Geek Mafia by Rick Dakan (read book .txt) 📕

After messing around with the bulky sleeping bag for a few minutes, trying to figure out a way to attach it to his back, he gave up. He carried the mass of cushioned nylon to the cliff’s edge. Chloe whooped with appreciation as he took a three step running start and hurled it into the night. She followed its arc with her flashlight as it sailed through the fog and landed in the brush about five feet from the beach.

“Not too shabby,” said Paul, stepping down onto the precipitous path behind Chloe.

“You have a future in the Olympic sleeping bag toss.”

“I think it’s going to be an exhibition sport in the X-Games next year.”

Chapter 15

The way down was even trickier than Paul had anticipated, and several times he fell on his ass when he lost his balance – better than falling face first down the cliff though. Chloe seemed to have less trouble, although she was the one holding the flashlight. After he’d retrieved his sleeping bag from where it had landed, they set off down the beach towards the sound of the drums. It was downright cold this close to the water, and a fine mist of condensation from the fog already covered his entire body. He wished he’d put on a sweatshirt before they left the car.

They followed the thumping, swirling drumbeat through the mists. As they rounded the corner of the cliff, Paul saw a large bonfire about a hundred yards up the beach, surrounded by a circle of several dozen people. As they drew closer, Paul could see that most of the figures were sitting astride or beside various kinds of African drums, while in the center, four or five figures danced with wild abandon around the fire, grooving to the tribal-inspired beat. 

“Wow,” said Paul.

“Yeah, isn’t it great?” said Chloe “I love these guys.”

As they approached, a figure stepped out of the shadows near the cliff and intercepted them. Paul wasn’t sure if he’d been standing guard or had just wandered away from the circle to take a piss or something. 

“Hey, Chloe, glad you could make it,” he said as he hugged Chloe. 

“I wouldn’t miss it.” She released him from the hug and motioned to Paul. “Keith, this is Paul. Paul, Keith”

The man embraced Paul in a friendly hug that smelled of patchouli and sweat. “Good to meet you, brother.”

“Hey,” said Paul, who had no problem with friendly hugs but really didn’t like the sickly sweet herbal stench of patchouli. “Nice to meet you.”

Keith led the way towards the drum circle, chatting with Chloe enthusiastically about who was there and what kinds of drums they were using and who had the best pot. Paul followed along a pace behind them; his attention focused on the dazzling spectacle of fire and beat just ahead.

The fire pit was big, at least six feet across and piled high with fresh logs on top of older, red-hot coals. There were five people dancing in the space between the drummers and the fire, two men and three women. They were so close to the fire they wore little in the way of clothes, despite the chill in the air. Two of the women had on flowing skirts and tank tops, while the third danced in sweat pants and no top at all. The two men were also shirtless, one of them young and extremely fit, the other a middle-aged man with a frizzy white beard and a drum-like round belly. This last dancer seemed the most lost in the beat, twirling and jigging madly. To Paul’s utter surprise he even took a running leap through/over the fire, eliciting cheers and whoops from the assembled group. 

Paul counted fourteen drummers in the circle, along with three others who clapped their hands or drummed their knees as they swayed with the music. Most had African-style drums that looked hand made, each around two to three feet tall and played with bare hands. Others had larger, bass drums that they played with soft tipped sticks. A few had conga drums and other store bought pieces. Most kept a steady, simple but fast rhythm, which the more skilled players then embellished upon with even faster and more intricate beats. No music expert, Paul couldn’t fathom the complexity of the group’s sound, but he knew it sounded good.

Chloe took him by the hand and led him to the circle. They dropped their camping gear in the sand and squeezed into the group, a drummer and a hand clapper each grinning and welcoming them to the party. Chloe pulled a thin blanket from her bag and laid it down in the sand amongst the various rugs, towels, and other blankets that the circle had already put in place. Paul sat down slightly behind Chloe, and she leaned back against him as they relaxed and beheld the spectacle. 

The older man soon emerged as the leader in the circle. The other dancers played off his movements as he leaped and cavorted around the circle. Occasionally he would stop in front of a drummer and squat down to bang away on their instrument in a frenzied rhythm. He’d been so lost in this wild, freeform celebration that he hadn’t noticed Chloe and Paul’s arrival. It was only after twenty minutes or so that he recognized her, and his face lit up with delight.

“Ha HAAAAA! Chloe!” He shouted, grabbing her by the hands and pulling her to her feet. She squealed as he drew her inside the circle (although when Paul later implied that she’d squealed, she denied it). Immediately they were dancing hand in hand and the circle picked up its beat. Then they spun apart as the older man’s own movements caught him up in a twisting movement that no partner could follow. Chloe, fully in concert with the drummers now, danced off in her own direction, gracefully moving near and through and back near the other four dancers, all of whom momentarily matched their movements to hers by way of welcome. 

Paul would never have imagined that the normally self-controlled Chloe would dance with such abandon, and the sight entranced him. She moved with a certain grace to be sure, but it was her vivaciousness and energy that he found most attractive. Her legs pumped up and down, her arms pressing in and out in time with two of the women dancers. Rising and crouching, the older man circled around them like a pot-bellied scarecrow, not in a lascivious way, but as if he was somehow honoring their contribution to the dance. 

The man next to Paul – the clapper, not the drummer – offered him a hit off of his pipe. Paul thanked him, drawing a deep lung full of pot smoke and holding his breath as long as he could before passing the pipe back. He watched Chloe dance for many more minutes as the euphoria of the hit (and the three he took after that) washed over him. Two other members had joined the dance now, and once they’d finished the bowl, the clapper suggested they both join in as well. Paul used to love to go out to clubs when he was in college, but he’d scarcely done any dancing since and none at all after he’d moved to California. Why not? He thought, if I can’t drum, I might as well dance!

Paul stood up and swayed in place to the music for a moment, trying to get a handle on the beat. Then Chloe spotted him and swished over, grabbing him around the waist, pulling him close. He moved his body with and against hers, learning the rhythm from her hips, an altogether enjoyable process. Once he was going Chloe, stepped back for a moment and shouted, “Isn’t this great!”

“Yeah!”

“It’s so hot by the fire!”

“Sure!” he said, as he watched her pull her long-sleeved shirt up and over her head, tossing it onto her blanket. Now wearing just jeans and a bra, she pulled him back close to her again. “Come on! Let’s dance!”

And they did. For hours they circled the bonfire, moving to the beat. The circle shifted and morphed along with the changing beats as individual drummers dropped out and come back in when they got tired or decided to join the dancers for a while or just needed a quick smoke. By the time the circle began to wind down, Paul had taken off his own shirt. Some of the time he and Chloe danced close, their bare skin touching. Other times they cavorted separately around the circle, briefly intertwining with the other dancers. And always there was the old man, seemingly everywhere at once, leading the bacchanalian assembly though pure enthusiasm for the dance.

When the dancers and drummers finally collapsed from exhaustion, Paul and Chloe fell back into their blankets, covered in sweat and panting for air. The others produced bottles of water and wine, which they passed around the circle. Paul leaned close to Chloe, whispering in her ear.

“Who are these people?”

She took hold of his head and guided his ear to her mouth, whispering into it, “This is a real crew. They’re the real deal.”

Before Paul could ask what the hell that meant, the potbellied scarecrow man started addressing the whole circle. 

“That was wonderful – just wonderful. I thank you all, from the bottom of my heart, for once again sharing your bodies and souls with me in the dance. This special communion never fails to move me. On a night like this, I realize that we really do have all we ever need as long as we have our freedom and each other.” He smiled broadly and then shouted, “Freedom and company!”

“Freedom and Company!” the group yelled in response. Paul thought back to the call and response session Chloe had led her Crew in after they’d helped him. Were these people high tech criminals as well? They didn’t look the part.

The man continued. “Tomorrow, once again we begin again. We’ll rise up from the underground like the first blossoms of spring and bring a little bit of our own version of life into the cold hard world around us. And in return we’ll take what we need to keep going, to keep teaching the world that there’s another path, a way to live in true freedom. Our actions will resonate through the universe, like ripples in a pond. What we start, others will someday finish. The Revolution will come.”

“The Revolution Will Come,” intoned the circle, like a congregation at prayer.

“Let it be so.” The man looked around the group in silence for over a minute, waiting to see if anyone wanted to add anything, but the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the susurrations of the surf. Then he grinned an infectious, toothy smile.

“Ok, we’ll deal with the details tomorrow brothers and sisters. Tonight we have guests and there’s still fun to be had. Drink, toke, and be merry! For tomorrow you might fly!” The group laughed and then broke down into a dozen different small conversations. Two of the drummers stood up to confer with the old man, passing him a joint as they did so.

Paul had to know what was going on. “So they’re a crew like you and your friends?” he asked Chloe.

“Yes and no. They’re much more old school than we are. And they’re much more of a community. Really more like a commune.”

“So they’re communists?” Paul joked.

“Some of them probably are. Communists and Anarchists and whatever else lies between those two.”

Paul vaguely knew that such people were out there, but he’d never really