jOhn
The fat man wearing the Fez
Keith, the company in question, knew the fat man would feel this way about him like he knew the sun would come up tomorrow, even if he wished both were untrue. His first instinct was to kick the table on top of the fez-wearing mongrel and kick his Middle Eastern ass off the white roof of his own restaurant.
Instead, he lit a cigarette and held it between his middle and index finger of his right hand, showing off his most hideous non- feature: a missing thumb and pinkie finger.
The fat man rose up, still looking like he may lose his falafel at any second. He ran a plump hand over the mosaic surface of the dining table: some type of multi-colored monkey wearing a crown.
“There are over five hundred thousand tiles in this building….” He said. “All of them baked in my own grandfathers oven. Each piece… each piece treated like a gold coin, some great artistic currency…”
He sighed.
“All of it worthless.”
Keith took a long drag on the cigarette and nodded. He took his sunglasses off and the fat man winced when the two made eye contact.
“I apologize, Mr. McKay…” The fat man said. “I do not feel well for some reason.”
“Don’t.” Keith said. “No use in it.”
“Can you help me?” The fat man asked.
“That depends. I assume this talk of artistic currency means you need the real kind, yes?”
“Business is not what it once was. My country is no longer… hospitable.”
“Yeah, the bullet holes in the downstairs menu board kinda gave that away.” Keith said. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a boy with a tray approaching them.
“I need only forty thousand dollars…” the fat man said, “…forty thousand dollars goes a long way here, until times are better… as they once were…”
The boy dropped the tray on the table, covering the monkey save for a single monkey hand. A black cloth covered something lying on the tray.
“OK…” Keith said, and lit another cigarette. “But you need to do everything I tell you to and do it right. You will feel like an idiot, but you have to do it.”
The fat man seemed to choke on something, and Keith paused.
“What?” He asked.
“I am sorry, Mr. McKay… it is just that you… you…”
“You don’t like me. I get it. I make you feel sick. But do you see anybody else out here willing to help you?”
The fat man was quiet.
“Here’s what we’re going to do…” Keith produced a dark green metal box with stenciled yellow numbers on the side: a rare military safe from World War II his grandfather had left him.
And then, like a strange alarm, something under the black cloth began to vibrate. Keith pushed himself away from the table, expecting it to explode. The fat man pulled away the cloth and revealed a simple black cell phone.
He answered. Keith waited.
The fat man nodded, stood up and held his hand above his eyes as if he were looking for something far away.
“A recording is telling me not to trust you, and to not go near your… ornament?” He said this last word like he had no idea what it meant. “And it tells me to do this.”
He tossed the phone into the air. Somewhere far off, a tiny pop like a burst beer cap, and a few seconds later the phone disintegrates as if hit with a death ray.
Keith put his sunglasses back on and turned around and saw nothing but rooftops, laundry lines, dirty streets and dusty alleys. He cursed. When he turned back the fat man glared at him with nothing but pure hatred.
“I could feel it… you are wrong, Mr. McKay… wrong…” He spat on the floor. “Get out.”
Locked up tight in his hotel room across town, Keith spread out pictures of his last ten clients and recalled each individual situation to see who could possibly be out to get him. His metal box lay beneath his bed amidst the dust.
The jew from Long Island who wanted an Aston Martin was dead. The old lady who wanted to wear 150,000 dollars worth of jewelry before she died got her wish exactly as stated: after a thirty second look in the mirror, she went blind and then succumbed to diabetic shock.
The kid from the ghetto got a BMW with a trunk full of guns, cash and blow. As far as Keith knew, the kid was still alive but with that wish combo, how long could he last?
And that was only the most recent batch. How far back would he have to go? Of course, he had files on everybody but it would take forever to comb through the mountains of wishes he had granted over the years.
He checked his watch, and realized he was going to be late for his next appointment.
Al-Sela Mohammed Jonsou was a white man living in a tent with four wives and nine children under ten. His birth name was Bill Smith and he grew up in Alabama
Keith cringed at the very idea of what a man like him might wish for.
Ultimately it didn’t matter, because Al-Sela and his brood were nowhere to be found. Keith let himself in the tent and saw a beautiful woman sitting on the floor at a low table.
“Evening, handsome. Come sit down.” She said.
Keith did, not taking his eyes off hers, which were golden and enormous and almond-shaped, like that of a woman from some exotic island, with perfect tanned skin and gorgeous auburn hair flowing behind. She wore a white tank top, and she was long and lean.
“What’s a nice-looking man like you doing out in a place like this?” She asked.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?”
She shrugged.
“I’m not a man.”
Keith lit a cigarette and again made a point of showing off his missing digits.
“What did you do with Al?” He asked.
The woman snorted out a laugh through her perfectly feminine nose. Keith couldn’t think of a word better than ‘cute’ to describe it.
“Al. Good one. Only jackass in the world who reads the Koran with an Alabama
Keith laughed. He almost wanted to hear Al talk.
“What are you doing here?” He asked.
She leaned forward and put her elbows on her knees, and her smell – some floral, moist aroma – wafted through the arid air. When she spoke, her voice was lower, slower and full of breath.
“I wanted to see it.”
Keith paused, and maintained eye contact. She was less than three feet away from his person, and didn’t seem to mind being there.
“What’s your name?” He asked.
“Shauna. And you’re Keith McKay. Nice to meet you.”
She let that sink in for a moment before continuing. Her countenance, once flirtatious, changed with an effort.
“Ok, let’s cut the crap.” She said. “I want to see it. I asked nicely once.”
Keith said nothing. She responded by reaching under the table pulling a black metal rifle from under the table and pointing it at Keith, the freakishly long barrel just inches from his nose.
“You’ve seen what I can do from over six hundred yards, and now you get to see from three inches away. Let me see it.”
Keith took out the green safe, opened it and lifted a black velvet bag from inside. He reached his depleted hand inside and pinched the gold chain between his middle and index finger. Then he lifted it out of the bag.
A shriveled, black monkey’s paw, fingers slightly bent at the top knuckle in unison, hung down from his own three fingered hand.
“I see.” Shauna said. “That’s how you do it isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” He said. “You gonna kill me now?”
She put the rifle on the floor, and leaned back, relaxing her shoulders.
“No. Listen…” She smiled a little. “I’m sorry I got all freaked out. I just…I know about that thing. What it does…” Her eyes went to his hand, and then her eyebrows lifted questioningly. “What it did to you?”
“This?” He asked. “Lost a couple a bets.”
She nodded, ran her hands over her bare arms and smiled.
“I’m going to go now. There’s a lot more we need to talk about, but I don’t think you’re ready just yet.”
She stood up and walked by him very closely, brushing her hip against him slowly, and then placing a warm hand on his shoulder. Her grip was light, gentle, and it had been so long since anyone had touched him he wanted to close his eyes and let the moment go on.
“I’ll see you again.” She said, and removed her hand.
And then she was gone.
Keith felt the aura of her touch for hours afterward, his imagination spinning at the thought. How long had it been since a woman had touched him without throwing up? Without holding back a shriek of terror?
He looked over to the green safe, and felt a strong desire to use its contents, even though he knew better.
Keith was having breakfast with a client two days later when she showed up again. He was discussing a several million dollar wish with a young lawyer recently disbarred. Of course, the young lawyer wouldn’t touch his breakfast, and complained of a terrible odor, and a weak stomach.
Shauna simply sat at the table with them.
“Why don’t you go away Todd?”
“But I...”
“But nothing, you were disbarred for good reason. Go on, get out.”
Todd tried to look to Keith for help, but each look made him want to run away. So he did.
“Didn’t take you long.” Keith said.
“I could say the same to you.”
“I have to make a living, right?”
The waiter came by and Shauna ordered something, speaking perfect Arabic. When the waiter left, she fixed her golden eyes on his and held them there.
“You should probably be arrested for wearing that around here.” Keith said. Shauna’s white shirt was unbuttoned to the middle of her breasts, showing off a black bra and a few gold chains.
“Amazing isn’t it?” She said. “But I asked you a question first.”
Keith wanted a smoke, but the pack was empty.
“I find people who need money and let them make an obvious wish.” He stopped, looking for something on her face, but seeing only her beauty, her curious face glowing at him. “I assume you know what happens when people wish with the paw right?”
“Something terrible.” She said.
“Right. Something terrible.”
“And you just come around and clean up the mess and take a little cash for your trouble?”
He shrugged.
“Like I said, I have to make a living, right?”
She nodded, spooned some kind of middle-eastern pastry into her mouth and chewed. Whatever it was, it looked better than what he was eating.
“Why here?” She asked.
“I can’t stay long any one place. Keep thinking the towns folks will come after me with torches if I linger. Maybe burn me on a stake.”
She laughed.
“They only do that to witches.”
“Maybe I am a witch.” He said.
She gave him a pitying look, leaned forward and put a hand on his cheek and let her fingers brush down the side of his face.
“Nah, you’re too cute to be a witch…”
Her face was close enough to his that he could smell the cinnamon and honey from her breakfast and his body went stiff in more ways than one, and his hammering heart threatened to shatter his rigid self from within.
“Tell you what.” She said. “Meet me next time. Here” She slipped a piece of paper into his breast pocket and held her hand there for a moment before pulling away and leaving him.
“Bring it with you.” She said.
When the waiter finally got back, Keith was still in a trance like state. Not wanting to touch Keith, the waiter slapped the table with a flat palm to get his attention and would later wash his hand profusely with hot, soapy water.
The address she left was in the market district, a most hated locale for him. As he made his way through the throngs of people, bodies would part before him like the Red Sea , seeking asylum from his horrible presence. Vendors ignored him, children ran away from him clutching each other in fear.
Keith walked up several flights of stairs in a structure with a glassed out façade. It looked like a spaceship amongst the white stucco huts and tile-walled buildings around it.
Her door was open, and he could hear music swell as he walked nearer. The apartment was like nothing he had ever seen in this part of the world and must have cost a fortune.
“Hey there.” She said. Keith gasped. She wore a simple, little black dress, and she walked to him on those remarkable, long legs and planted a kiss on his lips. “Missed you today. Come in and sit. Are you hungry?”
They ate cured steak with salad greens, almonds and fresh figs and drank a rich red wine. Talk of the weather, tv shows and movies they missed from back in the states, and favorite songs followed.
“So when are you going to tell me how you got it?” She finally asked.
“Why do we have to talk about that?”
“Please… it’s killing you and you know it… talk to me.”
“My father got it when I was fourteen years old. His first wish got us two hundred grand and got my mother dead. His second wish was to bring her back.”
“Oh God.”
“Yeah… but she was cremated. Our house, the two of us were… dusty with her for weeks.”
He stopped, wanting Shauna to come to him, to touch him or he was going to break down and cry and he thought if he did he wouldn’t be able to stop. She did come, grabbed his hand and led him to the sofa, and sat close, her arm around his shoulders, a cool silver bracelet rubbed against his hot neck.
“He wouldn’t wish her away. I don’t even know what his last wish was. He disappeared. I wished her to be dead again, but… for whatever reason, the smell of her death still lingers on me. People can’t stand to be around me, they think they’re going to die, and or that I’m dead or… I don’t know. It was my last wish.”
He went on, told her how he couldn’t stay in school, couldn’t get work and had no relationships to speak of. All he had was the paw. The tears came, but they were under control.
“So how is it you can stand to be near me?” He asked.
She sighed deeply and said nothing for a long while.
“Do you… have it with you?” She asked.
He took it out of his pocket and held it out to her. She nodded.
“I hate it too.”
She moved to her marble fireplace and removed an ornate box from the mantle. When she opened it, the fingers of the monkey’s paw clenched into a tight fist.
It was a glass bottle full of some cloudy substance, and Keith could see a strange shadow twitch in the whitish fog.
“This…” She said. “… is the Bottle Imp.”
“What?”
“The bottle imp. I bought it for two centimes on some island in the pacific a few years ago. I was strung out on heroin and some greasy islander sold it to me. It will grant you anything you want. I got clean, lots of money, talents I’d always wanted. Even this body is a wish. Sometimes there were consequences, like with the paw, sometimes there wasn’t. You never know.”
“Oh God.” He said. “That’s how you can… be with me. You just asked the… Imp for it.”
“If I don’t sell it, I burn in hell with that imp when I die. The rule is that I have to sell it for less than what I paid for it. If I don’t, the bottle will find its way back to me. I have to find someone to buy it for a single centime.”
“What the hell is a centime?”
“Pretty damn close to absolutely nothing.”
“Oh.”
The two sat in the room with their wish granters and felt helpless.
“I guess I thought, I would take a chance on the paw you know? I mean, I don’t know what else to do.”
“No…” He said. “It won’t work. It’s like wishing for more wishes, it would quadruple your trouble. The disaster would be exponential.”
“How do you know?”
“Ask me later.”
“What?”
“Ask me later.”
“So what do we do now?” She asked. “The thought of having this much longer… thinking I could just get hit by a car one day and wake up burning in hell… I have to do something.”
Keith fiddled with the brittle palm in his whole hand. He moved his three fingers over the skin of her upper arm and left them on the ball of her shoulder.
He gripped the paw harder.
“I wish for a centime.” He said. Reaching behind her ear, he pulls out a tiny, thin coin with a hole in the center. “I’d like to purchase your Imp.”
“Oh god… no.” She tore herself from the couch and stormed away, the bottle imp still in her hand.
“With all the damage I’ve done to people coming to me for help…” Keith paused. “I’m going to hell anyway. I may as well take these demons with me when I go.”
She said nothing, only looked out the window. He walked up behind her and put a hand timidly around her, resting his palm on her belly and kissed the back of her neck. She turned to kiss him on the mouth and the two embraced for a long while.
“Please…” he whispered into her mouth. “Let me do this for you.”
Moments later, she let him.
He left her while she was sleeping with a note and signed an “I love you” at the bottom. Her admission of being strung out on heroin gave her away. Once, a long time ago, her junkie self had wished for it and he had granted it with the paw.
And now his punishment was in his pocket and he had assurance of hell.
“Let’s see how far we can push it…” He said out loud to the night.
Keith didn’t go home, but went to an old burned out warehouse, one hit with a rocket years ago. He dug a hole in a far corner and, four feet down, he hit the box. He hefted it out of the hole and opened it.
He rubbed the object inside three times, and a genie appeared.
“Howdy there.” Keith said.
“Good evening master.” The genie said. “Your wish is my command…”
The end.
I like this one.
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