by Darren Shan
“He strode toward me. I was looking him straight in the face, my dream camera zooming in to an extreme close-up. Closer still, until his face filled the world of the dream, smiling and confident.
“Then I awoke. The first thing I thought was, I could do with a man like that. A man that hard to kill, that cocksure and invulnerable… he had something to offer. So I checked on Theo’s men, his confidants, the ones most likely to come with him to the meeting. Mr. Tasso provided me with a list of names which I scanned quickly, following the logic of the dream. One stood out. Capac Raimi. An Incan name. A name of power and portent.”
He pointed at me. “That’s why you’re here, Mr. Raimi. That’s why you’re not rotting in the warehouse, surrounded by chalk-wielding detectives. My dream and your unusual name.
“Would you like a job?” he asked politely.
“You’re joking,” I spluttered once I’d recovered from the shock. “You’re spinning me a wild tale, waiting to see if the dumb hick buys it.”
“Why should I lie to you?” he asked.
“For fun. To confuse me. To see how I’ll react.”
He chuckled quietly. “Is it so hard to believe, Mr. Raimi? We’ve all had déjà vu and lived out scenes from our dreams. Why shouldn’t I dream of you?”
“Because you’re The Cardinal,” I snapped. “You don’t dream about people like me. We’re not just beneath you, we’re buried a hundred miles underfoot. Even if you happened to dream of Theo and the massacre, even if you did see a figure walk unscathed through a rain of bullets, you wouldn’t bring him here and offer him a job. It isn’t logical. In fact it’s dumb.”
I waited for his wrath to fall. The Cardinal was a man with a huge temper, who blew up at the least provocation. I’d just called him a dumb, illogical liar. I was history.
But instead of attacking, he pondered my words, fingers crooked, lips pursed. When he finally spoke, he asked a question. “Do you know the secrets of the universe?”
“What?” I blinked.
“Are you privy to the secrets of the universe? Can you account for the workings of nature, the movements of the heavens, the advent of life? Do you have an insight into the inexplicable which the rest of us lack? If so, I would pay much for such information.”
“I don’t see what—”
“You don’t see anything ,” he snapped. “You’re as blind to the wonders of the world as the rest of us. We know nothing, Mr. Raimi. We have theories, guesses and opinions. We hold beliefs, each as valid and ridiculous as the others. We trust scientists to delve into the pits of time and space, tinkering with great questions like children playing with sand.
“In all my years I’ve met just one man who seemed to really know. He was crazy, a drunk working on the docks. He had trouble tying laces and buttoning his coat. He spoke in fits and riddles, but every word struck me to the core. I listened a very short time, then had him executed. I was afraid of him. If I had listened much longer, I’d have gone mad too. Truth is too much for minds as small as ours.”
His eyes were burning into mine. His long fingers were wrapped around the arms of the chair, biting into the soft leather.
“I gave up on truth after that,” he said. “From that day I resigned myself to a life of ignorance and blind acceptance. If I couldn’t understand the universe, I decided I’d roll along with it and make the most of its own unfathomable rules. I’d no longer seek answers. I opted to wear my ignorance like an armband.
“Do you know what the secret of my success is?” he asked, changing tack again. I shook my head numbly. “Knowing how to ride the waves of luck. Everything in this world ties together at some level. I’m sure you’ve heard the old chestnut about a bird’s wingbeat in Australia determining the weather on the other side of the globe. An exaggeration, but as good an example as any.
“It all interconnects. Everything links, sometimes neatly, more often obscurely. A Jew makes fun of a child called Adolf and millions die in the death camps. An apple falls and gravity is understood. A filth-encrusted boy has a dream and The Cardinal is born.”
He stopped, rose, walked to the window and stared down at his city. I didn’t know what he was rambling on about. He was like a mad street prophet. What the hell had I walked into?
He stood at the window for close on twenty minutes. I remained perfectly still. I sensed danger in any untoward action. I was dealing with a fanatic, but he was the most powerful man in the city. Cautious didn’t come close to what I had to be. Finally, after a silent eternity, he returned to his chair. Crouching forward, he said, “I’m going to tell you how I run my empire.” He looked around, leaned closer, tapped my knee and whispered, “Very carefully.”
He laughed and sat back. “Everything’s connected,” he repeated. “That is what my time on this planet has taught me. It all hooks up somewhere along the line. From the smallest man to the greatest, there are bonds. No man’s an island, if I may borrow an obvious phrase. We’re all tied to each other, the world we inhabit, maybe even the planets and stars—I’m no believer in astrology but I don’t discount it either.
“I try to manipulate the rules of chance and coincidence. I make my choices based on whims. I choose my friends and foes according to instinct. I run this city as the roll of the dice dictates. I’ve made myself a slave of fortune, Mr. Raimi, and have reaped the rewards.
“Example. Some years ago I bought a derelict tenement building near the docks. I planned to renovate it and make a vast profit. A few months later, before construction was set to go, I met with an old ganglord. He drank a few too many vodkas and began talking about this building. He’d had plans and was on the point of buying out the old owner when I stepped in. He offered to buy me out for three million. ‘I’ll give you three big notes,’ were his exact words. I declined. The building was worth much more than that.
“He went his way and I went mine. I gave it no further thought. A week or so later, I was out walking—as I did once upon a time—when a bum approached and asked for a handout. ‘You got a three-note, mister?’ he asked.” The Cardinal crossed his eyes and squeaked as he imitated the hobo. He’d never make a career out of impressions. “Have you ever heard of a three-note, Mr. Raimi?”
“No.”
“Neither had I. But they were almost the same words as those I’d heard a week before. Coincidence?” His face split into a smile. “I rang the old ganglord and asked if his offer still stood. He thought I was joking—like you did tonight. I assured him I was genuine. He agreed hastily, happily. He was getting a bargain. There was no catch, no hidden agenda. I was blowing millions.
“A few weeks later the building burned down. An electrical fault. The new owner wasn’t worried. He’d planned to knock the old whore down anyway. It meant he’d have to pay a bit more to clean the place up but in light of the profits to come, that didn’t matter.
“But when they were digging down to clear out the foundations, they discovered it had been built on—I shit you not—an ancient burial pit. There were thousands of corpses beneath that old wreck. As if that wasn’t bad enough, it turned out to have been a burial ground for plague victims!” He burst out laughing at that point and pounded his fists against the sides of the chair. “The fucking plague!” he gasped when he got his breath back. “Once word got out, the project was dead. The council declared it both a historical site and hygienically suspect. The press dug up rumors and wild tales, the sort any old building has attached to it—mysterious deaths, murderers and rapists who lived there, et cetera. To cap it all, my old friend had to fork out for excavation costs.
“It set him back millions. Would have done the same to anyone. Even my pull couldn’t have made a success of it. So, thanks to a street bum’s mumblings, I was three million to the good instead of many more to the bad. I ignored logic, put my fate in the arms of chance and emerged the stronger.
“Do you start to see, Mr. Raimi?”
“You couldn’t have known that was going to happen,” I protested.
“A crazy thing like that. You couldn’t have predicted—”
“Of course not!” he interrupted. “Have you listened to anything I’ve said? I just got through boasting of my ignorance. I know next to nothing about the workings of the world and the forces which bind us together. I’m not a fortune-teller. I can’t see into the future. That’s not what my tale was meant to imply.
“I act on observed phenomena. I don’t draw conclusions, think, hypothesize or question. When something happens”—he snapped his fingers—“I jump. When I become aware of a coincidence, I look immediately to incorporate it into my plans. Everything ties together, Mr. Raimi. That is the first and only law. If you accept that—if you believe it—you can start to use it.”
He rubbed his forehead with his bony fingers. I could see the frustration behind his eyes. He was trying to impress upon me his secrets. He wanted to convert me. Why , I couldn’t tell.
“The world has laws of its own,” he resumed. “We don’t have to understand them. We just need to obey them. Like with the three-note. There was nothing to say the two men were linked by the coincidence. But I took it as a sign that they were. At some unknown level they were connected by various strings of the universe. Sensing that connection, I acted. By acting, I profited.”
He stopped again and took a drink. “That’s how I do business,” he said softly. “People see the killings I make on the markets and real estate. They look at the powerful friends I cultivate, then abandon shortly before their unexpected falls. They wonder how I know so much, how I’m so often one step ahead, anticipating success and failure prior to everybody else. They assume I’m a cunning speculator, with a team of wise advisers. They’re wrong. All I do is follow my instinct and play along with my hunches.
“Would you care for a drink?” he smiled.
While The Cardinal fetched a beer from the fridge in the office outside I went over his words and tried to make sense of them. He might be playing with me, selling me a wild tale designed to test my gullibility. But he seemed genuine.
When he returned I said, “It wouldn’t work. It couldn’t. By the law of averages you’d have to lose more than you made. You’d have no control. It just wouldn’t work.”
“But it does.” He gestured at the office. “You must remember, these are not the ravings of a gambler with his latest surefire can’t-lose scheme. I’m living off the fat of decades of proven success. This isn’t a possibility—it’s fact.
“It’s not as simple as the three-note example suggests. I used that because it was colorful and illustrative. In most cases the links are much more slender, far more subtle. Recognizing and interpreting them is a near-impossible task. It’s easy to make a mistake, choose wrongly, miss an opportunity.
“You have to ignore the risks, put your brain on hold and follow your instincts, even when your head insists you do otherwise. Sometimes you get burned. I’ve been singed many times. Roasted once or twice. You have to live with the fire. Because if you start thinking too much or playing safe, you’re lost to its wondrous charms forever. You become part of the real world again, the mundane, the ordinary, from where there’s no escape.
“You’re here tonight because I had a dream of a strange man, then found a man with a strange name. Will you serve me faithfully? Be an addition to the firm? Help make me another few million?” He shrugged. “Time will tell. Time tells all in the end. I feel you’re right, that you’re the man from my dreams, but—”
“That’s plural.”
“Excuse me?”
“You said dreams. I thought you’d only had one.”
The Cardinal stared at me like I was some hideous viral strain. “Slips of the tongue are the nuggets men like myself kill for,” he said coldly. “They should be sought zealously, always cherished, never idly revealed. I made a mistake and said something I didn’t mean to. You noticed—congratulations. But you revealed your knowledge and that was foolish.
“Keep your secrets under wraps,” he told me, pulling mindlessly at his loose trousers. “No slip of the tongue is ever truly irrelevant. That might save your life one day or at least prevent you from throwing it away, as you very nearly just did.”
“You’d kill a man for commenting on one of your slips?” I asked skeptically.
The Cardinal smiled like a shark and said, “I’ve killed men for far less than that, Mr. Raimi. You take your life in your hands when you come to work for me. But that’s a risk you’re more than willing to run, isn’t it?”
I said nothing and in my silence he found all the confirmation he required.
Later The Cardinal summoned a third member to our small meeting. He introduced the woman as Sonja Arne. We shook hands before she took her place in the chair she’d drawn up when entering the room. She was good-looking, in her forties, lightly made up, hair graying. Her face was sharp and attentive but kind around the lips and eyes. She was dressed in a smart skirt and neutral blouse. A somber, serious businesswoman.
“Miss Arne,” The Cardinal said, “this is Capac Raimi. He’s going to be working for you. I want you to teach him the business. Introduce him to the right people. Make sure he learns the moves and secrets of the trade. I want him to be your star pupil. If he picks up the tricks of the trade quickly, fine. If he doesn’t, beat them into him.”
“No problem,” she said, looking me over. “He’s presentable and that’s a start. A less aggressive suit, a touch of color, a haircut… Let me hear you speak.”
“Sure. You want me to ramble on a bit or would you like some recitals? I know some good Dr. Seuss.”
She nodded approvingly. “A good voice. I don’t think we’ll have any problems. A few weeks under my watchful eye and he’ll be one of the best salesmen this city has to offer.”
“Salesman?” I frowned and looked at The Cardinal.
“Miss Arne heads my insurance division,” he explained. “She’s going to teach you how to sell insurance.”
“ Insurance? What the… Oh.” I grinned. “You mean protection.” His face darkened and I knew immediately I’d made a faux pas. I backtracked rapidly. “Not that… I mean to say… if you want to call it insurance, that’s fine. I won’t—”
“ Mr. Raimi,” he growled, “if I meant to say protection , I would have. I’ve never been afraid to call a spade a spade. Protection accounts for a sizable percentage of my income, yes. But I don’t want you to engage in such affairs at this time. Later, perhaps, but for the moment you’ll concentrate on insurance. Miss Arne will teach you how to sell. She’ll introduce you to our different and varied policies, show you how to push them, then set you loose—in an entirely legal capacity—on the good citizens of this city. Do you follow?”
I stared at him, confused at first, then angry. “That’s why you brought me here?” I snapped, forgetting my place. “To become a fucking insurance agent?” I heard Sonja gasp but I didn’t care. Let the bastard kill me. I wasn’t about to become a salesman, not for The Cardinal, God or the Devil. “Listen,” I began, but The Cardinal raised a commanding hand and stopped me.
“Mr. Raimi,” he tutted, “there’s no need to get so excited. I understand your concerns. I realize this isn’t what you were expecting. But you must learn to trust me. I am older than you and vastly more experienced. I know what I’m doing.
“Miss Arne, will you tell Mr. Raimi how you started in this company?”
“I was a prostitute,” she said. That shut me up. I gawked at her. This neat, precise, cultured businesswoman—a whore?
“It’s true,” she replied in response to my unvoiced query. “I came here looking for secretarial work. The Cardinal took me aside and offered me a position in prostitution instead. He outlined the terms of my contract, how much money I could expect to make, working hours, promotion prospects and the like. Although I’d never considered it before, I took him up on the offer.”
“You had many customers?” he asked.
“Plenty. I was good. I was popular.”
“And
how did you end up here, in your current position?”
“I saved,” she said. “When I had enough money to retire, I told you I was through and asked for another job. I’d taken a few courses in my spare time, picked up a lot from my clients, and felt I had something to offer other than my body.”
“And she had,” The Cardinal said, addressing me again. “Miss Arne has an incredible head for figures and the ability to see through bullshit in seconds. I placed her in one of my insurance firms. Five years later she was running it. The moral? It’s not where you start out—it’s where you end up.”
He picked one of the puppets up off the desk and toyed with it. He manipulated the strings expertly, fluidly moving its hands, feet and head. He made it do a dance, grinning fondly. When he was through, he tossed it to the floor and carried on as if there’d been no interruption.
“Insurance is a fascinating field, Mr. Raimi. It can teach you all you’ll ever need to know about people. Successful insurance agents study their customers and find out what makes them tick, what frightens them, what entices them. They learn why people act the way they do. It gives them insight, ideas, understanding. Men in the protection business simply go around with guns and collect money. There is no finesse, no style, no learning. They scare people and take their cash. You could spend a lifetime in protection, make a fortune and build your own empire, and you still wouldn’t be as useful to me as a man with a year of insurance under his belt.
“I want you to learn , Mr. Raimi. I want you to experience the world of legality and honest men. Then, when you’re ready, I’ll let you dive beneath that surface to the world beneath, of desires, dreams and death. It’s a dark, dangerous world and you’ll drown if you jump in too quickly. Insurance first. Protection and other fields later. That’s how I want it to be. That’s how it will be. Agreed?”
I wasn’t happy. But, given the time, the place and the man before me, who was I to argue?
