A Naked Singularity: A Novel

by Sergio De La Pava

  “You can’t modify our language to suit your needs Casi. Fat chance is bad and always has been. And, by the way, I think that your true and inapposite bottom line is this. If one could step back out of Time so to speak and learn the truth as you claim to intuit it, that is, that events don’t really precede or follow or cause each other but rather they exist as it were simultaneously and independently, then there would be even less reason for you to retain a psych expert since such acquisition or failure of same bears no relation to Kingg’s ultimate fate and in fact such decision, the decision whether or not to retain an expert, already exists, and is in some sense predetermined, on some real if unknowable level. So your theory, and I use the term generously here, of Time and Chance actually ends up putting everything under the auspices of chance in the strict sense of the word and thus you should save your money. If you’re right about chance I mean.”

  “True, but what are the chances of that?”

  “I come bearing gifts and it’s all gold too, none of that corny myrrh or frankincense whatever that is.”

  “Frankincense is like a gummy substance you get from trees, presumably prized back then.”

  “You got any lying around Casi?”

  “No.”

  “Want any?”

  “No.”

  “My point exactly. This stuff here is golden gold, unalloyed and pure.”

  “What do you got?”

  “Everything we determined was necessary. Three gifts I bring. First, here’s the key, literal and figurative, fashioned solely out of gold and beautiful in its import.”

  “It does look like gold.”

  “It better, it’s nothing but. Twenty-eight carats of Au with nothing to dilute.”

  “You made a key out of gold?”

  “Of course, pray tell of what substance I should’ve made a key that will gain us access to 402 and by extension to the riches of 410?”

  “I don’t know but the question seemingly becomes why, if you have the ability to make keys out of pure gold, you are—”

  “Gift number two. State of the Art the salesman said without a hint of irony and I couldn’t believe people like that still exist. Two cameras and this here gold-plated remote control/monitor.”

  “They’re tiny.”

  “They don’t come any smaller. I figure each of us will be responsible for placing one of the cameras on one of the western corners of the adjacent roof then we’ll meet back in the middle, on a direct line to the roof entrance, where we can observe the monitor and decide the best time to make a break for it, probably one at a time.”

  “What do you mean by remote control?”

  “That’s the beauty of it. Not only can we see what the cameras see but we can maneuver said cameras through the use of these rather dainty joysticks. What say you to that?”

  “I say two things: good purchase and practice with the device while I’m in Alabama so you become proficient.”

  “Yes. Lastly, I give you the Gold Series Positron 3000. Again a different salesman said something similarly lame that I cannot now recall.”

  “These are stun guns?”

  “Stun batons, mini-batons really. Eight inches with the whole baton proper, excluding the handle, electrified so you don’t have to worry as much about making precise contact.”

  “And this will take down a huge guy?”

  “500,000 volts. It’ll definitely take him down but it’s going to take a few seconds it’s not like instantaneous. I figure one of us will immobilize Whale with one of the swords and the other will shock him and take him down.”

  “Take him down for how long?”

  “If we zap him good then tape his mouth, it’ll be a good ten, fifteen minutes before he can get up and walk down. How do you like the gold plated handles?”

  “You sure it’s going to be hundreds right? The money?”

  “That’s what he said, why?”

  “Because I’m concerned about the weight of the dough. You say you tested hundred dollar bills and fifteen million is about 210 pounds. That’s bad enough in the context of us trying to get out of there with high tails while sneaking by two guys, but what if it’s twenties and weighs a 1000 pounds or fifties and weighs 420?”

  “It won’t be. It’s going to be hundreds and weigh between two and three hundred pounds. We’ll bring bags, split it up into manageable amounts and divide the toil. I can see what you’re thinking: here’s another thing that can go wrong. Not really though. Look it’s our money and it pisses me off to no end that these hyenas are currently holding it but if worse comes to worst and it’s a thousand pounds of twenties, which I highly doubt, then we’ll take what we can manage and that’s that.”

  “True.”

  “And so it is done no? The bulk of the planning and preparation.”

  “I suppose.”

  “There’s no suppose about it. It’s as done as done gets done. Next Wednesday morning your car will be parked in that spot on 122nd street.”

  “Assuming it’s open.”

  “No, no assuming. It has to be that spot.”

  “I know that spot is ideal but there are others nearly as good.”

  “No there’s no ideal and near-ideal. There’s only two choices, perfect or deeply flawed. That spot is perfect for the two reasons we’ve discussed. One, it’s immediately before a driveway so you can pull out quickly and two, it’s almost directly behind 402 so we can leave through the backyard with minimal exposure.”

  “Fine but what if it’s taken?”

  “You’re just going to have to get there with sufficient advance time to ensure you get it, even if it takes a couple of hours.”

  “A couple hours means 1:00 a.m. If a spot is taken at midnight, for example, chances are strong it will still be taken at 3:00 a.m., sleep being generally predictable.”

  “So you’ll go the night before and have no problem. Parking around there is actually great. I’ve gone by there five times the last couple of days and that spot’s been vacant about ninety percent of the time. You’ll go, park, go home, then come back later.”

  “Fine.”

  “To continue, at 2:15 we meet at the 24 hour bodega. We have a Yoohoo.”

  “What?”

  “Or similar beverage. At 2:30 we go to 402. We use this gold key to get in. On the top floor we change. We get our swords. By the way did you decide which sword you want?”

  The night before Dane had, at my request, left the two swords for me to inspect. One was an excellent curved Japanese Katana the other a brilliant medieval Gladius that while maybe slightly wider than I would have liked was considerably easier to use one-handed. Both were beautiful, well-proportioned and sleek, almost swinging themselves the instant you broke your wrists. Light. And savagely sharp. So I stood in front of my mirror in varied feral poses of aggression trying to determine with which I looked cooler and coming to the conclusion that I wouldn’t mind terribly walking around with a sword in my hands at all times.

  “I’ll take the Gladius,” I said.

  “Is that a beauty or what? Good choice. The batons’ll be there, the cameras, the bags, the rope. We’ll go out the roof of 402. We cross two roofs to 406. That takes us to the 8 foot gap.”

  “You mean the 8 foot gap that’s more like 12 feet?”

  “And which I nevertheless think we can merely jump? The very same.”

  “Jump, you’re nuts Beamon.”

  “Anyway I take the rope I’ve already procured, lasso-throw it across the gap and onto that hydrant-like structure on the roof of 408, attach the gold pulley-wheel slash hook that I’m going to fashion, tie it off on our 406 structure and slide across one by one.”

  “Where’s the rope?”

  “Home.”

  “And it’s thick?”

  “It’s a wharf rope, like three inches thick. At the critical moment don’t be surprised to hear it laugh at our weight.”

  “Even with the bags appended on the way back?”

  “Ev
en with, although I still think we should just throw the bags over.”

  “No because they’ll make noise on landing and might awaken nosy guilty bystanders. I think the bags should be like backpacky so we can wear them during our slide back.”

  “Okay after we slide over to 408—”

  “And you’re sure you’re going to be able to lasso 408 like you say?”

  “Positive.”

  “Good grief.”

  “On 408 we each place a camera where it can observe one of the guys on the 410 roof. Then we watch the monitor for the perfect moment and sneak by them.”

  “Sounds so easy.”

  “We go down to the second floor. One of us puts a sword to Ballena and the other zaps him. He drops. We tape his mouth. We take his radio. If anyone radios him you answer in barely intelligible Spanish buying us time. We open the bag and divide its contents into ours. We go back up. We check the monitor and sneak by again. We take the cameras. Back to the gap. We use the pulleyed rope again, this time weighted down with the green. I detach the rope from 406, remove the pulley wheel, and throw it over to 408. Then back to 402. We clear everything out of there, go out the door and out the back, through that alley and to the car. Put all the bags in the trunk of the car and we’re off. Escalera and his others discover what has happened but have no clue who did it and can’t call the police. The only evidence that anyone was ever there is the rope on 408. The only person who sees us is The Whale and he never sees our eyes.”

  “Or hears our true voices right? You’re going to pick up those things?”

  “Yeah I’ll get them. And that’s that. Presto extracto. Agreed?”

  “Yes. I guess the mental aspect is pretty much done. It’s all physical from here on out but it’s regrettably more physically demanding than I thought it would be.”

  “How so?”

  “Well as example there’s the lassoing of the 408 structure, that’s not easy.”

  “I can do it.”

  “The lugging of a hundred or so pounds each with speed essential, the swords.”

  “All eminently doable. Eventually everything intellectual becomes physical. The plan is there. I look at it and see that it’s good. Now it’s time to execute it without remorse or restraint.”

  “Why don’t we go through it again in like more detail and make sure we’re not overlooking anything?”

  “ . . .”

  “No I know we’ve talked about everything an extreme amount of time but I don’t think it can hurt.”

  “I had an acquaintance who was a big guitar player. I mean like ten hours of practice a day, every day, lacking fail. He said that on those rare occasions where something such as a minor injury would prevent him from practicing for a few days when he returned to the instrument he found paradoxically that he played better than ever.”

  “I understand.”

  “Seems the unexpected jolt away from his practice routine, a routine he followed piously for untold years, served to refresh his creativity and allowed him, in some sense, to view his instrument anew.”

  “Got it.”

  “I think a similar thing may happen here where we’ve spent the better part of three days poring over the least and last of our plan’s relevant minutiae.”

  “Point taken.”

  “Perhaps this forced abstention that begins tomorrow morning with your trip to Alabama will serve a similar purpose.”

  “No need to continue.”

  “You see the analogy?”

  “Yes.”

  “Whereas he was playing the guitar we are—”

  “I urge you to abandon this point.”

  “I need a number where I can reach you.”

  “Yes but don’t call.”

  “Right, you return?”

  “Monday morning. You’re going to 402?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You’ll practice the physical things we talked about?”

  “All weekend. When are you going to the scene Casi?”

  “Monday night I guess. Anything else?”

  “Just one.”

  “What?”

  “This might be the smallest apartment I’ve ever been in. Meaning square-footage-wise.”

  “And what’s the other problem?”

  “No problems, it’s all good.”

  “You said, Casi, that there were two major problems, one of which you identified as our failure thus far to retain a psychiatric expert to evaluate Kingg and his mental impairment. The other?”

  “So many others.”

  “The main other?”

  “Well I read the amazingly thorough compendium you put together detailing every case in which that court granted a petition similar to ours. You know what I saw? What unifying thread emerged?”

  “What?”

  “Innocence. Invariably, on some level, the court feared the defendant might be innocent right?”

  “I suppose.”

  “No suppositions, just yes. Their defendant lungs shouted their innocence for any and all to hear. Where’s our protestation of innocence?”

  “None.”

  “Instead we get unremitting and unsolicited declarations of guilt. I’ve been doing this for a quarter of a century and I can count on one hand the number of clients who didn’t proclaim their innocence if the case was even semi-serious.”

  “True.”

  “Now when it counts I get this guy who won’t even service the notion with his lips, what the hell?”

  “I know and unless we have a good-faith basis for arguing his innocence we can’t ethically do it.”

  “And practically speaking unless we argue, or at least suggest, that this guy didn’t do it, we have no real chance.”

  “Strictly speaking, none of our points depend on a lack of culpability.”

  “No real chance.”

  “You’re right, but maybe that’s why you’re going to Atmore.”

  “Why?”

  “Well perhaps to extract something akin to a reverse-confession out of Kingg.”

  “You mean to get him to confess his innocence?”

  “Well if he tells you he’s innocent then we can argue it right? And if we can argue it, armed with a good-faith basis in spite of the overwhelming evidence, then it can’t hurt our chances right?”

  “Too weird.”

  “Innocent people do confess Casi.”

  “Yes.”

  “Just as the guilty often deny to the end.”

  “The bitter one. So my job is to turn him from one kind of liar into the other?”

  “You mean from truth-teller to liar.”

  “Unless he really is innocent.”

  “He does look innocent.”

  “Which probably means he’s guilty.”

  “He says he’s guilty.”

  “But that could be an innocent mistake.”

  “What if you can’t reverse him?”

  “I’ll feel guilty, full of guilt.”

  “How guilty can Kingg be anyway in light of his mental apparatus?”

  “And how innocent given same? And can he go from one to the other and even back again?”

  “With your help, maybe.”

  “And you at a fancy wedding where the game hens are Cornish and the liquid spirits flow without pause.”

  And so later that night when I slept it felt more like a newly-invented process only slightly suggestive of sleep. And I arose later weighted down with two big questions: one on Kingg and one on Whale. But I decided I only had the energy to deal with one of them that morning; I would call Dane or Toomberg in that pre-airport interval not both. And in my skull each side argued vociferously on its behalf and I vacillated between the two, forth and back repeatedly until I resolved to abstain entirely.

  And when I suddenly decided, really knew, which call to make, it surprised me a bit. Now the other option seemed laughably unviable and the proper course so nakedly visible. But when I eagerly picked up the phone I found that the infernal m
achine didn’t work and so called neither.

  chapter 20

  If you could live forever, would you and why?

  I would not live forever because we should not live forever, because if we were supposed to live forever then we would live forever, but we cannot live forever, which is why I would not live forever.

  —Miss Alabama in the 1994 Miss Universe contest

  To judge from the sparse attendance on the plane no one wanted to go to Alabama that morning. I didn’t either but there I was, going. And those pills you take to combat expected nausea I suspected worked solely by making you so drug-addict needful of sleep that all other states of existence (i.e. nausea v. non-nausea) ceased to exist in any meaningful way. And so when one of the unburdened stewardesses, a decidedly matronly sort who in my compromised state I somehow managed to convert into an object of semi-sexual longing, came by to offer first cinematic headphones then a compartmentalized meal the most I could muster was a dismissive, narcotized wave of the hand, or like two fingers. Which gesture I later came to regret when, empty stomach grumbling and between bouts of deep but intermittent sleep, I became transfixed with the attractive happenings on the square screen before me. And instead of a nice miniature meal on the tray in front of me I had this like glossy packet insane Toomberg had put together and given me to read. The packet contained answers to everything you were afraid to ask concerning not only the particular judge who would decide our petition but really about Alabama as a whole, past and present. For some reason Toom felt that the greater my knowledge about this parcel, the greater our chance of success. So I read what he’d included there when I wasn’t looking at the screen. But now the sight of assorted beautiful people speaking without voice filled me with an ineffable sadness and so I found myself inventing and supplying dialogue for these representational humans. And also the captain was the loquacious type who would probably one day, in true frustrated-incorporeal-spirit form, continue talking from beyond the grave and thus he kept taking advantage of us, his captive audience, via the microphone they give those guys: On that square I saw a smallish girl sitting on the floor using her twin bed as backrest. Her lips moved without effect and in the direction of a freakish purple toy. We were meant, no doubt, to feel we were experiencing the inner life of a child.