The Humanist

by Kenneth James Allen

  Stocks fell as if they were in free fall. With every screen refresh, the indexes sunk lower and lower. People were pulling out as the news spread like a virus across the internet. The damage had already been done. There was no coming back from it.

  Elton mumbled something. I held up a finger. There was something else I was waiting for. And then it happened. A global memorandum distributed through various news outlets by an unknown South Korean company: EGTech. No one knew who they were. They were even anonymous in their own country. But I did. I saw what they were capable of, the one bit of tech they were refining for release.

  The thing was, the market was saturated with panels out of India and China and Germany. With no plant or means to produce their tech, EGTech would have to sell to the highest bidder and wait for everyone else to catch up. Sure, they would have made some money on the patent, but that was years in the making. I gave them an opportunity. I made them multibillionaires in the blink of an eye. They announced to the listening world that their bacteria-based nanotechnology was the answer to the problem.

  Anyone looking for information about EGTech wouldn’t have much luck. The company was comprised of two people. Two incredibly smart people, smart enough to accept a million-dollar investment from my discretionary funds, which, in turn, was offset by the short sell. Simple, really.

  I had just made the directors at Wakefield & Gold a major part of the single point of every piece of global solar technology for the next century. They would make more money in the next few years than they had seen in their entire history. As if they needed more.

  Meanwhile, Elton stared at my monitor, mouth agape. When the renewables sector hit rock bottom, I bought everything I could get my hands on. It was a win-win. Couldn’t have possibly worked out any better.

  Elton stepped back, wringing his hands to the point of oblivion. His phone rang. Fumbling it out of his jacket pocket, he glanced at the screen, then slowly raised it to his ear. The stunted conversation, mainly one way, finished with a, “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.” He tapped the device on the side of his head and stood, then pulled out his white pocket chief so he could pat away the sweat on his forehead. He looked at it questioningly before shoving it back into his top pocket.

  His words were squeaky, disorganized. He cleared his throat and started again. “Tealson wants to see us. Now.”

  I smirked, tapped a few keys on the keyboard, and stood. I straightened out my sleeves and pressed in the cufflinks. Elton waited at my door, looking to both ends of the hallway. The sounds from the field echoed down the hall. No one had seen this coming. No one except me. I pulled on my coat.

  “Come on, Atlas. Don’t want to keep Tealson waiting.”

  I tightened my tie. “Considering what I just did, I’ll take my damn time.”

  It was a remark I would never make in front of Tealson, or the rest of the W&G hit squad, as we called them. They were depressing old bastards who had destroyed many a career, and life, during their tenure. They made the rules that everyone had to abide by. And when I say everyone, I don’t just mean at Wakefield & Gold. They made the rules for everybody.

  The elevator ride to the top floor was quiet, aside from the occasional cough from Elton. He stared at the floor, his hands in his pockets, monologues surely rushing through his mind.

  “You know,” he said, leaning over toward me, “you play your cards right here and let me do the talking, and I think I can save you. You were already on the ledge before this, and everybody knows that. And this little stunt, well, I’m just not sure. But you let me handle this, and I can spin it for you. We can both get out of there smelling like roses. If you like your ass intact, you’ll leave everything to me.”

  I smiled even bigger.

  Tealson’s office, which was bigger than my apartment, was full of dark wood and gold trimmings. Bookshelves and nooks adorned the walls, showing off several first edition novels and awards. In front of the shelves, facing the middle of the room, were large, leather couches where one could sit and read a first edition. Not that anyone ever would. Everything in the office was ornamental, designed to assert dominance and foster a sense of inadequacy among its visitors. At the far end of the room, in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, was a desk. The edging and legs held intricate engravings in some Mediterranean, oriental style. I had no idea where it was from, what it was made from, or what period it was meant to represent.

  But the desk wasn’t important. What was important was the person sitting behind it. Director Tealson, one of seven directors, a fifth-generation director of the company. He had a salt-and-pepper military buzz cut. One of the old guards who played it rough when he had to and played it even rougher every other time. He wouldn’t win any beauty contests, and he knew that, but he didn’t care. His wife was thirty years younger than him. His mistresses were younger still. They knew about each other and didn’t care, provided Tealson kept bringing in the millions. Tealson himself didn’t care, either; he was well past caring about what people thought of him. They say this game is all about relationships, on how well you connect with someone to achieve a result. Well, he short-circuited all that and just achieved the results.

  He tightened his blood-red bowtie and motioned for us to enter. I held my breath as I stepped into the room. It was like passing through a threshold, an archway into greatness. I could feel success entering my pores as I walked. It excited me. Elton and I walked in together, like two defendants walking into a courtroom to see the judge. Let’s face it, this was Tealson’s courtroom. Whatever he said, it went. And he judged as freely as swinging an axe.

  The more I moved through the room, the closer I got to Tealson, the more I could see the disappointed look on his face. But I had no way of knowing if that was his regular face or if it was something specifically for us.

  When we got close, Tealson pointed to the two armchairs opposite his desk. Elton and I sat, sinking into the leather. It was like receiving a hug from a cow. Tealson, his demeanor unchanging, sprung out from behind his desk, in a manner of someone much, much younger. He must’ve popped a few pills before we arrived.

  He leaned against his desk and folded his arms, looking over us like a Roman emperor deciding if we should live or die. He probably gave the same look to a menu, deciding to eat the lobster or the duck.

  Eventually, he spoke. “Would you mind, gentlemen, telling me what the fuck that was all about?” He emphasized the swear word, making sure we knew we had pissed him off. Like, really pissed. He said it so emphatically, I almost pissed myself.

  Elton leaned forward. “Well, sir, Atlas here came to me with a proposition. I was initially against it. However, upon further investigation, I found promise in the suggestion and instructed him to continue. Under my direct guidance, he undertook the necessary—”

  “Shut up, Elton. Fucking ass-kisser. I wasn’t talking to you.”

  Elton sat back awkwardly, and Tealson turned his damn scary glare to me.

  “You,” he said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I took a breath. “I’m not too sure I need to say anything for myself. My results say more than enough.” I exhaled.

  “Oh, really?” Tealson said. “That’s a ballsy response from a snot-nose punk like yourself. Do you see any reason I shouldn’t call security right now to escort you from the building?”

  “Mr. Tealson, I could explain the inconsequential minutiae to you, the intricacies within the complexity, but I don’t really see the point. There are only two people in this room who would get it, and I know you had the same inclinations as I did.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact?”

  “Of course! That’s why you signed off on the deals.”

  His face dropped. “I beg your pardon? I did what?”

  “Mr. Tealson, on your watch, you’ve been able to secure the biggest windfall Wakefield & Gold has ever seen. You’ve been at the forefront of the future of sustainable technology and acquired a long pipeline of capital rev
enue that will exist deep into the next century.”

  “I, I—,” he stuttered.

  “You’re a genius, sir. Really! I’m sure the other partners are right now planning an event to honor your ingenuity.”

  He sat in stunned silence. I was tip-toeing a fine line with my mock praise.

  “I mean, there’s a couple hundred million on the periphery I could have got my hands on, but what’re millions when we’re talking billions?”

  Tealson played with his bowtie while looking over us, his face unreadable. I considered myself a half-decent poker player, able to read people as well as I could read markets. But right then, I had no idea what was going through the old man’s head. His look was like Talon, his jaw clenching. It was a risky move to lay it out as I did, but I trusted he would see it as confidence and not arrogance. I mean, I was arrogant, make no mistake. I just knew the right time and place to be a complete asshole.

  Without saying a word, he returned to his desk and picked up the phone. He maintained eye contact with me as he spoke. “Security” was all he said, and then he placed the receiver back in the cradle.

  “Get your asses up out of my chairs.”

  We shot up and buttoned our jackets. My heart was beating hard, my mouth dry. My eyesight became hazy, every sound elongated. If Tealson asked me a question now, I wouldn’t be able to answer it.

  Elton leaned over to me. “I told you, wise-ass, to let me do the talking. Now we’re fucked.”

  We turned as the office door opened and a security guard appeared in his white shirt, black tie, and black pants. His name was Lenny, or Levi, or Leroy, or something like that...shit. Anyway, he marched in, a hand on the butt of his service pistol and a look of “no bullshit” on his face. He must’ve been twice my age, with naturally permed brown hair and deeply-tanned skin.

  “I can’t help you now,” Elton said. “You’re fucked, my friend.”

  The guard stood behind us, awaiting further instructions.

  “Get him the fuck out of my office and out of this building.”

  My heart sank. I tried to align my thoughts, but nothing would fit together. I looked at the guard, and he stared back at us. Confusion reigned on his face.

  Elton pointed a thumb in my direction, and I dropped my head. The guard moved in and grabbed my arm.

  “Mr. Tealson,” Elton began, “It would be absolute pleasure to escort this piece of shit out of the building. Maybe stick a few into him on the way.”

  “Not him,” Tealson yelled from his desk. “Elton here. Take him.”

  Suddenly, it all came together. My thoughts fell into place. I knew what was happening.

  Elton turned. “What? But, sir!”

  Tealson straightened. “There’s no room in this company for someone like you.”

  “I’ve given twenty-two years, Tealson! Don’t you dare do this! Please. Please reconsider!”

  “We’ve compensated you well during that time. We thank you for your tenure.”

  The guard grabbed his arm, and he pulled away sharply.

  “Get your hands off me.”

  Tealson remained resolute.

  Elton turned and pointed a finger at me. “I’ll get you for this!”

  “What the hell did I do? Just because you didn’t have the intelligence to see what I saw? Or the balls to do it? That’s not my problem.”

  The guard escorted Elton out of the office as he hurled a barrage of obscenities toward me, with a few aimed at Tealson. Not the smartest thing. I could never understand why people acted on emotion. For me, everything happened in the rational aspects of my brain. I thought everything through—every decision, every move.

  When the door closed and the room returned to quiet, I turned to see Tealson pouring brown liquid into two glasses. I didn’t get a look at the bottle, nor did I care to ask. If it was coming from Tealson, it would be better than top shelf.

  He placed a glass on my side of his desk. I picked it up. We stared at each other for a moment before sipping. The liquid slid down my throat smoothly, burning slightly, then quickly giving way to a warmth that took over my mouth.

  “Finer than pussy,” Tealson remarked.

  I tipped my glass in his direction. “As you say, sir.”

  Tealson pointed his glass back at me. “You’re lucky I don’t fire your ass as well. Next time you want to sniff something out, you come to me. Only to me.”

  “Well, I hope I can come to you.”

  Tealson placed his glass down and rested his hands on his stomach. “Is that a threat?”

  “Oh,” I said. “Not at all.” I waved my phone at him. “News travels fast. People want to know. People want me to come and work for them.”

  “Well,” Tealson retorted. “I guess we’re just going to have to find you a bigger office.”

  Chapter 4

  I cracked opened an eye and squinted at the sunrise filling my bedroom, the sharp light falling upon a woman’s long blonde hair, which was draped over her shoulder and naked ass. I had filled the night with beers, whiskey, tequila, and I’m sure other things that had been alcoholically wiped from my memory. Unfortunately, this also included her name. Rose or Ruby or Robyn. Something like that. It definitely started with “R.”

  My head banged. The night before was a blur—and for good reason. There was a lot to celebrate. My promotion for one, sticking it to Elton another. I’m sure there was a speech at some point, with the kind of delivery one would expect after ten or so shots of something or other.

  Anyway, Rose, or Ruby, or whoever, was at the bar. It was like in the movies. Amongst the roar of the patrons, there was a moment where our eyes locked. Some might have called it the moment. You know, the story that gets told to kids and grandkids about how we got together. Well, let me make this very clear. This wasn’t one of those moments. Not for me, anyhow. Whether her intentions were to enjoy an evening out with her friends or end up in my bed, it didn’t matter to me one iota. The reality was I bought her and her friends a round of cocktails, boasted about my latest win, and grabbed her ass on the dance floor. I wasn’t a dancer, never have been, so the only way I could survive among a mass of writhing bodies was to stay close to her and hang on for dear life. And one thing led to another. A private booth, indiscrete hands, and the overwhelming need to take a piss.

  The lavatory. An important part here. Because if I had held it for a little longer, or went a little earlier, things might have turned out different. For both of us. There are a million little decisions, a million forks in the road, that I could have chosen. A different route that could have changed everything. It doesn’t seem right to reflect on such things. I mean, I can’t change them, so what’s the point? Things are the way they are and the way they’ll be.

  Anyway, the next bit is hazy, so I’ll recollect it from my sense of what happened. Maybe the other guys would have a different perspective or told a different story, but this is mine. I was standing at the urinal, trying desperately to keep my aim true while swaying, when the gent’s door burst open, followed by a shuffling of feet and loud, confused shouting. At first, this commotion was rolled up into one big ball of noise, the oozy mash of drunken recall.

  Now, let’s make this clear. I’m not one to get into other people’s problems, regardless of who they are or what they did. I’ve never given to charity or thrown two bucks to a beggar. As far as I’m concerned, if I could pull myself through hard work and sacrifice from the bullshit that was my childhood, then everyone else could do it as well. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. And second, I’m not much of a fighter. Sure, I had to fight through school. I mean, didn’t we all? It’s just that I always talked my way out of the shit. I had never learned that tactic didn’t always work.

  I zipped up and turned to what I thought was the basins. Wrong. In my drunken navigation, I was now facing the back wall. In the middle of that wall was a big guy, easily over six foot, wearing a leather jacket and dark jeans, his back turned toward me. I could see over
his shoulder another man’s face. He didn’t look happy. Judging by the conversation, the pinned guy had fucked something up. I watched to see how the situation would pan out. It was like I had a courtside seat. And things weren’t looking so great for the guy against the wall.

  “You’re past your due date, Aston.”

  “I, I know. But I got it. I was gonna see him tomorrow. Just blowin’ off some steam.”

  “I don’t think you heard me. Past your due date. You didn’t pay by the agreed time.”

  “I know, I know!” he said in a flurry, as if the words couldn’t wait to get out of his mouth.

  “Well, you should also know I need to collect.”

  “Of course. Here, I’ll give you the money.” He reached into his jacket pocket, his fingers shaking. “You can give it to Talon.” He produced a stack of bills.

  “I think you’ve misunderstood what I’m here to collect, Aston. I’m not your fucking courier. You can pay Talon direct tomorrow, and you can do it with one fewer digits on your hand.”

  “No! Shit! There’s got to be a way out of this. Come on, I got the money.”

  “Does it look like I give a shit what you have? I don’t like repeating myself, Aston. I just want you to prepare yourself to feel as much pain as possible. But don’t worry, I’m not taking your thumb. You’ll still be able to hold a hand of cards. I’m not a complete animal. Just that you might find it difficult to shuffle. And think yourself lucky the man himself ain’t here to collect his shit.”

  While the guy begged for his attacker to reconsider, I weighed my options. At that moment, neither of them knew who I was. The guy had money, and I like money. I could’ve walked away and let the big guy have his way. I could have done a lot of things. This was one of those decision points I spoke about earlier. A million different things. But I didn’t do a million other things—I did one thing.

  I stepped up and drove a punch into the big guy’s kidneys. Christ, did he buckle! He yelped and just about bent in half. By then, I was past the point of no return. There was no coming back from that. There was no way I could apologize and walk out with my face—and limbs—intact. So, I continued. While he was groaning in agony, I shoved his head into a porcelain bowl so hard that a piece of the urinal broke off from the impact. Just like that, the guy was out cold.