The Luncheon Theater

Fenris Magnuson is eating a fine breakfast of mesquite smoked bacon, eggs poached with apple cider vinegar, buttered spaetzel, and black cherries. The phone rings and it's John Farrell's brother Clifton, the man who paid the mini storage and Emailed last week about the diorama.

"Time to come see it, Fenris, but first I need to know how you feel about the commonly held idea that a journalist who won't reveal sources to the police actually encourages and aids the illegal actions of the people he reports about."

"I disagree with the idea. I've discussed it with sources in the past and they have always told me that that they would publicize their activities effectively, with or without me, but would simply prefer to work with a truth-oriented journalist because it's easier."

Fenris is now driving into the airport. He parks and is approached by his contact Albert, a tall lean red-haired man about forty. They go to an area near the small plane hangers and Albert gives Fenris some wrap around shades spayed with flat black paint on the inside to serve as a blindfold that will not draw attention.

"Hope you don't mind. You can take them off in the plane and watch TV. We have the cabin curtained off. When we arrive they go back on for a half hour drive and then just a short walk to the building where you'll meet Clifton."
___

Three hours later Fenris enters the building with Albert who retrieves the shades and puts them on the table near the entrance door. The ceilings are ten feet high. The walls plain white. Doors, trim, and floors polished golden oak. Huge oriental rugs everywhere. Clifton Farrel, a slightly younger version of John, approaches. He and Fenris shake hands. Fenris looks around and within one eye-shot sees at least fifty mummified human bodies.

"Well, I see you're up to your old shenanigans again. I thought you were strictly miniaturizing these days."

Clifton chuckles and replies "We go tiny on the large scale stuff, but one must decorate after all. Let me show you around. It's okay to use the camera. Just don't take any pictures of staff."

As they walk down the long hall Fenris can scarcely believe his eyes. On each side every ten feet a human body beautifully cured just like the little alligators at Stukey's back in the 1950's. Each mummy standing up perfectly straight on tiptoes, arms reaching upwards, supporting a brazier of light on outstretched fingertips. Just like Atlas holding up the Earth.

"Art Deco Moriendi" exclaims Fenris. Wonder if there could ever be any economic potential for them in a global market."

"I thought of that too. Things haven't come that far yet. Besides, distribution would be too difficult. And, of course, legalities from one place to another, plus tariffs and big taxes."

They enter the huge living room. Again amazement. Glass top coffee table supported by a mummified man lying on his back, limbs raised so that the glass rests on his forearms and kneecaps. His mouth wide open with a glass ball inserted. Another low table, but larger, with four men on their hands and knees supporting the glass with their backs. Three magnificent large chandeliers made from human bones and skulls. Many fine shrunken heads in glass display cases.

Then into the dining hall. Twenty four straight-back chairs carved with demon faces surrounding a glass-top table thirty feet long, the glass supported by twenty four kneeling mummies using heads and hands. Fenris has noticed that the glass is a full inch thick on all the tables.

"Oh, they are all impregnated with special plastic for strength. Same stuff the government uses for the space program" replies Clifton proudly.

They go down the long staircase to the basement and Fenris is amazed to see a continuous table ninety feet long by forty feet deep. It nearly fills the entire basement. The whole thing is HO Scale with double train tracks running around the periphery of the entire layout. Two young couples are running the trains.

There are branch line trains running to different destinations: town with passenger stations, railroad yard, factory freight platforms, big dairy farm with cows. There are roads with cars and trucks, a small lake with boats. Also woods, vegetable fields, stores. Everything that exists in daily life and all very realistic. But for all of this, one difficulty overwhelms the viewer.

Almost one third of the space is taken up by tiny figures waiting outdoors for their verdict at the courthouse. Five hundred thousand of them, beautifully detailed, just standing there perfectly still while trains, boats, and logging machines are running. At the far end of the table to the side there is even large fixed binoculars for viewing the little figures close-up just like the coin operated ones at scenic overlooks in mountain country.

Fenris gazes with disbelief, only now truly comprehending the vast scale of what his host and this organization have accomplished. They have executed over one half million people.

Fenris gulps and replies "It's just magnificent. Not as big as one I saw at Niagara, but your detail is beyond exquisite. This must have cost a fortune. Which reminds me.... There is a question that's been bothering me. Since you, not John, were paying the mini storage in Las Vegas, why did you stop?"

"Oh that. The news people just assumed that John's coma was the reason, because they didn't have the facts. We just ran out of money. We were invested to the hilt, totally illiquid, and the return just took too long. On the upside, it finally paid many times more than we were expecting, so now we're on a scale vastly beyond any of our original plans."

"Let me finish. There's much more. Picture just eight figures filing into the courthouse, linked with cuffs as in real life. Nobody could control five hundred thousand people outdoors. They constitute an army in and of themselves, even if they don't have weapons. It's just too unrealistic looking.

Now visualize beautiful tiers of glass shelves, just four inches deep, with glass doors, lit from above and below, all along this wall opposite the layout. All the rest of the figures placed three deep in offset rows about one half inch apart on the shelves maybe with mural background mural or light blue mirror. Easy to view and no dusting.

Somebody has to be profiting from all the farmland and factories. You could turn all the area now occupied by defendants into a beautiful neighborhood of mansions with huge fields around them grazed by horses and cows. Gazebos, tea-houses, sports cars abounding. Instead of all this crowding and unpleasantness.... I rest my case."

"Magnuson, you're a genius. I'll start on it immediately. Want to stay a few days and help? I read somewhere that you're quite a food-smith. We eat pretty good around here."

"I'm tempted, but I have movie business I must keep after. I want to see the changes though. Could you send me a few pictures when you're done?"

Fenris dons the shades again and they go outside, walking several thousand feet to an outdoor area behind a steep hill covered with golden grass which hides the buildings from their view. The shades come off and Fenris sees a delightful amphitheater terraced into the earth with huge slabs of granite.

Each level is very wide and set up with round tables and chairs about every thirty feet. There are couples dining at most of the tables. The entire theater is surrounded by huge evergreen trees and there is a camouflage net of synthetic leaves suspended between the trees about a hundred feet off the ground. Pleasant, cozy, and completely invisible from the air.

"Yes" says Clifton. Built in the 1920s for summer dinner theater. Aristophanes, Shakespeare, Moliere, O'Neil. Cost a fortune even then."

They sit down and are soon served a fine lunch of Roast Duckling L'Orange with plain buttered white rice and asparagus. As they eat, the daily entertainment begins. One hundred children are led into the center stage area at the bottom of the theater. Fenris begins to wonder just what is happening here, but waits.

Clifton remarks. "The age range is from three to nine. Actually six years, six months, and six days. 666 you see."

"I know, but we want to give the prophesy reconcillors something to chew on. We make it cryptic, so they can discover it and then seem to be very perceptive and spiritual with lengthy explanations. Good free publicity."

As they eat, the men and women at the tables begin to shoot the children with pistols of various design and caliber. One tall man with a feathered forest green hat is even using a bow and arrows. Fenris nearly chokes on his food.

"Clifton," he says "even if we accept the premise that all these people and their children deserve to die, don't you think it's unchivalrous to cause unnecessary suffering? If you must kill, why not do it cleanly as you would wish to be killed yourself? Aren't you even a little worried about the state of your soul?"

"Fenris, I thought you'd never ask. Actually we polled the children as though it was a hypothetical situation. We asked which they would rather face, immediate shooting or the chance to run around and dodge bullets for awhile. Every one of them chose to live a little longer. Where there's life, there's hope. Always the possibility of last minute rescue. You or I would choose exactly the same.

I know they're just kids, but kids grow up. It's simply more economical than using paper targets for honing our peoples' marksmanship. We're going to kill them anyway, so why not enjoy it?" replies Clifton. "Actually I was even considering a carnival style shooting gallery. Dress them up like little duckies, you know."

Fenris notices one young man has walked down to the edge of the wall. A five year old boy he reserved in advance and has been teasing with near misses has hidden against the wall. The man looks over the wall. The boy is trembling and looks up with pleading eyes. The man speaks very softly with a gentle mocking tone resembling sympathy.

"Well now! Appears like you almost got away, don't it boy? Thought you fooled me.... but you're afraid now, ain't you boy?" Then suddenly bellowing in a huge gravelly voice, "And you had damned well better be afraid, young man, because we are all about to see just how smart you really are, because I'm going to blow your god-damned brains out!"

The man produces a 357 Magnum pistol and with an exaggerated air of pomp and formality, twirls the gun skilfully, tosses it in the air, catches it, twirls it some more, and then with a lofty grand gesture, shoots the boy in the head, twirls the gun again, blows the smoke from the end of the barrel, and winks at his girlfriend. The other diners applaud. Fenris nearly chokes on his food again. Being a journalist is a very tough gig at times. The childrens' bodies are carried out.

Explains Clifton "We experimented with the bodies as meat puppets for our Macabre Theater productions, but always that damned rigor mortis you know. Now we dry them the usual way. Then we saw off the limbs at each joint and reconnect them with nylon. Much lighter. Easier on the puppeteers."

As they eat, five more batches of one hundred children are brought in and gunned mercilessly down by the men and women dining. The last batch seems fewer and when Fenris asks why, Clifton tells him it's only sixty six. "666 in all."