by Nigel G. Mitchell
Rembrandt sat on a bench in the bookstore between Wade and Arturo. He pressed a finger into his opposite palm as he spoke. "Okay, so lemme get this straight. Just because you and Quinn didn't take some cheesy T-shirt, the cops arrested Quinn?"
"Exactly," Wade said, swinging her feet under her bench. "They said it was illegal to not accept promotional products from a place when you use their services."
"Mm," Arturo murmured, "another odious law put into place by the vile advertising agencies of this nation. They have the government in their pockets."
Arturo sighed. "Well, we might want to note that it's illegal to wear clothing that is not manufactured by an approved company of the government. And since all 'approved' manufacturing companies put advertisements on their goods, that means it's illegal to wear clothing that does not have an advertisement on them."
Rembrandt pulled his black leather jacket tighter around himself. "Which means we're breakin' the law right now."
"Exactly. Fortunately, Mister Brown, you and I have been in here so we have avoided the attention of the local police. However, I think it would be wise if we purchased some clothes that fit the current standard. I believe this bookstore sells T-shirts and hats with its name on them. That would probably suffice."
Wade handed him a twenty. "Here. Get some for all of us."
Arturo nodded and headed over to the counter where the clothes were displayed behind a cash register. After a few minutes, he returned with three shirts and three hats.
Wade pulled on the hat as she asked, "So now what?"
"Well," Arturo said as he arranged his shirt. "It's a fortunate thing that I have the timer, not Quinn. By its reading, we have until tomorrow evening before the next slide."
"We gotta get Quinn," Rembrandt said. "Maybe they'll let us post bail or somethin'."
"Agreed, Mister Brown. Perhaps our next stop should be the local police station."
Wade nodded and followed him as he headed for the front door.
They pushed through it back onto the street. The relative calm was once again shattered by the frenzied music of thousands of jingles being played in Golden Gate Square. The flashing lights of neon and the masses of slogans written on cars, clothing, and even buildings combined into an onslaught of images. Wade felt a headache roll through her skull at the sensory overload.
Rembrandt apparently felt it too as he winced and covered his ears. "Man, how do these people stand it?"
Arturo thrust his hands into his pockets. "It probably happened so gradually that they never even noticed. The same way the children of our world are now used to seeing astonishingly rapid images in their entertainment."
Wade looked up at the massive TV screen that overlooked Golden Gate Square. It was no longer showing its usual commercials. Now it was showing a woman behind a desk.
"Good afternoon," the woman said, her voice echoing across the square. "And welcome back to Ad News Brief, bringing you the latest news in advertising. This just in, Washington and Lambert have announced that they've gotten their hands on a brand-new model. Quinn Mallory..."
"What?" Wade yelled, drawing the attention of Arturo and Rembrandt.
A photo appeared on the wall beside the reporter of Quinn. She continued, "...arrested for malicious product refusal, has been signed on as a model prisoner for W and L. He was transferred from the courthouse to W and L headquarters just fifteen minutes ago. A spokeswoman for the agency announced that he will first appear on a new billboard for Gunslinger Jeans that will appear around the country by tomorrow morning. I know I'm looking forward to it."
"A model?" Wade asked. "How'd Quinn go from a prisoner to a male model?"
Arturo rubbed his beard. "Actually, Miss Welles, that goes back to my research. It seems in this world, the legal system is funded by ad agencies. Besides hawking various products in the courtrooms, agencies also get to select prisoners to appear as models in their ads. Hence the term 'model prisoners.'"
"Well, that's just great. Now what'll we do?"
The reporter on the screen was continuing her report. "In a related story, Washington and Lambert failed once again to lure away Rembrandt Brown, also known as the Crying Man, from the agency of Ogilvy and Masters. Brown turned down a twenty million dollar
contract to remain with his old agency, which catapulted him to stardom as the spokesperson for Coca-Cola."
The reporter held up a can of Coke. "Yes, Coca- Cola. Drink like a man. Or woman, in my case." She took a deep drink straight from the open can.
Rembrandt grinned. "Hey, guys, I got an idea."
* * *
Quinn was led down a long, stone-lined corridor in chains. He reached the end, where a large steel door waited. The guards holding him paused to unlock the door, then shoved it open.
The dingy chamber on the other side was filled with beautiful men and women. They all wore drab grey uniforms as they hung out in cells or worked out on exercise equipment. A few of them looked up at Quinn as he approached, but most ignored him. The guards unlocked the chains on Quinn's arms and legs, then shoved him into the dungeon.
"Welcome home, boy," one of the guards growled, then slammed and locked the door behind him.
Quinn rubbed his sore wrists, glancing around the dungeon. He was frozen with shock for a moment as he realized that some of the other prisoners look familiar. In fact, they looked like models from his own world.
A muscular man stood up, brushing back his long, blonde hair. He held out a hand to Quinn.
"Hi," the man said in a thick Italian accent. "I'm Fabio."
Quinn shook the hand. "Uh, hi. Quinn Mallory."
"What'd they get you for?" Fabio asked.
"Uh, I turned down a T-shirt at a hotel."
Fabio winced. "Ouch. I just refused to do a photo shoot for a romance novel. They framed me for robbing a bank, then put me in here."
Quinn noticed someone who looked exactly like Cindy Crawford in one of the cells, playing "Oh, Suzanna" on a harmonica. "What's this all about, anyway?"
Fabio frowned. "You've never heard of the model prisoner program?"
"Uh, I'm new here."
Fabio leaned against a wall. "Well, with all the ads out there, competition for models is cutthroat. And they can't afford to pay that much because they spend all their money on ad campaigns. So they have to use prisoners for their models. They don't have to pay us, and no one else can sign us on."
"Great," Quinn sighed. "So what happens now?"
Fabio shrugged. "Now you wait until your next photo session. But cheer up. It is not so bad in here."
Claudia Schiffer, Christy Turlington, and Naomi Campbell approached Quinn with broad smiles.
"Hi," Naomi said. "What's your name?"
Quinn grinned. He was starting to see Fabio's point.
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