems, and the Big Boss, Chen Jia Wei appeared. His voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

“Liu Fu! There is only one sentence for you—death! Guards, march him toward the hopper.”

Numbly, I thought, Hopper? Are they going to incinerate me?

We got there, seemingly instantaneously.

“Push him in.”

Roughly, I fell into the pit of stench with a squish.

“Now dump the rest of the garbage on him.”

I could hear the front-end loader moving the pile of garbage over the floor. Then WHOMP! A ton landed on me.

I no longer cared about the stench. I just tried to breathe. I wriggled in the offal and got an air pocket. The humid, fetid black air was lifegiving. I still clutched my brass dragon. I had no hope. I’d given up all for the stupid brass dragon. I’d die. My parents would die.

But . . . what if? What if the dragon were magic? “O gorgeous brass dragon, hear me and save me from this garbage!” burst out of my mouth without thinking.

The dragon glowed red hot, burning my hand. Then it grew and wriggled like a worm. It crawled under me and lifted me on its now broad, brass back. I started to slip off with the garbage flowing around me. As I scrabbled with my nails, a saddle formed out of brass. I pulled myself in and found stirrups for my feet.

Then we burst out. The dragon flowed easily out of the pit, with its claws digging deep into its metal sides. My saddle was on a hump on the dragon’s back and went up and down as we sinuously flowed across the floor.

All the guards were open-mouthed. Then my dragon gobbled them up. They began shooting, but the bullets only bounced off the brass scales.

Silence fell. Then I heard screaming. The Big Boss was on the giant monitor yelling in horror. I knew what to do next.

“Go to the Big Boss’s office. That’s Chen Jia Wei, in the headquarters building.” That was the first time I called him by his name. Gao had always beaten us if we used his name.

We zoomed over the ground. The dragon was bigger than any I had seen at New Year's and incredibly strong. Chain link fences parted. Cars and trucks were crushed.

I need a name for the dragon. Liu Fu’s dragon? Why not?

“I name you Liu Fu Long!”

Long stopped, turned to me, and nodded in acknowledgment. Then we raced onward.

I wondered how we’d climb to the top floor of the headquarters. I shouldn’t have. Long raced up the side of the building, his claws smashing windows and digging into concrete. I started to slip backward off the vertical saddle. A brass back grew to support me. Armrests appeared for me to grip. I could look down and see the dragon stretched ten stories to the ground.

The roof held a beautiful garden. Chen Jia Wei huddled in the center. He began shooting at us with his gun.

“Don’t kill him, but hold him in your mouth.”

Long’s teeth captured Chen. He grabbed the brass pillars holding him in and grimaced in terror.

“Chen Jia Wei, who is your boss?”

“Bei. Bei Wei. He’s the head of the CCP in Beijing.”

“Good. Lead us to him and you’ll live.”

With Long at my side, I could be the head of the communist party in Beijing. I’d get a mansion and my parents could live there and get all the best medical care.

But why stop there? I grinned as I couldn’t think of a single reason to settle for only the head of Beijing.