The Failure

by James Greer

  -What gives? Guy hissed at Charlie, who again shrugged, pushing rolls of goddamn quarters through the window by this time.

  -Couldn’t do it, bro, he whispered back, further infuriating Guy by the use of the word “bro.”

  Guy could only imagine the different shades of magenta his skin must be turning underneath his baby-blue mask.

  -That’s it? Couldn’t do it, bro? Why couldn’t you do it?

  -Ask Violet.

  -Yeah, I’d like to ask Violet, Charlie, but she ain’t fucking here just at the minute, is she?

  -What?

  The sirens were already audible. They had at most thirty seconds to get out of there.

  -We have at most thirty seconds to get out of here, Guy said to Billy, who had just finished stuffing cash into the plastic bag.

  -What?

  -Get out! Guy shouted, grabbing the bag from Billy and heading for the door.

  35. WHAT HAPPENED NEXT WAS JUST DUMB, IN THE IMMEDIATE AFTERMATH OF THE KOREAN CHECK-CASHING FIASCO

  Where’s Sven? yelled Billy, racing out the door after Guy, ripping off his baby-blue ski mask.

  -First of all, who told you to take off your ski mask? asked Guy. -And second of all, I don’t know. He’s supposed to be here. Right here. Literally right where I’m standing. In a tan Ford Mustang.

  -I’ve never even seen a tan Mustang.

  -That doesn’t mean they don’t exist. You’ve never seen God, right?

  -This is your fault. You hired the driver and the driver is not here and the car is not here and now we have to take the probably stolen car, which was not, N, O, T, the plan.

  -I know. I’m sorry. Can you kind of hurry, though? I’ll apologize all the way to wherever we get to before the cops nail us.

  -I just …You always do that, and it lowers my self-esteem. Which is not good for my self-esteem.

  At which point three police cars, sirens wailing, sped past the check-cashing place without slowing down. Guy and Billy looked at each other. Guy took off his mask and shrugged.

  -Now I don’t know whether we’re really unlucky or really lucky, said Guy.

  -I’ll get the car, said Billy.

  36. A PRIVATE CONVERSATION BETWEEN GUY AND VIOLET, SITTING ON VIOLET’S BED THE ONE TIME HE WAS ALLOWED TO VISIT HER APARTMENT, FIVE DAYS BEFORE THE KOREAN CHECK-CASHING FIASCO

  I’m strong, said Violet.

  -Yes, but are you Army strong?

  -I don’t know. Maybe. Do you think you’re book hot?

  -I’m definitely not TV hot. You’re like movie hot, though.

  -Seriously? Do you mean indie movie hot or blockbuster movie hot?

  -You’re right on the edge. You’re maybe rising starlet hot?

  -That’s so sweet.

  In the dark the wallpaper, bland rows of tipped pyramids on a white background, acquired a sheen of sweat. Emotional humidity. Guy had no way of stopping her. Smoke from his improperly stubbed cigarette curled upwards from the ashtray balanced on his thigh and flowered in unexpected ways near the ceiling, dissolving at length in the murk. He couldn’t stop her. Her bare shoulders reflected striped moonlight onto the piled pillows. They talked for a while longer but talking only drew tighter the tense cords banding Guy’s stomach. His throat clenched. He had a coughing fit and lit another cigarette. Moths beat at the window screen, alarmed at the sudden silence. Truth is, he didn’t want to stop her. She opened her eyes; he saw narrow gemlike slits glitter on the moon-dappled and striated bed. The distance between her hand and his chest was negatively charged, prickly with latent energy. The angel of perception shifted; Guy turned away and leaned on a nervous elbow, watching the blue glow of her digital clock on a nearby end table register the slowly scrolling text of time.

  -What are you thinking? asked Guy, after a while.

  -If you have to ask, then I really don’t think there’s much point in me being here.

  -I mean besides that. Obviously. I don’t know anything about you.

  Violet sat up in the bed, alarmed.

  -You’ve never wanted to know anything about me.

  -Yeah, I know. It’s uncharacteristic.

  -I don’t tell people stuff like that.

  -Okay, first: stuff like what? And second: people? I’ve been demoted?

  -And this is one of the reasons why.

  -Just forget I said anything.

  -I never understand when anyone says that. You did say it. It’s now part of my memory. I can’t choose which memories to remember and which to forget. I wish I could. And you’re telling me to forget it only doubles the chances that I’ll remember it.

  -It’s an expression. I don’t mean actually forget, but act as if you’ve forgotten. Pretend, in other words, I never said anything about how I don’t know anything about you, and I’d like to know something, not a whole lot, but maybe where you’re from, your middle name, favorite flavor of ice cream …

  -I’m lactose-intolerant. I don’t eat ice cream.

  -There, see? Now I know something about you. That wasn’t so difficult, was it?

  -Unless I was lying. I do that a lot.

  -Yeah, me too. Like, for example, when I said I was a rich Internet entrepreneur.

  -I never believed that.

  -It was still a lie.

  -Okay.

  -Truth is, I will be a rich Internet entrepreneur. I just need some cash to fund my prototype for this really ingenious new technology that …You stopped listening, didn’t you?

  -Uh-huh.

  -Okay. Well, maybe you’ll listen to this: my plan to raise the cash involves robbing a Korean check-cashing place.

  Violet chuckled softly. -Right.

  -Seriously. I’ve got a guy on the inside. Whole thing’s worked out.

  -Please don’t do this.

  -Why?

  -Not that it’s any of my business, but you’ll get caught, you’ll go to jail, and I’ll have to forget, or rather pretend, that I ever knew you. Which would be a shame because you’re not entirely worthless.

  -This thing is foolproof.

  -Is Billy involved?

  -Of course Billy’s involved. He’s an integral part of the plan.

  -Then it’s not foolproof. If Billy’s involved, by definition your plan is not foolproof, and you will get caught, whether immediately or eventually, and then … all that stuff I already said.

  -You’ll change your tune when I show you the money.

  -There were so many clichés in that sentence I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  -How about instead we just have sex?

  -Only if you promise to drop your foolproof plan. Seriously.

  Guy waited an appropriate length of time, pretending to consider.

  -Fine. Okay. I promise to drop the plan.

  Violet unhooked her bra and threw it on the floor.

  -Liar, she said, reaching for Guy’s pants.

  37. BILLY PITCHES PANDEMONIUM TO A NEW GROUP OF POTENTIAL INVESTORS, SEVERAL WEEKS AFTER THE KOREAN CHECK-CASHING FIASCO

  So that’s, like, more or less how it works.

  -How what works? asked one of the investors.

  -Pandemonium. I just demonstrated it.

  -What do you mean?

  -When you clicked on that website, you got advertised to. Or however you want to say it.

  -What was the ad for?

  -Ah. Yes. For demonstration purposes, I chose a public service announcement regarding dental hygiene. Just because, well, we needed a demonstration, and you know, dental hygiene is extremely important.

  -I didn’t see anything, said one of the investors.

  -Didn’t you? said Billy.

  -No.

  -Exactly. Now imagine you go to this site three or four times a day. And you get exactly the same message, reinforced at the subsensory level.

  -What message?

  -Exactly. That’s the beauty of Pandemonium. Ipso facto.

  -I don’t think that’s how you use “ipso facto.”

  -Hey, where h
ave I seen you before? asked another investor.

  -I don’t know, said Billy. -Do you go to the Whole Foods on Fairfax?

  -No.

  -Oh! I know, said another of the investors. -You’re the mountain lion—fighting guy.

  -Umm … said Billy.

  -That’s right! It was on YouTube. Extremely awesome.

  -I don’t really like to be pigeonholed … I mean, did I fight a mountain lion? Yes. I did fight a mountain lion.

  -This guy fought a mountain lion?

  -Do you even watch YouTube? It was only the most popular video for three weeks straight.

  -Someone from IT put a block on YouTube at my workstation. I think he was pissed because I made fun of his hair.

  -Are you talking about that guy Roger? He’s kind of creepy.

  -Anyway … said Billy. -About Pandemonium.

  -How on earth did you survive a fight with a mountain lion?

  -I … uh … mostly I just threw clumps of dirt at it and stuff. I don’t remember much of what happened, to be honest.

  -That’s right! You fell over and knocked yourself out on a big rock right before the end.

  -That was the best part. I almost fell out of my chair. The mountain lion came over, pawed at you a little, then just trotted off. Maybe he thought you were dead.

  -I always just assumed it was a fake, chimed in another investor.

  -I can assure you it wasn’t fake, said Billy, rolling up his sleeve. -I’ve still got a scar …

  -Whoa. Dude, that is seriously gross.

  -You know, we could use this, said one of the older investors.

  -How do you mean? said Billy, unrolling his sleeve.

  -This … fake Internet advertising thing. I mean, maybe it works, maybe it doesn’t.

  -I’ve got charts …

  -Everybody has charts, son. But what everybody doesn’t have is the guy who fought a mountain lion. That represents something.

  -It does?

  -Tenacity. Courage. Survival instinct.

  -Hey, said Billy. -I recognize you from somewhere. Don’t I?

  He pointed at one of the other investors, an attractive redhaired woman in sober business attire.

  -I can’t imagine where, she protested.

  -You’re in the Moped Marauders, said Billy. -In fact, you’re like the leader of the Moped Marauders!

  -Julia? said one of the others. -What’s he talking about.

  -I really have no idea …

  -You do ride a moped around Los Angeles, pointed out one of the investors. -Last time I was down there you drove up on it.

  -It’s not a moped. It’s a Vespa.

  -What’s the difference?

  -Is it light green? asked Billy. -I mean to say, is it tourmaline? And you have a matching helmet?

  -How does he know that? Julia, how would the mountain lion guy know that?

  -My name’s Billy.

  -Look, what I do on my downtime is not really anyone’s business …

  -It is you! exclaimed Billy. -You guys surrounded my car once.

  -We don’t do that, said Julia flatly. -We only go after the Critical Mass crowd. Bicycles, she added, for the benefit of the others. -They’re like these crazed fascists who want to take over the streets for bikes. Bikes!

  -I had dogs tied to my bumper.

  -You’re that guy?

  -I don’t even want to know why he had dogs tied to his bumper.

  -I bet we can find it on YouTube.

  -Can I make a sort of confession? said Billy. -I always thought you were really … well, I sort of have a crush on you. As a Moped Marauder.

  -Really?

  -So your name is Julia?

  -Julia Fractal.

  -That’s your real name?

  -Why wouldn’t it be my real name?

  -No reason.

  -Were you ever in that bar on Fairfax across from Cantor’s?

  -I’m rarely not in that bar, said Billy.

  -You and your friend did some kind of mind reading trick on me and a friend. Mostly the friend. I wasn’t really buying it, but I couldn’t figure out the trick.

  -I’m sworn to secrecy on that, sorry.

  -What if I said I’d go to dinner with you?

  -Here’s how it works, said Billy.

  38. THE MIND READING TRICK EXPLAINED IN FULL, ALBEIT RELUCTANTLY, SITTING IN THE BAR THREE DAYS BEFORE THE KOREAN CHECK-CASHING FIASCO

  See what I’m saying? said Billy, staring straight ahead. He held his hands outstretched across the booth toward Guy, who sat with his head in his hands, head down, eyes closed.

  -I am, replied Guy.

  Billy snapped his fingers three times.

  -That’s some kind of code, said the drunk girl who’d come over to join them, accompanied by a less-drunk friend. The less-drunk friend had red hair, and was very slim. She wore a light-green T-shirt decorated with sequins that spelled out a word. In the gloom of the bar it was difficult to make out the word. On the floor next to her seat was a helmet of some kind that matched the color of her shirt. Her friend, an artificial blonde, had on a black dress.

  -No it’s not a code, said Billy. -It’s part of what Madam Rose taught us, it helps concentrate the mind. We can do it without the snapping but it’s more difficult. Up to you …

  -Let them snap, said the blonde, pushing the straw in her almost-empty glass to and fro with the tip of her nose.

  -Go! said Billy, throwing his hands theatrically toward Guy, who nodded gravely in response.

  -I’m starting to get something, said Guy.

  Billy snapped his fingers quickly five times.

  -Tell me what you see! he commanded.

  -I’m picturing a rock band, began Guy.

  -Oh my God, exclaimed the blond girl. -This is creepy!

  -There’s some trick to it, insisted the redhead.

  -Where is it? asked Billy.

  -That’s the strange thing. It’s out in the desert somewhere. It’s like just this lone rock band standing out in the desert.

  -Okay, said Billy.

  -But it’s not the band. You’re picturing something, or rather someone, more specific. Guy rocked back and forth in his seat, in a sign of intense effort.

  -Is it … he continued. -I’m getting a very clear picture now. Is it Bono from U2?

  The blonde squealed in a mixture of delight and concern.

  -No way! said the redhead.

  -Did I get it right? Guy asked Billy innocently, looking around as if resurfacing from a trance.

  Billy watched the skeptical expression on the redhead’s face with more than usual attention.

  -Do I know you from somewhere? he asked her.

  -Almost certainly not, she replied. -But you’re the psychic. You tell me.

  -It doesn’t work that way, murmured Billy.

  SPOILER ALERT: The following paragraphs contain spoilers about the mind reading trick. If you don’t wish to have your ability to believe in anything or anyone ever again completely trashed forever, we suggest you read no further from this chapter, or in fact from any other chapter of any other book containing fiction. Or just to be safe, any book whatsoever.

  The first and most important element of the trick is alcohol. The second most important element is girls. The trick will work on guys, but they will be much less willing to admit it. They will go to all sorts of lengths to prove that the trick is in fact a trick and not a genuine display of extrasensory abilities. They will fail, because the secret of the trick is so absolutely, completely simple and banal that no one has ever successfully guessed the trick that does not already know the trick. The trick will also still work without alcohol, but it’s less fun and therefore rarely performed sober or on sober people. One time Guy and Billy ended up at a dinner party where the assembled guests were so confounded they made Guy and Billy sit back to back facing away from each other, which of course had no effect whatsoever on the efficacy of the trick.

  Here’s how it works: the transmitter, in this case Bi
lly, receives “something that can be pictured” from one of the girls, something concrete—at least at first, until a certain suspension of disbelief has been achieved by repeated success (and the occasional deliberate or even accidental failure, which only serves to underline the authenticity of the trick, because a trick cannot fail, but a genuine ESP transmission might be expected to fail for any number of reasons), at which point the girls or guys are free to suggest abstract concepts, people neither Guy nor Billy know but the girls or guys know, the make and model and color of the guys’ or girls’ friend’s car, etcetera.

  To heighten credulity, the receiver, in this case Guy, usually leaves the table and goes either outside or at least out of sight of the others, returning only when someone—not Billy, obviously, that would be ridiculous—fetches him. In the meantime, the girl, because let’s use as an example the one already presented above, has whispered into Billy’s ear, “Bono.” You’d be surprised how many times this is the first famous person that comes into the mind of anyone playing the mind reading trick. Billy nods, sagely, tells the girl, “Good choice. It’s difficult, but I think I can picture him. Don’t be disappointed if Guy doesn’t get it, though, it’s not an easy pick and the noise in this bar is very distracting.”

  It’s always important to emphasize the distracting nature of the environment, in case, as has happened, something goes drastically wrong and the trick repeatedly fails. This is why Guy and Billy will often reject the first few suggestions if they are judged to be too difficult to transmit, settling only when someone puts forward something assured of success. In this example, success was assured right away, which sometimes happens, happily.

  Guy comes back in with a distracted air, sits opposite Billy, puts his head in his hands. Billy does a lot of preamble talking, to which Guy knows he doesn’t have to pay attention until Billy claps his hands together once, signaling the beginning of the actual transmission. “See what I’m saying,” Billy begins, then snaps his fingers three times. “No, it’s not a code,” he assures the girls, which is actually part of the code. Then he does the theatrical “Go!” followed by five quick snaps. At this point Guy already knows that Billy is transmitting the name of a singer, and is pretty sure he knows of which band, which means he already knows the answer. But Guy vamps, to add to the air of mystery, by claiming to picture a rock band. Billy slowly adds a couple more coded messages to draw out the tension, while Guy fills in imaginary details of the imaginary picture Billy is supposedly transmitting. Then, as if on the verge of passing out from the mental effort, he gives up the answer, to the astonishment of the girls, who immediately want to try again, and again, and Guy and Billy oblige, even switching from transmitter to receiver and back again with facility, never faltering and never letting on that the whole thing is an incredibly easy con.