The One Percenters Read online

  Each of us shakes our head in private when we dwell upon the acts of the criminal mind, but in public, we wax stoic and act out for the cause of indifference. In the end, we are all grown up high-schoolers who want to look cool in front of our spouses, our parents, our children. We look to the corrupt and the greedy as we did to our first cigarette, as something new and exciting Page 92

  and elicit, as something to wake the beast within us that was put to sleep so long ago by the forces of monotony and dispassion.

  I’m not sure what would have happened if my life continued on that track. I probably would have no real lasting impact on the world. On Judgment Day, I probably would have been meek, knowing I had been afforded all the weapons and yet had failed in my one reason for being. All I would have to cling to was the fact that I had found true love. Jill would have stolen my thunder yet again. Then I met Darien Kuff.

  My friend.

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  Chapter Twenty-Two

  She, too, was modest in look. I began to wonder if it might be a part of the deal. No need to give the gorgeous any more power. I first encountered Darien in a dive bar in Atsboro. I suppose it was no coincidence that we were both there. Places of solitude and refuge were becoming harder to locate. Here, among the dirt and the dinge, I was assured that few of my fellow drinkers had shining records. They, too, were probably avoiding attention. D.K., as I like to refer to her from time to time, approached me as I drank a martini. I had adopted these gin drinks like a new son. They did well for me and cleared out the cobwebs of my past. It was 10:30 pm.

  She approached me when my drink was empty and mentioned that she was ready for a refill. I took the hint and signaled to the bartender for another round. He nodded and began mixing our elixirs.

  Conversation started with pet peeves. The misuse of the word “literally” was one of hers. She also didn’t like pencil tapping, too much makeup, and people who wear corduroy. I’m not sure if she was serious about that last item; it might have been her attempt at humor. She was cool, but not especially funny. I mentioned pretense, people who leash their cats, and those selfish people who take their sweet time at the green arrow, knowing they’ll make it through the intersection for sure. It was light talk (ha-ha), to be sure, but I didn’t mind.

  I studied the look of my new companion. She was about 5’7”, as I had seen when she approached me, but she appeared much shorter when seated due to a tendency to slouch. Her hair was a strange gray-brown, and she appeared to be about five years older than I was. She was curvy, but I was sure her curves had been better placed in her twenties. Everything seemed out of place and slanted. It was nice to sit with a woman who didn’t intimidate me with her looks.

  She wore faded jeans and a green top, and Page 94

  smoked ceaselessly, as was revealed by the premature deep grooves in the skin on her face. There was one redeeming quality to her outward appearance. She had a sprite-like, impish smile, with one corner of her mouth upturned and quite a few teeth exposed. The best word I can think of to describe it is devilish, although even that doesn’t do it justice.

  I asked her what she did for a living, and she explained that she was a painter. I found this a bit surprising, for I didn’t figure there to be too many female painters out there, although it is a changing world. I’ve been told that I have a streak of misogyny in me, and I suppose at times I do condescend, but really I just think that men and women have a place in the world. Women in the kitchen, and men. .nah, I’m just kidding. I won’t even go there. Too many angry bitches out there.

  Upon seeing the puzzled look upon my face, she explained that she was not a house painter, but an artist.

  I had to smile wryly at the fact that she indeed did not paint houses. Somehow, I felt validated, although I suppose that’s sad.

  Darien traveled to various small towns and created old-fashioned quaint paintings of barns, farmland, and the like. She didn’t work for anyone specifically. Rather, she freelanced her work out and sold by word of mouth and advertising. Beyond this, the details of her explanation become fuzzy. I must admit I was not fascinated by the conversation. She must have noticed this, because she trailed off mid-sentence at one point. She stopped, took a sip from her drink, and checked her watch. She looked up again and studied my face, looking for something. I could almost see the wheels spinning inside her head, and I wondered if she would ever speak again. For a moment, I thought she was going to reprimand me for being a poor listener, and I felt a little sweat on my temple. I am not good with confrontation, especially when it occurs in public.

  Finally she spoke.

  “So how does it feel to be in your position?” The question intrigued me, because I hadn’t even mentioned my endeavors in advertising. “Advertising Page 95

  has been good to me, and it allows the creative juices to. .” “That’s not what I meant.”

  She took another sip from her vodka tonic, a much larger sip than the last. Then she lit up a cigarette.

  She removed another from the pack, which sat nearly crumpled upon the bar in front of us. She used the first cigarette to light the second, and then motioned for me to take it from her. I obliged.

  “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

  “What I mean is, how does it feel to be one of us?” The sweat on my temple reappeared, and I inhaled deeply of the smoke in my left hand. The bar was dark, and the cherry glowed brightly. Cigarette cherries are like the glow from underneath the copy machine’s cover—eerie and alien.

  “One of. .” I trailed off, believing I must be mistaken in her intent.

  “Oh, come now, Ed. One of the chosen.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Sure you do. Does it feel good to do your job?

  Does it feel righteous to kill and to preserve? Each one is better than the last, isn’t it?” I was panicking, wondering if perhaps I was talking to a police officer. Was she trying to entrap me? How much did she know? She seemed to sense my anxiety.

  “It’s O.K., Ed. I’m one of us too. I know about Cristen and. . the others. I know all about you. I might even know you better than you know you.”

  “But how. .how do you know?”

  “You develop a sense when you’ve been in the business as long as I have. I suppose whoever’s steering the ship allows us one refuge—each other. Soon, you too will be able to pick up on it.”

  “But how do you know so much about me?”

  “Oh, I know more about you than just the people you’ve killed.” She said this a bit too loudly for my tastes. I put a finger to my lips and shushed her.

  “It’s O.K., Ed. I could scream it to the rafters if I so desired. People might listen, but they can’t hear.

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  They are too self-absorbed. They are only half lives.” She paused. “Oh, you have so much to learn. Even if they did hear, you’d be in no danger. There would be no proof.”“Of course there would. There are the weap—

  the implements, and there’s DNA and. .”

  “No, there isn’t. Do you really think it’s all that simple? Do you really think of yourself as a simple spoke in a wheel? Do you still think of yourself as a man? Because you lost all that a long time ago—the day you sent Cristen up the river, in fact.” I smirked at the near literalness of her statement.

  “What else do you know?”

  Her drink was empty, and this time she signaled for a refill. Then she looked at me, and I took the hint yet again. I reached for a ten dollar bill in my pocket.

  Clearly, bribery exists in all worlds at all levels.

  “I know about Jill and that awful man. In a way, you should be thanking him though.”

  “Excuse me?” I felt as though I had just been punched.

  “If he hadn’t done what he did, you’d still be a hot commodity as a husband, and eventually a father. You would have made a terrific mainstreamer.” I later learned that this is the technical term for what I had referred to up to that p
oint as 98-percenters.

  “The gift would have been saved for someone less qualified for the other realm—our realm. You would never have lost your mortality or gained a greater sense of the world. You have a new perspective now, Edward. You’re seeing the band from backstage. You’re playing with fire, and you can’t get burned. It’s a terrific responsibility, but also a very special blessing.”

  “Why us?”

  The bartender—a burly man wearing a flannel shirt—set Darien’s drink in front of her. The glass was sweating.

  “You’ve always felt a bit out of place, haven’t you?” “Sure. Always.”

  “There’s a reason for that. You have insight.

  You can see and feel things about the world that other Page 97

  people could never imagine, or, more accurately, could never be bothered with. You have a sense about other people that is exceedingly rare. Do you think it was merely your good fortune that the only two women you ever approached happened to be such uniquely loving individuals? Are you really that naive?” I readjusted my ass in my seat, suddenly feeling better about myself. I hoped that it was justified.

  “Nature logs people like you—like us. It marks you from birth and follows you. From the small group of people who are prepared for the task—perhaps 5%

  of the population—nature chooses those who wind up in the best position for such authority. When Jill died, well, it was only natural for you to be promoted.”

  “You speak of the natural world as if it’s alive and planning. How does it know? How does all this occur?”

  “I don’t have all of the answers, Ed. If I did, I’d be in charge, and not sitting here talking with some shlub at a dive bar.”

  “How long have you been. .in the business?”

  “Since I was fifteen.” I was shocked to hear this, but I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps I figured this to be a new phenomenon, as if the world had only started performing its tricks upon my birth.

  “My God, how many people have you. .?”

  “Hundreds. I stopped counting a long time ago.

  It no longer matters. There’s no quota to it, but you’ll develop a sense of what needs to be done and when to do it, if you haven’t already.”

  “And how many of us have you met?”

  “Hundreds. You can do the math, though. At one percent of the population, I’ve had to go through a lot of people to meet so many. At least in the beginning.

  After a while, your senses fine-tune and you can weed out the mainstreamers much more quickly. Also, you meet people through people. It’s not all that different from ‘real life’ in that regard. Finally, there’s a trick to it. .to sensing the one-percenters.” I was finding it difficult to get past the fact that she had started at fifteen, and yet again, Darien seemed to sense what I was thinking.

  “I was young, yes. And it was difficult when I Page 98

  first began to get the sensations. You think adolescence is difficult under normal circumstances. Ha! What’s acne in comparison with being a mercenary for the gods?”“What about your parents?”

  “No. It’s not hereditary.”

  This seemed strange to me, since the entire process revolves around genetics.

  “I hid it at first, but this became increasingly difficult. While people are pretty out of touch for the most part, mothers are mothers, and I knew she’d figure something was up eventually. So I left the house when I was seventeen, and I haven’t seen or spoken with my family since that time.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “It was a sacrifice, sure. But I realized I now had a more important authority to answer to. Parents just provide the organs to get you into this world. Really, they don’t have much importance beyond that. Frankly, I’m surprised at how much importance your world places on family—relationships not of your choosing.”

  “My world?”

  “Oh, sorry. Bit of a Freudian slip, I’m afraid.

  After a while, you’ll be able to separate your past life from your current life, and this will no longer be your world. You’ll be ethereal. But for now, you’re a newbie.

  You’re still straddling the fence, sorry to say. I would work on objectivity if I were you; you’ll need it in this business.”

  I stood up, taking a sip from my drink. I really needed to downshift to beer. I got the flannelled bartender’s attention, ordered a pint, and excused myself to the men’s room.

  I entered the restroom and checked myself out in the mirror. I looked tired and road-worn. I wondered how I would ever survive another year of this, always on the run and bearing some measure of guilt, even if I tried to deny it. The fluorescent lights hummed eerily, and I walked to the toilets. I really had to dig around to find my prick. The alcohol and the stress had shriveled it, and I found myself having to stand very close to the lip of the urinal in order to pee. How could such a Page 99

  majestic organ crawl into a figurative cave when things started to get hot? Jill had loved that particular part of me, and our sex life had been fantastic. We did it everywhere, every way. I think the fact that we were both young at heart (read: silly) helped our love life. We were always willing to try something new.

  I finished peeing and took a last cursory glance at the mirror over the shoulder while I flushed my urine into the netherworld. My piss had been clear. I needed to cut down on the alcohol.

  I exited the restroom to reclaim my seat next to Darien, who was still slouching and still smoking.

  I took the empty seat and reached for my beer. I paused a minute to contemplate my next question. I felt I had to take advantage of this wellspring while I had it available to me. Finally I said, “Who was your first?” She turned to me with an angry, perplexed look in her eyes. “Excuse me?”

  “When you were fifteen. Who was it?” Darien stood up, grabbing her purse.

  “Who the hell are you to ask me that?” Her tone was stern, and her voice loud. Her voice was different somehow. Others at the bar turned to see what was happening.

  I felt very uncomfortable. “Darien, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just trying to learn.” Darien turned to the bar. “Jim.” She called to the bartender, who then took leave from his place beside the register. He approached me.

  “Excuse me, is there a problem?”

  “No, sir, I was just asking a question.”

  “Jim, he was asking me about my first. I don’t really think that’s any of his business.” Jim nodded at her, and turned to me again.

  “Listen, buddy, I think it’s time you found your way out of here. It’s four dollars for the beer.”

  “Darien, why are you doing this? You’re one of us.” Now she was red-faced.

  “I don’t know you; please leave me alone. I don’t appreciate this at all.”

  Jim was looking at me angrily. The other patrons were looking at me angrily. It appeared Darien Page 100

  was a regular here, and well-liked. I suddenly felt that I should leave. I headed toward the door, and as I neared it, I heard something I’ll never forget. It was Jim’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, Shirl; I don’t know where these people come from. Next one’s on the house.” Page 101

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I ran out into the parking lot and crossed the roadway.

  I took refuge in the wood, the only place, it seemed, that I could find peace in my new life.

  Had I imagined the whole conversation? Did the alcohol have such an effect? Was it nature’s way of providing me with the information I so desperately desired? Or was she lying, simply divulging information and then taking cover behind her real-world guise?

  How could that be? The others at the bar would have seen me speaking with her earlier. It was important to me to find the answers to these questions, but I felt sure that I never would.

  I felt very alone in the world at that moment, more alone than I ever had before. I spent the night huddled at the base of a tree in that forest, looking up through the canopy of leaves at the dark sky.
The almost-full moon caused me to contemplate the state of life; we’re all put here knowing nothing and we all leave here virtually the same way. It occurred to me that at that moment, there were thousands of other people in our hemisphere looking up at the very same moon, but I felt sure that none of them felt what I was feeling. I felt sure that none of them could feel this way. I felt both very powerful and very naive. That was the worst night I had ever experienced.

  I awoke unrefreshed to the sound of squawking.

  The night air chilled me, and my back was damp from the forest floor. Looking at my surroundings, I tried to keep my mind on the serenity of the morning, but I found that I could not. Were the events of last night an anomaly? Had someone slipped me a pill? No, of course not. I was becoming paranoid; it’s almost impossible to avoid when you’re on the lam. I had kept on the move in the last year. I had spread out my work. This is the only explanation I can provide for my continued freedom.

  Perhaps Darien was right, and nature did indeed provide me some degree of immunity. Certainly, without Page 102

  it I would have been taken in by now. Even living in the woods and cutting off all social ties—not an easy task, I assure you—I was still defying the odds by maintaining my independence. I limited my contact with reality as much as possible, gaining food from fishing and theft.

  I was careful. It would be all too ironic if I should get away with “murder” only to be taken in for petty theft.

  The jig would be up then. I took my food from private residences, mostly, away from the security cameras and prying eyes.

  My mind came back to Darien. Was she—or at least my perception of her—an apparition, or would I meet more of these helpful but elusive souls? Would they continue to seek me out? I found that my eyes were beginning to tear, and I tried to fight off the emotion.

  I punched the tree under which I had slept. All this gained me was a pair of bloody knuckles. The year had passed quickly. I was alone and impassioned with a mission that was more important than I was.