Frank Bismuth woke with his head
on his desk in a pool of his own drool.
As his trunk rose from the mahogany
roll top, he knocked a
bottle of Grey Goose off. It landed
in the waste basket. Luckily both
the bottle and basket were empty.
This was the only kind of luck Frank
ever seemed to have.
It was the third day of the first case
he'd had in months. He celebrated
the advance in advance, which is
why he found himself at his desk in
the shape he was in. His office was
a mess..not just disorganized, but
littered with trash. Frank felt it was
the maid's job to clean it up. The
fact that he didn't have a maid didn't
seem to upset this logic.
This is the part of the job he hated:
the work. He'd made his fame a few
years ago by saving a child from
some kidnappers. The papers made
him into a hero, but the actual story
was quite different. He was apartment
hunting, and he went to the wrong
address. When he knocked at the door,
he heard sounds of a commotion and
a girl crying. The man who came to
the door looked like Bluto, and told
Frank to scram. A small lightbulb
went off in Frank's head, and he
called the police.
This was a real case...a dognapping.
An expensive dog. How expensive?
When he asked the owner, she said:
"If you have to ask, you don't need to
know." The insurance company made
her hire a detective as part of her due
diligence. The client didn't care if he
found the dog. He didn't care as long
as he was being paid. There was only
one party that cared.
There was a knock at the door. Frank
went over, opened it, and peeked out.
"Good morning, Sir. I'm Stan Smith,
agent for Heartfelt Insurance Company.
I'd like to speak with you about Mrs.
Sherman's dog and the progress you're
making on the case." "Hey, Stan,
where's Ollie?" "What?" "Never mind....
say, let's go downstairs for some coffee...
we can talk there."
Frank took Stan to the diner downstairs.
He listened to the adjuster with his special
face that made it seem like he was
paying attention. He was merely waiting
for Stan to stop speaking so he could
lay on his detective spiel. He knew how
to lay it on thick. At the end of their
conversation, the adjuster seemed
somewhat satisfied and somewhat
confused. Frank knew he wouldn't be
seeing him again real soon.
Frank wondered how he was going to
solve the case. A ransom note gave a
figure, but no other instructions. He
thought of finding a similar dog and
making it up to look like the lost pup.
He thought of finding a road kill dog,
putting it in a box and taking it to the
lady. "Sorry, Mrs., but this is all that
was left of him." Frank was a lazy
bastard, no doubt. But he was clever,
and it had saved his ass. But this
time he was stumped.
Frank had a brainstorm. It was a crazy
idea, but it was the only one he had.
He telephoned Mrs. Sherman. "Miz.
Sherman, I have a lead on your dog.
It seems the kidnappers wanted your
dog as a trophy. They're wealthy
Brazilians and to get close to them,
I'll have to appear as a rich American
businessman, stay in the best hotel,
throw some money around to get
information. If you want, I can be in
Rio in a day."
Obviously the woman wasn't worried
about the money, because in four
hours Frank was on a Lear jet sipping
Crown Royal and eating lobster tail.
He had no idea what he'd do next, but
he was enjoying the ride wherever it was
leading. When he arrived at the hotel,
a letter was waiting for him with a
platinum Visa card. He immediately
went out and bought a new wardrobe.
He wanted to look like a cross between
a businessman and and a high society
pimp...something like Donald Trump.
He dyed his hair black and slicked it
back to a glossy arrogance. He figured
the people he was looking for would be
at the casino, so, after a lunch of steak
tartar and champagne, that's
where he headed.
The whales at the casino didn't liked
to be bothered. They had their own
private rooms and staff to keep lesser
people away. Frank had a substantial
credit line, and he had hired several
young actors and actresses to play his
posse. With his innate bullshit swagger,
he managed to seat himself at a table
with some high rollers. His intention
was to lose...a lot. In an hour he was
down several hundred thousand. Frank
could make people laugh, which had
saved his life a couple of times. He
played the crowd and got a few
chuckles out of them. There was one
player that the others seemed to be
paying attention to. He was the biggest
fish in the pond, Frank reckoned. He
kept playing until he found himself one
on one with this man. They were playing
Texas no limit hold 'em. The table had
an obvious flush going, but Frank had
flopped a full house. They were betting
heavily. Frank folded, and the man took
the pot. Frank got up and said: "Well,
looks like enough fun for me tonight!"
He tipped the help generously, and
walked out. The other players
just stared as he left.
The next morning Frank was having
brunch and a well dressed man walked
up to his table. He introduced himself.
"Sir, my name is Thornvold Arnquist.
You were playing poker last night with
a gentleman that is my employer. Do
you mind if I sit down?"
"Please" Frank responded.
"You lost quite a sum to my employer
last night, and he was concerned after
your well being, that you were alright,
and that there were no hard feelings."
"Well, it's not a big deal, but I did have
to kill my second wife...NO! no! That's
a joke! tell him not to worry, I'm a big
boy. I wouldn't have been there if I
couldn't afford to lose."
"My employer...let's call him Bill...was
very impressed as you left the room
that you didn't seem at all upset. He's
not only an avid poker player, but he's
an astute reader of character, and he
would be pleased to have dinner with
you this evening at his hotel, if you
would be so inclined."
"Sure! At least I can get a dinner back
from him!"
"Fine. Eight o'clock at the Empire Hotel.
You will be shown to his rooms."
"I'll be there."
The man left. Frank finished his eggs
Benedict. Something had happened.
Here was his opportunity. What about
the dog and the old lady? They were
somewhere at the back of his mind on
a shelf labeled "to be dealt with later."
He couldn't wait to hear what this rich
fat pig wanted to tell him.
He arrived at the hotel punctually. This
was the best hotel in Rio, five star plus.
He gave his card to the concierge, who
led him past a bank of elevators to a
private one. This took him to the
penthouse, where a butler ushered him
into a vast drawing room. "Would the
gentleman care for a cocktail?" "No,
thanks...lemonade or something."
"Very good. Drugs? We have hashish
and the finest sinsemilla. We prefer to
serve opium after desert."
"Well, yeah, a joint would be nice."
"We have a water pipe I'm sure you
will enjoy. Please make yourself
comfortable."
(That was a surprise! Maybe the old
toad is more hip than I thought he
could be.)
Frank sat down at a grouping of three
chairs and a mahogany coffee table.
There was an ash tray there, so Frank
took out his Delicados and lit one up. In
a couple of minutes the butler returned
with another servant carrying a tray. The
butler placed a small water pipe in front
of him, and beside it a silver bowl of green
herb. The water pipe itself was a work of
art. It was blown glass encased in filigree
sliver work depicting some kind of plant.
One smoked from a tube that resembled
a vine. The glasswork was colored to
appear as foliage. Lemonade in a crystal
glass was also placed in front of him.
"Your host will be joining you in a moment.
If you should need anything, there is a
button on the table to press."
"Thanks for everything....uh...what's your
name?"
"You may call me Reggie or Reginald,
Sir, which ever you prefer."
Not bad....so far. Reggie and the other
servant disappeared somewhere at the
other end of the room. Impeccable
furnishings...not antique, rather built for
the space by master carpenters. A duel
could properly take place in this hall. The
formality of the butler along with the
familiarity of calling him Reggie felt...
good...wholesome somehow. He took a
toke from the water pipe and wondered
how his host did business this way.Then
he remembered that salesmen always
soften you up before they go in for the
kill. But, really, Frank didn't have much
to lose. He was on his client's dime...he
might not "find the dog" for a while. His
host could make him disappear, he
thought, if he'd wanted to. But he wanted
something from Frank. What was that?
"Good evening, Frank. I hope It's alright
to be familiar."
The fat man, looking eerily similar to
Sidney Greenstreet,strode into the room
and took Frank's hand in both of his
meaty paws and shook it firmly.
"Of course it is. But, what do I call you?"
"I want you to call me Shorty for now.
Partly to keep my identity private for a
while until we see if we have business
together, and partly because I think
it's funny."
"OK, uh, Shorty, but forgive me if I smile
once in a while."
"One is supposed to smile, Frank, and
laugh. Why do you think I have all this
wealth? So I can be miserable?"
"No, of course not, but I don't know
many rich people that aren't still obsessed
with money...and miserable because
of it."
"Absolutely, Frank. But you hadn't meet
me yet."
"Yeah, well, why am I meeting you?
What's this all about?"
"First, Frank, I have to tell you I know a
lot about you. I know you're on an errand
for someone rich...perhaps you're looking
for something for them. I know you came
to the casino to look for information. I know
you joined the game to scout out the
players. And I know you lost that hand to
me to make an impression on me because
you think I'm the one that might be able to
help you. You think I'm the big dog. And,
you're right.
Whatever you need for your client, I'm sure
I can help you. What's the problem?"
"She lost her dog."
"All this because she lost her dog......?"
Frank took a photo from his wallet and
showed Shorty.
"It's rare and expensive and she's rich
and she's paying me. What can I say?"
Shorty took the photo, took out his cell
phone and walked about ten feet away.
He made a couple of calls. At one
point, it looked like he was scanning
the photo into the cell phone. A couple
more calls.
"Alright, we should know something
shortly. Now we should get to what
you're wondering: what could I
possibly want from you?"
"It had crossed my mind."
"I read you at the poker table. Nobody
else did. They bought your story, and
these are serious guys, serious players,
like me, but for some reason you were
invisible to them. I want to hire you...to
be around when I need you, because,
if you can fool them, you can also see
through them. Poker, business,
markets, it's all a game. You see
through the game."
The butler approached with a phone.
Shorty walked away a little again.
A five minute conversation. Shorty
walked back.
"OK, they found the dog on the black
market and it's on the way back to it's
owner, who has been informed. The
casino has graciously cut your losses
at the table, which have been paid,
and your dog lady has deposited
your fee in your bank. Hungry?"
"Now that you mention it, I do have
the munchies. Say, I appreciate the
intoxicants, but I thought rich people,
besides alcohol, were into stuff like
cocaine, meth....what gives?"
"Frank, I'm an old hippie. When the
CIA infiltrated the San Francisco scene
and began exchanging pot and LSD
for meth and heroin, I saw what they
were doing and got out. When I sit
across from a guy at a business
deal in a silk suit gritting his teeth,
I know exactly where he's been."
Dinner was steak au poivre, asparagus
and baked, stuffed potatoes, served with
a 1959 Chateau Lafite. They retired to
Shorty's study for majoun and brandy.
"The human species is in decline,"
Shorty started. "Common sense no
longer has the value it once had.
People are led into believing
absurdities because lies are continuously
beaten into their heads, just like Goebbels
and Orwell said they would be. It's rarer
and rarer to run into people you meet
for the first time and feel here is an honest,
down to earth person. This is a symptom
of the social engineering project that has
been run by the sociopaths in charge of
the system since, at least, the time of the
First World War. Freud, the cocaine addict
that gave us useless psychotherapy
and barbaric shock treatment also
planted the seeds for Madison Avenue
which convinced us of our brave new
world. And the result is we live in a Ponzi
scheme paradise with the rent coming due."
"Uh, ok. So, what are you trying to do?"
"I'm trying to do what you did the other
night. I'm trying to infiltrate their poker
game, their power and money game,
so I can disrupt it...perhaps even destroy
it from within. To do that, I need people
with your skill at being invisible. That
night you were invisible even at the end
when you lost and left so nonplused.
Invisible even when you were visible.
You can get to their center, get information,
plant seeds of doubt and discord. Did you
ever see the movie Yojimbo? It's a
samurai movie where a lone ronin defeats
two opposing clans simply by pitting them
against each other through rumor an
innuendo. It's really as simple as that.
Frank, these people are wrapped so tight.
But they're insulated. That's why someone
needs to get close."
"So, what do I get out of it?"
"For three years of work you get a
first class ticket to Alpha Centauri, the
New Colony, a beautiful retirement
home and income for the rest of
your life, before Nibiru destroys
the earth."
"Why go to the trouble if Nibiru is going to
destroy the earth anyway?"
"It's a living."
