What Would Satan Do? by Anthony Miller Read Free Book Online Page A

Festus exchanged surprised looks.  Liam seemed to be taking this personally.  He seemed to be getting upset about a lot of things lately.  Usually it was over stupid, little things, like Raju frightening off customers with the six-foot “super bong” he’d constructed.  But this was different – this was some random political dude – and who the hell cared about that?
    Liam glanced at his employee and his friend, and seeing the looks on their faces, explained.  “I had to deal with that dirt bag on more than one occasion,” he said, but then stopped, offering nothing further. 
    “You sold guitars to the vice president?  That’s amazing!  Does he even play guitar?  I bet he sucks,” said Raju.
    “Liam used to be in the military,” explained Festus.
    “Oh.  Well, maybe that’s what’s wrong with him,” said Raju.  “Post-traumatic stress disorder or ... what’s that other one?  Rickets or something?”
    “Scurvy?” said Festus.
    “Yeah, scurvy.”  He pointed the barrel of a pretend handgun at Festus and winked.  “Liam,” he said, “we’re pretty sure you have scurvy.”
    Liam didn’t respond.  He was too busy making angry faces at the TV.  On the screen, the anchor’s disembodied voice spoke over images of soldiers with little Texas flags on their shoulders passing out blankets and food, remarking about how odd it was that the Louisiana governor, lieutenant governor, and secretary of state had all been missing since the storm, along with most of the state legislature.
    “What the fuck is the governor of Texas doing running Louisiana?”
    “Looks like he’s just helping fix things after that big hurricane,” said Festus.
    “Wait a minute,” said Raju.  “There was a hurricane?”
    “Where the hell have you been for the last week?” asked Festus.  He shook his head with the special kind of condescension that comes from knowing more about current events than someone else, and turned his attention back to Liam.  “I really think they’re just helping…”
    “No, there’s an entire federal agency that’s responsible for this sort of thing.  How the hell did he even pull this off?  Where is FEMA in all this?  Where is the National Guard?”  Liam was really starting to get agitated.
    “Maybe FEMA needed some help?” volunteered Festus.
    “Well, I’m sure they did, but that doesn’t mean they’re just going to hand over the whole operation to the ass-headed governor of Texas.”
    “What was the hurricane called?  Where did it hit?” asked Raju.  Nobody answered, so he unleashed another barrage of questions.  “Why are you so pissed about this?  Who cares about Louisiana?” he asked.  “I went there once.  It sucked.  Though Bourbon Street was pretty cool.  There was this blues singer.  He was maybe five hundred pounds, and he sang this cool song about wanting to ‘be your backdoor man.’”
    Now it was Festus’ turn.  “Seriously Liam, why are you so angry about this?”
    “I don’t know.  Because it’s screwed up.  And wrong,” said Liam.  “And I’d be willing to bet that it has absolutely nothing to do with helping those folks get back on their feet.”
    “Why?” asked Festus.
    Liam looked up at them as if he were debating whether to bother explaining.  He sighed.  “A ridiculous proportion of the country’s refining capacity – something like 25 or maybe even as high as 30% – is there in Louisiana,” he said.  “Add in Texas, and you’ve got just over half of the country’s total capacity.  Also, there are four major oil pipeline entry points in the United States.  Two are in Texas.  One is just north of New Orleans.  Almost two-thirds of the country’s petroleum reserves are tucked away in salt domes in Louisiana.”
    “And there’s more than that.  Texas ranks second only to California in terms of military bases.  Group Louisiana and Texas together, and suddenly California is a distant second.  This guy,”