“The intellectual’s struggle to deny the obvious is never more desperate than when reality is unpleasant and at variance with his preconceptions and when full acknowledgment of it would undermine the foundations of his intellectual worldview.”  –Theodore Dalrymple

Sunday Night

The sun had already gone down almost two hours before with the soft pale glow provided by the streetlights gently illuminating the dilapidated city street below. A few kids were left playing on the streets focused more on the raggedy old soccer ball that they were kicking back and forth than they were looking out for any vehicle that might pass by. When the little soccer players looked up they saw the same thing they always saw at this time of night. A younger looking man, a bit on the short side with long greasy looking brown hair wearing an old coat. The kind of jacket that no one wears anymore. It is a dark burgundy colored jacket that looks like something that their grandparents might have worn a couple of decades before. The man just ignored them and continued on walking as he always does past the old cars and numerous bicycles chained up to a nearby railing.

The young Hispanic kids went right back to their game as children often do when they view a familiar sight. The man wearing the dark burgundy coat continued to walk on quietly past the children whose sole focus in life was to score at least one more goal before their mothers ushered them back in for the night. Understandably, the kids had no wish to be confined to the insides of their cramped and overpriced apartments just yet. One of the boys screamed with delight as he scored a goal against his young opponents.

The man in the old burgundy coat kept walking along silently as he rounded the corner and started to head south on Broadway. About half a block further down he stopped to enter a small liquor store aptly named Westside Liquor. “Hey Karl! Haven’t soon you in a few days man. What’s been happening?” Rufus asks his favorite customer.

Karl Rowland responds instantly with a smile and in an affable manner says to the elderly black man standing behind the counter, “Nothing much Rufus. Same old stuff is all.”

Rufus knowingly fills in the blanks. “By that I take it you mean smoking and drinking and sleeping?”

Karl just nods in agreement and then casually checks his surroundings inside of the little store with metal bars outside the glass windows whose sole purpose is to keep those without compunction at bay. He doesn’t notice anything out of place or unusual. A moment later Rufus is already ringing him up for a bottle of Jägermeister and two packs of Pall Malls.  Karl hands him the money and puts the little brown bag with the bottle carefully inside of his coat pocket. One pack he puts in his left front pant pocket and the second into the other coat pocket.

As Karl walks away he looks carefully again at his surroundings before exiting the small store. He has learned the hard way never to let your guard down or to falsely believe that nothing bad is ever going to happen to you. He knows this primarily for two very simple reasons: one is that he had been severely hurt the last time that he felt relaxed and didn’t think that anything was amiss, and the second reason was because he knew that there were other people like him out there as well. Perhaps not just like him, but not all that different in character nonetheless.

He quietly smiled to himself as he recollects the time that two punks had tried to rob Westside Liquor when Rufus was working another long shift. It was the first month that he had been in business for himself after nearly forty years of working for other people, and he was already being robbed. For some reason Karl simply reacted and took down the first guy without any difficulty. The second guy was at least a little bit intelligent and ran away from the store as fast as his little criminally inclined legs could carry him. Ever since then Rufus has always felt that he owed Karl a debt of gratitude. What he didn’t know then, and still doesn’t know today, is that Karl hurt that man in his store simply because he could; because he enjoyed it. He enjoyed it not so much because he likes to make other people suffer, but rather he likes the act of fighting itself; the adrenaline rush that inevitably ensues. That Rufus was saved in the process and his proceeds weren’t stolen was merely coincidental and nothing more; but Rufus doesn’t know this.

Karl learned a very long time ago that it always pays to make a few friends. To do a few seemingly good deeds now and again to gain people’s trust. The fact that he got to hurt that little Mexican guy inside the store was a bonus, albeit he was careful not to hurt him too badly. To cripple or kill someone in the process would have drawn too much unwanted attention. Projecting the image that you want other people to see is a valuable skill to have. Even more so when that false image that you have created is all that the other person ever sees. All that you ever choose to let them see.

As he walked along the sidewalk he realized that it will be December in only about a week’s time. It was already getting to be rather cold as of late. There still hasn’t been any snow yet this year, but his vast experience in dealing with New York winters is that he won’t have long to wait. Ever since the change he has not been as affected by variations in temperature, whether they be up or down, but he still prefers a more temperate environment when possible.

He was glad to be back in the Big Apple after all these years of being away. The other cities that he stayed in to pass the time each had their merits, but none of them were truly comparable. The other flipside about staying in New York had to do with how incredibly easy it was to blend in. Since he stays up all night and sleeps all day, every day without exception, it pays to live in the city that never sleeps. Plus there are so many other weird and strange people living in the city that he doesn’t run much of a risk of standing out in the crowd. Not to mention that it is a really big crowd with seemingly no shortage of nutcases, screwballs and outright lunatics. If there is any place where Karl Rowland can blend in, it’s New York City.

Thus far West Harlem has proven to be a good place to relocate to. Originally he was planning on moving to East Harlem, but with it there would be an increase in competition due to all of the competing gangs in that neighborhood. West Harlem would be more expensive to move to, but it would also allow him to be a little bit more relaxed as a result. It would also be easier for him to secure a new base of operations. The result has led to more profits and power while at the same time notably reducing the inherent risk to his person.

If Karl were an educated man, which he clearly is not, he would have understood how his crude decision to move to West Harlem was utterly guided by economics. His reasoning process was wholly in line with what is known as opportunity cost. Except that Karl hasn’t read a single book in generations, with the last one being The Protocols of the Elders of Zion which he read shortly after it began its circulation here in America with the help of Henry Ford who helped to get a half-a-million copies printed. He instead prefers to watch imbecilic reality shows on his stolen HDTV which he was fortunate enough to acquire out of the backseat of one of his victims parked car shortly after moving back to New York City several months ago. The beauty of it all is that stealing from his victims has the added benefit of masking his true nature. Keeps the police spinning in circles with nothing concrete to go on. To effectively solve crimes, first law enforcement has to figure out why the victim was targeted in the first place, and what the perpetrator was really after. What was their motive behind the attack?

Grant you, Karl is only vaguely aware of such things, but his base survival instincts are still intact after all of these years. Then add his parasitic lifestyle into the picture and suddenly his impulsively stealing stuff, even stuff that he often hasn’t the slightest clue what he is going to do with, starts to make sense in a non-linear sort of way. Even the watch that he is wearing on his right wrist he stole from a victim who was selling watches on a street corner after moving back to the Big Apple. It was his first victim since he was back and he was feeling rather entitled on that particular night out on the town. He also took a nice looking Tag Heuer as well which he later gave to Devon, who has proven to be a most useful upstart as a bonus of sorts for a job well done. Plus he liked the Rolex better, and thus had no need for further possessing both watches.

As he is continuing to slowly make his way south along Broadway, an attractive young couple in their early twenties pass by him. They appear to be quite in love and are holding hands. The attractive young woman with short blond hair complains about how cold it is to her beau. He thoughtfully takes his own jacket off and wraps it around his lover in both an affectionate and inherently protective manner. They do not seem to be aware of him as they walk right past. Karl has always noticed how when two people, especially young people, are having a successful romance they tend to be oblivious to virtually anything and everything else that is around them.

What he does not understand, cannot understand, is how two people can feel that way about one another. As if they are the only two people in the entire world, and everything else is just a form of ambient noise in the vast background of life. There were times in his life when Karl found other people whom he liked, but only mildly so. He has never truly experienced what you would call love. Most of the time he feels virtually nothing at all. It is as if he is in some sort of emotional void, and all he does is scrutinize his surrounding environment, all the while attempting to figure out how he can turn the circumstances around him to his advantage. If other people get hurt, or even killed in the process, then so be it. He has rarely ever hurt people out of malice, anger or hatred, but rather does so out of either convenience or necessity. He feels literally nothing either during or after an act of mortal violence.

The young couple are now well past him and hailing a nearby cab. Karl pauses to turn around and watch them, he doesn’t feel anything towards the pair, but rather observes them out of hand. He often stares at people who are exerting behaviors which he can never understand. The cab stops and the young man now wearing only a long-sleeved collared shirt holds open the door for the lady in question, who gets into the backseat in a smooth and graceful manner.  As the cab starts to pull away slowly into the night Karl quickly re-orients himself to his by now familiar surroundings and starts to walk across the street in a seemingly carefree manner. He glances down at his stolen Rolex which now reads 9:23pm.

Soon he approaches the corner of W 140^th and Broadway where he sees a familiar sight with a bright neon light which reads EDDY’S DINER in bold lettering. He looks both left and right, then proceeds to open the door and steps inside. It takes him a moment to adjust to the brighter light inside of the restaurant, but then walks slowly down the long corridor between the old tables until he finds his table and then sits down as if he owned the damn place. As always he grabs a menu which most likely hasn’t been wiped down in months and starts to peruse through the short list of offerings available.

“So what would you like today Karl?” a slightly plump, but otherwise pretty young girl asks him. Karl looks up at Maria Diaz whose hands are shaking ever so slightly while holding the pen and small notepad in her hand. Her big brown eyes are almost closed somewhat, as if she were squinting at someone instead of staring.

“Just the hot chocolate,” Karl replies indifferently.

Maria looks at him in an inquisitive manner for a long, uncomfortable moment of silence, and then asks, “If you always order the hot chocolate, then, like, why even look at the menu?”

Karl just shrugs his broad shoulders. “I don’t know.”

Maria then takes the menu from his hands holding it carefully with only two fingers near the top left hand corner. Once she goes around the corner where there is no direct line of sight between her and the strange customer that always orders the same thing, she puts the menu down and washes both it and her hands. She then reaches for a clean paper towel to wipe her hands off with. She always has felt uncomfortable around Karl, but she doesn’t know why. It is as if the hair on the back of her neck stands up every time that he comes around. He doesn’t seem dangerous, is never rude and always tips a few dollars each time that he comes here; and yet that disturbing feeling remains.

She hears the sound of the door being opened and then slammed shut. A moment later a familiar voice is heard calling out “You Karl?” She quickly moves to where she can see around the corner and spots her boyfriend sitting down at the table opposite her strange customer.

Pablo Escobar appears to be rather content with himself when he sat down in the chair at Karl’s small table. Pablo’s choice of clothing contrasts starkly with that of everyone else present, but he seems not to notice. His pants are easily a size too large and were hanging almost half-way down his ass when he walked in. Then there is the big hat pointing almost sideways on his small head to finish the stereotype that he so perfectly fits. Karl doesn’t show any visual signs of being the least bit upset or worried by this new development. The silence doesn’t last long.

“Yo man, like, why you keep comin’ round here and shit? My girl Maria, you know the one who always gets your hot chocolate and shit. Straight up, she don’t like you man. And if she don’t like yo ass, then I don’t either. You know what I’m sayin’?” Pablo says to Karl in an overly confident and erudite manner.

Karl just stares at the young little upstart with a big mouth sitting across the table. A moment later Pablo mistakenly believes that due to Karl’s remaining silent and just sitting there with a blank stare on his face that he has been intimidated. That he won.

“That’s right holmes. Just remember to leave my girl alone. Wouldn’t want nothin’ bad to happen to you.” Pablo then gets up in a very self-satisfied manner and walks over to where Maria is still trying to make the hot chocolate.

Maria put her head on his small shoulder once he turned the corner. “I am like so glad you’re here. He’s so fucking weird I say.”

“Don’t you worry, I ain’t gonna let nobody mess with my little chica.” Pablo tells her in a reassuring and almost paternal manner.

“Hopefully he won’t come round no more now that he’s seen you.”

“Don’t you worry baby doll. That vato is fucking scared I say! When I got up to leave he don’t say nothing. That’s right… You know, when I think about it, that holmes is like a pasty-ass chupacabra.”

Maria giggled at his last remark and looked up at her protector adoringly. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small box that is gift wrapped and hands it over to her.

“What is this?” When he remains silent but keeps smiling, she goes ahead and fumbles awkwardly trying to untie the little knot that is holding the box closed. After a few more moments she manages to pull the last string loose and gasps loudly when she views the contents that are hidden inside.

“Oh Pablo! These are like the best ever!” She says to him as she pulls the expensive leather gloves out of the small gift box and tries them on. The first glove she put on her left hand and noticed rather quickly how her dexterity was virtually unencumbered by the glove. She quickly takes it back off and puts them back in the box, and runs to the back of the restaurant where she carefully places the box inside her leather jacket, which Pablo also bought for her. When she came back she remembered that Karl still hasn’t gotten his hot chocolate. She reached for an empty cup and started to fill it with hot cocoa from the machine. Once it was full she applied whip cream to the top, but before she could bring the cup Pablo took it from her rather brusquely.

“I will take care of this my sweet Maria. After today you’ll never see that chupacabra again I say.” He then walks over in a somewhat thuggish way and sets the hot chocolate down rather forcefully right in front of Karl, spilling a little bit of the contents in the process. “Alright fool. Here is your hot fucking chocolate, and remember what I told you.”

Karl casually grabs a nearby napkin from a dispenser and wipes off the table and the side of the cup where it spilled. He doesn’t even bother to look back at the teenage boy who just threatened his person. Instead he simply starts to sip at his hot chocolate as if nothing were amiss and checks his watch. I have time, he thinks to himself.

A little earlier than usual Karl gets up to leave the restaurant and lays a five dollar bill on the table. He then exits the building and starts to head north along Broadway. One of the few things that he is actually pretty damn good at is improvising. He didn’t plan for the night to start off this way, and was looking forward to swinging by the bar and checking to see who was there tonight. Then again, if he timed this little encounter just right, it would prove only to be a small delay.

One block behind him he heard the voice of Maria Diaz exclaiming loudly how she just loves the gloves that her boyfriend had given her served as confirmation that her shift had ended as scheduled at 10pm. Then he heard Pablo saying how nothing is too nice or too expensive for his girl. After that he simply stopped paying any attention to what the two children with raging hormones kept saying to one another. It didn’t matter.

When Karl reached the street where he lives he didn’t stop, but rather kept going for another two blocks north, then turned a sharp left and headed straight. He slowed down, both to not draw attention to himself, also to look for the right spot. He checked his watch again and noted how it was almost 10:30pm. How much longer will this take? He thought to himself as he moved into a dark narrow alley with a large dumpster crammed inside. The smell he didn’t mind very much, but the very limited field of view was something else.

He didn’t have to wait too much longer when he spotted the little wannabe thug walking with an overly dramatic gate towards his position. A moment later Maria’s boyfriend was about to pass by him when Karl stepped out of the darkness. Before Pablo could react or scream for help Karl lashed out with his left hand and grabbed him by the throat lifting him effortlessly into the air.

…

Richard Altman thanked the taxi driver of the ubiquitous yellow colored cab and handed him the money before stepping out of the old Ford Crown Victoria. Conscientious as always, he thought to bring along his Patagonia fleece jacket to keep the cold at bay. After walking only a very short distance later he saw the old neon sign that read JULIA’S on W 137^th St. and stepped inside.  He pulled out his wallet as he walked in and set a twenty down on the bar and without looking up says, “One Sierra Nevada if you could my dear Simon.”

The bartender looks at Altman for a long moment, then casually picks up the twenty, puts it in the register and puts all of the remaining proceeds into his tip jar. Only then does he grab a clean glass and begin to pour the ordered contents into it. When he sets the glass down on a wafer directly in front of his most intelligent, and possibly most frustrating customer, he notices that Altman still hasn’t looked up at him yet and is still reading something off of his iPhone.

Simon Hennessey asks him, “Can’t you look at your damn phone someplace else?”

Altman pauses for a brief moment and looks up with a wry smile. “I suppose I could Simon, but you know me, I’m a sucker for reading about state-of-the-art research and technological breakthroughs. You ever heard of a most wonderful website called Extreme Tech?”

Simon simple shrugs his thin shoulders as a means of giving an answer. Altman is neither surprised nor apologetic.

“I have been reading up on a fascinating new material known as graphene. One day it will probably replace silicon and become the micro processing material of choice. Though that will most likely be anywhere from 10 to 15 years down the road grant you. But still utterly fascinating nonetheless.”

“You know that I don’t have the slightest fucking clue what you just said, right?”

Altman replied only with another wry smile, this one however being even bigger than the last.

He turned to his right after hearing a familiar voice and the unmistakable laughter that could only come from a young woman. Altman remains quiet for a few moments while reveling in hearing his favorite fellow patron delivering one absurd and hilarious line after the next. He vaguely recognized the extremely attractive young blond woman who appeared to be quite tall, but thin like a model. A moment later he remembered who the woman was. “Pardon me my dear, but I have to congratulate you on your remarkable performance in your last play. It was quite brilliant I understand.”

Clarice Starling immediately recognizes Richard and smiles exhibiting her pearly whites in the process. “You saw my play! Didn’t see you in the audience.”

“Unfortunately my dear Clarice, I wasn’t able to attend for various reasons, but I did read a most positive review. Your role as Pony in ‘The Realistic Joneses’ was performed admirably by all accounts, not to mention that as I understand it, the whole cast did a remarkable job as well.”

Nathan Brown cuts in and yells a bit too loudly, “Richard my man, how is it hanging! Still keeping up with all that science and math stuff?”

“If I didn’t I would be out of a job Mr. Brown.”

“Hadn’t thought of that.”

“I know.”

Clarice busts up laughing and pokes Nathan in the ribs. “Now that is what I call a zinger!” She then turns to Richard and says, “Nathan here has been teaching me all about evolution, and how us Australian ladies share around ninety-eight percent of our DNA with chimps. So, is that a scientifically correct assessment?”

Altman pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and replies, “Yes and no. There are genes and then there are genes.”

Nathan immediately interjects. “That doesn’t make any damn sense.”

Clarice punches Nathan playfully on the arm to get him to be quiet.

“There are junk genes which for the most part lay dormant, and then there are the active genes which comprise the majority of our neural networks and resulting cognitive behaviors. So therefore you could share an overwhelmingly high percentage of your DNA with say a chimpanzee, and at the same time have a much greater separation in both appearance, behavior, and cognitive processing capabilities than otherwise could be inferred from the total amount of shared genes would imply.”

Nathan adds almost in a cynical manner, “Sounds complicated. I don’t get it.”

Clarice looks up at her longtime friend and screenwriter Nathan Brown. “That’s a shocker.”

Altman then adds with yet another wry smile, “Think of it this way: humans and bananas share around fifty percent of the same DNA, and yet no one will be accused of being half banana, or thereby claim that a banana is essentially half human.”

“See Clarice, this is why Richard here is the man. As a screenwriter, I have to admit that he is arguably the most articulate motherfucker that I have ever known.”

Clarice then looks back at Nathan. “I do believe that I am quite capable of figuring some of these things out for myself.”

“You’re still half banana.”

Simon Hennessey just can’t keep quiet any longer after watching this bizarre, yet not unusual interplay and interjects, “Only you would tell an incredibly beautiful woman that she shares damn near all of her genes with a fucking chimpanzee. You are aware that she isn’t gonna sleep with you now.”

Nathan then looks over at Clarice and asks her, “Simon here just reminded me, do all Aussies have that crazy kangaroo sex or do just most of them?”

“Gee, hmmm, how should I respond to your poignant and yet so delicately put question…”

Richard leaned back in his chair and took a long drag from his glass. “So, just when exactly did you start to take an interest in both genetics and anthropology?”

Clarice answers the question for him. “He only is interested in my genetics and my anthropology. And by the way, crazy kangaroo sex is the best.”

“I knew it. You crazy Australians! Real quick, I have a compliment that I want to run past you in case I should ever run across a beautiful woman from down under.”

“Shoot.”

“You look like a monkey, but you smell like a wombat.”

“I don’t think that is going to go over very well.”

“Why not?”

Clarice is trying hard not to laugh. “Just believe me when I say that Australian women don’t want to be told that they look like a monkey or that they smell like a wombat.”

Richard can’t help himself and almost falls out of his chair laughing. He looks up at Simon and tells him, “This is why I keep coming back here night after night.”

“But it is continent specific. That should count for something,” Nathan says to his beautiful blond friend.

“Actually, that just makes it even worse.”

“Okay, so what should a guy say to a woman from down under?”

“Are you talking about just striking up a casual conversation, or say, trying to get her clothes off?”

“That’s disgusting! I definitely want her clothes to stay on. What with their excess body hair and lack of shaving. Nasty!”

Simon shakes his head almost questioning what he has just heard and tells Nathan, “Dude, you sure know how to sweet talk the ladies.”

“I try.”

“Well with our busy schedules wrestling crocodiles and all, us Australian gals don’t always have time to shave.”

“I know,” Nathan says with a smirk upon his face right before he takes another sip from his Sam Adams. “Why is it that you always drink Heineken? You can have any drink that you like, and this bar has plenty of alcoholic options available, and yet you still choose Heineken every damn time?”

Simon interjects again, but this time he speaks directly to Clarice and actually manages to make firm eye contact. “I am just trying to understand how it is that you hang out with this guy even though he is always talking shit.”

Clarice thinks for a moment, looks over at her close friend and confidant and says, “Grant you, Nathan is one of the most offensive people that I know, but he is also super sweet and funny as well. He helped me to get my first role in a Broadway play. And yes, Heineken is my favorite beer. My one and only.” She then caresses the glass holding the aforementioned contents inside in a sensual manner with her fingertips before raising the glass up to her full lips and taking a sip all the while looking directly in her friend’s eyes.

Nathan shrugs as if it were nothing and says, “The director and I go back quite a few years, and I knew he was having difficulty in casting a certain part, and then I met a certain someone whom I knew would be perfect for the role. That’s all.”

Still speaking to Simon but looking at Nathan with adulation she adds, “And then he helped me to find a better apartment with a landlord who wasn’t a jerk.”

Nathan adds almost absentmindedly, “I might have done that.”

Everyone was clearly having a good time with Richard having already drained his first glass of Sierra Nevada when Nathan spots Karl Rowland coming into the bar out of the corner of his left eye. Clarice immediately takes note of her friend’s subtle change in demeanor.

Richard spots Karl a moment later and calls out in an affable manner, “How are you doing today Karl?”

Karl walks over and takes a seat right next to Richard Altman. He then turns and takes a good look at the people in the room recognizing everyone except for the hot blond seated right next to the screenwriter.

Karl calls out to Nathan, “You’ve been gone the last few days.”

“Had to attend a few pre-production meetings.”

Karl nodded as if he understood what that meant, even though he obviously did not. Richard has noticed on several occasions before how even when Karl clearly does not understand the subject matter at hand, he will still nod his head and pretend to possess some sort of knowledge that he doesn’t have. Saying the three simple words can be extremely difficult for many people, with Karl clearly not being an exception. He has witnessed throughout his life how he can go for weeks at a time before hearing one of his fellow men uttering that most rarest of phrases: I don’t know. For some reason that Richard has always found both perplexing and fascinating, people will go to great lengths to avoid uttering those words, both to the detriment of themselves and to the greater world at large. The working pet theory that he finally arrived at is that most people are both overconfident in their actual capabilities as a whole, and that they do not want to appear weak to those around them. Then when you combine overconfidence with the all-important image that people are always trying to project it isn’t too hard to conclude why so few people ever say these words with any frequency. That, or the average IQ is only around one hundred, which could simply mean that they lack the prerequisite level of intelligence to know that they don’t actually know what they think it is that they know. He is pretty certain that either one of those two hypotheses is the reason, or it is a bad combination of the two competing theories working together seamlessly to actively undermine any real progress in our society from taking root in a deep and meaningful way.

Clarice is leaning over to her friend who is whispering something hilarious into her right ear and Richard notices how she lets out a little laugh and then glances back over at the strange looking person who just sat down next to Richard. She looks down at Karl’s feet and notices how he is actually wearing a filthy pair of Ugg boots that look as if they have never been cleaned. Then she saw the expensive looking watch on his right wrist and called out, “Nice watch you’ve got there.”

Karl looks down for a brief moment at the Rolex on his right wrist. “It’s a good one, huh?”

Richard Altman takes another close look at the watch and notices, not for the first time, that the gold on the band is fading away and the cheap steel is starting to show through. He wonders, also not for the first time, whether or not the person seated to his left is aware that the watch he is sporting is fake or if he actually believes that he has somehow come into possession of a genuine Rolex. With Karl he simply isn’t sure. He is clearly stupid enough to believe that the Rolex is real, but then again, he is also pretentious enough to probably keep on wearing the cheap imitation anyways even if he figures it isn’t a genuine timepiece. He also is curious as to what Karl is going to say next. With him you simply never know what sort of self-serving grandiose statement you are going to hear spew forth. The one thing that he is certain of is that whatever it is that Karl is going to say, it will be neither well thought out or articulate in nature; and Karl will be very pleased with himself for saying it.

“What’s up Karl? You want the usual today?” Simon asks the short stocky man sitting next to Richard.

Karl just nods his head. Simon then fills up a glass with Budweiser and hands it over to his least favorite patron.

Richard noted, not for the first time, that in many ways Karl and Simon are exact opposites of one another, both in appearance and personality. Where Karl is short and stocky with broad shoulders, Simon is tall and skinny with thin narrow shoulders. Where Karl is offensive and socially off putting due to a combination of having inept social skills along with a grandiose sense of self-worth, Simon is agreeable, sometimes overly so with a high level of emotional intelligence to go hand-in-hand with his agreeable nature.

He regards Simon Hennessey as a decent enough guy, but your garden variety philistine in just about anything of note that gets brought up in a conversation. He is one of those people who will readily change or modify his own opinions and beliefs at will in order to fit in with those around him. He holds typical liberal beliefs on just about any topic you can bring up in a conversation simply due to the fact that he has been raised in New York his whole life. If he were born in a different part of the country, say Idaho or Georgia, his political beliefs would very closely mirror those of the people he grew up with. In essence, Simon doesn’t like to make any waves. His views are rather quite malleable; easily shifted and transformed by those that know how.  The bartender doesn’t have any real particular belief system or ideology to speak of, but rather just wants to hang out with people and socialize all of the time. Not that he thinks this is necessarily a bad thing, but it does limit the sorts of conversations that he can have with good old Simon nonetheless.

Clarice can’t help but to be curious about the very strange looking man with the most terrible choice of style who just sat down next to Richard. The contrast between the two of them is stark. Whereas Richard Altman is nicely dressed, but in a casual and down to earth manner, the man seated to his left is wearing a flashy watch combined with a faded old burgundy coat that went out of style in the 1970s. And then there are the filthy Uggs that are light brown on top, with the bottom half being an uneven dark brown. That doesn’t include the brown corduroy pants that he’s wearing either.

“Love your style. Just curious, what clothing stores do you like to frequent? I myself am a big fan of the Banana Republic.”

Karl looks over at the hot blond woman again for a moment and notices that she is wearing a long sleeved collared shirt that is neat, clean, yet unpretentious in nature with a simple plaid design. He shakes his head slightly and responds, “You know, different places. No favorites really.”

“So, I have a question for you. You know the now infamous Hobby Lobby case? What are your thoughts on it?”

Karl just stares at her with blank eyes for a moment, and then states, “I have no problem with it.”

“Really? So you have no problem with the court’s ruling whatsoever. Are you just saying that to be argumentative, or do you hate women?” Clarice is staring at Karl rather vehemently at this point, and is becoming vexed by her realization that he seems entirely unfazed by her line of questioning.

“I don’t get why you’re all upset is all. Not that big of a deal.”

Richard watches the two going back and forth, and comes to the not-so-surprising realization that Karl hasn’t the slightest proverbial clue what the Hobby Lobby ruling was even about. He wonders if Clarice knows that Karl is simply responding to her inputs, but has no actual substantive understanding of what she is saying.

“So what you’re saying is that a man should have control over a woman’s body. Whether or not she should have access to affordable birth control, and if so, exactly what kind of birth control?”

“I just think that like, you’re making way too big of a deal over nothing.”

“Oh, so whether a woman has control over her own body and reproductive rights is nothing? Didn’t realize that you were such a chauvinist pig.” With that Clarice picked up her Heineken and took another long drink before setting it forcefully back down. When she did so she missed the wafer, and her friend Nathan casually picked up the glass and slid the wafer back underneath for her.

“Just saying that the whole feminist lib thing is a bit blown out of proportion is all.”

“Really, then what would you suggest in all of your infinite wisdom?”

“What about going back to the old Roman method where the man of the house held absolute control over his family. That seemed to work out just fine for hundreds of years.”

Clarice turns to face her friend. “Wow, did you just hear him say what I think he said?” She then turns back to Karl Rowland and tells him point blank, “Have you ever heard of a book called ‘Half the Sky’ by Nicholas Kristof and Sheryl WuDunn? I think if you had read that book, then maybe, just maybe, your opinions on this matter would be a bit different. And if you had read the book, and still believe what you just said… I don’t even want to go there.”

Karl just shrugs his broad shoulders indifferently and asks Simon for another round.

Richard is amazed at how in a situation where most people would be apologetic, or at the very least would be exhibiting a high degree of anxiety due to a social interaction gone horribly wrong in a very public place, Karl couldn’t seem to care less. He is unfazed yet again.

Clarice starts to get her things together and reaches into her purse to grab some money, but Nathan stops her by gently saying, “Don’t worry, I’ve got this one.”

She leans forward and gives him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You’re the best.” As she walks to the door and is about to open it, she turns around suddenly and says a bit too loudly while looking directly at Karl, “It is people like you who make the world such a shitty place for women. It is people like you who rationalize violence and coercive measures.” And with that she exited the building slamming the door on her way out.

Everybody in the bar was looking in Karl’s direction to see if they could spot some sort of discernable reaction. There was none. He just went right back to sipping happily away on his fresh new beer as if nothing untoward had just occurred.

It has long been clear to both Richard Altman, Simon Hennessey and others who frequent the bar that Karl is a louche, pure and simple. But they also knew that trying to reason or to change someone such as himself was a complete and utter waste of time.

Nathan decided to break the ice. “So Richard my man, tells us something really cool about the universe.”

“I suppose that I could tell you about how the universe is expanding at a faster rate than it used to. But you need not worry, I will spare you the minutiae.”

Simon adds, “Thank God.”

Nathan pipes up again while casting a devious glance at Simon. “Oh please don’t leave out any important scientific details Mr. Altman. Both me and Simon here need to expand our intellectual horizons.”

“Don’t listen to him Richard. Besides, neither of us will understand anything that you’re going to say anyways.”

Richard then turns to his left and nudges Karl on the shoulder. “So Karl, what do you think, should I explain in detail why the universe is expanding at an increasing rate, or just give them the really, really short and simple version?”

Karl ponders the question for a moment and just shrugs his shoulders before he goes back to mindlessly drinking the beer in front of him.

Richard smiles and turns to Simon offering up his almost empty glass. Simon then takes it and fills it up again without charge and hands it back. He takes a swig of his free new beer and takes a moment to recollect his thoughts. “First off, if you do want the details you can Google Edwin Hubble and the discovery that he made that has to do with how different galaxies at different distances have different colors due to the speed at which they are moving away from us. What he found was that not only are galaxies moving away, but the farther away a galaxy is, the faster it is receding. But I digress. The short Reader’s Digest version is that the more than one hundred billion galaxies that comprises the known universe that is visible through the Hubble Space telescope isn’t actually the whole universe, but only represents an incredibly tiny portion of it. The best example that I have heard is from a book that I read a few years back written by Brian Greene which explains that if you were to compress the entire cosmos into something the size of the Earth, the part that is accessible to us would be smaller than a grain of sand in comparison. That is what infinite means and what the math strongly suggests is the true size and scope of our universe. As to how we know that the universe is expanding at an ever increasing rate, I will spare you the details.” He then takes another sip from his beer and can see that what he has just said has gotten both Simon and Nathan thinking. “When you really think about the sheer grand scale of our universe you cannot help but to come to the conclusion that the life we live here on Earth really is insignificant.”

Simon leans forward slightly looking very seriously at Richard. “What you just said is one of the most amazing and beautiful things that I have ever heard, and at the same time the single most depressing fucking thing that I have ever heard.”

Nathan looks over at the bartender. “Damn Simon, that’s got to be the most articulate fucking thing that you’ve ever said man!”

Simon is still clearly a bit shocked by what he has just heard. “I mean, it’s just… when you think about it like that, our lives are almost meaningless. We’re like ants all of a sudden.”

“Not only does the universe not revolve around us, but it simply doesn’t give two shits about us either,” Nathan says.

“That is very true Mr. Brown. And if you guys want another utterly bizarre and fascinating aspect of the universe to think about, just consider how if String Theory is correct, then we are only witnessing three of the physical dimensions, not ten like the theory proposes. That leaves seven dimensions entirely unavailable to us, except through math that is.”

Simon looks at Richard again in a very shocked manner. “Sometimes I wonder if you say this stuff just to intentionally fuck with my mind.”

Altman shrugs as if the answer could be either or, then pulls out his phone again and starts to look something up. As he does so, he notices that Karl has already finished with his beer and hasn’t ordered another to replace it. “You done for the night, Mr. Rowland?”

Karl looks at Richard and nods.

“You’ve been uncharacteristically quiet this time around.”

Karl just shrugs his large shoulders. “Just having lots of fun listening to you guys going back and forth.” He smiles warmly as he says this and in doing so reassures everyone present that he is a good enough guy deep down. A louche perhaps, but a decent enough and fairly harmless one at that.

…

As soon as Karl steps outside the bar he is once again assailed by the chill air. He wraps his unnecessary scarf a little bit tighter around his neck, and heads across the street after making a cursory sweep of his surroundings. Unlike your average person, he is capable of seeing exceptionally well in the dark. Maybe not quite as well as a cat, but close.

Once he reached the other side of Broadway he immediately entered into Montefiore Square and walked directly over to the same park bench that he always uses and sat down. He quietly smiles to himself when considering that his killing that mouthy little thug had the unexpected bonus of the eight hundred in cash that young Pablo was carrying in his wallet at the time. He took the wallet with him, along with the kid’s shoes in order to make it look more like a robbery before he deftly disposed of the empty corpse. The wallet he threw into a street gutter two blocks away along with the new pair of shoes.

He checked his watch again and was easily able to read the time in the relative darkness. He remembers what it was like when he could be in a large city at night, look up and see thousands of stars. Now one can only view the very brightest of objects in our cities. He was surprised when the smart guy in the bar one night referred to it as “light pollution,” and went on to lament how we now have a generation of young adults who know literally nothing about the night sky; because they never see it.

For a moment he didn’t really mind when his underling was going to show up, and instead was immersed in appreciating the trees which surrounded him. Montefiore Square is in many ways an oasis that both he, and many other locals, used from time to time in order to briefly remove themselves from city life. The square wasn’t very big by any measure, but was a valuable refuge all the same. After a few minutes of what could almost past for contemplation or self-introspection, he removed the pack of Pall Malls from his pocket and lit up one up. His first cigarette of the night. He always seemed to relish the first one the most. The sheer joy of lighting the cigarette never failed him. Karl has always loved looking into the flame while he lights the cigarettes. That little pleasure in life never seems to get old.

When the cigarette was almost burned out, he heard the soft footfalls which he instantly ascribed to Devon. Quietly swiveling on the park bench he could clearly see his lowly accomplice approaching from a little over fifty yards away through the enveloping darkness. He intrinsically knew just what to say to Devon in order to get what he wanted out of him, and at the same time to ensure a certain level of loyalty and obedience in return. He had already let it be known early on in their relationship that he was not someone to be trifled with, but at the same time always made an effort to treat his new lackey fairly. Not out of any real moral compunction, just sound practicality.

As Devon began to close the last fifteen yards, he was finally able to make out a vague silhouette sitting utterly still on the park bench. He slowed to a total stop about seven yards away and called out in a moderate, but still slightly shaky tone, “Yo Karl, everything cool man? Me and Alberto has ourselves a good couple of nights.”

Karl remained silent for a few more uncomfortable moments, and then replied in a nonchalant manner. “That’s good to hear.”

Devon walks carefully forward and reaches inside his jacket pocket to pull out a fairly thick wad of cash that is rubber banded together. He hands the cash over to Karl who puts it into his coat pocket without even bothering to count any of the money. In return, he hands Devon a small brown bag which his trusted associate takes in hand. Out of sheer curiosity Devon takes a quick peak inside the bag, and then places it where the wad of money was just a few moments before.

“Any problems?”

“No Karl. Everything is good my man. Everything is cool…”

Karl slowly nods his head as if he had somehow expected to hear this in advance. He noticed, not for the first time, that Devon Smith is covered from head-to-toe in athletic gear. A Fila jacket, Adidas pants, and most assuredly is also wearing some form of thinsulate shirt beneath the jacket in order to stay warm. Like many New Yorkers who value style almost as much as staying warm, Devon likes to look good while being out and about in the Big Apple. Plus, the chosen attire also has the added benefit of helping him to run away from local law enforcement if the need should arise; and in his line of work, the question isn’t if, it is when.

“Alberto still working out?”

Devon pauses before answering, taking into consideration just what will happen to his less than ethical co-worker should he give the wrong answer. “Nah man, he’s cool. He’s doing what he’s doing. No problems.”

Karl just quietly nods his head, while in his own way, is still enjoying the scenery provided by the little park. He remembers acutely what life used to be like before the masses enjoyed the benefits of things now commonplace such as electricity, and automobiles. He remembers how the phrase “burning the midnight oil” was a reference to how people used to burn whale oil late at night as they stayed up reading books, or scheming up another get-rich-quick business idea that people in this country always seem to be coming up with.

That whales were almost hunted into extinction in the process Karl neither knew nor cared about. Our nation’s addiction to whale oil diminished rapidly once our forebears discovered petroleum lying in wait just below our very feet. An intelligent and inquisitive person would have wondered whether or not whales would have been extinct had our discovery, and then almost immediate switch to burning petroleum, been delayed by so much as even one or two decades. An even deeper insight would have been how we switched from one unsustainable practice to another. Economists and businessmen regularly go to great lengths to eschew the word sustainability. Another word that they hate and wrinkle their noses at is biosphere. Not that any of this has ever occurred to Karl. After all, he has never been a particularly astute political observer.

But Karl isn’t the kind of person to think, or to even care, about such things in any meaningful sort of way. He is the kind of person who sees the world as it is, no questions asked, and then acts upon whatever is immediately available at that moment in time. He is, in other words, an opportunist. And opportunists, by their very nature, are always rather quite proud of themselves for no apparent reason. They are the two legged equivalent of a vulture always circling in the air above just waiting, and watching, for the right opportunity to present itself. They are neither innovators nor deep thinkers, but rather takers. And yet our society has always seemed to accept them without either question or moral concerns.

After seeing his trusted associate unconsciously shifting his weight from one foot onto the other for several long moments—something that Devon usually does whenever he is nervous or scared—Karl decided to let him be on his way. “Meet you here again on Wednesday.”

Devon slowly let out his breath, began to turn and slowly walk away. As he did so, Karl decided to pull out another cigarette and light it up, and also removed his small bottle of Jägermeister and decided to take a sip of that as well. He figures that since it is now almost impossible for him to either get drunk or have a hangover, what’s the harm? Besides, he has been drinking for a very, very long time now and has yet to ever experience any negative repercussions worth mentioning.

As his associate started to disappear from his periphery vision, he contemplated that there was no reason whatsoever for him to get up off this park bench and do anything else for the rest of the night. He already had a good fill, got paid not just once, but twice, and, from his perspective, time is eternal. He simply saw no need to be bothered with any other miscellaneous tasks at that particular moment in time. Looking up at the trees after taking another sip of the Jägermeister, he remembered clearly what it was like to see the sunlight filtering through the leaves. How it would appear to dance upon the ground whenever there was a strong enough breeze to rustle the branches a bit. That was a long time ago, and yet, he remembers it both clearly and distinctively as if he had viewed it happening only yesterday.

For the moment, Karl was content with himself and let his mind drift while sitting utter peacefully under the nearby trees. In another hour or two he would slowly make his way back home and begin watching one of those mindless so-called “reality TV shows” that people these days seem to like so much. His personal favorite thus far is the one called “Duck Dynasty.” He especially liked their social views.

If you like what you are reading, please click here to purchase or download a free sample. It is temporarily on sale for $.99, regular retail is $3.99. And please feel free to post a review. Only have one at the moment, and just my luck, I got myself a troll (all of his reviews are negative, not just his review of my book). For those of you who would like not only a second opinion, but a rather professional one at that, read the one for my book on the Authors Reading website.

Take care and thanks for visiting my blog,

Ron Lewis