Will opened the door and crawled into the seat next to Tanis.
"What's happening Will?"
"Shh...listen...." They heard Leslie's prolonged screams, howls of pure terror. To the ears of Will Cast though, it was sweet music. "I don't think he likes her."
Through the apartment window they saw a body storm by, a body with a red shirt and scraggly blond hair waving a gun. Lights were going on in neighboring homes.
"Will, we better get out of here," Tanis said.
Will put his hand on Tanis' arm. "Wait, one more second."
Actually, they had to wait about ten seconds. A gunshot sounded, and then her screams stopped.
Tanis looked at him, an incredulous grin spreading over his face. "It worked. I don't believe it. It worked."
Will shrugged. "Quite well. Tanis, you're a genius. Only you could have thought of it. The ultimate woman hater in a woman's body."
Tanis, head shaking, pulled the car away. "I just wonder which one of them pulled the trigger?"
After a minute of uncomfortable silence, Will turned to his friend. "Tanis?"
"Yeah?"
"With all the crap I've been through with Leslie, our friendship was one thing she could not break up. Thanks for always being there."
Tanis smiled slowly. "In a way, I'm now your partner in crime."
Will smiled back. "I'm feeling much better. Just rid myself of a homicidal maniac, you know."
"Actually, you just rid yourself of two of them."
They laughed. The tension eased. "Buy you a drink? I do owe you a few."
"Actually, it's kinda hot. How about a swim in your pool?"
"Okay. Good idea." They laughed all the way to Will's house.
The Smart Society
Monday, Late Afternoon, 5:15
At quitting time in January on 58th Street and Madison Avenue in New York City, the wind whips around the corners so fast and hard that it feels as though it could just about send you back to the Ice Age if there was any chance at all to take you there.
Gary Riddell turned up the collar on his charcoal grey overcoat, the feeble attempt serving very little protection against the nasty weather. He was only half a block from his office and it already felt as if his nose would break off his face, hit the concrete pavement and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces on impact, leaving his face naked to battle the harsh elements.
Cold, man. Damn cold!
How fitting it was then that he'd said those exact words not a half hour ago while seated in Stroebecker's office, that rat of a boss who acted as if the world would downright suck if he--Edward Stroebecker, President of Royce Mills Industries--hadn't been an active participant in Gary's daily comings and goings.
Gary had waited months for Stroebecker to call him in and offer him the honored post in the cushy chair facing his executive cherry desk. He'd anticipated hearing some very special words, something along the lines of, Gary my boy, we've been watching you for quite some time now, and have been greatly impressed with your efforts here at Royce Mills Industries. We'd like for you to assume the vacant position of National Sales Manager. And of course, you'll find a nice increase in your paycheck. Good luck!
Well the rat had indeed used most of those words, but they hadn't actually come out in that particular order. No sir. It happened at about a quarter to five, and when you got called into the rat's office at the end of the day it only meant one of two things. Gary never imagined that...
"Mr Stroebecker? You wanted to see me?"
"Yes, Gary. Please come in. Take a seat." Stroebecker leaned back in his chair, his big beefy hands covering the back of his head like two baseball mitts. Sweat stains darkened the armpits of his custom-made dress shirt, looking like continents on a scholastic map. The man's stare showed no grin, this lack of immediate enthusiasm quickening Gary's suspicions. Something was wrong.
"What can I do for you, sir?"
"We here at Royce Mills Industries are changing direction, Gary..."
And the speech went on from there--in words so succinct that even someone with a child's mind like Gary would understand them--that the position of National Sales Manager would be assumed by Stroebecker himself, and although Gary's efforts had been somewhat impressive (emphasis on somewhat), there would be no need for his current position due to the initialization of a company downsizing campaign.
Good luck! were the final words. Just as Gary imagined they'd be.
A fierce gust nearly blew him off balance as he turned the corner of 55th Street, a block from the Park Avenue subway entrance. The stiff wind forged crystals on his eyeglass lenses, steering his thinning hair into flapping wings. Frozen plumes exploded from his mouth in geyser-like bursts as he painstakingly fought the oppressive weather.
Now if the rat Stroebecker hadn't fired Gary at the very moment he did, then Gary wouldn't have had to leave work a few minutes early, and his right leg wouldn't have found the slick ice patch that made it shoot out forward like it did when he suddenly lost his footing. Like learning to roller skate for the first time, he flailed his arms in vain effort to keep balance before careening sideways and knocking into a young woman carrying a shopping bag. Fueled by the defensive push of another pedestrian, he stumbled across the entire width of the sidewalk, jerking his hands up for a brief moment before smashing face first into the corner of a looming alley. The world spun around him for a few alarming moments, and by the time Gary stabilized himself, he could only remain still, gripping the alley wall, trying to catch his breath as a trickle of blood seeped from his forehead.
From behind, the woman cursed him, grabbed her bags and shuffled away.
From below, a cold hand grasped his ankle.
Gary shuddered, icy fear sending ripples across his buried flesh. He looked down and saw a homeless man lying on the floor of the alley, his body curled into a fetal shape, buffering the nasty weather. The embrace was so tight that Gary could feel the bony fingers pressing painfully against his ankle bone.
Gary tried to pull back. The man squeezed tighter, withdrawing his hidden gaze and shooting Gary a stare of reprimand as if insulted by his attempt to retreat. The actions of the seemingly deranged man brought feelings of confusion to Gary, not so much at the offensive scowl he exhibited but more so at the fact that his overall appearance didn't match that of any homeless person he'd ever seen. His hair, although mussed, was neatly trimmed, and only a few days' worth of whiskers textured his face. Not a scar or scrape told the tale of battle for supremacy amongst others on the street.
He didn't really look like a homeless man.
"I-I...n-need...some...some...money." His words spilled forth in a harsh whisper, nearly incomprehensible, buried amidst froths of saliva. The sight was too hard to stomach, and Gary finally found the strength to liberate himself from the man's persistent grasp. The vagrant yelled something crazy, pounding the alley floor with his hands as if utterly frustrated at Gary's retreat.
"What's wrong with you man?" Gary's yell provided no intimidation, and a smile rippled across the man's face. The man then turned around and scurried on all fours deep into the alley, away from Gary's sights.
A pedestrian nudged into Gary, breaking his anxious trance. He gazed angrily at the male passerby. The well-dressed man furnished a scowl and hostile mutter in return, then pressed on into the busy world. Gary shook his head and sucked in a deep frustrated breath, then looked back towards the alley, wiping a trickle of blood from his brow.
Shivering as a cold breeze found its way beneath his overcoat, he turned and paced briskly to the Park Avenue subway entrance. He tackled the steps one by one, careful not to fall, following the rush-hour crowd through the turnstile and realizing only after boarding the train that not only had the alley man been somewhat clean-cut, but the clothes he wore hadn't been too shabby either: a suit and overcoat, not unlike Gary's own.
Clothing that hadn't been off the department store rack for too long.
Monday Evening, 6:25
"Hey...you don't look so well."
Even at the worst of times Carolyn's voice was a welcoming joy. The fact that their apartments sat directly across the hall from one another didn't always mean that Gary had the pleasure of seeing her all that often. The nine-to-five under Stroebecker's tyranny had kept Gary well away from home while Carolyn slept and ran errands, and by the time the dinner bell rang and he cattled his way back home, Carolyn had more than often started her five-to-whenever shift at Carper & Tuck's, doling out the burgers and drinks to the local clientele. Gary had spent a good deal of his free time keeping a close ear to the door, acting out his meanderings around her irregular schedule. Other moments he would skip across town just to say hello to her at the bar, most of the time refusing dinner or drinks simply because he didn't have the income to support such a habit.
Anything to weasel in on her world.
Tonight he simply "bumped into" her, an all-too-rare moment that usually left him digging deep in his throat for something interesting to say. Today was no exception.
"I got laid off," was the best he could do. The absence of the familiar Carper & Tuck's uniform hugging the curves of her body had used up all of Gary's mental efforts, and quickly triggered his curiosity. So eye-catching was the fine, tailor-made career wear she'd adorned herself with tonight: a knee-length skirt, fully-lined blazer encapsulating a creamy yellow blouse, fine sheer stockings running the length of her toned legs that ended into black leather high-heels. She looked stunning. She looked rich.
Shouldering a Gucci handbag, she sidled up next to him, lips forming the perfect pout, eyebrows aimed at the zig-zagging gash on his forehead. "Oh Gary, I'm so sorry...what are you going to do?"
Gary shrugged his shoulders in blank disinterest. Having Carolyn in this close proximity, and looking this fine, immobilized him, consumed him. And then her face. The makeup so perfectly applied as if done in a professional salon, the colors adhered to create a unique blend of flawlessness, notably contradicting her usual sleaze-appeal, slap-it-on-thick technique.
"Carolyn, you look so...so different." It was the best he could do given his current state of insecure-driven distress, and lack of self-assurance. Even in the past, with the odds stacked against him, his lustful little mind had always tried to convince him that he had a chance to land Carolyn the waitress in bed someday. Well, those inclinations swam full laps in the crapper now--this new version of Carolyn was way out of his league.
"Thank you, I think," she smiled, stepping back. "I'm working in a law office now. I just passed the Bar. Ain't that great?" Her face beamed a glow that only something charged with electricity could produce.
Gary couldn't tell if her gloats had been self-rewarding or face-rubbing. Didn't matter. His reaction would be one and the same, and his thoughts fell to pieces. Every image he'd ever had of her as well crumbled. Law office? Bar exam? "Carolyn, I must say, y-you never mentioned that you were going to law school..." The incredulous smile he used to disguise his sudden fear fell in complete contrast with the pure enthusiasm that radiated from her cheerful, boastful glow. She was a damn waitress two weeks ago. Now she's a lawyer? Can't be. No possible way. And then her voice. It's changed too. It's more...eloquent.
"But I didn't go to law school. I bet you don't believe me, huh?"
He didn't. His disbelieving smirk withered into a weak uncertain grin. "C'mon Carolyn--what are you talking about?"
She looked at her watch. "Oh my God, I have to run. I have my first jury selection tomorrow, and I have to be at a meeting tonight to go over the deposition. This is all very exciting! See ya, okay?" She hurried down the hall towards the elevators, her swagger strong and brimming, a confident woman on a serious mission.
"Wait, Carolyn--you have to explain this to me!"
The elevator doors rang open. Smiling, she said, "We'll talk tomorrow."
She vanished through the doors, leaving Gary lost in a cloud of confused thoughts. He remained motionless for what seemed a very long time, staring at the swirls and grains in the wood door of his apartment, trying to make sense of the shockingly strange conversation he'd just had. On the surface one would imagine it to be some sort of elaborate practical joke, a hoax. But then Carolyn had never really been the type to kid around much. Prior conversations between them, although light and friendly, had always been limited to sincere exchanges of pleasantries and social congenialities. Never had they shared an intimacy that would lend itself to such light-hearted behavior as this.
So what in God's name could all this lawyer crap be about? It was crap, wasn't it? She couldn't have been telling the truth.
Could she?
He'd have to wait until tomorrow for an answer. That would be fine, he thought, realizing now that he sort of had a date--as lame as it really was--with Carolyn.
Gary Riddell entered his apartment, a man whose day had brought him many lost causes: he'd lost his job, and now his appetite--and very soon he'd find out that he also lost his ability to find a restful night's sleep.
Tuesday Morning, 9:33
Gary awoke in fits and starts, the sheets twisted about his body in knots of damp discomfort. The night had been a battle of racing thoughts, Stroebecker's rat-like face firing him over and over again, big puffy hands and armpit stains topping off the dreamy sequence. And then the ankle-grabbing man, his attire having more days left in it than most of Gary's threads (Gary obsessed as to whether the man had indeed been homeless. His moronic speech could have been the result of drunkenness, or substance abuse; it was the only logical answer for what appeared to be a business man setting up a cozy spot in an alley). And then finally: Carolyn. The biggest mystery of all, once a low-maintenance waitress who spoke with the thickest of New Yawk accents, now a sharp, classy lawyer lady whose clothing and speech ranked on par with the city's finest professionals.
What a day.
He rose from bed, put on jeans and a sweater, then put on a pot of coffee, prepping his mind and body for a stakeout by the peephole in his apartment door. At first sight of Carolyn, he'd leap into the hallway, drag her inside and find out what yesterday's big charade was all about. Lawyer, my ass, he thought, gazing at the closed door. She's taking me for a fool...
As he poured himself a cup of coffee and savored the first piping sips, he spotted something lying on the floor by the door. A small piece of paper.
He walked over to it, bent down and picked it up. It was a business card. He read the black print to himself:
Smart, Inc.
1-800-555-7098
Turning the card over, he read the short note scrawled in fine script on the back:
Come see me,
Carolyn
Gary tried to not let the door hit him in the ass on the way out.
Tuesday Morning, 10:14
"I'm not sure if I really get it." Gary held the business card out as if it were an oddity Carolyn hadn't seen before. She sat with firm confidence at the helm of a brand new pine-colored desk, her yellow silk robe knotted loosely at the waist, hugging the contours of her body as she adeptly handled the state-of-the art computer system in front of her. A plethora of text information danced upon the surface of the monitor's screen. Piles of books lay stacked on the desk at various angles, their bindings bragging a myriad of informative topics.
"They're tutors--sort of," she revealed, tightening the sash on her robe, closing off any hope Gary had of glimpsing the unknown territory of her breasts. "I strongly suggest you give them a try."
"So let me get this straight," Gary said, redirecting his sights to the business card he subconsciously tapped upon the desk's surface. "These people--tutors-- they just turned you brilliant? Overnight?"
Carolyn nodded, her sculpted blonde hair moving with her head like the smooth plastic mane on a rocking horse. "Yes, absolutely. It teaches the mind to behave in an analytical fashion, much like a computer. At least that's how they explained it."
"What teaches the mind?"
She hesitated, and in that brief fl
ickering moment Gary saw that the new and improved Carolyn had slipped up, had started to reveal something she didn't mean to say. "The tutors."
"No, you said it. You said it teaches the mind to behave like a computer." For once Gary felt he was on to something, and tried to stick to the program. But his approach didn't last very long. Carolyn grinned like a sly fox, covering her mistake with the same accuracy of a perfect putt. She then stood and slid the chair under the desk, lifting a manicured hand and honoring Gary with a charitable love-tap on his right cheek. "I have to be in the office at eleven. Call them, Gary. It will change your life forever."
It.
Gary watched her as she paced into the bedroom with the fluid elegance of a swan on motionless water. Was she telling the truth? If so, then how in God's name did it work? The curiosity factor alone was enough to peak his desire to investigate the matter. Could he really become that smart in just twenty-four hours, just like Carolyn said? And would they--the folks at Smart, Inc.--really be able to explain how it worked, if indeed it really did? Sure enough, Carolyn herself seemed the proof positive that the it wholly performed its task to a tee.
C'mon, Gar my boy. She never so much as gave you a wink and a hello on the same day, and now she's a goddess-turned-friend who wants nothing more than to have you share in her ultra-intellectual glory? Doesn't make sense to me, my boy, no sir-ee, not for a split-pea second.
The sound of running water emanated from the bathroom, and then the shower came on. "Let yourself out, Gary. Okay?"
"Sure," he said cheerlessly, waiting for the and lock the door on your way out that never came. He gazed at the books on the desk, scanning the collection of titles. One of them leaped out from its place in the literary mountain: Bruce Lee's Karate.
Dregs of Society Page 11
