“You couldn’t have come at a better time,” Sunday said with his uncanny mouth that moved cartoonishly. “Now that we are complete in our membership, we can commence the grand plan, and you will see Azalaan that I am indeed the true Idiot God. I must say that I am surprised that you sought me out, but I guess that you got wind of our organization and couldn’t help but share in the chaos to come. But the leader of the Woke Brigade? Of all things Azalaan, that is laughable. If anything, I would have expected you to replace Saturday as the head of the Anarchists. Not that Saturday will ever cede that seat, he will outlive the Earth itself. You must have told sweet lies to convince them that you could possibly be the face of their Woke Brigade.”
“What can I say,” Thursday said with a smile and he grabbed his wine glass, “I become a very beautiful woman with the right help. I’d like to make a toast to the proverbial black woman, the one who allowed me to experience this great honor. Sunday, if you are truly capable of realizing your plan then I will have no choice but to relinquish my vaulted title to you. I am honored beyond words to lend a hand as your new Thursday and I will enjoy watching you succeed.”
Everyone at the table toasted and gave a hearty cheer, though Sunday cut a suspicious eye at Thursday as he did, and Monday did not raise her glass at all.
“Quibbling over that honorific is childish,” Saturday said to hush the excited cheers filled with delight at the coming chaos that their organization would achieve with Sunday strong at the helm. “We are not one man, one god, we are seven strong united in a singular pursuit. If we succeed, we succeed together, and we need no gods among us to realize our success.”
Everyone, including Sunday, still with his eyes in exaggerated suspicion, nodded their agreement.
“Monday rights the way,” Sunday said with a religious reverence that his deep voice managed. Everyone at the table echoed his words. “Now then, we have welcomed our new Thursday, we have been reminded of our purpose, let’s get down to the real business at hand. The assignation of Beyonce Knowles Carter. Tuesday, you and your Supremacists are the opening salvo of our grand plan, and I couldn’t be more confident in your ability to see this through. The death of the beloved pop star, by a white supremacist no less, will tip the country into real turmoil that we will follow up with a series of attacks to our culmination. Let’s review the details of the plot we have so far.”
Thursday mostly half listened to everything after the point when Sunday said that the Council of True Idiocy was plotting the assignation of Beyonce Knowles Carter. Why would such an organization, with lofty dreams of upending American society, need to kill Beyonce? And Thursday couldn’t help but be disappointed at the thought of her death. She’d had a long career, he thought, but based on her body of her work, surely her death would deprive all of humanity of the hits she would produce.
When he shook his bafflement at the Council’s target for assassination, Tuesday was talking and detailing his plan to kill Beyonce himself at a small airport for private jets located in Houston, Texas. It involved ninja Nazis neutralizing the singer’s security, and Tuesday taking the shot that would echo across the glode. The plan was for Tuesday to disappear after the deed, which would be easy because he had scrubbed his civilian identity long ago, before his ascent to Tuesday. The failure of any authorities to apprehend the murderer of Beyonce Knowles Carter would stir racial tensions to a fever pitch as agents of the council increased the numbers of mass shootings around the country.
Thursday wondered if all mass shootings in the country were caused by the Council, but before he could ask, Sunday changed the subject very abruptly.
“That’s all good and well,” he said, “I trust in you Tuesday to make us all proud.” He let his big face and suspicious eyes survey everyone at the table as he continued. “But sadly there is one among us for whom my trust is misplaced. For you see, my committed brethren in chaos, there is a spy among us. An investigator in the employ of our greatest foe; those who refuse to let go of the flawed present. After watching you all as we discussed our plot to assassinate Mrs. Knowles Carter, I now know for sure who is a sheep in wolf’s clothing.”
Everyone at the table reacted with surprise at the news and they all looked at each other with questions and suspicions. Even Thursday, who knew that he was the spy, but didn’t want to give himself away immediately to everyone who did not know. Besides, looking around at everyone else allowed him to avoid the suspicious eyes of Sunday that no doubt stared bullets at him.
Of course Sunday had figured out that Thursday was not there to support his efforts, Thursday thought. He knew that Thursday wouldn’t give up his seat as the Idiot God. It was his brand and it would make him a lot of money in the future. He did wonder how Sunday had known about the investigators working to undermine the Council, but the man seemed capable of almost anything with his otherworldly appearance. He must have spies of his own that reached into every corner of society. Maybe Thursday had underestimated his opponent.
“Wednesday!” Sunday said finally, and Thursday cursed himself for overestimating his foe and allowing himself to doubt his proper place in the cosmos. He stared like everyone else at the woman, Wednesday, who had looked angry for most of the gathering, but was now wide eyed and possibly afraid.
“You have been found out,” Sunday continued, training all of his malice on the woman and Thursday was sure that he would grab her and throw her through the glass of the large windows. But he didn’t.
“You may leave,” was all Sunday said though, and he waved his big hand at her, shooing her away from the table. She left quickly and did not make eye contact with anyone else.
“Well, then,” Sunday said when she was gone. “It seems we are short one again, but who wants to delay our plans any longer than we already have? Let’s get to it then. This gathering is done.”
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