Vincent

by Meyer, Jonathan G.

  “All right. What can we do? I don’t think we want to go to the police lot.”

  Control boards appeared on the bulkhead before him, and the quiet whine of systems coming on line came to his attention. “I think we must leave,” stated Vincent.

  The cab doors were locked. However, the camper was not. The cop circled the truck to the rear and stood for a second, then he opened the back window and dropped the tailgate.

  “Do not be alarmed, James Thompson. I may have to force our way out.”

  Seatbelts sprung from the chair above his shoulders and crisscrossed his body to fasten to the seat, drawing him snug against the seatback.

  “Don’t hurt him. He’s only doing his job,” requested Jim.

  “Harming a human is contrary to my programming. In this case, there is no need.”

  The large display provided an exaggerated view of the policeman as he slowly leaned into the open end of the truck. The cop was oblivious to their presence until Vincent touched him.

  Jim will never forget the look on the guy’s face as an invisible force pushed him backward and to the ground—his yell of surprise fading quickly behind them. A glance back revealed the cop standing up and looking around confused, and his truck quickly shrinking in the distance. Everything he had was in that truck, and he was leaving it behind. If and when he returned, his home would no longer be waiting.

  Chapter Three

  Jim nurtured a growing interest in Science and Technology since grade school, and he earned a college degree in electronics. He was gifted with a mechanical mind and was capable of repairing almost any type of machine, but his experience did not prepare him for what was happening to him now. The technology surrounding him was way beyond anything he knew. The acceleration he felt as they left the dark overpass did not match the speed at which the landscape was moving, and hinted of an inertial dampening system. Within seconds they were high above the city and headed towards the riverfront.

  “Where are we going, Vincent?”

  “It is necessary for you to complete your sleep cycle. I am taking us somewhere safe where we will not be disturbed. You must be adequately rested to continue the examination.”

  Jim watched in awe when it became apparent where they were headed, and a well-known landmark grew on the view screen. The ship was fast approaching a shiny, six-hundred and thirty-foot tall three-sided arch planted next to the Mississippi River. Vincent was taking him to the top of ‘The Gateway to the West.’

  They perched on the flat metal of the structure beside the poles holding the blinking FAA strobe lights, and the view was breathtaking. The sky was clear, the clouds were long gone, and the panorama extended for miles in all directions.

  “I can take any segment of the view screens and expand it if you would like a closer look,” suggested Vincent.

  “Is there any chance we can fall off?”

  “No, James Thompson. We are magnetically attached to the monolith.”

  The human chuckled, “Isn’t a monolith usually made of stone? This thing is metal. Good thing—huh?”

  The ship reassured him, “We are safe here.”

  He asked one more time, “Nobody can see us?”

  “The cloaking system is activated. You should return to sleep so we can continue.”

  Jim considered Vincent’s suggestion for a moment and declared, “There is no way I can sleep now. Why don’t you tell me more about this test?”

  “Have you decided what your wish is?”

  “Why do I need to make a wish? What are you testing for?”

  “I cannot say. Have you decided?”

  It became evident Vincent would tell him no more than necessary, so Jim decided to voice his request. “As a matter of fact, I know what I want. There is a problem that I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. A trip to the moon would be nice. However, I would much rather get every homeless person in the city a place to stay.”

  An unusual hum accompanied the voice that was Vincent. The soft buzz was barely noticeable over the distant sounds of the metropolis below. The ship could apparently control the amount of outside noise allowed inside the vessel.

  “Why would you want that?”

  “I know from experience that being homeless becomes chronic in time. You can’t work without an address, and you can’t have an address without work. It is a vicious cycle. Climbing out of being homeless can be tough. There are a few in need of mental health that choose to live outdoors. However, most live in the streets because they have nowhere else to go.”

  “How do you intend to accomplish such a project?”

  “I’ll need money. Quite a bit, actually, now that I think about it. I could start a blind trust for a foundation.”

  Vincent had some experience with obtaining large sums of money and explained how he gained his knowledge. “My first candidate referred to himself as a securities broker. He was interested in the accumulation of wealth and instructed me to open a bank account in the Cayman Islands. I then transferred one dollar from ten thousand high capital accounts into that account. He used that money to make more money. In time, I deduced his priorities centered around his personal welfare, and I was forced to reject him from the program.”

  Jim got the impression the ship was displeased by his request and rushed to explain, “A blind trust would mean I could stay out of the day to day operations. We could have someone distribute the money and handle the details. I would be free to do whatever you need.”

  “What duties would this trustee be required to manage?”

  “He would hire, say…five or six other people to help him locate housing and match each unit with tenants. The homeless are not very picky. Most would be perfectly happy with four walls and a roof. A small apartment with electricity, heat, and running water would be like Christmas.”

  “You will not use the money for yourself?”

  Jim smiled. “Why do I need money? I have you.”

  The buzz came back as if Vincent was attempting to analyze conflicting data. “Does that mean you are interested in my mission?”

  Vincent’s candidate looked out over the city and marveled at the rapid changes in his life. This time, his luck appeared to be changing for the better. With a serious expression, he answered the ship’s question, “Yes, Vincent, I am very interested in your mission.”

  ****

  Jim knew a social worker who went out of his way to help people less fortunate than himself. A dedicated social worker was the perfect person to take charge of the organization. The man had approached him on several occasions and always brought a sandwich, a smile, and a kind word. Each time he impressed Jim with his intelligence, compassion, and positive outlook.

  The trip to the bank was an adventure in itself. The ship found a vacant lot a block from the bank and landed. He was directed to a slot in the shower room holding a black suit tailored to fit him, complete with matching shoes. Vincent told him, “It is important you make a good impression. My research indicates that your society places value on people wearing clothes of this fashion.”

  “That’s not exactly the outfit I would have picked. Maybe a gray—or pinstripes.”

  “My research indicates this apparel portrays a successful human.”

  “All right, if you insist.” Jim thought of something else, “I’m going to need a little cash. In case I want to buy a cup of coffee and a donut.”

  “Do you consider that an important aspect of fulfilling your request?”

  “Yes, I do. I haven’t had a decent cup of coffee in months.”

  Another drawer opened. The remarkable room seemed capable of producing drawers as needed. In this tray lay two twenty dollar bills. Vincent explained, “One of the former candidates left these behind. He no longer required them, so I saved them for future use.”

  When Jim had all the proper paperwork on hand and the proper attire, he climbed down the ladder. Around him were trash cans as big as four-story buildings, dumpsters with man-sized legs, and doorw
ays similar to the ones at the top of a beanstalk. While he walked away from the ship, he looked around and verified the alley was empty of humans.

  Vincent instructed him to leave the ladder and keep walking until the system locked on and activated. He did not walk fast. Each step brought him closer to being restored to his natural size, and he found the wait unsettling.

  When it happened, it was like becoming a giant. His shoes squeaked on the pavement as they expanded to fit his feet. His body grew warm as he grew taller and then faded quickly once he was restored. He was full size again and stomped his feet a couple of times to make sure they still worked. When Jim looked up, a woman rounded the corner with a phone held before her. She turned and entered the alley with her head down. When she looked up, their eyes met.

  The woman was around his age, with shoulder length auburn hair that changed hues as she walked. She was wearing bleached jeans and a blouse the color of red roses. For a moment she froze, staring at the man in the back alley dressed in a suit approaching her. Jim looked at the ground and kept moving. She stopped him just after they passed and exclaimed, “Hey—don’t I know you?”

  He felt a spark of recognition and stopped. She looked familiar. He tried dismissing the notion. “I don’t think so.”

  “Now I remember,” she said, “You’re the one that does the drawings. You came into the store asking to trade them for art paper. Your hair gave you away.”

  His hair had grown long the past couple months and had a frustrating habit of curling at the ends. That’s where he had seen her before. She was there in the stationary store when the owner laughed at his offer and told him to get a job. She was the one standing in the background looking embarrassed.

  “Oh…hello. How are you? I’m sorry if I caused you any problems with your boss. He didn’t think much of my proposal.”

  “He’s a jerk. He doesn’t even own the store and acts as if he does. I’m sorry he wasn’t very nice.” She paused and looked a little embarrassed, then admitted, “I thought your drawings were good.”

  “Well, thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “It took me a second to recognize you with that suit on.” She cocked her head sideways and continued, “It’s not your usual style. Did you win the lottery or something?”

  Jim smiled. “I guess you could say that. It seems I had a rich uncle I didn’t know of.”

  He dodged most of her questions, and eventually had to tell her he was late for an appointment. He did not want to leave, but he had to. Before turning the corner, he looked back and found her returning his gaze. They smiled, waved at each other, and went their separate ways.

  Jim opened an account in a large bank downtown using an identity Vincent created. He did not want anyone to know of his involvement and designated Juan Parson, the social worker, sole access for its administration. The woman assigned to him was very helpful.

  “…and from where do you want these funds transferred?” she asked.

  He handed her a standard thumb drive supplied by the ship. When she opened the files, she took a breath and said, “Oh—this is much more than usual. One minute please,” and she left him standing at the window.

  The clerk returned with another woman, this one older. She had eyeglasses perched at the end of her nose attached to a silver chain around her neck. The manager directed him to a desk with two chairs placed before it and asked him to please sit down. The clerk followed and sat next to him. The older woman sat across the desk from them, pulled her glasses down and compared the picture on his fake driver’s license to the man sitting before her. When she was satisfied, she checked the documents he supplied. After deciding the paperwork was in order, she turned to the computer. A few moments passed while she clicked through the information, and slowly the stern look on her face relaxed. Her frown transformed into a genuine smile. She turned to the clerk and said, “Please provide Mister Jones with whatever he desires.” When she returned her attention to ‘Mister Jones,’ she handed him a card and said with an enthusiastic smile, “If there is anything—anything at all—that I can do to help, please give me a call.”

  The funding for his Living Space Foundation was in place. Now he had to convince Juan Parson that sometimes miracles happen.

  ****

  Jim found Juan at a nearby shelter passing out meals to those that had none. Juan’s trademark long green T-shirt was damp with perspiration, and his thinning black hair plastered to his forehead. When he walked in, Juan spotted him immediately. “Who is this guy in a suit?” said his friend. “Can it be the artistic fellow that I saw only yesterday rooting through dumpsters?”

  Never before had Jim been in a position to be philanthropic. He was going to enjoy this bit of generosity. “I understand you could use some help around here and I’ve come to see what I can do.”

  “I truly appreciate your offer, Jim. However, you cannot work in a suit. Change back into your old clothes, and I’ll find you something to do.”

  Jim could not stop smiling. He stepped up to Juan and handed him the check the super friendly clerk provided him. “I would like to make a donation—with a few restrictions.”

  Juan was puzzled. Still, he did not hesitate to open the envelope and glanced at the amount. A look of amazement appeared on his face. “This is a lot of money my friend. How is this possible?”

  “Let’s just say I came into an unexpected inheritance and leave it at that. I give you that check in advance of a proposition I would like to make. Is there someplace we can go to talk?”

  Juan was understandably skeptical. There were other well-meaning people in the past with grandiose schemes that provided questionable benefits. They were big ideas that faded as time passed and reality took over. Still, every opportunity should be investigated. He arranged for someone to take his place in the food line and led his guest to a small dingy office in the back. “Alright Jim, what is this all about?”

  The smile returned, and Jim voiced his proposal, “I want you to run an organization dedicated to getting every homeless person in the city a place to stay.”

  “You mean another shelter? The city would fight you every step of the way, and believe me, there are a lot of steps.”

  “No. That is not what I’m thinking. I want you to hire as many people as you need to procure small apartments, rooms, or any place safe, warm, and dry to temporarily house everyone that needs a place to stay. For one year I want each client to get a stipend, say fifty dollars a week, and access to assistance in securing suitable jobs.”

  “We can do this?”

  “Not we. You. I need to be a silent partner and will not be available to help.”

  Juan sat at the desk and considered what his friend said. “You want me to do this by myself? I am not an accountant nor a business man. I am only Juan Parson.”

  Jim chuckled at the play on words, as the social worker expected. “Hire an accountant and a real estate agent. You can afford it.”

  “What about the homeless that would rather stay in the streets?”

  “That is their call. In my opinion, if someone has a chance to stay warm and dry, with a safe place to sleep, they would have to be insane to say no. If they decline, we should try and get them some mental health services.”

  Juan glanced again at the check and thought of the people it could help. “This is a good start,” he said. “Do you realize we will need much more to accomplish what you want?”

  Jim handed him the thumb drive and warned him, “This gives you complete control of the account with the necessary funds. After a while, we’ll get together and analyze the successes and failures of your programs and maybe make improvements. You should also give yourself a salary—say sixty thousand a year to start. I suggest you get a safe deposit box for that drive and guard it with your life.”

  “I am honored and humbled. However, I don’t think I need a salary that large.” Can you tell me where you will be that you cannot be here?”

  It was a question Jim was unsure
how to answer. From what the ship had told him, there were plans he had yet to discover. “I honestly don’t know,” he said. “I was promised an adventure, and that is the extent of my knowledge. I’ll try and check in on you when I can.” Jim extended his hand to say goodbye and added, “Wish me luck though, I think I might need it.”

  Juan was overwhelmed with the speed of the transaction and struggled to organize his words. He shook his friend’s hand and managed to say, “Do what you have to, Jim. I’ll do my best to put your gift to good use.”

  ****

  Jim was unable to find the ship when he returned to the alley. The sun was almost down by this time, and the alley was not well lit, leaving long patches of darkness. “Vincent…are you here?” No response. “Where are you?”

  Did he leave? Did I do something wrong and fail the test?

  He walked the length of the alley whispering the ship’s name, turned around, and returned to the other end. No tiny ship. Where could he be?

  He sat on a crate to wait, with several unpleasant scenarios running through his mind. Every ten minutes or so he walked the alley again. He had nowhere else to go, so he took his Time and checked around each dumpster and trash can. Two hours later he was making his rounds when the beam of light finally struck him, and he felt the warmth of transition. There he is!

  Once inside he asked where Vincent had been. The ship replied, “I have been here all along. This part of the assessment was to determine what you would do if you thought I had abandoned you.”

  The ship’s response puzzled him, “You did that on purpose? Why?”

  “I needed to quantify your commitment to the project, and the amount of trust you place in me.”

  “Part of the test…huh?”

  “Yes.”

  “You had me worried. I thought something terrible happened. Please don’t do that again.”

  “I am sorry, James Thompson. It was necessary to determine your level of loyalty.” There was a hesitation, and Vincent continued, “You could have withdrawn only a portion of the funds from the bank and lived comfortably for the rest of your life. Why didn’t you?”