CHURCH, The Television Show
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This isn’t about you; it’s about Aliens, all they have done for US, and all we have done to ruin it. Trust this isn’t about you; any likeness is intended purely for fictional purposes, and not a living soul on earth knows who you really are. This isn’t about you; this isn’t war, this is new religion. War is why we are all so poor in the first place- let’s all share in the riches of Peace, and learn to coexist with each other and the animals, the air and water and trees. Anger will only make you look guilty so remember that this isn’t about you, it’s about THEM, and all they have done for us. So stay happy, stay calm, and please enjoy the show.
Dedicated to Ethan Collins, who taught me that nothing we believe is true. Truth is only what most of us believe.
Dedicated to N.A., who gave all he had before YOU killed him.
When it gets dark enough, look to see the stars.
“Art is writing about reality in such a way that you don’t piss anyone off!”
“The essential guide for anyone joining the Army, or Organized Crime for that matter.”
- The Journalist
“When you die, you’re going to wish that you were more promiscuous!”
- The Manager
Church, The Television Show
When Noodle stopped at the deli there was a long line to buy sliced meat. The grocery store was mobbed.
“Guys, it’s not a good time,” The Slicer said to his friends.
“It’s the only time my girlfriend could take her break,” his friend replied.
“Meet me outside, I have something in my car,” The Slicer said and bumped his friend’s fist.
The Slicer then removed his apron, left the counter and walked right out the front door without saying a word to his associates.
The air inside the market turned white, Noodle’s ears started to ring, and Noodle thought The Slicer ditched his deli duties to deal drugs out of the parking lot.
His ears rang louder; his eyes shot from the front door to the balcony and he noted two grocery managers exit their offices, walk down the stairs, grab the grocery clerk, and fire him on the produce floor.
While Noodle walked home he thought about messaging The Manager. ‘I just took out a guy by looking at him!’ His message would have said.
He daydreamed about a soldier bred in-vitro from military grade DNA; who, after a human rights outcry, was surrendered by the military and raised by foster parents. Nature overruled nurture, and when he was seven, the character accidently took out an international drug cartel after wandering upon on a card game in a restaurant’s kitchen.
He grew up and became a soldier anyway.
Noodle wondered why his ears were ringing, why the air inside the deli had turned white, and how everything that he imagined was taking place actually did take place, and who had alerted the managers that their employee left his job to deal drugs out of the parking lot.
Noodle chalked it up to coincidence. Anything else would have been crazy!
He logged-on to Her Majesty’s Noodle, added friends and a hundred photos. PeopleFace was extremely popular with The Club kids; they were always logged on with their smart phones to keep up-to-date with the latest social news.
“That looks just like your beach house!” The Dancer Pimp said to The Frenchman.
“This one on Her Majesty’s Noodle’s profile.”
“I think it’s Noodle Church.”
“Let me see that photo,” The Frenchman demanded.
“That does look like my beach house!”
‘Noodle, did you take this picture?’ The Dancer Pimp commented.
‘Yeah, I did,’ Noodle wrote back.
‘Where? It’s beautiful.’
‘Do you see those two flags in the far right corner? The yard is on the border between France and Italy.’
“Frenchman, it looks like an aerial shot, like Noodle has been doing flybys of your property!”
“He’s lying. He could have pulled that off the internet.”
“I don’t know, he’s an honest guy and I heard he’s a pilot.”
“Merte!” The Frenchman exclaimed.
“What is it…What’s wrong?”
“That’s the guy,” The Frenchman tapped the computer screen. “Noodle’s the fucking guy.”
“What guy? Frenchman, what are you talking about?”
“Noodle! Noodle’s a spy!”
“No! The Barracuda warned they plant Narcs and Rats all over the place.”
“Who does, Frenchman? Noodle’s just a regular guy.”
“The Cops! How would a regular guy who makes eleven dollars an hour as nightclub security get money to travel across the Atlantic and take aerial photography of estates along the Mediterranean?”
“I don’t know. I heard that he’s in The Army or something.”
“The Army!” The Frenchman choked on the grape he was trying to swallow.
“Frenchman, I think you’re reading too much into this. Why would The Army care about you?”
“Don’t think about me. What do you know about this guy Noodle Church?”
“He came in with DJ and The Manager. They’re cool.”
“Interpol,” The Frenchman muttered and stormed off to call The Italian.
The NSA was siphoning internet traffic traveling through Noodle’s computer. It was The Army’s way of evaluating him for entry. It was The Spook’s way of anticipating his every move.
The Spook called The Army, who called a National Guard Pilot, who knew a Fire Engineer, who knew Noodle Church. He called a colleague who had a son, and they slipped him into the mix to keep eyes inside The Club.
His name was also Hercules, and The Manager put him on the stage.
“I’m Noodle, what do you do outside of here?”
“I’m in money, but I used to bounce in U-Town.”
“I used to be a firefighter in U-Town.”
“My father used to be a firefighter in U-Town!” Hercules replied.
“That’s crazy!” Noodle exclaimed. “I bet I knew him.”
“I liked where I used to bounce, but the Fields Gang took the owner out to the parking lot and broke his legs because he owed points on a loan. So I decided it was time to stop working there. And then I learned The Gang sold my cousin bad drugs, and he died.”
While they were quietly discussing who they knew in common, Tim Connor was eaves dropping. After that, Tim never spoke to Noodle again.
Hayden came on the stage and wrapped his arms around Noodle; then squeezed until Noodle couldn’t breathe anymore. Hayden let go and dropped Noodle to the floor.
“I’m out of here!” He shouted with his finger pointed in the air. “Be safe out there tonight, Noodle Church.”
“What was that all about?” Hercules asked.
“That guy just told me to ‘be safe out there tonight’ – and he said it like something’s waiting for me outside,” Noodle worried.
“What’s up Seductress?” The Barracuda asked.
“Well…Tim Connor told me that he overheard that guy Hercules talking to Noodle about firefighting.”
“Who the fuck is Hercules?” The Barracuda asked.
“He’s the new guy. He came in with The Manager.”
“Oh my god, that guy is a monster! What was he talking to Noodle about?”
“They both know firefighters.”
“Underboss, did you hear that? The firefighters sent another spy to The Gang.”
“You know Barracuda, you really need to learn more about these guys before they start working here. I don’t know who you’re bringing in.”
“Yes Underboss, I’ll find out everything there is to know about him right away.”
“What else do you know about Hercules?” He asked The Seductress.
“He works in money.”
“Money,” The Barracuda grinned. “Just for that, I’m going to give you a raise.”
“No. I’m going to give it to Tim. Now get out of my office.”
“I don’t know about all this firefighter shit in The Club,” The Underboss said. “They’re much worse than cops; they don’t play by the rules.”
“I hate firefighters. What do they do anyway; sit at a firehouse all day?” The Barracuda slighted. “Niece,” he called.
“You know that promoter who comes in here who’s a City firefighter?”
“This is what I want you to do. I want you to get a room at The Hotel, invite him, get him drunk, and take his cell phone for me.”
“Why do you want me to do that? He’s cool, he came in with The Manager.”
“I want to check his cell phone to see if there are any texts from Hercules or Noodle: I want to see if these guys are working together.”
“Why would The City care about The Club?”
“Niece, don’t ask questions, do exactly what I say!”
“Yes ‘Cuda,” The Niece replied. When she got home she’d post to her PeopleFace. ‘Damn Majesty! You run this whole City like a club!’
“I can’t find my jacket. I have my coat check ticket, but the coat check lady said that my jacket’s not back there,” a customer complained.
“One of your friends must have picked it up for you. You should run along, they’re probably waiting for you outside,” The Barracuda seeded to rid himself of the nuisance.
“I think someone stole it,” the customer held.
“Now, who would have done that?” The Barracuda asked with a smile.
“I don’t know, but that jacket was worth four hundred dollars!”
The Barracuda looked up and over the customer’s shoulder. The coat check lady looked back and winked.
“Unless you can tell me who would have stolen your jacket, you’re out of luck. We’re not responsible for lost or stolen items. See,” The Barracuda pointed, “it says that right on your ticket stub. You’ll just have to hope that someone turns it in to lost and found.”
When The Latin Beauty got home, she found that her pit bull was missing. She called the police.
“Someone stole my dog!” She cried when the officer arrived.
“Now, who would have gone and done a thing like that?”
“I don’t know!”
“I bet he ran away.”
“But he was inside the house when I left.”
“You never know, maybe he escaped out the door when someone came home,” the officer responded. “Unless you can tell me who stole your dog, there’s not much more I can do. You’ll just have to just have to hope someone turns him into the pound.”
So The Latin Beauty went upstairs and posted on her PeopleFace: ‘Damn, I hate cops. Cops suck!’
The Clothes Model commented on her status: ‘Cops are like the losers in high school who had no friends…that’s why they had to become a cop!’
The next morning the Barracuda awoke to The Underboss’s voice inside his head, ‘Get more stuff on these kids!’ So The Barracuda picked up the phone and called an old friend, The Policeman.
“Don’t you have a Confidential Informant in MetroNorth?”
“Yeah, he’s a good kid. Been in and out over the years for slinging dimes of grass in First College Square, but that’s all and he keeps a good ear on the streets for me.”
“I have a guy who works for me who also lives in MetroNorth, but I don’t know a thing about him. Would you check with your guy and see if they went to the same school together?”
The Policeman agreed, and he called his informant. “Tomcat, didn’t you tell me a couple of months ago that a guy came over your house saying he was afraid that someone was watching him?”
“Yeah, but he wouldn’t tell me who.”
“Do you remember what he was afraid of?”
“He was afraid that they were going to steal his love.”
“What’s this kid’s name?”
“Do me a favor; call me the next time he comes to pick up.”
“Why do you want me to do that?”
“Don’t ask why, make sure he meets you at the park and walk him down the street, past the houses Berry Bush Street.”
“You’re not trying to get shit on me, are you?”
“Tomcat, if I wanted shit on you, I could just walk down to your house and grab you by the collar!” The Policeman said and hung up the phone.