2

THE NEXT MORNING PAYBACK JUMPED ON THE bed and started licking Mickey’s face. Payback was a miniature Doberman. Mickey’s ex-wife, Dolores, had named her Daisy, but after Mickey won the dog in the divorce, he renamed her Payback. That way, when people asked if the dog was a he or a she, Mickey could say, “Payback’s a bitch.” Anyway, Dolores might be gone, but the Doberman still loved him.

The dog began whining now, her eyes fixed on Mickey’s face, demanding her morning walk. Or did she sense something different about him?

“Don’t worry, baby,” Mickey whispered in her ear. “Nothing’s wrong. I promise.” Payback whipped around and nipped his hand. She was the nervous type.

A few minutes later Mickey was leaning against the kitchen counter talking on the phone.

“Dump everything from my dad’s apartment. Give it away. I don’t want any of it.”

Alicia, his agent, was on the other end. “What about photos, family stuff?”

“You go through it. I trust your judgment,” said Mickey.

He took a sip of espresso. “You know, I’ve been thinking. I never do God jokes in my act.”

“You want to start now?” Alicia sounded dubious. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.” The eeriness of the previous night had faded. Whatever kind of delusion he’d gone through, it was temporary. Still, it would have been nice to talk to Larry, for real, one last time.

Alicia said, “Get some rest. Take a few days off. I can handle the predators.”

“Thanks.”

Payback was scratching at the door to get out. One side of the house, the side facing the ocean, was all French windows. Mickey put the dog’s leash on, and they stepped out onto the beach. Payback barked frantically at the waves, as if they were thieves creeping in to steal the sand.

“You’re a lunatic,” said Mickey indulgently. It usually cheered him up to watch her madly charge into the surf, but today he felt glum and restless. He couldn’t forget what Larry’s voice had said. Not that any of it made sense. Like almost everyone he knew, Mickey was allergic to God. What good ever came from believing in a deity who watched and did nothing about genocide, or AIDS, or children starving? God either didn’t exist or was someone to be avoided.

That reminded Mickey of an old joke.

An atheist is swimming in the ocean when he sees the fin of a great white shark. In desperation he screams, “God, save me!”

All at once everything freezes, the heavens part, and a voice says, “Why should I save you? You don’t believe in me.”

The atheist has an idea. “Maybe you can get the shark to believe in you.”

“Very well.”

The heavens close again, and suddenly the shark is heading straight for the atheist. All of a sudden the shark stops and puts its fins together. It begins to pray.

The atheist is amazed. “It worked. This shark believes in God.”

Just then he hears the shark muttering, “Oh Lord, make us thankful for the food we are about to receive.”

Now Mickey noticed a stranger coming toward him. He wasn’t a jogger or a swimmer or a fisherman, the types one usually sees at the beach. The stranger walked slowly and steadily in Mickey’s direction. With the morning sun behind him he was only a silhouette. When he got closer, Mickey could make out a tall, olive-skinned man, maybe midthirties, with a spade beard, dressed in khakis and a blue shirt.

The man stopped directly in front of Mickey. “You have something for me,” he said.

Mickey, taken aback, mumbled, “I don’t think so.”

“I’m usually right about these things,” the man said. “Check your pockets.”

His physical presence was intimidating—Mickey thought he looked like a Spanish conquistador without the armor—but his voice was reassuring.

“What would be in my pockets?” Mickey asked.

“A clue.”

The conquistador waited. Clearly there was no brushing him off, so Mickey reached into the pockets of his jogging pants. He pulled out a folded piece of paper.

“Want me to read it for you?” the conquistador asked.

“No, I can do it.”

As Mickey unfolded the paper, which had writing on one side, he said, “Mind telling me your name?”

“Francisco. I know yours. What does the note say?”

The fact that a perfect stranger would recognize him wasn’t surprising to Mickey, so he read what was written on the piece of paper.

I tell many lies but am always believed
If the worst happens, I’ll be greatly relieved
On the day you were born I poisoned your heart
I’ll still be there on the day you depart.

The ominous riddle was penned in small, precise cursive. Francisco nodded, as if it was the clue he had been expecting.

“Now we know where to start,” he said.

“Start what?” Mickey asked.

“The process,” Francisco replied with some satisfaction. “You’ve been chosen. Not that it shows to look at you. That’s okay. It almost never does.”

Mickey shook his head. “I don’t want to be chosen.”

“Why not?”

Because I like my life the way it is, Mickey wanted to say. But he wasn’t at all sure that was true, so he said instead, “My father just died. I’m not in a space where I can handle this.”

“You mean Larry?” said Francisco. “Who do you think sent the note?”

Mickey’s mouth went dry. “How do you know Larry?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ve received a clue. That’s very, very unusual. You should be grateful.” Francisco fixed Mickey with a look. “Don’t faint on me,” he said. “Take some slow, deep breaths.”

Mickey did as he was told. When he was sure he wasn’t going to pass out, he said, “Are you going to take me away someplace?”

His trepidation made the tall stranger laugh. “No, nothing like that. First we’re going to answer the riddle. Then we’ll see where it takes us.”

“I don’t have an answer,” said Mickey.

“You’re too nervous to think straight,” said Francisco. “Who wouldn’t be?” He took the paper from Mickey’s hands and considered it briefly. Then he wrote a word on it with a pencil from his pocket. When he handed the note back, the word turned out to be “Fear.”

“That’s the answer?” Mickey said.

Francisco nodded. “It fits every line.” He recited the riddle, this time with the answer in place.

Fear tells many lies but is always believed

If the worst happens, fear will be greatly relieved

On the day you were born fear poisoned your heart

Fear will still be there on the day you depart.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Francisco said. “We’re going to make you fearless.”

“I don’t want to be,” said Mickey, regretting that he had ever let the stranger give him the paper.

“You have to give the process a chance.”

“Why? Frankly, the thing here that makes me the most nervous is you,” said Mickey. At that moment he felt a nudge at his ankle, and he looked down to see Payback staring up at him. “She wants to go home. I’ll see you.”

Francisco shook his head. “You know what you remind me of? Somebody waiting to see the dentist. Most people in that waiting room don’t show it, but they’re all afraid. But when they come out, they’re all smiles. Don’t you want to come out all smiles?”

“I’m already Mr. Smiles,” Mickey said. He felt a guilty twinge for dismissing the stranger’s offer out of hand. “Nobody is totally fearless,” he added.

“I am.”

The claim could have sounded like an empty boast, but looking into Francisco’s eyes, Mickey almost believed it. His eyes were as steady as the stars and totally calm. Francisco saw this moment of hesitation as an opening.

“Just try,” he coaxed.

What could Mickey say? He couldn’t very well run away—it would prove the stranger’s point about being afraid. And Alicia had told him to take a few days off. He might as well play along.

“THE FIRST THING,” said Francisco, “is that fear is a liar. Just like the riddle says.”

Mickey found it a little hard to hear him, because they were standing on the shoulder of the highway that ran beside the beach. Six lanes of cars and trucks roared by.

“Why are we here?” asked Mickey.

Instead of answering, Francisco said, “What would happen if you walked into traffic right now?”

“I’d be killed.”

“See, that’s a lie. Try it.”

“Are you crazy?”

Francisco shook his head. “Step off the curb. You’re safe. It’s a parking lane.” Two cars were parked in front of them, with a space between their bumpers wide enough to walk between.

Mickey stepped off the curb, but he felt uneasy. “Where is this going?”

“Don’t ask questions. Keep walking.”

Mickey edged closer to the stream of traffic. He stopped at the edge of the parked cars.

“Go on,” Francisco urged. “Walk around to the front door as if you were going to unlock it.” Mickey did as he was told. “Now face the traffic, and walk into it.”

This guy is crazy, Mickey thought.

“You’ll never be fearless until you try,” said Francisco.

What the hell. Mickey waited until he saw a gap in the traffic, and then he stepped into the road. As he braced himself for another step he heard the sound of a blaring horn. Out of nowhere a panel truck was barreling down on him. Instantly he jumped back, and the van whooshed by. The driver glared at him as he passed.

Mickey hurried back to the curb. “So what was that supposed to prove?”

“It proved that you couldn’t get yourself killed. You jumped back just in time. Why? Because your body acts on instinct. Where there’s danger, it moves to escape.”

Mickey’s heart was pounding from his close call, and it was hard to listen to what the tall stranger was saying. “I still could have been killed,” he insisted.

“No, that’s just your fear talking. Try again. Make yourself walk into traffic. You won’t get hit. Your body won’t let you. It knows how to take care of itself.”

Mickey certainly wasn’t going to step into traffic again. But he imagined himself edging into the stream of cars, and knew Francisco was right. The impulse to jump back would be overwhelming.

“What if you’re right,” he said. “I don’t see what this has to do with fear being a liar.”

Francisco said, “Fear tells you that you aren’t safe. But you are. Thinking that you aren’t safe is an illusion. If you believe in an illusion, you’re buying into a lie.”

Francisco didn’t give Mickey a chance to object. “You’re going to tell me all the reasons I’m wrong,” he went on. “Try to think of why I might be right.”

This was harder than it looked. Suddenly Mickey’s mind was filled with all the things he worried about most. Cancer. The drunk driver swerving into Mickey’s lane and hitting him head-on. The gangbanger on a spree, spraying the street with bullets. Carjacking. Home invasion. He forced his mind to stop.

“See what you’re doing?” said Francisco. “You’re imagining things.”

“They’re not so imaginary,” said Mickey.

“Yes, they are. Fear’s main tactic is to make illusion seem real. But imagined pain isn’t the same as real pain. Imagined death isn’t real death. When you give in to fear, you are either projecting into the future or reliving the past. Here and now, you are safe. While fear is trying to convince you that it’s real, what’s really happening is that you lose touch with the present. The world turns into one big dentist’s waiting room with everyone anticipating the next thing that hurts.”

“Sometimes the dentist does hurt,” Mickey said.

“So you’re saying that fear helps it hurt less? I don’t think so. If everybody is afraid in the waiting room but only five percent wind up feeling pain in the chair, then fear is pointless ninety-five percent of the time. Fear is a terrible predictor of the future. In fact, nothing is as unreliable as fear, and yet people rely on it over and over again.”

Francisco saw that he was making an impression. “That’s good. Your mind is beginning to relax,” he said.

“I don’t know,” said Mickey doubtfully. “There’s still that five percent.”

“If the local weatherman was right only five percent of the time,” said Francisco, “he’d get fired tomorrow. It’s time to fire your fear. Let’s go.”

He started to walk away from the highway. In the near distance a new row of beach condos was going up. “We need something from that construction site,” said Francisco.

After a moment he pointed to Mickey’s pockets. “Read the second line of the riddle.”

Mickey pulled out the paper. “If the worst happens, I’ll be greatly relieved.”

“That’s how fear works,” said Francisco. “Anytime one of your fears comes true, you give fear the credit for having protected you until that moment. Which only encourages you to spend your whole life anticipating disaster.”

Mickey was feeling more relaxed around the tall stranger as they walked side by side with Payback trotting ahead. He still felt he was playing along, but Francisco could be right. A part of his mind—a small fragment—felt like it might be thawing.

“You’re telling me that I should never be afraid?” he said. “That’s unrealistic.”

“Is it? Here’s a story for you. A young woman goes to her doctor to get a checkup. ‘I’m deathly afraid of cancer,’ she says. ‘Are you sure I’m okay?’ The doctor says, ‘Absolutely. Your tests are clean. You don’t have cancer.’

“But she’s still sure she does, so a few weeks later the woman goes back. The doctor examines her again, and again he says she has nothing to worry about. She doesn’t have cancer.

“This goes on for years. Every few months the woman goes to see the doctor, certain that she has cancer, and every time she doesn’t.

“Finally she’s eighty, and when she goes for her next checkup the doctor says, ‘I’m terribly sorry. I have bad news. You have cancer.’

“The woman throws up her hands. ‘I told you so.’”

It wasn’t a story you could laugh at, but Mickey gave a wry smile.

“You get the point?” said Francisco. “Just because something bad happens doesn’t prove that your fear was right. Fear will never stop trying to convince you. But when you choose to stop being convinced, you’ll be fearless.”

By this point they had reached the construction site. Since it was a weekend, no one was around. Francisco went over to a dumpster full of discarded scraps and rummaged through it. After a moment he pulled out a long wooden plank.

“Here we go,” he said, laying it on the ground. “How wide would you say this board is, six inches?”

“About,” said Mickey.

“And how long, eight feet?”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s see you walk it without falling off.”

Mickey stepped onto one end of the narrow plank and walked to the other.

“Easy?” said Francisco.

Mickey nodded.

“You’re sure? Try again.”

Mickey walked back.

Picking up the board, Francisco headed for the nearest condo block, located a fire escape, and began to ascend.

“Follow me.”

This particular block was almost finished, and when they got to the roof Francisco looked around. They were five stories up. The ocean view reached south to Santa Monica and north to Malibu. Instead of taking it in, Francisco walked to the far edge of the roof, where there was a gap between this building and the next. He laid the plank down. It barely crossed the gap.

“All right, walk it again,” he said.

Mickey peered down nervously into the yawning fifty-foot drop. “I can’t,” he said.

“But you just did. Twice. When we were on the ground, there was no problem.”

“This is different.”

“Why?”

Francisco regarded him for a moment. “What’s stopping you is fear. Rationally, you should have no trouble walking the same board you walked before. But fear tells you that you can’t. Why believe it?”

“Because if I fall, I’ll break my neck,” said Mickey.

“Fear pushes you to confuse what you imagine with what’s real,” Francisco said. Without warning he stepped out onto the plank. When he was suspended over the middle, he turned around.

“My balance is no better than yours. Now watch.”

He did a quick spin, and then bounced lightly on the board, which bent and creaked under his weight. Watching him made Mickey almost nauseous with anxiety.

“Stop that. Come back,” he cried.

Francisco complied. When he was back beside Mickey, he regarded him. “It made you afraid to watch me. Isn’t that strange? You weren’t in danger. You weren’t even in imagined danger.”

“I was afraid for you,” said Mickey. It seemed like a reasonable thing to say, but Francisco was shaking his head.

“See how fear spreads everywhere? It even reaches into situations that have nothing to do with you, and every space it seeps into becomes full of danger.”

They crossed the roof and headed back down the fire escape. Neither said anything until they were back on terra firma.

“That’s enough for one day,” said Francisco. “Should I find you again? Your choice.”

Mickey was guarded. “What’s next?”

“Today we flirted with fear. Tomorrow we get serious about it. Maybe add a touch of terror. How does that sound?”

“Awful.”

“I’ll tell you what’s awful. Read the last two lines of your riddle,” Francisco said.

Mickey took out the paper and read.

On the day you were born I poisoned your heart
I’ll still be there on the day you depart

When Mickey had finished, the tall stranger said, “I can make you a promise. If you don’t go through with this process, you’ll be afraid until the day you die.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

On that note Francisco departed. Mickey soon realized that he had forgotten to ask what this all had to do with God laughing. He was pretty sure there had to be a connection somewhere. Larry wouldn’t sabotage him. And if he had? Death means never having to say you’re sorry.

He could hear Alicia scolding him. “Don’t steal material, Mickey. You’re better than that.”