Chapter Four

Thomas Peterson could hear steps coming down the hall, and they were the first sounds he had heard since he was sealed in his lightless prison. It was impossible for him to tell how long he had been locked in the room. An hour? Perhaps two.

He was uncomfortable, both physically and psychologically, and his brain throbbed with apprehension as he stared into the void. Suddenly, a stark rectangle of light appeared as the room’s only door flew open. Peterson shielded his eyes from the painful glare, and he instantly bolted up to a standing position, his back still pressed against the corner of the walls.

“What do you want with me?” Peterson said, practically shrieking with terror.

The slender silhouette of Gerald Flynt was flanked by those of the two goons. Flynt pulled an office chair from the hallway and rolled it toward Peterson with a hard shove and commanded, “Sit down.” The chair slammed into the prisoner’s knees, coming to an instant stop.

Peterson’s back was aching from squatting in the corner for so long, so he grabbed the top of the chair with his hand, pulled it behind him, and sat. Flynt pulled another chair in from the hallway, rolled it close to Peterson, and then sat across from him. Flynt’s face looked different than it did during the helicopter journey, now that any pretense of friendly favors had been dropped.

The bright ceiling bulbs in the room came on, and one of the goons closed the door, which clicked loudly as it shut. The large array of lights stung Peterson’s eyes, although he was relieved to at least be able to see again. He placed his hand over his eyebrows to shield the glare and squinted at his captor.

Flynt asked, “I suppose you want to know why you’re here.”

Peterson stared back in astonishment and said nothing. 

“As I told you earlier, my name is Gerald Flynt. I am the head of a group called Aegis. Ever hear of us?”

“Ageist?” asked Peterson.

“No, no, Aegis. A-E-G-I-S. Heard of it?”

Peterson’s face was unflinching. “No.”

“Well, not many people have. That’s going to change very soon. But since you’re here, and since you’re such an important part of what we’re doing, I want to tell you what we’re all about.”

Peterson cut in, “Listen, Flynt, I don’t know what you think you’re doing or whether you’re after money, publicity, or something else, but I strongly suggest you let me go before you get yourself into very serious trouble. You’re making a huge mistake.”

Flynt pulled his right arm to his left side, and in a swift, unyielding arc, smashed Peterson hard on his face. The blow was strong enough to knock Peterson out of the seat, which rolled away until it hit the opposite wall. One of the men in the hall opened the door to see what was going on, but when he saw it was Peterson on the floor instead of his boss, he closed it again.

Flynt shouted, “Do NOT interrupt me again, Peterson! You WILL hear what I have to say! Now get back in that chair and shut the fuck up!”

Pushing himself up off the floor, he looked into Flynt’s eyes. Thomas Peterson was not a man accustomed to being struck. Ever. His cheek burned, and his head was throbbing. He steadied himself to his feet, staggered over to the chair, and sat back down where it was. He preferred the greater distance that now lay between the men.

Flynt rolled his own chair closer a few feet and started talking again. “Aren’t used to not getting your way, are you? Mister Big Shot. Right? Want to take a swing at me? Go ahead! Do it! I bet you’d like to kill me, wouldn’t you?”

Rubbing his jaw, Peterson replied, “Kill you? What are you talking about?”

Flynt paused for a moment, staring at the man and puzzling at his passivity. He had seen Peterson’s face so many times in the media, and he had planned so long for this encounter, but it still seemed unreal. It was finally time to say out loud what he had been thinking about for many months.

“You want to know what I’m talking about. Fine. You are here for a reason. And it isn’t for any of the reasons you’ve guessed. It isn’t for ransom or fame. It’s to send a message.”

Sitting up taller, Gerald Flynt went on: “Our group despises where the world has wound up and what it’s done to the everyday man. Scumbags like you have hollowed out anything that matters in the lives of most people, and you’ve gotten rich doing it.”

“Hollowed what out? What are you even talking about?” Peterson replied. “I made money because I provided something people want.”

Flynt tightened his glare and said, “A cocaine dealer could say the same thing. Sometimes people want stuff that’s no good for them. That doesn’t make it right.” Flynt looked intently at his captive for a moment. “You ever been to a zoo, Peterson?”

Being in no mood for a bull session, Thomas Peterson stared down at the floor silently. After a few moments, he decided he had better be cooperative, so he quietly said, “Of course I have.”

“And I don’t mean just any zoo, I mean a shitty zoo. The old kind. The kind where they have trapped animals in cages. So imagine a kid goes in there and looks at a tiger. The tiger’s just pacing back and forth, back and forth. The kid says, ‘Oh, pretty tiger’, and then he walks away to the next cage.

“For that kid, the tiger in the cage is just a moment in time. A childhood memory. But to the tiger, that’s his entire life. Just walking back and forth, back and forth, losing his mind. That tiger lost his mind a long time ago. He just doesn’t know it.”

Peterson mumbled to the floor, “What does a tiger in a cage…....”

Flynt’s voice grew stronger. “Tigers weren’t meant to be in cages. Millions of years of evolution shouldn’t lead them there. And how about humans? You look around today, and how do people spend their time? Most of them don’t work, since they’ve got just enough to get by, so how do they spend their time? Watching movies. Playing games. Men having sex with fake women in a VR world. And those are the active ones! Some of them just watch other people doing that stuff. Instead of actually doing something, they’re just watching someone watching something else. It’s bullshit. Total bullshit! This is the world you’ve created, Peterson!”

Thomas Peterson knew this was going to be a one way conversation, so he just kept staring at the floor while Flynt raged on. Better to let him say what he wanted to say and simultaneously try to figure out how to extricate himself from this madness. Peterson’s jaw was still throbbing from the blow, so he massaged the side of his face briefly and then eased his hand back down, not wanting to startle this madman.

“People didn’t fight their way through the past hundred thousand years just to spend their time like that. We were meant to do stuff. Struggle. Imagine. Build. Create. There’s got to be a fight. But people like you have created these cages, and everyone just walks right into them. Every single human has become that tiger in a zoo cage. Men like you lead them right into that box, shut the door, and watch them spend the rest of their lives just pacing back and forth. Only they’re too stupid to realize what they’ve given up.”

Thomas Peterson finally spoke up, with a hint of sarcasm, “So, you’re going to free people?” Momentarily bracing himself, he hoped this didn’t earn him a second strike across the face.

“You’re goddamned right we are.” said Flynt, triumphantly.

“If you want to free people, how about starting with me?”

“Because,” Flynt said, “you’re going to help us get the message heard. You’re rich. You’re famous. People listen to you. You’re going to join our group.”

Peterson almost laughed at the idea, but he stopped himself. “Like hell I am. Why don’t you just get your boys and go protest at Davos like all the others do? We can all go up together, and you can just drop me off!”

Flynt’s eyes got red. Peterson began to worry about getting hit again. 

“Do you think this is a joke? Those protesters are just jerking off. They’ve been there with their signs and their chants for decades, and what good has it done anybody?”

Before Peterson could answer, Flynt steamrolled ahead: 

“It’s just guilt. Guilt on both sides. The bastards like you show up to these things since you feel guilty, because deep down you know exactly what you’re doing. So you put on a little show about how you’re going to open a school in Gambia or send some brown kid to college, and the guilt is gone. Those morons screaming outside the conference are doing the same thing, because they feel shitty about how things are, so they paint their signs, and they chant their slogans, and they have their protests, and they feel better about themselves too. You guys have more in common than you think.”

Finally, Peterson got a chance to speak. “Listen, Flynt, I’m just a guy who was going to a business conference. I’ve got no agenda there. And it sounds like you guys feel strongly about what you’re doing, but I can’t help you. So how about you just let me go? We can just forget any of this ever happened. I won’t press charges.”

Flynt slumped slightly and balanced his forearms on his knees. He winced and slowly shook his head. “People like you have created a necessity for everyday life that didn’t exist before. You’ve made people dependent on this crap, as if it was oxygen, and it’s going to wipe them out. A bunch of dead tigers in iron cages. You just have no clue…..”

For all his fury, Flynt finally seemed deflated. Peterson took that as his cue to depart.

Carefully, he stood up and said, “Listen, I’m sorry, I can’t help you. I’d like to go now.”

“Sit down.”

“You seriously have got to let……….”

“Sit down.” Flynt said through clenched teeth.

Peterson realized he wasn’t about to walk out that sealed door, particularly with guards on the other side of it, so once again he dropped into the chair, exasperated.

Flynt tilted his head slightly higher and spoke toward the lights: “Kevin, are you hearing all this?”

A familiar voice seemed to come out of the ceiling. “Every word.”

And that was a voice that was unmistakable to Peterson. It was his old partner. It was Kevin Toffler.

Peterson’s face felt flush, and he stared up to where the voice seemed to emanate. Gerald Flynt looked across and asked, “Well? Are you going to help us?” 

Peterson stopped looking at the ceiling and focused his eyes on Flynt instead. 

“I need to take a piss.”