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Authors: Robert Michael
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predictable
patterns.”
“Manipulation.”
“Why fool ourselves to think we win a game because we play
the game better than our competitors? Is it not easier to alter the rules of
the game? Then the win is sweeter.”
“You speak in riddles, Giselle. I am talking about real
lives here. You are messing with my life,” Jake allowed his anger to boil to
the surface. He could feel his face flush. He grabbed the edge of the table and
could feel its rough edge against the palm of his hand.
“You are right, of course. Jake, I have asked you directly
almost half a dozen times to join me. The implications of that are mysterious
to you, of course. I have not fully outlined the parameters of this arrangement.
Trust me, Jake; you will be happy that you chose to align your services to my
cause.”
“Trust you?”
“Despite your better judgment, yes. Some serious trouble is
coming Jake and the side you choose will determine your fate.”
Jake finished his milk and got out his wallet. He laid two
twenties on the table.
“I choose my side. I am my own faction.”
Giselle shook her head and looked at him with eyes full of
pity and disappointment.
“Mr. Monday. You do not even know what game you are playing.
You have no idea who else is playing. You do not know their positions. You are
blind, naïve, inexperienced and without an ally. How do you expect to win?”
Jake realized then that he was making the right decision. Giselle
felt threatened.
“I don’t, actually. Maybe I can take out a player or two in
the course of the game. That will be enough for me,” Jake said, seething. He
got up and walked around the table as Shawn returned with their drinks. He took
Giselle by the arm.
“Here you go. A porter and milk. Anything else I can get
you?” Shawn asked Giselle.
“Just a bill, sweetie. It appears my friend is ready to
leave,” Giselle said, her face glowing.
“I will be right back,” Shawn said, casting him an envious
glance.
If he only knew , Jake thought.
Jake held her arm in his hand. He could feel her flexing her
triceps.
“Tell me this: was this business or pleasure, Giselle?”
Sadness showed in her mouth.
“Both. Let me just say this, Jake.” She shook off his hand
and stared up at him, something like hurt or possible hate in her eyes. “You
were never happy at Galbraith. Your memories had been erased. You were
manipulated by as many as three different players. Your skills are invaluable, Mr. Monday. Do not underestimate your own importance. If I am
trying to lure you to my side, then you can be assured you are an asset.”
“It seems that being an asset is also making me a target,”
Jake said.
“That is exactly correct. You are either valuable or expendable,”
Giselle admitted.
“I will remember that,” Jake said. He walked out of the pub,
into the warm, humid night. The smells of the river wafted along Water Street
as he hailed a cab.
Jake looked at his hands. They were shaking. He knew it was
from pent-up anger, frustration, and disappointment. What Giselle had said had struck
a chord with Jake. He had hated his job. That was one memory that was fresh in
his mind. He had been miserable and dissatisfied.
Maybe that was the real Monday. Maybe the real Jake wished
for a different life, for a life he could not remember. It was there on the
periphery of his existence. Jake stepped into the cab and gave the driver
directions. His fate was calling him and he finally knew with a certainty what
he wanted. It was finally time to go home.
Chapter 9
What Are Friends For?
Hallie looked out the window. It was six am on Saturday and
the NY Times had not arrived yet. The paperboy once told her that the
distributor had delays and sometimes he waited up to an hour before he could he
could get his papers. She thought maybe her paperboy worked late on Saturdays. Who
could blame him?
The sun was bright and reflected off of her neighbors
windows. No one moved outside. In under an hour Mr.
patterns.”
“Manipulation.”
“Why fool ourselves to think we win a game because we play
the game better than our competitors? Is it not easier to alter the rules of
the game? Then the win is sweeter.”
“You speak in riddles, Giselle. I am talking about real
lives here. You are messing with my life,” Jake allowed his anger to boil to
the surface. He could feel his face flush. He grabbed the edge of the table and
could feel its rough edge against the palm of his hand.
“You are right, of course. Jake, I have asked you directly
almost half a dozen times to join me. The implications of that are mysterious
to you, of course. I have not fully outlined the parameters of this arrangement.
Trust me, Jake; you will be happy that you chose to align your services to my
cause.”
“Trust you?”
“Despite your better judgment, yes. Some serious trouble is
coming Jake and the side you choose will determine your fate.”
Jake finished his milk and got out his wallet. He laid two
twenties on the table.
“I choose my side. I am my own faction.”
Giselle shook her head and looked at him with eyes full of
pity and disappointment.
“Mr. Monday. You do not even know what game you are playing.
You have no idea who else is playing. You do not know their positions. You are
blind, naïve, inexperienced and without an ally. How do you expect to win?”
Jake realized then that he was making the right decision. Giselle
felt threatened.
“I don’t, actually. Maybe I can take out a player or two in
the course of the game. That will be enough for me,” Jake said, seething. He
got up and walked around the table as Shawn returned with their drinks. He took
Giselle by the arm.
“Here you go. A porter and milk. Anything else I can get
you?” Shawn asked Giselle.
“Just a bill, sweetie. It appears my friend is ready to
leave,” Giselle said, her face glowing.
“I will be right back,” Shawn said, casting him an envious
glance.
If he only knew , Jake thought.
Jake held her arm in his hand. He could feel her flexing her
triceps.
“Tell me this: was this business or pleasure, Giselle?”
Sadness showed in her mouth.
“Both. Let me just say this, Jake.” She shook off his hand
and stared up at him, something like hurt or possible hate in her eyes. “You
were never happy at Galbraith. Your memories had been erased. You were
manipulated by as many as three different players. Your skills are invaluable, Mr. Monday. Do not underestimate your own importance. If I am
trying to lure you to my side, then you can be assured you are an asset.”
“It seems that being an asset is also making me a target,”
Jake said.
“That is exactly correct. You are either valuable or expendable,”
Giselle admitted.
“I will remember that,” Jake said. He walked out of the pub,
into the warm, humid night. The smells of the river wafted along Water Street
as he hailed a cab.
Jake looked at his hands. They were shaking. He knew it was
from pent-up anger, frustration, and disappointment. What Giselle had said had struck
a chord with Jake. He had hated his job. That was one memory that was fresh in
his mind. He had been miserable and dissatisfied.
Maybe that was the real Monday. Maybe the real Jake wished
for a different life, for a life he could not remember. It was there on the
periphery of his existence. Jake stepped into the cab and gave the driver
directions. His fate was calling him and he finally knew with a certainty what
he wanted. It was finally time to go home.
Chapter 9
What Are Friends For?
Hallie looked out the window. It was six am on Saturday and
the NY Times had not arrived yet. The paperboy once told her that the
distributor had delays and sometimes he waited up to an hour before he could he
could get his papers. She thought maybe her paperboy worked late on Saturdays. Who
could blame him?
The sun was bright and reflected off of her neighbors
windows. No one moved outside. In under an hour Mr.
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