by Evan Dara
—Smiling, not in a hurry, Catamarca saw Lincoln and Auran to the door. He handed Auran her coat, complimenting her on its black sheen, then Lincoln his. Now the smiles were shared, all around, as were the handshakes. After an initial grasp, Catamarca used two hands, spoke: Que le vaya bien.
—Lincoln and Auran walked down the scuffly gray stairs, having decided against the elevator for what was only two floors. Turning a well bend, Lincoln put his right hand on Auran’s shoulder.
—To guide her.
—And, later, still descending, he put his left hand into his coat’s pocket.
—And he felt, like, a small piece of paper there?, like in the shape of a candy bar?
—And as sweet.
—Darden strode into his office, and over to Lincoln, who stood, and shook Lincoln’s hand.
—Nice to see you, Darden said. And congrats, you know, on – on all the—
—They sat—
—So. He opened, looked into the folder he was carrying. So. Yes. Well, in fact, there isn’t too much hard, too much tangible to report today, I’m sorry to say. Hey: I gotta tell you that too. Not every week can be a winner – correction: every week is a winner, but not of the same magnitude. But we’re still on it, I’ve got two new guys looking into liens and legal judgments involving your aunt, and I gotta tell you, my guts, my giblets, they’re telling me we’re getting closer, we’re moving in on this one. OK? You OK with that? I feel something’s going to break. I’m so optimistic with this one that I am perfectly comfortable talking about it in such a way. OK? God bless …
Darden continued to flip the folder. Ah, oh yes, there is this, he said. I got a former employee here to pull a favor over at DMV, and we’re now pretty convinced that your aunt didn’t have a driver’s license any time after about the late ’80s, after which the records go dark. Gal lived here, but she never seemed to drive—
—And we have more proofs, he went on, still surveying the documents. We sent out two of our people – we do this some time, special cases – to the neighborhood where she was living, with pictures. With copies of the photographs you gave us. And we found two people, by going around into parks and such, we found two people who remember her, who recognize the face …
Lincoln lifted his eyes.
—Yeah, Darden clipped. Older people, just like herself. They hadn’t seen her for a while, couldn’t remember the last time. Neither of them knew or remembered her name. But both of them – both – they both had clear memories. One said she was quiet, and very kind. The other woman said she remembered your aunt brought candies, bags of little wrapped candies, to give out to the kids in the neighborhood. She would hand them out to the kids in, in – hold on, one sec – in the southeast corner of Douglas Park. Or on the paddleball courts …
Now that is good news, Darden continued. Memories like that are invaluable. Invaluable. Indicate someone who’ll be remembered, God bless ’em. And it takes just one – just one – of thoselike memories to lead us in, right in to what we’re looking for …
Oh, and hey: thanks for the flowers.
—And me too, OK?, yknow wum sayin?, I also saw him, I saw this like shit like amazing wuhwuzzit like Ferrari he was drivin, big dark red and down, all buffed and shit like he was, he—
—And OK, playa, I mean I know the car was coo, but I mean like what, what was the story with the man’s clothes?
—It was darling. It was endearing. But sometimes laughable, too, I suppose. Green shirts under brown jackets, brown belts with black trousers and once, even, socks red as persimmons. Well, I laughed out loud when I saw that particular selection. We were at a reception at Lila Baker’s, and I almost dropped my Bellini. I myself wondered what he thought he was doing during that bit of time. But, I can admit it, I also looked forward to seeing what else he would come up with.
—Not that that stopped him. I mean, by then he had started his association with that wetlands conservation group, and with the Aldermen, and he’d begun to consult for the Martinson tax-justice initiative—
—And help out at the Landmark Committee—
—Even though when Stella Foster took that up, just day after day in the Sun-Times, and then Jimmy Greenfeld came out and defended him, just laid out how there was no conflict of interest whatsoev—
—And then the whole thing, the whole controversy just disappeared as quickly as—
—And did you see Adrienne Thompson showed up at Randall Karin’s 50th birthday reception, she broke down and agreed to go, and when she was asked about it, she just ended up talking about how beautiful Lincoln’s hands are—
—Again, you seem to be missing something. Look at it objectively, and you’ll see that Zinkofsky’s is simply a maladaptive affective-defensive cluster, motor-linked to—
—We are grateful for your time, Mr. Selwyn. Very much so. Thank you for—
But we believe you’ll be grateful, too …
Yes. So: Thank you for coming. And thanks to Ms. Beede here for arranging—
So. Mr. Selwyn, we understand you have a sense of opportunity. A keen eye for possibility—
—(He’d met Auran in the lobby. Unusually, she was seven minutes late. Had had another appointment, she said; thing ran over … )
Because those really are the words here, Mr. Selwyn …
Opportunity …
And possibility …
We believe you’ve been introduced to our service – somewhat. Ms. Beede said she spoke with you …
(Long ride together in the elevator. The Aon Building. Auran was quiet, fussing clothes, putting workpapers into her soft attaché … )
She may have given you an idea of what we …
(The room, three ways with windows, gave a vast pan of the Loop and Grant Park. Buildings like masts. The carbuncle of the Art Institute, emerging from new-season green. Inside, slick desks, lamps, steel-limb chairs … )
So then we can be direct, Dale said. Not waste your—
As if we ever waste anyone’s time, Tracy said …
(They were three: Dale, maybe 35, square features, dark-blond hair tossed back. Carl, same age-ish, black, manicured. Tracy, younger, trim, business suit, sharp mascara … )
So you understand the concept, Dale said …
And if you’re here, Tracy said, you understand it’s strong.
—Necessary, Dale said …
Absolutely, Tracy said …
Its time has come, Dale said. Things have gotten to that point. Don’t tell me you don’t agree—
So what we—
Hold on, Dale said. Mr. Selwyn, look at the children. Our children. They are gone. Gone. I can cite statistics. Forty-eight percent crippled by one thing. Eighty-one percent butchered by another. But we don’t need statistics. We just need eyes. Mr. Selwyn, these are not lives for our children. These are not lives—
Damn ’60s relativistic softnesses, Tracy said.
—Of course we understand the causes. And of course we don’t understand them. So let the causes be the concern of someone else. We deal in remedies …
Exactly, Tracy said. Effective remedies. Strong medicine …
Precisely, Dale said. At Righttrack, we have pioneered techniques that are strong enough to neutralize the modern tarnishes. The desecration of trust. The rift between what we see and what we know. The dissolution produced by feeding into a culture that’s declared war on our children’s souls in order to get access to their pockets—
—Mr. Selwyn, our T-Square techniques have roots in Adler, in Sullivan, in Ishii, in homeopathy. But we have pushed them leagues further – to full realization. To where, today, they have to go. Yes, trauma therapy takes risks. But these are risks required by the challenges facing us, Mr. Selwyn. And necessary for payoff …
And we do pay off, Tracy said …
All of our programs have been successful, Dale said. Case after case. Without exception. Abduct parent. Car-wreck parent. Parkinson’s parent. Dark-hood abduction; head-shave abduction; duct-tape ab
duction. Kidnap sibling. Burn parent. Every one has proved fruitful—
—Some doctors call what we do gratitude enhancement, Dale said. We can live with that. Sure; OK: we’re giving kids appreciation boosters. Let the medicine men say what they want. What we know is that it works. We give the children what’s demanded. Because they need us, Mr. Selwyn. They need us now. To do the work. The hard work, to break the children from their addiction to their own exploitation—
—At restoration/resolution, Dale said, the children emerge happier, balanced, rooted, grounded. Invariably so. Because we’ve jumpstarted their spirits, Mr. Selwyn. Performed soul-defibrillation …
And then, afterwards, you should just see their little faces, Tracy said.
—Our techniques could not be simpler, Mr. Selwyn. Loud noises. Crashing noises. Sudden movements. Heard voices – clashing, overlapping voices—
—Blindfolds. Masks, jumpsuits, portable ordnance. Clutching shoulders, clutching flailing legs. Restraining. Forcible restraining. Engine-gunning night-drives through brake-wail streets. Opening doors. Floor-tossing, binding. Closing doors. Solitariness. Presence. Enough to deliver the NLE. More than enough …
But no pain, Mr. Selwyn. Never pain. Well, maybe a little. Enough to be persuasive. Enough to induce the Hunnh!-feeling of flinching before you fall. But full-time. Continuously …
And they’re all in, Mr. Selwyn. The police, the doctors. Hospital staff. Fire men. They all want a part. To help. To make some contribution—
—And of course the parents, Dale said. By the time they contact us, they are ready. To do whatever it takes. So Daddy wears a leg-cast for six weeks. Mama has a bandage. Mama gets a vacation in a hospital for nine nights. These people are ready.
—Yes, this is tough. Tough love. But what’s worse: This? Or a nonlife of nodding. Of endless unnecessariness. Of false pleasures yielding real anguish. Of dinners at The Sizzler. Which is worse?
—The great Swiss filmmaker Jean-Luc Rollin said that what he does is make imaginary gardens filled with real frogs. Mr. Selwyn, we give the frogs teeth. And in so doing, we make selfhate/vengeance, the cerebral feedback loop that emits the howl of history, sing itself to sleep. Fighting liars with liars—
—You are right, Mr. Selwyn, if you see a religious project here, Dale said. That is certainly true. We are all religious people. Deep believers in the sacred. But in the everyday sacred, Mr. Selwyn. Absolutely, with our every breath, we are committed to the resacralization of the ordinary, of the everyday. And if it requires staging a near-life experience to accomplish this, then we are there …
Damn limiting theologies, Tracy said …
That’s correct. Mr. Selwyn, the superstructure is all in place. Schools, psychologists are ready to make referrals. A large hardware syndicate – the owners have known heartbreak – has offered materials. A detox facility, an oncology unit – all are ready to roll. It will help us custom-tailor the trauma to the client. Find the weakness, find the result. Even the police have given their silent approval …
More importantly, ranks and ranks of parents are baying for our services, Mr. Selwyn. Knowing there’s no guarantee, knowing they’ll have no recourse, if. Because we, of course, as a group do not exist. Officially, that is. There are no traceable links. No paper trail. No e-crumbs home. You can surmise why. But our lack of advertising, even our imperceptibility, in no way hinders our potential for growth. Word of mouth works wondrously when the need is there. Hell provides rich backwinds—
—This is a liberation movement, Mr. Selwyn. And this is your chance. Our previous working experience, our years with Hasbro in Brisbane have convinced us that far, far bigger things await this company—
Await you—
Await all of us. For investors, this is an unparalleled opportunity to participate in the fight against affluential disorders. Mr. Selwyn, a chance like this comes once every dozen years. Take it. Seize it. Remember, Mr. Selwyn: T-Square draws the line—
—And if, and if you’ll give us just one more moment of your time, we note that your returns will be markedly enhanced by your eligibility for our High-Flyers program, which gives investors significant cost-reductions when they make use of our service—
—And like what I heard is like she’s sleeping, right?, and it’s like three in the morning?, and oh shit the phone starts going, and like it’s oh shit Hello … , hello … , all groggled like, and HelLincoln what’s … ?, What’re you … ?, and he’s calling her so late that Auran just can’t believe it, she’s sitting there in the dark, crushed hair, crust eyes in her bed—
—And Lincoln is calling from some sort of reception in Arlington, and the boy isn’t sounding all that good, and with earnestness – he’s slurring, but he has earnestness – he asks if she’d come and pick him up. His car had decided not to work, but he had to the next day, and it had been a foul and pointless night and come on please. So the gal shakes her head and rises from her down and her dream, and she puts on a pants-suit and pins up her hair, and brushes her teeth but limits her eyeliner to the bottom rim, as it’s so late shadow will take care of the rest.
—So good Auran drives all the way up to a townhouse in Arlington, only making one wrong turn but the streets are deserted so compensating is quick, and there, waiting outside, as he said, is Lincoln, in amber light from the living-room window of the ongoing reception. He wags a hand when he sees her and nods when she pulls up. Auran watches him get in via the rearview mirror and, while she’s there, pats some sleepwalking hair back into place. She’s got the hair pretty much domesticated when, again in the rearview, she sees Lincoln slide across his seat and let in, beside him, a caramel-colored, flat- but small-nosed girl with a round face, really thin arms, nice slim—
—Drive, Lincoln said, to the front seat—
—Drive, he—
—But … , Auran said. But I – where—?
—Just keep going, Lincoln growled, as Auran looked to her side mirror and turned the wheel and hit gas and led her car into the dark street, centers of gravity shifting and listing as she lurched, she sped—
—But he doesn’t drink, she thought. He never, not any—
—And so she drove. She kept floaty pressure on the bottom of her right foot, and looked ahead, and drove. Soon thoughts came: she didn’t know where she should go, or how quickly, or how long this would continue. Should she stay residential, or hide on the superhighways, or just go to Lincoln Park and park? Happily she had a full tank of gas, pretty full, so she could, conceivably, continue this until, well, whatever was going to happen had hap – and a button from the girl’s blouse nicked – sing – Auran’s cheek when it whipped forward and the giggles and the mmphs and hrrrs they were making were, were – so should she perhaps keep driving down to Lincoln’s place, isn’t that what he wanted and explicitly called her to do, but then he’d said – and if she dropped them at Lincoln’s, if she, then they’d, then they’d and then she would have to, would she have to wait—?
—And she said that she decided to just keep driving, to just keep going, no matter, what could she no matter and she gave gas and tried to keep the ride smooth, don’t disturb, don’t jolt or upset, don’t jostle bump anything out of where it so maybe over quicker, make it quicker even the turning signal, should I, can I even use the turning signal maybe the clicking disturb them shit what am I doing in this fucking nightmare and so she rolled gently, turned gently through the dark-house night-streets and, and—
—And she said that she was thinking maybe she would try shit o Jesus shit how could how could he, in, in my—
—And she said that she was driving, she would just keep driving not thinking just coursing, just coursing through sleep-streets just sleeping and gently cause maybe the girl, maybe she was connected, she must have or know must have because why else would he, this has got to be good for us for him Shit! – What … ? – Was that, was that a … ? – Did I Did I hit cat—?
—And she said she was crying because she hit a cat, s
he hit something and she was sure it was a cat or a rock and it was like shit, I can’t even drive any more, I can’t even – not even this, just keep the damn thing going, just keep it moving it’s night, it’s damn middle night and I turned the rearview down to glare-protect, you see I can’t even, I’m not even capable of – and then it was like she’s reciting words, she’s reciting, just telling and citing silent Hands at ten and twelve and Get the big picture and Leave yourself an out and the words are drubbing into her head, they’re citing in her head and she can’t turn on the radio, of course she can’t the radio, that would – then words, words from, from back there, from back and not even glass, not even glass to close, to cover, to Hands at ten and twelve and Get the big picture and Leave yourself an out and it was like so just drive and go, just drive and safe and keep them safe it’s my job, it’s only a job a ruin, the road to ruin and OK just watch for other vehicles and fallen things and Jeez no he can’t, he can’t be this, this is not my job, where does it say that I, that I in my car, in my own fucking car does that girl think I’m just a driver? and dark streets and leaves on the road to ruing, and no one sees just no one sees and better quick, just better quick No! – the road to Rouen!, and what does he, how does he what does he take me for dark streets, find darker streets, just find them and drive them and turn, slow smooth unsignal turn onto dark streets where no one sees and tremble in the steering wheel, put the tremble into the steering wheel and see the night and see the leaves and the single streetlamp alone glowing lighting the ride, the steady glide and this, this damn how could he, how could he not think, not think even for a minute about shit no Jesus not not, how he not think about what I, that I for him Jeez no Jeez no how could he Hands at ten and twelve and Get the big picture and Leave yourself—
—Not much later, but still after a while, they drove up to the Arlington townhouse that had hosted the night’s reception. Auran found an open curb and pulled in. She waited, looking forward, as Lincoln and his friend slid from the right rear door. Before closing up, Lincoln leaned back into the car and said Thanks, and Don’t worry, I’ll be all right. Auran nodded, looking forward. As best Auran could tell, Lincoln’s friend went back into the townhouse. Then Lincoln, walking steadily, crossed in front of Auran’s car, scattering the beam, got into his own car and drove off.