A short story

[AMERICONORMAN]

What follow is not an essay but a short story, just as long as an essay, 11 pages. I'm quite proud of it. It is my first short story. The shortest thing I wrote before this that I am proud of was 35 pages. I used to find it difficult to write short stories because my themes and situations require much more content. The good thing is I'm getting better. Because one can always write short stories but novels and novelettes take much more time. I hope you enjoy. Feel free to comment. Feel free to bash it: it will only help me as a writer.

Americo (Jose Gainza).

After Work By Jose Gainza

Richard McGwyn was beautiful, and this fact is important to mention. Tall, slender, and built like a runner, his face was hard where points and sharp angles and delicate curves harmonized into a phenomenon usually arousing great delight in the beholder. A very thin beard decorated his face like a sort of embroidery that emphasized the awe-inspiring lines of his face. He wore his hair in an army cut revealing his skull in a way that seemed to expose it; as if it was naked and shouldn’t be; as if it should be protected by a covering cloth.

And there was something spectacular about that power within his skull. What was notable was his virtue, his commitment to his principles. Though there was no genius, there was indeed intelligence.

Among those principles were some very much connected to his chosen career. In his value system were such ideas as individual rights, property rights, the evil of the initiation of physical force, his abhorrence of theft and fraud. He admired wealth when it was made honestly. He admired men who made a fortune in the process of saving consumers from otherwise high prices. He detested labour unions because they have evolved into a mechanism for the creation of loafers. It was hard for him to understand most people’s reluctance to go to work everyday—because work put food on his table, as they say. Perhaps it was because Richard loved being a security officer.

He was sitting at the security desk in his black uniform, a uniform that extenuated his attractive form, reading a notice from company management of zero tolerance for in-office romance. The prohibition was not against employees dating each other—although this was advised against in a word of mouth manner—but the notice prohibited sexual activity at work. Throughout the company grapevine tales of rumour hung on that vine like ripe grapes ready for the picking. When people work so many hours together, and become friends, and develop an attraction for each other, the temptation to eroticism at the workplace is usually inescapable. It takes a Herculean strength to resist when true love is involved. And if one or both of the lovers are beautiful, the temptation is made more severe. The fact remains that there were stories that Richard heard about.

The management notice confirmed these rumours to Richard. The story that mandated the notice to all employees was this: Boy works with girl—in a dangerous apartment building—an unusual quiet night—hours upon hours pass—boredom ensues—boy talks to girl—they recall their mutual affection and lust—they need to find a place … The security office provided no privacy because of a frosted glass enclosure. There were no vacant suites. Mechanical and electrical rooms were unromantic and dirty. Restrooms were disgusting. Where, oh where shall we go, they asked each other. The boy recalled a couch in the property management office, the girl smiled in approval. The property manager forgot some important paperwork that same night and decided, reluctantly, to go and fetch them. When she, the property manager, opened the door to her office, guess what she saw. Use your imagination.

Needless to say, due to that incident, Richard’s security company lost a string of contracts and a chunk of needed revenue. (The property manager never told anyone that she secretly had a crush on the male security officer.)

A manager with whom he shared a mutual admiration confidentially told all this to Richard. The notice made the prohibition official. Richard smirked. He chuckled. He nodded his head. It didn’t seem a problem for him to obey. He had never in his five years in the security industry, ever met a co-worker whom he lusted after. The idea of being paid to have sex was morally repulsive to him—because that is what the offenders were doing, he thought. And he used his imagination, “what if the fire alarm goes off?” he asked himself. That question alone was enough to make it a conviction for him. He knew in that moment that he would never do such a thing ever. And besides, he asked himself, “Why couldn’t they just wait until after work?” He surely prided himself on his temperance.

Richard filed away the notice. He reviewed the training documents because a new employee was arriving any moment; she was scheduled for 1600 hours for a shift that was to last 8 hours. The site where Richard worked was a luxurious condominium. In all his six months there, he had not had the good fortune of arresting anyone. He enjoyed arresting criminals because he was good at it. Previously, he was at sites that were among the most dangerous in the company, where he excelled gracefully.

His company managers had convinced him to work at this new building. They needed him to do it. His character exhibited intelligence, he developed rapport easy with people, and he had a charisma that everybody liked. About the previous officers, the Property Manager had remarked, “I don’t want any more roughnecks, around here!” But when they sent him someone gentler, he was disappointed to find that when it was required, the “gentleman” would not make arrests. Richard had this desired balance, and thus, was sent there to organize this site, Castle Midas, for the long-term, to provide stability and satisfaction for the client. After some reluctance Richard accepted the unusual position.

As Richard sat at the desk monitoring the entry and egress of persons, a woman entered behind a man who did use an electronic key fob; she did not. Richard hesitated to stop her because he was captivated by her beauty; and even aroused by her red cheeks from the cold winter air. But then he controlled himself, just after the woman winked as she passed him, and he commanded that she stop and return.

The woman returned and stood before him with a wide, mocking smile. “Hello, my name is officer Jewel Roberts,” and she extended her hand in greeting. Richard was speechless for a moment. “I was just testing you,” she continued. He smiled and said, “welcome to my castle, Princess.”

It was evident, by her immediate grimace, that she did not appreciate the pet name. Richard chuckled, and with a mocking smirk, said, “I was just testing you.” “Touchée,” she answered.

“Do you need some place to change into your uniform?” he asked her. She wore a pair of faded light blue jeans that hugged her long legs as if they were another layer of skin. She wore a cream coloured, soft wool sweater that had a loose fitting turtleneck. It fit her as if it was a cooling wind frozen into fabric. Her long auburn hair was straight and silky falling down to her shoulders, ending with a light curly wave, which made him think of hot caramel pouring from a ladle. Her eyes were a soft grey that sometimes revealed a shade of sapphire. Her facial features were of the same nature as his, except translated into a delicate femininity. Her smile seemed to wear a permanent mockery, and yet it seemed that it could hold an exceptional sympathy. She was angelic, yet she seemed industrial—she was a pearl and yet she seemed like a coal mine. This was the mystique that her countenance bestowed upon Richard. And in that moment he was glad that she had beautiful eyes, and that a direct glance was a sign of respect, because underneath the light merino wool were forms that would have attracted his desire with an unyielding magnetic force.

Have you heard of Helen, the woman for whom the Greeks fought a war? How about Athena, or Venus, for whom great cities were named after—Or those legends about some princess far away renowned the world over for her heavenly beauty, calling troubadours the world over to adventure towards her (with merely hearing of her beauty but never actually perceiving it)—have you heard of Juliet—have you seen Marylyn Monroe? Our Jewel was blessed with this legendary beauty, a blessing to any beholder.

“There is a women’s change room on the penthouse level,” was his answer to her affirming nod. And he was glad that she would be gone for a moment because he needed time to regain his full composure. This type of reaction was a rare event for him.

She walked towards and entered the elevator. All she said, when the doors closed in front of her, was, “Wow!” As was said before, Richard was bewitching too. When she reached the top, when she came out of the elevator, he was watching her. There were cameras throughout the property. And then he remembered the notice. He looked away from the monitor, stood up, and paced the lobby.

When she returned, he was still pacing, his arms folded, looking at the floor tiles. When he heard her steps approach, he looked up at once but dumbfounded—until he found words to speak, “My God! Very few women look beautiful in that uniform but you are one of the exceptions. You bring grace and authority to the idea of a woman in uniform.”

She smiled with scrutiny, let the silence hit him for a moment, and said, “Enough of the compliments—what the hell is the job here?”

He quickly regained his focus and answered, “Yes, yes of course. My apologies. There is much to know about this place.” Her continued silence bewildered him. “Okay, we’ll start with access control.”

“Have you had many arrests here?” she interrupted.

“No, not in my six months here.”

“That sucks. Have you had any arrests?”

“Yes, of course, several.” Her answer to this was merely a nod of approval, with her lips hidden in the pressing of her mouth.

“Have you?” was his challenging question to her.

“Of course … several.”

“You seem to enjoy it.” Again she only answered with a nod.

“So, access control … No one enters the lobby without an electronic key fob, no tenant is given access to his/her unit without definite identification verification, no guests or contractors are granted access to a unit without express written permission (a phone call is not enough) …”

From access control, he showed her the computer system. He talked about parking enforcement, package reception, the key chest, the character of management, and the patrol procedures. She appeared to grasp it all immediately and he often caught her rolling her eyes, to which he merely smirked at. By the end of two hours, he had given her a detailed lecture and tour, along with a little quiz. He was impressed by the sharpness of her mind.

When he could not think of anything more to teach her, she said, “So now that that is done, what shall we do? It is so quiet here.”

“Yes it is usually quiet … One of us could go on a patrol, we could chat, or we could sit here together in silence and contemplate alone what ever the hell we want.”

“I think I am going to be bored very much here. I think I might just ask for a transfer.”

“That’s disappointing to hear. I felt the same way too but I found a way to tolerate it. I’ll be here for a while because I made a promise to get things organized here. You seem very intelligent and I would like to keep you here. The better minds we have here, the quicker we can get back to where the action is.”

“It will be hard to convince me.”

“It’s funny. My daughter doesn’t want me working here either. She misses the suspenseful stories I used to tell her. Now when she asks I just tell her that nothing new happened. We now have this game where I make up something.”

“What! You have a daughter?”

“Yes, she’s five and she’s precious.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five. How old are you?”

“Twenty-four … So what does your wife think about this career of yours?”

After a moment of silence and secret contemplation, he revealed, “My wife is dead. She died four years ago. She was murdered.”

“I’m so sorry … can I …can I ask how it happened.”

“Sure. I’ve dealt with the pain long ago—now she is just a pleasant memory … She was a police officer. She was a young, fresh beat cop who arrested the “wrong” man. It was coincidence actually. Before she began her maternity leave, she was home alone one night. Unfortunately, our neighbour in the apartment next to us was a prostitute. A better term is courtesan; she was ‘high-class.’ The poor woman was the mistress of Toronto’s Italian mafia boss. One night my wife, Domenica, heard screaming next door. She listened through the walls. The Don was accusing the girl of cheating on him with a rival gangster. The girl screamed back, she belittled and ridiculed the Don. Then my wife heard two gunshots. She grabbed her gun and cuffs. She went to the door, looked through the peephole and waited. The Don soon came out; she waited until his back was turned. The arrest was easy after that.”

“I think I read something about that. So the mafia killed your wife?”

“Yes. When the Don was sentenced to go away for life, he put out a hit on my wife. It was a mess after that. The police were passionate about the murder and arrested a string of Mafiosi.”

“Didn’t you want to kill the Don?”

“Of course! But if you read, he was murdered in jail by the son of one of the many men he murdered.”

“Aren’t you in danger?”

“No. I don’t think so. I think the Don only wanted my wife. What would be the point of killing me too, if my wife was dead and would not be tormented by the loss of me? Besides, the Don was assassinated.”

“How wonderful was your wife?”

He chuckled and grinned as if he was asked to show his display of precious jewels, “Very … she was strong in spirit. If she wanted something she went after it. If she thought it was good, she worshipped it. And yet she longed to see this strength in others. In the beginning she used to torture me in many ways to see how much I could carry; I could carry a lot she soon found. She ended up being the one to be tortured. And then we pledged our love forever. She was a moralist. She hated criminals. In a very deep sense, she didn’t think that they were important. Criminals for her were marginal, and it was stupid that there were so many of them. This didn’t have to be so. She was looking for the core of the cancer that caused the symptom: criminal. There were many politicians who she hated. Have you ever read Crime and Punishment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you remember the essay that Roskolnikov wrote … do you remember how he justified criminality if one was born a special genius, destined to rule over others? … She hated excuses of that kind. She hated Plato who made such excuses: The philosopher king has the right to do what ever he likes, even to violate the core of individual rights: freedom of thought and freedom of action … But don’t get me started on philosophy. If a tenant were to interrupt me in the process I would probably get annoyed.”

“Okay. But we will discuss this some other time. Let me just say that I hate institutionalized organized crime too. When you investigate a case and discover the motives and mistakes of the criminal, you realize that they are stupid, stupid in their value system. And then to make such crime a business, as the mafia does, is horrifying. It’s no different than what the Nazis were. Why can’t the government protect us from these men? Why aren’t there enough police on the streets—all over North America?”

“It upsets me too.”

“Remember the earthquake last year in South America that killed a million people? … Do you remember how Ontarians raised 20 million dollars and how the government matched the donation? … Why won’t they be more “charitable” to our police services? Doesn’t the citizenry know how bad things are out there? Sure, the community living in bamboo shacks in Rio must suffer—but what about the suffering of the mother of the precocious teenage boy murdered by a gang of envious thugs!”

“I know but that is philosophical too. I don’t want to go there.”

“Okay. Can I tell you about myself.”

“Sure! Do you play sports?”

She chuckled because she was surprised by this easy question, “Yes, baseball. In fact, I’m an awesome pitcher. I play on a team every spring and summer. I carry a baseball in my purse that I like to toss and turn, you know, for stress. I had the chance to be professional but I just don’t want to be a player.”

“How come?”

“I rather arrest wife beaters than strike out sluggers. But I wanted to relate something more serious.”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I lost my spouse too.” Richard only answered with a widening of his eyes in surprise. Then she continued, “It was simple and quick. It was a car accident and it was a drunk driver. There was a smash and then he was gone. The drunkard drove a brand new red Ferrari. I suffered bruising to my torso and consequently had a miscarriage. Now I can’t have children.”

“But you can still fall in love.” This answer surprised her and she smiled very much affected. But he was shocked to hear such things, her candour, her earnestness, so quickly. Why he?

He asked, “Are you always so open about your past?”

“You’re the first person I told in years.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want people’s pity. I don’t want to be rewarded for my loss—I want to rise above it—I want to reach happiness one day. It’s no one’s duty to console me or make things easier for me. It’s nice when people do but I hate it when they feel that they have to, as if they had to live my life for me. Suffering in life is usually unavoidable, but the cure is to realize that it does not have to be the normal condition of humans, it is incidental; happiness is the norm.”

“I think I might be happy soon. I see it approaching. When I lost my wife, I was depressed, and the only thing that kept me alive was my little Marylyn. And then I grew happier and happier but I’m still not as happy as I always used to dream about. Do you know what I mean?”

“What’s missing?”

“Two things for sure. A great challenge and adventure in my career. To fall in love again.”

“Can you ever fall in love again?”

“Of course!” And she was surprised at this enthusiasm, so simple, so reproachful, and so confident. She remained silent sensing that he would continue: “It’s simple. I exist. She existed. I have friends. My daughter will grow to be a remarkable woman. I meet people I like everyday. Surely, I’m going to find another soul like mine again, for whom I feel an all consuming passion and certainty.”

“I agree. … Don’t you get impatient, though?”

“Of course. As I keep fulfilling my desires—As I gain more and more pleasure. As I achieve more—As I see my daughter grow beautifully—As I reinforce my self-esteem—it is inevitable to want to celebrate in romance. But then I face reality and remember that if it hasn’t happened yet, it means only that it is still possible for it to happen, not that it will never happen. ‘Never say never.’”

“Here we go getting philosophical again.” It was her turn this time. “Isn’t it hard to raise a little girl all alone.”

“Of course it is. But fortunately, I have a wonderful mother who is totally in love with my little Domenica; the feeling is mutual. Want to see my baby?” She nodded approvingly and then he took out a picture from his bag. It was of a thin young girl, grinning widely, rising in the air on a play swing. It seemed that she was happy to contemplate her father in the midst of the thrill from the swinging.

“She’s so beautiful. Her eyes look so intelligent and the expression of her face!”

“Yes, she is very smart and she knows it. But she only gets mediocre grades in school; she hates it and I don’t blame her. I would love to be able to home school her. In the meantime I am gradually introducing her to novels and plays of the literary school called Romanticism.”

“That’s very good. I wish I had read more of those books in school.”

“So do I. It’s funny though. She’s so happy. She is not saddened by not having a mother. Instead she often asks me when I’m going to fall in love so she could have a mother. If she sees a woman whose face she likes, she’ll encourage me to go talk to her.”

“I would like to meet her.” He smiled as if he had hoped that this desire was in Jewel. She smiled in return, yet not expressing the joyous explosion in her chest. And although when she first saw him, the immediate yet subdued emotion she felt was that of beauty, she now silently and secretly in her mind said, “He is so beautiful!” instead of a mere, “Wow.” He on the other hand said so at first sight and to her face.

She stood up and announced that she was going to go on a patrol. She entered the elevator and ascended to the 30th floor where she would begin a descending observation of the various floors via the stairwells. She felt that she needed some exercise.

Several minutes of her absence passed, and Richard kind of missed her: he was getting used to her scent. Suddenly a man at the entranceway calling up to a suite caught his attention. He heard a familiar voice answer, greet the man, and grant him electronic access. He had heard that voice several times before and had witnessed many different men come and go. This man was a new one. He had, however, a look on his face that made Richard suspicious: it was cold; there was hate in it, and impatience. He knew that the man would be ascending to the 19th floor, as all the men did who visited this voice. A glass panel above his desk revealed the travel of all the elevators. When these men visited, their elevator always stopped at 19. He did not know which specific suite, although he thought he met the voice once. A woman was very nice to him once, flirtatious, though she was merely asking him to call her a cab.

Richard watched the cameras pointing at the elevator lobby on the 19th floor. Surely enough, the man exited the elevator and walked east where the even numbered suites were. The man was wearing a black fedora, a lime green suit, with a burgundy tie, and a long plush black overcoat. He was middle-aged. Then the man was gone from Richard’s sight. An instant later, on the camera monitor of the same floor, he saw Jewel pass-by the lobby on the odd side numbered hallway; she obviously did not see the suspicious man.

Jewel entered the west stairwell to descend to the 18th floor. For the first time in her career as a security officer, she conducted a patrol out of focus: she was not focused on fire and tripping hazards, or burned out lights, or leaks and drips, or forced entries, broken glass, or expired fire extinguishers—she was focused on a dream and the hero was Richard.

She pictured herself pushing a pretty little girl on a swing in the park. And she remembered the daughter she could have had but for a drunkard with a lethal automobile. She tried to imagine how the lost girl would look and all she could imagine was the girl on a swing, the girl in Richard’s picture. She pictured the father and daughter playing catch. She pictured them in the darkness, a blue flash on their face, while lying on a couch embraced watching some suspenseful movie. She saw them seated at the breakfast table on a small table with three chairs, one of them empty. And then she felt a longing like she had never felt before, unmatched even by the longing from the tragic loss she had suffered. She wanted to be a wife. She wanted to be a mother.

When she almost slipped down the stairs on a lower floor, the level of which she was not aware of, it was because she was in an erotic interlude. Her consciousness was nothing but the image of him asleep next to her, while she contemplated his beauty and played with his hair strands. After she regained her balance, she reproached herself, “Listen girl, you can get killed thinking of such things!” She needed to regain control of her consciousness; she needed to be the driver once more. She told herself to recite something from memory. She chose the American Declaration of Independence so that she would cease to be pulled by her dreams, instead to lead her mental operations by her conscious command: “When in the course of human events…” By the time she reached the words, “… and in support of this declaration we pledge our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honour,” she was in full control. She had also reached the ground floor. In a moment she would confront him.

She waited at the bottom, the door closed before her, barring the sight of Richard. She was in control and she had decided. With full context in mind, it occurred to her that there was no reason to feel guilty for this new passion, there was nothing to fear: it was obvious he wanted her too. She was certain that if she asked him to return home with her after work, he would agree. She knew that even marriage was a definite possibility. This was her trouble: she could not wait. And because she could not, she would not. She was ready to face him.

When she stood before him, with a new quality in her face, he was pleased with the confidence mixed with a hint of violence.

“Is there any place we can go?” she asked him.

“What do you mean? We can’t go anywhere together. One of us has to stay here.”

“That’s not what I mean…. will you go with me somewhere just for ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“Don’t you find me sexy?”

“Uh… uh, of course—but we can’t do that here.”

“Why not? You know you can leave for just ten minutes.”

“It’s not that. It’s the rules. This company takes this one seriously, and so do I.”

“But—.”

“Stop!” He went into the filing cabinet, then handed her the company memorandum he had read before she arrived so bewitchingly. She read it, she chuckled, she looked at him, “But—.”

“There’s no ‘buts’. It’s this simple: what if the fire alarm goes off? I won’t be caught with my pants down, as the expression goes…. Can’t you wait until after?”

“No I can’t—the passion is too strong! I can’t control my emotions.”

He looked at her with a reproachful grimace and a penetrating stare. Then while pointing at her with a long piercing finger, he said, “Listen to me carefully, you are human—of course you can.”

This struck her. She understood what he meant by it. It was enough to give her the patience for a year, she thought.

“Let’s just sit here and continue to confirm the kinship of our souls.”

She obeyed and asked a question, “So why are you doing security, why didn’t you become a police officer?”

“I couldn’t. Once my wife died I couldn’t give the academy the commitment required. And then when I started to work in security, I had a vision and realized that I would prefer to be involved in security. I think it can be more heroic because an aspect of the industry is called upon to perform the same function as the public police but with no gun, and less legal back up. It takes more intelligence and tact to get the same job done, I think.”

“I never thought about it that way. This was just a stepping-stone towards being a cop. It is ironic. In this country we are not allowed to carry a gun even for protection. But in the United States they say it is our god-given right; that by the state of nature every human being has the right to protect his life and his property, where they have even written it into the Constitution. I wonder how they arrived at that principle. How do you justify that?”

“That’s philosophy again.”

“I think I love philosophy.”

“I do too.”

“You know, Jewel, I do have the answer to your gun question and many more. I’ll tell you after work. I’ll even show you my gun.” And he grinned widely in mockery, giving her one quick wink that she almost missed. And then she decided. She would attack him. She would force his lips upon hers. And then he would have no choice but to take her to some private room. In a moment she would make her attack. She stood up and began the initial thrust to leap on him. By the unusual gallop of her body, without his consciousness speaking her purpose, he felt her intention for an instant. But she was stopped in mid air. And it was not her conscience that stopped her. And it was not his arms or some scornful glance of his. The power of sound stopped her: a loud, annoying, penetrating cry stopped her, coming from a speaker in the ceiling, that was the fire alarm siren. She had no time for embarrassment or self-reproach.

Instinctively his glance shot to the monitor picture that showed the 19th floor. He saw the suspicious man rush hurriedly across the elevator lobby to the west hallway where he would have no choice but to descend through that side’s exit. Richard took a quick glance at the fire panel and a red light indicated that a fire alarm pull station on the 19th floor was activated. Moments later, the camera monitor showed some people pass by obviously towards the fire exit.

“Jewel, there was a man on the 19th floor that seems odd to me. He is descending down the west stairs this moment. I’m going to go to that exit. We’ll communicate on the radio. I need you to check the message on our paging system and deal with the fire department.” He proceeded to the west stair exit. Just before arriving there, Jewel called him on the radio: “The message was from a woman on the 20th floor who heard a scream coming from the unit below her.” “10-4,” answered Richard in a military-like tone.

Richard was now very confident that the suspicious man did something horrible and that the victim was the alleged courtesan. A man’s intuition is worth looking at, though, such a thing is dangerous to hold as sacrosanct. He opened the stairwell door and saw a black fedora descend to the lower level, while the rest of the people rushed through the door that Richard had opened on the ground level. When a gap opened up for a few seconds he took the opportunity to slip through and follow the man down the stairs, all the while on the radio, “Jewel, come in. … I will be descending to the lower level, the parking garage. I will be approaching a male suspect well dressed. Please observe on the camera system. I’ll keep you posted.”

As Jewel ended grasping Richard’s radio communication, the fire department had arrived. She granted them access, gave them the appropriate keys, and showed them to the fire panel. She made a quick, improvised announcement, and then observed the camera. She picked up her baseball from her purse that she kept as a stress reliever; she began to spin it and toss it in her hands, ready to run downstairs at any moment. She saw the well-dressed man bend down over a sewer drain, drop a small seemingly metal object in it, and she spoke to Richard, “Richard come in. … He just dropped something down the sewer—I think it’s a key.”

Then she saw Richard walk swiftly towards the man who quickly turned around but kept his right hand behind his black overcoat. Jewel could see on one of the cameras that the man had placed his right hand inside the slits of his overcoat at the tails, at the level of his waist. She did not want to communicate with him over the radio as to not excite the suspect and put her love in danger.

The perception of Richard’s actual consciousness was the sound of his voice saying, in a loud and commanding voice, “excuse me sir, there was a fire alarm—why didn’t you exit the building from the ground level?” Then he perceived the suspect turn around.

The man answered, “I knew there would be a crowd upstairs and I knew there was an accessible exit ramp down here—see?” and he pointed, with his left thumb, still facing Richard, at the box of light behind him which was the inclining ramp, in the midst of the dimmed parking garage.

“I saw you get on the 19th floor. Coincidentally, this is where the fire alarm was pulled.”

“Then I’m in no danger of getting burned down here, am I?” and he began to walk backwards towards the light.

“Stop! What did you drop down the sewer?” The man stopped and squinted his eyes scornfully at Richard:

“Listen kid, you don’t want any trouble. Walk away, go back upstairs, and you won’t get hurt.” After hearing this comment, Richard believed that what he was hiding behind his back was a gun.

“I can’t do that, sir. Kill me if you want but there are cameras recording everything—you won’t get away with it.”

“I’ve gotten away with a lot more than this, kid. Killing you will be like squatting a fly! fuget ‘bout it!” and he began to move his right hand.

And then something strange happened. What seemed to be a ball of white light struck the mobster’s head, knocking away his fedora. The gun hit the ground before the mobster’s body did. He passed out cold. And the ball of white light was seen tumble and bounce on the ground beside the criminal almost simultaneously as he fell to the ground, in the form of a baseball. Richard immediately ran to him and put him in restraints. He did not read him his rights because the man was unconscious. He stood and looked at the man in bewilderment.

Suddenly he heard an angelic voice, “Richard.”

“Jewel.”

“How did you like that pitch?” she asked with a wide grin to hide her subsiding terror.

“It was definitely a strike.” And he kissed her passionately for a quick moment. He knew he was allowed that. He had put himself foolishly in danger and she had saved him. It was she who standing from a distance, after descending from another exit, had been monitoring the confrontation, and at the right moment used her pitching talent, launching a fastball at the criminal’s head. The kiss was more an, ‘I thank you and I love your ability,’ than sexual lust.

The fire department had left and only the homicide detectives were on site investigating suite 1914. A beautiful woman was found shot twice: in the head and in the heart. A gun was found on the mobster with a silencer on the barrel. What the mobster dropped down the sewer was the woman’s key to her apartment that he stole after killing her, so as to lock the door behind him and buy himself time. The woman was another courtesan who had romantically crossed the wrong man. And this man had crossed the wrong couple of law enforcement officers, the wrong security company, and the wrong luxury condominium. The gangster was arrested and he would surely be going away for a long time. He was merely one of Toronto’s Capo’s (Captains); but he would surely have much information to reveal.

When Richard and Jewel left an hour past their scheduled shift, the winter night was not as cold as when the shift started. It was just after 0100 hours of a February morning. Steam could still be seen from both their breaths. She did not have to ask him. He knew that he had to make the phone call. He dialled the number on his silver coloured cell phone.

“Hello mom! Thanks for babysitting tonight. I’m late in calling because there was an incident at work…. no, I’m okay mom…. I have a huge favour to ask…. I need you to spend the night…. I have something to take care of…. yes, the whole night…. no, nothing bad—actually it is very good! …. Give me until 11 a.m.”

“I hope I get a chance to meet her soon.”

“You will. You’re the best, mom.”

They walked to her car, a black sports utility vehicle. Before she opened the door for him, she reminded him of what day it now was, “Happy Valentines Day, Richie.” And Richard smiled and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day!” And they sealed their newfound love with a kiss.

THE END.

[Richard Roark]

I have yet to read the story, don't worry I will go ahead and copy and paste it and then print out and read it and leave you a comment then. I am replying to the fact of your introduction. I too find it difficult to write short stories due the the complex ideas and values i wish to write about in those stories. So, dont' fret your not the only one.

Richard Roark.

[Pagan]

May I print it off to read it, i hate reading stuff on the computer screen?

Edit: Just seen the post above, guess i can print it out

Edited March 26, 2005 by Pagan

[AMERICONORMAN]

May I print it off to read it, i hate reading stuff on the computer screen? 

Edit: Just seen the post above, guess i can print it out 

Sure. But you may notice that I didn't get to space the paragraphs, and I do apologize for that. Though, it is still possible, for almost every paragraph, to distinguish where the next paragraph begins.

Enjoy,

Jose.

[AMERICONORMAN]

So I spaced the paragraphs in the quote below to make it easier for the reader. It was about time.

After Work  By Jose Gainza

Richard McGwyn was beautiful, and this fact is important to mention.  Tall, slender, and built like a runner, his face was hard where points and sharp angles and delicate curves harmonized into a phenomenon usually arousing great delight in the beholder.  A very thin beard decorated his face like a sort of embroidery that emphasized the awe-inspiring lines of his face. He wore his hair in an army cut revealing his skull in a way that seemed to expose it; as if it was naked and shouldn’t be; as if it should be protected by a covering cloth.

And there was something spectacular about that power within his skull.  What was notable was his virtue, his commitment to his principles.  Though there was no genius, there was indeed intelligence.

Among those principles were some very much connected to his chosen career.  In his value system were such ideas as individual rights, property rights, the evil of the initiation of physical force, his abhorrence of theft and fraud.  He admired wealth when it was made honestly.  He admired men who made a fortune in the process of saving consumers from otherwise high prices.  He detested labour unions because they have evolved into a mechanism for the creation of loafers.  It was hard for him to understand most people’s reluctance to go to work everyday—because work put food on his table, as they say.  Perhaps it was because Richard loved being a security officer.

He was sitting at the security desk in his black uniform, a uniform that extenuated his attractive form, reading a notice from company management of zero tolerance for in-office romance.  The prohibition was not against employees dating each other—although this was advised against in a word of mouth manner—but the notice prohibited sexual activity at work.  Throughout the company grapevine tales of rumour hung on that vine like ripe grapes ready for the picking.  When people work so many hours together, and become friends, and develop an attraction for each other, the temptation to eroticism at the workplace is usually inescapable.  It takes a Herculean strength to resist when true love is involved.  And if one or both of the lovers are beautiful, the temptation is made more severe.  The fact remains that there were stories that Richard heard about.

The management notice confirmed these rumours to Richard.  The story that mandated the notice to all employees was this:  Boy works with girl—in a dangerous apartment building—an unusual quiet night—hours upon hours pass—boredom ensues—boy talks to girl—they recall their mutual affection and lust—they need to find a place …  The security office provided no privacy because of a frosted glass enclosure.  There were no vacant suites.  Mechanical and electrical rooms were unromantic and dirty.  Restrooms were disgusting.  Where, oh where shall we go, they asked each other.  The boy recalled a couch in the property management office, the girl smiled in approval.  The property manager forgot some important paperwork that same night and decided, reluctantly, to go and fetch them.  When she, the property manager, opened the door to her office, guess what she saw.  Use your imagination.

Needless to say, due to that incident, Richard’s security company lost a string of contracts and a chunk of needed revenue.  (The property manager never told anyone that she secretly had a crush on the male security officer.) 

A manager with whom he shared a mutual admiration confidentially told all this to Richard.  The notice made the prohibition official. Richard smirked.  He chuckled.  He nodded his head.  It didn’t seem a problem for him to obey.  He had never in his five years in the security industry, ever met a co-worker whom he lusted after.  The idea of being paid to have sex was morally repulsive to him—because that is what the offenders were doing, he thought.  And he used his imagination, “what if the fire alarm goes off?” he asked himself.  That question alone was enough to make it a conviction for him.  He knew in that moment that he would never do such a thing ever.  And besides, he asked himself, “Why couldn’t they just wait until after work?”  He surely prided himself on his temperance.

Richard filed away the notice.  He reviewed the training documents because a new employee was arriving any moment; she was scheduled for 1600 hours for a shift that was to last 8 hours.  The site where Richard worked was a luxurious condominium.  In all his six months there, he had not had the good fortune of arresting anyone.  He enjoyed arresting criminals because he was good at it.  Previously, he was at sites that were among the most dangerous in the company, where he excelled gracefully.

His company managers had convinced him to work at this new building.  They needed him to do it.  His character exhibited intelligence, he developed rapport easy with people, and he had a charisma that everybody liked.  About the previous officers, the Property Manager had remarked, “I don’t want any more roughnecks, around here!”  But when they sent him someone gentler, he was disappointed to find that when it was required, the “gentleman” would not make arrests.  Richard had this desired balance, and thus, was sent there to organize this site, Castle Midas, for the long-term, to provide stability and satisfaction for the client.  After some reluctance Richard accepted the unusual position. 

As Richard sat at the desk monitoring the entry and egress of persons, a woman entered behind a man who did use an electronic key fob; she did not.  Richard hesitated to stop her because he was captivated by her beauty; and even aroused by her red cheeks from the cold winter air.  But then he controlled himself, just after the woman winked as she passed him, and he commanded that she stop and return.

The woman returned and stood before him with a wide, mocking smile.  “Hello, my name is officer Jewel Roberts,” and she extended her hand in greeting.  Richard was speechless for a moment.  “I was just testing you,” she continued.  He smiled and said, “welcome to my castle, Princess.”

It was evident, by her immediate grimace, that she did not appreciate the pet name.  Richard chuckled, and with a mocking smirk, said, “I was just testing you.”  “Touchée,” she answered.

“Do you need some place to change into your uniform?” he asked her.  She wore a pair of faded light blue jeans that hugged her long legs as if they were another layer of skin.  She wore a cream coloured, soft wool sweater that had a loose fitting turtleneck.  It fit her as if it was a cooling wind frozen into fabric.  Her long auburn hair was straight and silky falling down to her shoulders, ending with a light curly wave, which made him think of hot caramel pouring from a ladle.  Her eyes were a soft grey that sometimes revealed a shade of sapphire.  Her facial features were of the same nature as his, except translated into a delicate femininity.  Her smile seemed to wear a permanent mockery, and yet it seemed that it could hold an exceptional sympathy.  She was angelic, yet she seemed industrial—she was a pearl and yet she seemed like a coal mine.  This was the mystique that her countenance bestowed upon Richard.  And in that moment he was glad that she had beautiful eyes, and that a direct glance was a sign of respect, because underneath the light merino wool were forms that would have attracted his desire with an unyielding magnetic force.

Have you heard of Helen, the woman for whom the Greeks fought a war?  How about Athena, or Venus, for whom great cities were named after—Or those legends about some princess far away renowned the world over for her heavenly beauty, calling troubadours the world over to adventure towards her (with merely hearing of her beauty but never actually perceiving it)—have you heard of Juliet—have you seen Marylyn Monroe?  Our Jewel was blessed with this legendary beauty, a blessing to any beholder.

“There is a women’s change room on the penthouse level,” was his answer to her affirming nod.  And he was glad that she would be gone for a moment because he needed time to regain his full composure.  This type of reaction was a rare event for him. 

She walked towards and entered the elevator.  All she said, when the doors closed in front of her, was, “Wow!”  As was said before, Richard was bewitching too.  When she reached the top, when she came out of the elevator, he was watching her.  There were cameras throughout the property.  And then he remembered the notice.  He looked away from the monitor, stood up, and paced the lobby.

When she returned, he was still pacing, his arms folded, looking at the floor tiles.  When he heard her steps approach, he looked up at once but dumbfounded—until he found words to speak, “My God!  Very few women look beautiful in that uniform but you are one of the exceptions.  You bring grace and authority to the idea of a woman in uniform.”

She smiled with scrutiny, let the silence hit him for a moment, and said, “Enough of the compliments—what the hell is the job here?”

He quickly regained his focus and answered, “Yes, yes of course.  My apologies.  There is much to know about this place.”  Her continued silence bewildered him.  “Okay, we’ll start with access control.”

“Have you had many arrests here?” she interrupted.

“No, not in my six months here.”

“That sucks.  Have you had any arrests?”

“Yes, of course, several.”  Her answer to this was merely a nod of approval, with her lips hidden in the pressing of her mouth.

“Have you?” was his challenging question to her.

“Of course … several.”

“You seem to enjoy it.”  Again she only answered with a nod.

“So, access control … No one enters the lobby without an electronic key fob, no tenant is given access to his/her unit without definite identification verification, no guests or contractors are granted access to a unit without express written permission (a phone call is not enough) …”

From access control, he showed her the computer system.  He talked about parking enforcement, package reception, the key chest, the character of management, and the patrol procedures.  She appeared to grasp it all immediately and he often caught her rolling her eyes, to which he merely smirked at.  By the end of two hours, he had given her a detailed lecture and tour, along with a little quiz.  He was impressed by the sharpness of her mind.

When he could not think of anything more to teach her, she said, “So now that that is done, what shall we do? It is so quiet here.”

“Yes it is usually quiet … One of us could go on a patrol, we could chat, or we could sit here together in silence and contemplate alone what ever the hell we want.”

“I think I am going to be bored very much here.  I think I might just ask for a transfer.”

“That’s disappointing to hear.  I felt the same way too but I found a way to tolerate it.  I’ll be here for a while because I made a promise to get things organized here.  You seem very intelligent and I would like to keep you here.  The better minds we have here, the quicker we can get back to where the action is.”

“It will be hard to convince me.”

“It’s funny.  My daughter doesn’t want me working here either.  She misses the suspenseful stories I used to tell her.  Now when she asks I just tell her that nothing new happened.  We now have this game where I make up something.”

“What!  You have a daughter?”

“Yes, she’s five and she’s precious.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-five.  How old are you?”

“Twenty-four … So what does your wife think about this career of yours?”

After a moment of silence and secret contemplation, he revealed, “My wife is dead.  She died four years ago.  She was murdered.”

“I’m so sorry … can I …can I ask how it happened.”

“Sure.  I’ve dealt with the pain long ago—now she is just a pleasant memory … She was a police officer.  She was a young, fresh beat cop who arrested the “wrong” man.  It was coincidence actually.  Before she began her maternity leave, she was home alone one night.  Unfortunately, our neighbour in the apartment next to us was a prostitute.  A better term is courtesan; she was ‘high-class.’  The poor woman was the mistress of Toronto’s Italian mafia boss.  One night my wife, Domenica, heard screaming next door.  She listened through the walls.  The Don was accusing the girl of cheating on him with a rival gangster.  The girl screamed back, she belittled and ridiculed the Don.  Then my wife heard two gunshots.  She grabbed her gun and cuffs.  She went to the door, looked through the peephole and waited.  The Don soon came out; she waited until his back was turned.  The arrest was easy after that.”

“I think I read something about that.  So the mafia killed your wife?”

“Yes.  When the Don was sentenced to go away for life, he put out a hit on my wife.  It was a mess after that.  The police were passionate about the murder and arrested a string of Mafiosi.”

“Didn’t you want to kill the Don?”

“Of course!  But if you read, he was murdered in jail by the son of one of the many men he murdered.”

“Aren’t you in danger?”

“No.  I don’t think so.  I think the Don only wanted my wife.  What would be the point of killing me too, if my wife was dead and would not be tormented by the loss of me?  Besides, the Don was assassinated.”

“How wonderful was your wife?”

He chuckled and grinned as if he was asked to show his display of precious jewels, “Very … she was strong in spirit.  If she wanted something she went after it.  If she thought it was good, she worshipped it.  And yet she longed to see this strength in others.  In the beginning she used to torture me in many ways to see how much I could carry; I could carry a lot she soon found.  She ended up being the one to be tortured.  And then we pledged our love forever.  She was a moralist.  She hated criminals.  In a very deep sense, she didn’t think that they were important.  Criminals for her were marginal, and it was stupid that there were so many of them.  This didn’t have to be so.  She was looking for the core of the cancer that caused the symptom: criminal.  There were many politicians who she hated.  Have you ever read Crime and Punishment?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Do you remember the essay that Roskolnikov wrote … do you remember how he justified criminality if one was born a special genius, destined to rule over others? … She hated excuses of that kind.  She hated Plato who made such excuses:  The philosopher king has the right to do what ever he likes, even to violate the core of individual rights:  freedom of thought and freedom of action … But don’t get me started on philosophy.  If a tenant were to interrupt me in the process I would probably get annoyed.”

“Okay.  But we will discuss this some other time.  Let me just say that I hate institutionalized organized crime too.  When you investigate a case and discover the motives and mistakes of the criminal, you realize that they are stupid, stupid in their value system.  And then to make such crime a business, as the mafia does, is horrifying.  It’s no different than what the Nazis were.  Why can’t the government protect us from these men?  Why aren’t there enough police on the streets—all over North America?”

“It upsets me too.”

“Remember the earthquake last year in South America that killed a million people? … Do you remember how Ontarians raised 20 million dollars and how the government matched the donation? … Why won’t they be more “charitable” to our police services?  Doesn’t the citizenry know how bad things are out there?  Sure, the community living in bamboo shacks in Rio must suffer—but what about the suffering of the mother of the precocious teenage boy murdered by a gang of envious thugs!”

“I know but that is philosophical too.  I don’t want to go there.”

“Okay.  Can I tell you about myself.”

“Sure!  Do you play sports?”

She chuckled because she was surprised by this easy question, “Yes, baseball.  In fact, I’m an awesome pitcher.  I play on a team every spring and summer.  I carry a baseball in my purse that I like to toss and turn, you know, for stress.  I had the chance to be professional but I just don’t want to be a player.”

“How come?”

“I rather arrest wife beaters than strike out sluggers.  But I wanted to relate something more serious.”

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“I lost my spouse too.”  Richard only answered with a widening of his eyes in surprise.  Then she continued, “It was simple and quick.  It was a car accident and it was a drunk driver.  There was a smash and then he was gone.  The drunkard drove a brand new red Ferrari.  I suffered bruising to my torso and consequently had a miscarriage.  Now I can’t have children.”

“But you can still fall in love.”  This answer surprised her and she smiled very much affected.  But he was shocked to hear such things, her candour, her earnestness, so quickly.  Why he?

He asked, “Are you always so open about your past?”

“You’re the first person I told in years.”

“How come?”

“I don’t want people’s pity.  I don’t want to be rewarded for my loss—I want to rise above it—I want to reach happiness one day.  It’s no one’s duty to console me or make things easier for me.  It’s nice when people do but I hate it when they feel that they have to, as if they had to live my life for me.  Suffering in life is usually unavoidable, but the cure is to realize that it does not have to be the normal condition of humans, it is incidental; happiness is the norm.”

“I think I might be happy soon.  I see it approaching.  When I lost my wife, I was depressed, and the only thing that kept me alive was my little Marylyn.  And then I grew happier and happier but I’m still not as happy as I always used to dream about.  Do you know what I mean?”

“What’s missing?”

“Two things for sure.  A great challenge and adventure in my career.  To fall in love again.”

“Can you ever fall in love again?”

“Of course!”  And she was surprised at this enthusiasm, so simple, so reproachful, and so confident.  She remained silent sensing that he would continue:  “It’s simple.  I exist.  She existed.  I have friends.  My daughter will grow to be a remarkable woman.  I meet people I like everyday.  Surely, I’m going to find another soul like mine again, for whom I feel an all consuming passion and certainty.”

“I agree. … Don’t you get impatient, though?”

“Of course.  As I keep fulfilling my desires—As I gain more and more pleasure.  As I achieve more—As I see my daughter grow beautifully—As I reinforce my self-esteem—it is inevitable to want to celebrate in romance.  But then I face reality and remember that if it hasn’t happened yet, it means only that it is still possible for it to happen, not that it will never happen.  ‘Never say never.’”

“Here we go getting philosophical again.”  It was her turn this time.  “Isn’t it hard to raise a little girl all alone.”

“Of course it is.  But fortunately, I have a wonderful mother who is totally in love with my little Domenica; the feeling is mutual.  Want to see my baby?”  She nodded approvingly and then he took out a picture from his bag.  It was of a thin young girl, grinning widely, rising in the air on a play swing.  It seemed that she was happy to contemplate her father in the midst of the thrill from the swinging.

“She’s so beautiful.  Her eyes look so intelligent and the expression of her face!”

“Yes, she is very smart and she knows it.  But she only gets mediocre grades in school; she hates it and I don’t blame her.  I would love to be able to home school her.  In the meantime I am gradually introducing her to novels and plays of the literary school called Romanticism.”

“That’s very good.  I wish I had read more of those books in school.”

“So do I.  It’s funny though.  She’s so happy.  She is not saddened by not having a mother.  Instead she often asks me when I’m going to fall in love so she could have a mother.  If she sees a woman whose face she likes, she’ll encourage me to go talk to her.”

“I would like to meet her.”  He smiled as if he had hoped that this desire was in Jewel.  She smiled in return, yet not expressing the joyous explosion in her chest.  And although when she first saw him, the immediate yet subdued emotion she felt was that of beauty, she now silently and secretly in her mind said, “He is so beautiful!” instead of a mere, “Wow.”  He on the other hand said so at first sight and to her face.

She stood up and announced that she was going to go on a patrol.  She entered the elevator and ascended to the 30th floor where she would begin a descending observation of the various floors via the stairwells.  She felt that she needed some exercise. 

Several minutes of her absence passed, and Richard kind of missed her: he was getting used to her scent.  Suddenly a man at the entranceway calling up to a suite caught his attention.  He heard a familiar voice answer, greet the man, and grant him electronic access.  He had heard that voice several times before and had witnessed many different men come and go.  This man was a new one.  He had, however, a look on his face that made Richard suspicious: it was cold; there was hate in it, and impatience.  He knew that the man would be ascending to the 19th floor, as all the men did who visited this voice.  A glass panel above his desk revealed the travel of all the elevators.  When these men visited, their elevator always stopped at 19.  He did not know which specific suite, although he thought he met the voice once.  A woman was very nice to him once, flirtatious, though she was merely asking him to call her a cab.

Richard watched the cameras pointing at the elevator lobby on the 19th floor.  Surely enough, the man exited the elevator and walked east where the even numbered suites were.  The man was wearing a black fedora, a lime green suit, with a burgundy tie, and a long plush black overcoat.  He was middle-aged.  Then the man was gone from Richard’s sight.  An instant later, on the camera monitor of the same floor, he saw Jewel pass-by the lobby on the odd side numbered hallway; she obviously did not see the suspicious man.

Jewel entered the west stairwell to descend to the 18th floor.  For the first time in her career as a security officer, she conducted a patrol out of focus:  she was not focused on fire and tripping hazards, or burned out lights, or leaks and drips, or forced entries, broken glass, or expired fire extinguishers—she was focused on a dream and the hero was Richard.

She pictured herself pushing a pretty little girl on a swing in the park.  And she remembered the daughter she could have had but for a drunkard with a lethal automobile.  She tried to imagine how the lost girl would look and all she could imagine was the girl on a swing, the girl in Richard’s picture. She pictured the father and daughter playing catch.  She pictured them in the darkness, a blue flash on their face, while lying on a couch embraced watching some suspenseful movie.  She saw them seated at the breakfast table on a small table with three chairs, one of them empty.  And then she felt a longing like she had never felt before, unmatched even by the longing from the tragic loss she had suffered.  She wanted to be a wife.  She wanted to be a mother. 

When she almost slipped down the stairs on a lower floor, the level of which she was not aware of, it was because she was in an erotic interlude.  Her consciousness was nothing but the image of him asleep next to her, while she contemplated his beauty and played with his hair strands.  After she regained her balance, she reproached herself, “Listen girl, you can get killed thinking of such things!”  She needed to regain control of her consciousness; she needed to be the driver once more.  She told herself to recite something from memory.  She chose the American Declaration of Independence so that she would cease to be pulled by her dreams, instead to lead her mental operations by her conscious command:  “When in the course of human events…” By the time she reached the words, “… and in support of this declaration we pledge our lives, our fortunes and our sacred honour,” she was in full control.  She had also reached the ground floor.  In a moment she would confront him.

She waited at the bottom, the door closed before her, barring the sight of Richard.  She was in control and she had decided.  With full context in mind, it occurred to her that there was no reason to feel guilty for this new passion, there was nothing to fear: it was obvious he wanted her too.  She was certain that if she asked him to return home with her after work, he would agree.  She knew that even marriage was a definite possibility.  This was her trouble:  she could not wait.  And because she could not, she would not.  She was ready to face him. 

When she stood before him, with a new quality in her face, he was pleased with the confidence mixed with a hint of violence.

“Is there any place we can go?” she asked him.

“What do you mean?  We can’t go anywhere together.  One of us has to stay here.”

“That’s not what I mean…. will you go with me somewhere just for ten minutes.”

“For what?”

“Don’t you find me sexy?”

“Uh… uh, of course—but we can’t do that here.”

“Why not?  You know you can leave for just ten minutes.”

“It’s not that.  It’s the rules.  This company takes this one seriously, and so do I.”

“But—.”

“Stop!”  He went into the filing cabinet, then handed her the company memorandum he had read before she arrived so bewitchingly.  She read it, she chuckled, she looked at him, “But—.”

“There’s no ‘buts’.  It’s this simple:  what if the fire alarm goes off?  I won’t be caught with my pants down, as the expression goes….  Can’t you wait until after?”

“No I can’t—the passion is too strong!  I can’t control my emotions.”

He looked at her with a reproachful grimace and a penetrating stare.  Then while pointing at her with a long piercing finger, he said, “Listen to me carefully, you are human—of course you can.”

This struck her.  She understood what he meant by it.  It was enough to give her the patience for a year, she thought.

“Let’s just sit here and continue to confirm the kinship of our souls.”

She obeyed and asked a question, “So why are you doing security, why didn’t you become a police officer?”

“I couldn’t.  Once my wife died I couldn’t give the academy the commitment required.  And then when I started to work in security, I had a vision and realized that I would prefer to be involved in security.  I think it can be more heroic because an aspect of the industry is called upon to perform the same function as the public police but with no gun, and less legal back up.  It takes more intelligence and tact to get the same job done, I think.”

“I never thought about it that way.  This was just a stepping-stone towards being a cop.  It is ironic.  In this country we are not allowed to carry a gun even for protection.  But in the United States they say it is our god-given right; that by the state of nature every human being has the right to protect his life and his property, where they have even written it into the Constitution.  I wonder how they arrived at that principle.  How do you justify that?”

“That’s philosophy again.”

“I think I love philosophy.”

“I do too.”

“You know, Jewel, I do have the answer to your gun question and many more.  I’ll tell you after work.  I’ll even show you my gun.”  And he grinned widely in mockery, giving her one quick wink that she almost missed.  And then she decided.  She would attack him.  She would force his lips upon hers.  And then he would have no choice but to take her to some private room.  In a moment she would make her attack.  She stood up and began the initial thrust to leap on him.  By the unusual gallop of her body, without his consciousness speaking her purpose, he felt her intention for an instant.  But she was stopped in mid air.  And it was not her conscience that stopped her.  And it was not his arms or some scornful glance of his.  The power of sound stopped her:  a loud, annoying, penetrating cry stopped her, coming from a speaker in the ceiling, that was the fire alarm siren.  She had no time for embarrassment or self-reproach. 

       

Instinctively his glance shot to the monitor picture that showed the 19th floor.  He saw the suspicious man rush hurriedly across the elevator lobby to the west hallway where he would have no choice but to descend through that side’s exit.  Richard took a quick glance at the fire panel and a red light indicated that a fire alarm pull station on the 19th floor was activated.  Moments later, the camera monitor showed some people pass by obviously towards the fire exit. 

“Jewel, there was a man on the 19th floor that seems odd to me.  He is descending down the west stairs this moment.  I’m going to go to that exit.  We’ll communicate on the radio.  I need you to check the message on our paging system and deal with the fire department.”  He proceeded to the west stair exit.  Just before arriving there, Jewel called him on the radio:  “The message was from a woman on the 20th floor who heard a scream coming from the unit below her.”  “10-4,” answered Richard in a military-like tone.   

Richard was now very confident that the suspicious man did something horrible and that the victim was the alleged courtesan.  A man’s intuition is worth looking at, though, such a thing is dangerous to hold as sacrosanct.  He opened the stairwell door and saw a black fedora descend to the lower level, while the rest of the people rushed through the door that Richard had opened on the ground level.  When a gap opened up for a few seconds he took the opportunity to slip through and follow the man down the stairs, all the while on the radio, “Jewel, come in. …  I will be descending to the lower level, the parking garage.  I will be approaching a male suspect well dressed.  Please observe on the camera system.  I’ll keep you posted.”

As Jewel ended grasping Richard’s radio communication, the fire department had arrived.  She granted them access, gave them the appropriate keys, and showed them to the fire panel.  She made a quick, improvised announcement, and then observed the camera.  She picked up her baseball from her purse that she kept as a stress reliever; she began to spin it and toss it in her hands, ready to run downstairs at any moment.  She saw the well-dressed man bend down over a sewer drain, drop a small seemingly metal object in it, and she spoke to Richard, “Richard come in. …  He just dropped something down the sewer—I think it’s a key.”

Then she saw Richard walk swiftly towards the man who quickly turned around but kept his right hand behind his black overcoat.  Jewel could see on one of the cameras that the man had placed his right hand inside the slits of his overcoat at the tails, at the level of his waist.  She did not want to communicate with him over the radio as to not excite the suspect and put her love in danger.

The perception of Richard’s actual consciousness was the sound of his voice saying, in a loud and commanding voice, “excuse me sir, there was a fire alarm—why didn’t you exit the building from the ground level?”  Then he perceived the suspect turn around.

The man answered, “I knew there would be a crowd upstairs and I knew there was an accessible exit ramp down here—see?” and he pointed, with his left thumb, still facing Richard, at the box of light behind him which was the inclining ramp, in the midst of the dimmed parking garage.

“I saw you get on the 19th floor.  Coincidentally, this is where the fire alarm was pulled.”

“Then I’m in no danger of getting burned down here, am I?” and he began to walk backwards towards the light.

“Stop!  What did you drop down the sewer?”  The man stopped and squinted his eyes scornfully at Richard:

“Listen kid, you don’t want any trouble.  Walk away, go back upstairs, and you won’t get hurt.”  After hearing this comment, Richard believed that what he was hiding behind his back was a gun.

“I can’t do that, sir.  Kill me if you want but there are cameras recording everything—you won’t get away with it.”

“I’ve gotten away with a lot more than this, kid.  Killing you will be like squatting a fly!  fuget ‘bout it!” and he began to move his right hand.

And then something strange happened.  What seemed to be a ball of white light struck the mobster’s head, knocking away his fedora.  The gun hit the ground before the mobster’s body did.  He passed out cold.  And the ball of white light was seen tumble and bounce on the ground beside the criminal almost simultaneously as he fell to the ground, in the form of a baseball.  Richard immediately ran to him and put him in restraints.  He did not read him his rights because the man was unconscious.  He stood and looked at the man in bewilderment.

Suddenly he heard an angelic voice, “Richard.”

“Jewel.”

“How did you like that pitch?” she asked with a wide grin to hide her subsiding terror.

“It was definitely a strike.”  And he kissed her passionately for a quick moment.  He knew he was allowed that.  He had put himself foolishly in danger and she had saved him.  It was she who standing from a distance, after descending from another exit, had been monitoring the confrontation, and at the right moment used her pitching talent, launching a fastball at the criminal’s head.  The kiss was more an, ‘I thank you and I love your ability,’ than sexual lust. 

The fire department had left and only the homicide detectives were on site investigating suite 1914.  A beautiful woman was found shot twice: in the head and in the heart.  A gun was found on the mobster with a silencer on the barrel.  What the mobster dropped down the sewer was the woman’s key to her apartment that he stole after killing her, so as to lock the door behind him and buy himself time.  The woman was another courtesan who had romantically crossed the wrong man.  And this man had crossed the wrong couple of law enforcement officers, the wrong security company, and the wrong luxury condominium.  The gangster was arrested and he would surely be going away for a long time.  He was merely one of Toronto’s Capo’s (Captains); but he would surely have much information to reveal.

When Richard and Jewel left an hour past their scheduled shift, the winter night was not as cold as when the shift started.  It was just after 0100 hours of a February morning.  Steam could still be seen from both their breaths.  She did not have to ask him.  He knew that he had to make the phone call.  He dialled the number on his silver coloured cell phone. 

“Hello mom!  Thanks for babysitting tonight.  I’m late in calling because there was an incident at work…. no, I’m okay mom…. I have a huge favour to ask…. I need you to spend the night…. I have something to take care of…. yes, the whole night…. no, nothing bad—actually it is very good!  …. Give me until 11 a.m.”

“I hope I get a chance to meet her soon.”

“You will.  You’re the best, mom.”

They walked to her car, a black sports utility vehicle.  Before she opened the door for him, she reminded him of what day it now was, “Happy Valentines Day, Richie.”  And Richard smiled and said, “Happy Valentine’s Day!”  And they sealed their newfound love with a kiss.

THE END.