SUMMATION by Daniel Syverson Page B

they? In
a couple of hours? For a box with rocks?  Even if, as some speculated, there
was a meteorite or fragment in there, so what? They were found all the time.
               He literally did not know how to respond.
               "Frank? Did you hear me?"  The voice
was so reasonable, as if this was an everyday occurrence, like shopping at the
mall, or asking for a pack of cigarettes at a gas station.
               "Frank, the chest, if you please."
               Manny continued smiling. His friend continued
not.
               Still puzzled, still concerned, especially about
the non-smiling man (which was intentional, of course) positioned between him
and the door, Frankie finally found his voice.
               "I, I don't have it. It's, it's, it's not
here. It's still at work. I never took it."
               The two visitors looked at each other. The
seated one continued sitting, and nodded at the other one standing by the door,
who took a step toward Frank.
               "Seriously. I don't have it." He
looked around desperately, as if help would be available. "You have to
believe me. If I did, you could have it. It's just a box of rocks. A box of
rocks! What would I want with it?  Why would I try to keep it away from you? I sure don't want it."
               The larger man stepped toward Frank, two short,
measured steps.
               He was good.
               The man knew from experience that the
anticipation, the fear that built slowly, inexorably, starting in the back of
their mind, then rising from their stomach would create a deeper fear than the
threat of physical violence itself. That self-created fear was much more
effective.  Another step or two by him in this manner, and people would be
beginning to taste their own bile, the literal taste of fear.
               "Really, I can get it, but not right this
minute. I work tomorrow. I can get it for you. Honest." He kept glancing
back and forth between the two men, unsure of where the greater danger lay.
               "It's in a storage area at work. Come on,
honest. I'm not messing with you. I can get it. I will get it. Please!"
               Manny didn't say anything, but he believed him. He
obviously wasn't the sort to try to fight back. As he had said, what's in it
for him? It was very clear he would have just as soon gone back and had another
drink.  This was going to be easy, for a change.
               The other took one more step toward him, just
for effect. He enjoyed the look people gave him, the look of helpless
resignation, when they know they have given up everything , and they are still going to get a beating.
               That, and the smell. There was also the literal smell
of fear, to go with the taste. The sudden perspiration, the wiping of the hands
on their pants. In some, the wetting of the pants. This was what
he enjoyed. And he really did enjoy it.
               Of course, the pay was good, too.
               Manny held up his hand. "Relax, Mr. Notini.
We're not here to hurt you. Not at all. Sit down, please. I have an offer for
you. One I think you're going to like."
               Frankie slowly sat down. Mr. Notini? Mr . Notini?
    * * *
               A few minutes later, the men left. Frankie sat
there, stunned. He couldn't believe it. They hadn't kicked his ass.
               They hadn't even threatened him
               Well, not directly. They hadn't needed to, but
he knew, of course, if they had needed to...
    * * *
               And Manny had told him true. It was a good
offer. A very good offer. And he had called him Mr . Notini. That's
right, Mr . Notini. He stood, alone in his apartment once again, looking
around at his imaginary audience, glaring at each imaginary person, each one a
tormenter from his past.
               "That's Mister