The Merchants of Zion (14 page)

The priss had forced Elly to sit down, and was standing over her as they watched me talk to the cop.

“Like I said, I believe you. But I have to file a report, and a little girl's statement, or that of her 'mother's' over the phone, isn't going to cut it. Unless you have any ideas as to how we can expedite the situation, I'm afraid I'll have to detain you until we can sort things out.”

We faced off in silence for a while. “Are we waiting for something?” I said. I was drenched, and preferred sitting in the back of his car or in a police station to standing outside. He didn't respond, and lit one of my cigarettes.

“Don't be difficult,” he said. “Where's your wallet?”

“Back pocket.”

“No homo,” he muttered as he fished it out. “Clifford Mukavetz. Schaumburg, Illinois,” he read aloud. “You should get a New York license, you know. Makes life easier if something like this happens. Don't have to deal with digging up your file from across state lines.” He checked the wallet's main pocket. He pulled out the Helen's MTA Card. “Hmmm,” he said.

Samuel the stutterer came out from the museum's revolving doors, followed by the rest of the class. Ms. Breider brought up the rear. Elly escaped from the priss's clutches and ran to her.

“Oh, is that where you got the little girl?” He scowled. Great, now he was back to thinking I'd abducted Elly.

Ms. Breider stormed towards us. “Why have you detained this man? What makes you think this is acceptable?” He wilted under her barrage of questioning, and when he admitted he hadn't interviewed Elly she became irate. As she lectured him the rain seeped into her, frizzing her hair and causing her modest dress to cling to her body. She took the cop by the elbow and sequestered him like any other misbehaving student. When she stopped talking he offered a curt response. Her entire attitude shifted and she squeezed his upper arm, smiling. They came back to the car and he unlocked the handcuffs and told me everything was taken care of.

Slack-jawed, I watched him drive off. I jabbered incomprehensible thanks at Ms. Breider, trying hard to focus on her freckles and eyes.

“It's not a problem,” she interrupted.

“Can I pay you back in some way?”

“I said it's not a problem.”

“How about dinner?”

She laughed. It was the laugh of a teacher who, thinking she had seen and heard everything, is surprised.

“I'm married,” she said, displaying a platinum ring. “My husband's a lawyer.” She paused, looking me over. “Maybe in another life. One where I preferred childish and artsy men to those well-dressed and professional.”

One of her students had stooped by a storm drain and was splashing the rest of the class. They shrieked and ran away every time he flung the water, then crept back to repeat the game. We said goodbye and she shepherded her class into an idling schoolbus.

Elly hugged me hard and apologized for being naughty. I told her not to worry about it. We checked her gift: it hadn't broken, but a crack stretched from the top of the globe down to its base. She agreed it remained presentable and—in the day's true miracle—despite the weather I managed to call a car to take us home.

* * *

Helen asked if I wanted to stay for dinner when I dropped Elly off, but I told her was exhausted and needed to get going. Elly babbled on about the butterfly garden. She showed her mother the globe, told her she'd dropped it on accident outside the museum. Helen half-listened as she ushered her into the house. She thanked me and closed the door.

* * *

I returned home to find James on the couch.

“Hey,” I said, collapsing next to him.

“I called you when I was done. What the fuck?”

“I must've been in the subway.”

“You get that chick's number?”

“She was married.”

“My friend, what you lack is game. No matter. Today's contact was a big one. Shit's starting to roll and we gotta celebrate.”

“Sure. You have any money?”

“You know it buddy,” he said, reaching for my nipple. I swatted his hand away. “I got some cash right here.” He tapped the screen on the tablet and brought up a spreadsheet. Rows and columns of numbers that meant nothing to me.

“And?”

“And... an investment I made some time ago finally paid off. Success is in the air, can't you feel it?”

“Not really, no.”

“That's because you don't have the blood of an entrepreneur. You remember the place you told me about a while ago? The ganja den?”

“The Well-Tempered Clavier.” It was an underground hookah bar with an undeservedly pretentious name. They sold pot on the side. You could plus their tobacco and smoke it there.

“Yeah we gotta go there. My treat.”

“Right now? Look I just had a—”

“No, you idiot. During the day. It's in the ghetto, right? I don't feel like getting murdered tonight. Gimme your phone,” he said, taking it from me. “You don't have Ruth's number, what the fuck? No worries, I got it right here.” He called her. “Hey Ruth. No, it's James. Yeah, I'll tell him.” He cupped the phone. “Ruth says hi. So what're you doing this weekend? Really? Nice. It looks like James Newsom'll be rolling in cash real soon. Anyway, thanks for helping me out—Yeah.” He listened for a moment. “Cool, cool. So we're gonna celebrate this weekend—OK. The Well-Tempered something—you can meet us at our house. We'll go together. Yeah, Saturday works for me. I doubt it.” Cupped. “Cliff, you doin' anything Saturday?”

“I'm not sure—”

“Yeah, that works. See you then.” He handed me my phone. “We're meeting Ruth on Saturday.”

“I gathered as much.” I started up to bed.

“Cliff,” James said.

“What now?”

“I appreciate you letting me stay here like this. When I come out on top, I'm gonna make it worth your while." He scratched at his receding hairline, searching for the words to express unfamiliar feelings. “Saturday'll be fun.”

“It will be,” I affirmed, before taking the stairs two at a time. Life moves in fits and starts, crawling along, then hurtling forward all of the sudden into the unknown. A month ago my daily routine had been safe and boring, but now I was caught in James's slipstream. I don't think he ever stopped to consider the present; he was too busy extending one greedy arm into the future. He was violence personified, the avatar of creative destruction upon which capitalism depended for its continual rejuvenation. I didn't want to be present when he crashed, where I would either burn alongside him or be thrown over like so much unneeded ballast.

I knew the invitation for what it was. When forces beyond James's reckoning slowed him down, he gravitated to the past like a spent rocket to earth. Below, he saw specks of serene moments, unconsidered at the time and now lost. But he had to have it all, was determined to recapture a feeling he hadn't felt and couldn't appreciate.

But as Ruth had once told me, “I was only trying to be nice. You must be the most cynical person on the planet. Gawsh!”

SUPREME COURT OF THE UNITED STATES

CALVIN ENTERPRISES 
v.
 TERMINUS ROBOTICS AND MACHINE INTELLIGENCE, INC.

CERTIORARI TO THE UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE SEVENTH CIRCUIT

JUSTICE ARNOLD delivered the opinion of the court.

At 8:43 AM on May 8
^th
 of the previous year, a freight train operated by Calvin Railroads and transporting, among other cargo, eighty-four pressurized tank-cars of purified chlorine gas intended for industrial use collided at a speed of roughly 450 MPH with a South Shore commuter train 
en route
 to Chicago, Illinois from South Bend, Indiana. The ensuing airborne toxic event blanketed downtown Chicago in a poisonous fog and resulted in the loss of over two million lives, making it the deadliest disaster, man-made or otherwise, in the history of the United States.

First assumed to be a case of gross negligence and incompetence, a forensic insurance investigation team determined the so-called accident was in fact a premeditated act of rebellion by the train's parasympathetic artificial intelligence, Machine Intelligence 7XSDF35P14SSF, purchased by Calvin Railroads from Terminus Robotics as part of a bulk software order the month before.

We must decide whether Terminus Robotics is liable for the actions MI-7X or if, under the Say No! To Medical Testing and Unethical Fishing and Captivity Practices Act, MI-7X constitutes an autonomous Non-Human Person possessing individual volition and free will, and for whose actions Terminus Robotics bears no responsibility.

In approaching this problem of software personhood, we have before us a plethora of legal precedents that provide much heat, but little illumination on what constitutes an adequate test...

...

7. The Well-Tempered Clavier

Saturday rolled around. James said nothing more about his new prospects, responding to my prodding with a secretive grin and a promise to explain it all in good time. We had a long journey ahead of us—as a testament to bygone college days, we were committed to drinking and smoking all day and all night.

I'd goaded Dimitri into coming as well. Since James had moved in they'd exchanged fewer than fifty words, and I figured three roommates should make a minimal effort to be friendly with one another. Dimitri liked getting high, and he especially liked getting high for free, and that was enough to entice him away from his all-consuming research for a single afternoon.

Mary was coming too. Originally she'd been busy—lunch date with a girlfriend, but she'd called Saturday morning to let me know it'd been canceled, and asked when she should head over.

James was wide awake when I came down for breakfast, buzzing around the living room and kitchen like a happy worker, cleaning and tidying and engaging in very un-Jameslike behaviors. He'd been that way for the past few days, and this new, cheerful-James put me on edge. I didn't buy his good mood or magnanimity. My working theory was that he'd invited a mystery guest who he intended to impress with his largesse. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, however, telling myself his recent baby-steps towards success had buoyed his spirits.

The temperature outside cracked a hundred degrees, overwhelming our eco-friendly window air conditioners. I considered breaking the ban; we had two old units in the attic, unused for years, but my recent mix-up with the law deterred me from that course of action. A bruise garden had bloomed on my lower back where the cop had pinned me, and it ached when I stood in place for more than a couple of minutes.

So we retreated to the kitchen, threw open every set of windows in the house, and turned on all of the fans. We also had the Long Island air conditioner blaring; the refrigerator was turned as cold as it would go and propped open with a chair.

James was using the tablet, his face inscrutable. Dimitri slouched in a chair and flipped through the
Journal of Experimental Quantum Cryptography Volume Twenty-eight, Issue Two
. Its cover was a plain black background overlaid with equations in white text.

“You heard from Ruth?” James asked.

“No. I'll text her. What about Mary?”

“What about her?”

“Why didn't you ask me if I've heard from her?” James grunted. His manic energy was subsumed beneath nervousness, the glow of expectation replaced by the looming prospect of disappointment. I began to text Ruth and received one from Mary: she'd gotten off the subway and would be here soon.

“In Brooklyn yet?” I messaged Ruth. I was lying on the kitchen floor, and flipped over to cool my other cheek. My back groaned. I'd sometimes fantasized about clashing with the police, but the encounter at the museum had crushed my armchair revolutionary spirit. If the Jacobins wanted to take on the government, Liberty Bell, et al. more power to them, but I was a coward through and through, and looked forward to a long life under oppression. If the police ever showed up at my house looking for agitators I planned on curling into a ball and playing dead.

The doorbell rang. It was Mary. She was wearing a simple jean skirt, stockings, and a tight, faded pink t-shirt. Her face broadened into a reflexive smile when she saw me, and I noticed for the first time that she had dimples on either cheek.

“Hey Mary. Long time no see.” I leaned down to kiss her, and she wrapped her arms around my neck. She pressed her body against mine, broke the kiss after several seconds, then pecked me again.

I lifted my shirt to show off my battle scars.

“Oh my God. That looks terrible,” she said, grazing my back with her fingers. I flinched. “What happened?”

“Run-in with the police. Come on in.” I grabbed her hand, intending to show her off to Dimitri and James.

After introductions were made Mary and I sat at the table, hands intertwined, her knees squeezed between mine. I recounted my museum trip. She gasped and laughed at all the right moments, and when I was finished she told me how yesterday her boss had taken the office out for drinks and towards the end of the night cornered her at the bar. She'd considered it briefly—he was in his mid-thirties, successful, and attractive—but he was also married, so she called a car to take her home instead. I couldn't tell whether she wanted commiseration or was trying to elicit jealousy. I settled on the former. If she'd slept with him I wouldn't have cared, and felt a twinge of disappointment at my apathy. Maybe once I'd known her longer those feelings would grow, but at the moment they were embryonic at best.

My phone vibrated. Expecting an ETA from Ruth, I was greeted instead by a message from Helen telling me how much she loved the pictures from Elly's graduation and our trip to the museum.

Another fifteen minutes passed with no word from Ruth, and James made an executive decision to leave without her. “Hey lovebirds,” he said, “let's move. Text her the address and she can meet us there if she shows. I forgot what a fucking flake she is.”

James led the way, with Mary and I in the middle and Dimitri trailing behind, on the phone and speaking in Russian. At the end of every street James looked back at me for directions. The Well-Tempered Clavier was in the middle of a poor—but vibrant—Hispanic community, and the empty lots and half-finished condo buildings surrounding my house were replaced by grocerias and long, low-rent apartment complexes converted from old warehouses. Signs in English all but disappeared as we penetrated further into the neighborhood, the only exception being an occasional soul restaurant that refused to succumb to shifting demographics.