MATERIAL, SAID TAFT, CONTENT, PLOT. WHERE’S THE PLOT? Need a plot. Not doing well. Could be doing better. In a bit of a spot, here, no question. Why? What lacks? Have health, friends (well, one friend), enough money, a place, the right place—a home. And yet, feeling checked, feeling stuck, hung up, as though the train’s come to a halt but hasn’t arrived. There’s no station, there are no people. Out the window and all around, cinders and dry weeds and trash: food wrappers, old tires, busted supermarket carts, plastic bags blowing. Waste ground. That feeling. What is that? Age? Sounds like it. Age, and, thus, nothing new: just another backpacker in the Dark Wood. Got off the trail. Got lost. Old story …
Bored.
… Old story. Needed? A path, a push—What’s that?
I said, bored. Bored, bored, bored.
Taft jumped. “What?” he asked. “Who?”
Bored. You’re bored, Chief. You’re boring yourself to death.
“Who’s there?”
Over here.
Taft turned. Dangerfield was sitting in the rocking chair on the porch to his left. Dangerfield was enjoying the old rocker. Back and forth, back and forth went Dangerfield. Pleased with the simplest things. A big kid he was, really, in some ways.
“Who are you?” Taft asked.
I’m your pal. I’m your sidekick. I’m the guide at your side.
“Guide to what?”
To whatever you need. To everything.
“I don’t need a guide,” said Taft.
It appears you do, though, Chief. Am I right, or am I right? You just said it. You’re lost. Therefore, you need a guide. In any case, here I am.
“Uh-huh,” said Taft. “Alright, okay. What are you selling?”
I’m not selling anything, Chief. I’m buying. You’re selling.
“Hah. Not likely. How did you get here?”
It wasn’t easy, said Dangerfield. Would you believe, I almost got busted by some female baby cop, some Campfire Girl of a state trooper? I told her, I heard this was pretty wild country, but I didn’t know the Girl Scouts carried three-fifty-sevens. Pretty good, I thought: Girl Scouts? Three-fifty-sevens? Hah. She didn’t laugh. Silly bitch. What the hell is that? Is that your idea of law enforcement up here?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Taft. “What trooper?”
Don’t have much to do with the police, I guess?
“No.”
No wonder you’re bored. My advice? Transgress.
“Not my style.”
Take a cruise.
“Not interested in cruises.”
Ever been on a cruise?
“No.”
Come on, Chief. How do you know you’re not interested, then?
“Come on, yourself,” said Taft. “You don’t have to have had a thing to know you don’t want it. Have you ever had the plague?”
Quite a few times. It’s not too bad when you’re used to it.
Taft looked at him. A stout man, around Taft’s own age, prosperous, sleek, well-barbered, his dark, graying hair combed straight back and worn full behind, his beard neatly trimmed. A bit of a dude as well, turned out in dapper suburban gentleman’s motoring outfit: houndstooth-check jacket, blue oxford shirt, good cord trousers, kid leather driving gloves, cloth cap. Dangerfield rocked his chair gently, his gaze moving to take in the surround: Taft’s porch, his side yard, the road, the woods across the road, the distant hills, green, then blue, then gray, then gone in the distance.
No wonder you’re bored, Dangerfield said at last. This place is five miles the other side of nowhere. What do you do up here for fun?
“The same things everybody else does,” said Taft. “The same things you do.”
I doubt that, Chief.
“What do you want?” Taft asked him.
I don’t want anything. You do. You want to feel better. You want to not be stuck. You want to not be bored. You want to get off of that train. You want action. You said it yourself: plot. You want a plot. I can get you a plot. I can get you a hell of a plot. I’ve got a deal for you, Chief.
“What deal?”
It’s pretty simple, really, said Dangerfield. Then he stopped. He looked to his right, past Taft’s shoulder. Suddenly alert, he dropped his voice. Who’s this? He whispered.
Eli Adams came around the corner of the house. He had been at Taft’s putting new glass in a broken window upstairs. “You’re all set,” said Eli. “Who’s here? Was somebody here?”
Tell him nobody, whispered Dangerfield.
“Nobody,” said Taft.
Eli looked at the rocking chair, creaking gently to and fro. “What’s the matter with your chair?” he asked.
The wind, murmured Dangerfield. Tell him it’s the wind.
“Nothing’s the matter with it,” said Taft. “The wind’s moving it. Feel the draft?”
“Who were you talking to?” Eli asked him. “I thought I heard you talking to somebody.”
“Myself.”
“Oh,” said Eli. “Oh, okay. Listen: you want me to, someday, I can get a ladder to that big tree around there and trim that branch so it won’t hit the window when it blows. That’s your trouble, right there.”
“Someday,” said Taft. “How much do I owe you for today?”
“I don’t know,” said Eli. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
“Sure, you will,” said Taft.
Eli gave the rocking chair a last look. “Well, I’m due at Marcia’s,” he said.
“Marcia, yes,” said Taft. “How’s Billy?”
“Sean. Kid’s name’s Sean. He’s not good. Not good at all.”
“I’m sorry,” said Taft.
Eli turned and started back around the house where his truck was parked. “Okay,” he said.
“We’ll see you,” Taft called after him.
Who was that? asked Dangerfield when Eli had gone.
“Oh, that’s Eli,” said Taft. “Lives on the next hill. He helps out with things. He’s handy. I’m not. He’s a friend.”
Asks a lot of questions, doesn’t he?
“I don’t know. Does he?”
Watch out for him, said Dangerfield. Be careful. That was good, though, just now. The draft? Talking to yourself? That was very good. That works. You catch on fast, Chief.
“Eli couldn’t see you, could he?” asked Taft.
No. He couldn’t see me.
“Can anybody see you?”
You can.
“Anybody else?”
Nobody you know, Chief, said Dangerfield.
“Ah,” said Taft.
So, that’s how we work it, see? Dangerfield went on. That’s how we work our deal. It’s a partnership. I’m the silent partner. Very, very silent. We keep it close. We keep it dark. You and I? We’re together. I’m with you, you’re with me. We’re clear. Everybody else, no. If you’re with me, you’re alone for everybody else. Get it?
“Not so fast,” said Taft. “What do you mean, ‘That’s how we work our deal’? We don’t have anything to work. We don’t have a deal.”
Don’t we, Chief?
“No.”
What’s the problem?
“What’s the problem? Well, for one thing, I don’t believe you. Not a word. Okay? You’re full of holes, you are. For example, you said a state trooper pulled you over on your way here, right?”
That’s right. So?
“How, though?” Taft demanded. “You’re invisible. But the trooper saw you?”
She thought she did. Then she didn’t.
“What’s that mean?”
Look, Chief, said Dangerfield. It’s got to do with the Talents, okay?
“What talents?”
Dangerfield was impatient. He waved his hand dismissively. Gifts, he said, abilities, tools. Powers. Talents. You don’t need to get way off into the high grass about the Talents. The Talents are my department. Let me worry about them. Suffice to say: they’re impressive. They’re what you need, Chief. I have them. I give them to you. Well, I lend them to you. You use them. They’re fun. Have fun with them.
“Fun?”
All kinds of fun, said Dangerfield. That plot you’re looking for? The Talents are the plot. They’re the plot’s front end. They’re something, Chief. You’ll see. But remember: be careful. If you’re talking to me, you’re talking to nobody. Don’t forget that. Your neighbors, that guy that just left—they’ll think you’re nuts if you’re not careful.
“They think that as it is,” said Taft. He looked narrowly at Dangerfield. “Maybe they’re right,” he said. “Maybe, at last, they’re right. Maybe that’s what this is.”
Meaning maybe you’ve gone around the bend? said Dangerfield. Wrong. You’re not nuts. You were, maybe, or on the way. You’re not any more. It’s all real.
“It’s all real,” said Taft.
What do you think, Chief? That’s my deal. How do you like it?
“How do I like it? How do I know? All I see so far is about you. Your being here or not being here. Your so-called Talents. Everybody’s got talents, don’t they? What are yours? Can you play the ukulele? Can you wiggle your ears? Can you fly? So what? What’s that do for me? What’s your deal, for me? What can I have?”
That’s not the question, Chief. The question is, what do you want?
“Ah,” said Taft.
Beginning to get it now, are you?
Taft was silent.
Chief? Dangerfield pressed him. But Taft wasn’t ready.
“Why should I believe you’re what you say you are?” he asked.
What do I say I am, Chief?
“You know as well as I do,” said Taft. “Don’t fence with me. Tell me how I know you can do what you say you can.”
Try me.
Taft thought for a moment. Then he smiled. He turned to Dangerfield. “Alright,” he said. “Something I need? Something I would really like? New tires for the truck. It will never pass inspection this year. Four new tires. What about it?”
Come on, Chief, said Dangerfield. Spread your wings a little, here. All the kingdoms of the world, and the glory of them, I offer you. Riches beyond the dreams of avarice I offer you. And you go for new rubber?
“I don’t need all the kingdoms of the world, and the rest of it,” said Taft. “I do need tires. This is a test, right? I hear you mocking me, I hear you talking large, I hear you quoting fancy verse, but I don’t see you making anything happen. Can you?”
Go look.
Taft left the porch and went to the barn where he kept his truck. In a couple of minutes, he was back.
“I asked you for four new tires,” he told Dangerfield. “That’s not four new tires. That’s a whole new truck.”
Happy birthday, Chief.
“You didn’t get me what I asked for, though, did you?”
Dangerfield sighed. Am I going to have trouble with you, Chief? he asked. Alright. Okay. Suit yourself. You’ve got your old wreck back, new treads all around. You want to go see?
“No.”
Go ahead. Don’t take my word. Check it out. See for yourself.
“No need.”
Then you believe I can do what I say I can?
“Yes.”
You ready to do business, then?
“Maybe.”
No maybe, Chief. Yes or no.
“Come on,” said Taft. “What do you take me for? We still don’t have a deal, do we? Not yet. We have half a deal. I get whatever I want. You give me your famous Talents. I use them. That’s your part. I still don’t know what my part is.”
I think you do, Chief. I think you know damned full well.
Taft took a moment. He nodded. Then he said, “It’s like a contract, right?”
It’s not like a contract. It is a contract. Oh, boy, is it a contract.
“And when it’s up, then you come for me and I have to go with you?”
Right.
“And until then, you fetch me what I ask for. What I want, you supply, whatever it is, you get it. You serve me.”
Absolutely.
“And that contract, our contract?” Taft went on, “for your service? It runs for how long? Twenty-some years, I think, right?”
Where do you get that idea?
“My reading,” said Taft.
Dangerfield rocked right back in his chair, with a whoop of laughter. Pitching forward, he slapped his knees.
Oh, Chiefy, Chiefy, he laughed. Your what? Your reading? You old English Major, you! What is it you’re giving me, here? You’re giving me Christopher Marlowe, aren’t you? ‘Four and twenty years being expired, the articles above written inviolate, etcetera, etcetera, grant full power to carry, etcetera, body and soul, flesh, blood, and goods into their habitation wheresoever.’ Hah. You crack me up, Chief.
“What’s so funny?”
You are. You’re living in the Middle Ages. Your friend Marlowe’s been dead for four hundred years, and between ourselves he didn’t have a lot on the ball when he walked among us. Second- or third-chop poet? Some kind of a half-assed spy? Killed in a bar fight? What an adolescent! In fact, he’s mainly spread a lot of misinformation and done a lot of harm. The world has changed, you know. It moves a little faster than it did when Good Queen Bess was in the chair. We’re not mortgage bankers, Chief. We’re strictly short-term. Think of us as payday lenders.
“How long, then?” Taft asked him.
I can get you six months.
“Six months?”
I might be able to stretch it to seven, said Dangerfield. I’ll have to see. I don’t write the contracts, you know.
“Who does?”
The Legal Department, of course. Plus, the big man. The CEO. My boss. My superior. I have to get him to sign off for anything over six months. I can probably get you the seven, though. The big man’s got a soft heart. He shouldn’t have one, but he does.
“Seven months,” said Taft. “Til October.”
We’ll say Columbus Day. It’s a good contract, Chief. It means you won’t have to miss the foliage.
But even now Taft wasn’t quite there. He looked at Dangerfield. “What I don’t understand,” he said, “is you. How is it you’re here at all? I didn’t ask for you.”
Didn’t you, Chief? What about plot—and its lack? What about feeling stuck? What about that train, that Dark Wood? You cried out, Chief. We heard you.
“We?”
My firm.
“You mean there are more of you?”
Oh, absolutely. We’re a major firm. We’re big. Resources? We’ve got them. As for your own situation? Dangerfield shrugged. We know these things. It’s what we do.
“But how?” asked Taft.
We mark the sparrow’s fall, Chief.
“Alright, but why the secrecy?” Taft asked him. “If I’m with you, I’m alone. If I’m talking to you, I’m talking to myself. Nobody’s to know anything about you, about our … arrangement. Everybody’s in the dark. Eli, everybody. Why?”
Standards, Chief. Quality control. Listen, if people knew about the deal you’re going to make—the upside, the Talents, the rest—the whole world would be breaking down our door. We’d be swamped. Service would suffer. We need to keep out the riffraff.
“What if I tell?” Taft asked.
Be a mistake. A very big mistake. Telling voids the deal. We wouldn’t have a choice, then. We’d have to cut right to the downside. Not a good outcome, especially for you. Bad idea, Chief. Don’t even think of it.
Taft nodded. “Okay,” he said.
So? said Dangerfield. Here we are, right? Time to jump, Chief. What do you say? In or out. Up or down. Right here. Right now.
Taft nodded again. He swallowed. He scratched his head. He looked out over the dooryard. Then he clapped his hands lightly together.
“Done deal,” he said.
Attaboy, Chief. You won’t regret it.
“Seven months,” said Taft. “Columbus Day. Then you come for me, yes? You take me anyplace you want?”
Not any place, Chief. One place.
Taft smiled. “The hot place,” he said.
Hot enough.
“I’m not worried about that, though,” said Taft. “I worked in Philadelphia for a couple of years. August in Philadelphia? I don’t mind heat.”
Well, it’s not the heat so much, said Dangerfield. It’s the time. We’re talking Eternity, here, Chief.
“Not worried about that, either. I can last it. We’re in Vermont, remember? For us, Eternity is another name for March.”
I like your spirit, Chief.
“Where do I sign?”
Oh, you’ve already signed. You signed a few minutes ago, when you lied to your friend.
“Ah,” said Taft.
You wouldn’t have a drink in the house? Dangerfield asked him.
“Got a bottle of Sir Walter’s.”
What’s that?
“Scotch whiskey.”
Never heard of it, said Dangerfield.
“It’s a small label,” said Taft. “You might call it subpremium.”
Perfect. What do you say, Chief? Shall we have a drink to our partnership?
“A drink?” said Taft. “I’m your man.”
Not yet, but you will be.
“Come with me,” said Taft. He got to his feet.
After you, Chief, said Dangerfield, and he let Taft go before him into the house.