"Mr Beaumont?"

[i]This is fucking repulsive, Annie. I ask you for one damn thing: A decent coffee. Can’t you manage that?[/i] T. Beaumont scowled, the stained mug a half inch from his bottom lip, and conceded to take another sip of his liquidised dirt; he needed the caffeine after all. Lowering the mug onto an untidy stack of NYSE papers, he proceeded to crack the bones in his fingers in succession. The NYSE papers, as foreboding as their contents had been, had become his favourite coaster.

The other contents of his desk included a typewriter, a framed photograph, which Beaumont would occasionally look over to, before averting his eyes, his expression bitter, and a copy of the day’s [i]New York Times[/i], dated November 22nd, 1927. The front page read:

[i]BROOKLYN LAWYER GETS PRISON TERM; C.F. Wilcox, Member of bar for 25 Years, Sentenced to Sing as Will Forger.[/i] 

Beaumont had read the headline and no further. As he saw it, it was becoming more and more difficult to survive by making an honest living.  

"Mr. Beaumont, there is—"

"Ah, there you are. Have you got a moment?"

Annie was given less than half a second to respond.

"Good, I'll try and make this quick." Beaumont stood, walking from one side of his large oaken desk to the other, the side closest the door, and reached for his mug, still steaming. "Here."

He offered the cup to his secretary, who took it without hesitation, and proceeded to stand, not attempting any form of reprieve, but waiting for Mr. Beaumont to resume speaking. It was easier this way.

Eventually, he did, indifference forced into his tone. "Annie, I have asked you time and time again, but I'm afraid I'll have to ask you once more. Are you trying to poison me?"

"No, Mr. Beaumont, I would never do that." Annie replied with haste, mustering as much sincerity as she could to bolster her claim.

"Then why do you insist on bringing me this shit?" Beaumont spat, all pretence gone as quickly as it had arrived.

"I'm sorry, Mr Beaumont," Annie pleaded in her thick Brooklyn accent. "I just didn't know what else to do! The place you like on Trinity always takes too long to come back from, your drink would be cold by the time I got through the doors! I only picked up a jar of coffee beans from a grocers so I could bring your drinks to you hot, honest. I'm sorry if I messed up Mr. Beaumont, I'll do better in future." She averted her eyes towards the end of her defence, before meeting Beaumont's hard gaze once again, to add: "Plus, those beans are my favourite, so I thought you might like them"

"Mph. Sounds like indolence to me. Awfully convenient for you, isn't it? Why would you actually go and pick me up a barista's coffee, when you can serve me a load of unpalatable ones from the office without so much as lifting a finger?" Beaumont looked her over, studying her demeanour with intensity, as he often did when speaking with others, it was good practice after all. He could feel her apprehension, almost smell her discomfort. "I'm docking you 20 cents." He watched Annie's face deflate as he spoke those words, but pressed on regardless. "Now, why did you come to see me?"

Annie made an effort to appear unaffected by her loss in pay, to an uncertain avail. "There's a Mr. Brandt here to see you. No appointment though. But he's—"

"No appointment? It's awfully presumptuous for you to say that he is here to see me then, I have made no choice yet. Tell me, what did this man say he wants?"

"A business proposition, he said. Wasn't specific, but I didn't press it. Suppose it's not my place to know, being a secretary and all." Annie knew not to get involved in company affairs, and also knew that it was best to affirm that knowledge every now and again. It helped her to avoid constant lectures on workplace efficiency and the trivialisation of company secrets.

[i]Glad she didn't ask him, we don't need the assistants chattering about every opportunity that passes through this place, it breeds dissonance.[/i] Beaumont did not wish to entertain another stuffy, pretentious businessman, or, even worse, another blue sky kid that had just graduated and thought the world was his oyster. He didn't even want to entertain his wife and children, but would do so if it was in any way beneficial to him. So it was that once he had heard the unannounced visitor's Jewish surname, he had internally begun to pay attention. It could be that a Jewish consortium had become interested in his office, or it could be something significantly less exciting. Regardless, it had piqued his interest. Annie's next words burst his bubble.

"I'll need to go and bring the man in though, he's blind, and walks with a cane."

"Blind?" Beaumont snarled. "Tell him I'm busy and send him on his way. There is no room for anything that is broken in places of power and affluence. If there were, we would be instructed by the many blacks, retards, and communists of the world."

"Forgive me for saying so Mr. Beaumont but that seems very unkind. The man can't see, yet he's come here to see you. Clearly this is important to him. I know if I were blind, I would only travel if I had good reason to." Annie considered her words. "Well, I think so at least."

Beaumont tutted, turning and returning to his desk's chair, sitting and wiping at the ring marks disfiguring his sheets. Annie was still where she had been, a judging look upon her face, and a mug of terrible coffee still in her grasp. "There's no space for kindness in business. Those with money and power do not go into the market seeking friendship, only more of what they already have. The ability to function in office and become prosperous is essentially the admission that you are either immoral, asocial, selfish, discriminatory, ruthless, or drunk. Usually some combination of the lot."

"Mr. Beaumont, I must insist—"

Beaumont made a point of audibly amplifying his sigh, and then motioned towards the door, which had been ajar since Annie entered. "If you are unable to send him away with a clear conscience, then by all means send him in, but do not expect me to treat the man in any special way because of his affliction. And Annie, I implore you, please do not offer him a cup of that coffee. The man does not need to lose his sense of taste too. In fact, feel free to keep the rest of that jar, you did say it was your favourite after all."

Annie was greatly surprised by Beaumont's generosity. "But that jar cost 62 cents and you only docked me 20... Sir, are you sure?" Annie worried that this might be a joke at her expense, or worse, a test, to see if she was as greedy as she is lazy. Beaumont's next words helped to reassure her, and she seemed to relax somewhat.

"Of course I'm sure. Have you ever seen me appear as unsure of anything? Now, please, go and fetch Mr. Brandt, he has waited long enough, and that reception room is awfully dingy, I should hate to be forced to sit in it for any prolonged period of time. Then again, I suppose a blind man must find every sight drab, but that's not the point, is it? Now, hurry and fetch him, Annie."
*****                                                          
Once Annie had left to bring him Mr. Brandt, Beaumont sat, thinking his concession over. [i]Why did I agree to meet with the blind man, anyway?[/i] He slowly ground his teeth as he played back the recent conversation in his mind. [i]I suppose Annie's insistence may have had something to do with it[/i], he internally grumbled. It was unlike Beaumont to change his mind once it was made up, he was a firm believer in gut feelings, and saw pragmatics as a tool with which he could change the mind of others, but not something with which he could be cajoled or otherwise persuaded. Then what had made him give in so easily? While it was true that he did have a soft spot for Annie, a simple and honest young woman, he did not typically give her so much of an inch of leeway whilst on the clock, nor did he often, if ever, do as she asked.

[i]Come to think of it, when does Annie insist about anything? She didn't have a word to say when I docked her pay. Then, I suppose she always has been quite liberal, it's not shocking that she didn't want me to upset him. I'd have to assume that he's operating alone, or in a small circle. I mean really, half of a meeting boils down to sign language and other subtle indicators. How can you pick up on those things, and use them to your advantage, if you can't see? This is going to be a waste of time, of that I'm quite sure.[/i] Growling, he leaned backwards in his chair, and moved to adjust his tie, before halting.

Usually, Beaumont would make at least a moderate effort to ensure that he looked presentable when meeting with prospective partners and investors, and reached to fix his tie out of habit. It was only when he realised that this particular meeting was with a blind man, that he refrained from straightening his attire. Softly laughing, he considered the fact that he could most likely undress, and sit the entire meeting naked, without the other party being any the wiser. His mocking contemplation was cut short by a soft knock at the door.

He called "Enter," and Annie walked in, softly laughing in discordant tones, as if she was finding it difficult to keep a lid on her building amusement. All the while, a man was walking alongside her, his arm entwined with her's, his smooth, melodious voice appearing to enthrall the young secretary.

"And then I said: 'I don't care which hue it is, I don't know the difference!' and he proceeded to tell me that I must be an imbecile, as any man of notability would know these things! Honestly, I've never met such a callous and impertinent tailor in all of my life, and I've met them all."

"Well surely you can't have met them all! There would be too many, you would never have the time," Annie said, a peculiar inflection in her voice which Beaumont hadn't heard previously.

"Well, dear, you clearly haven't an inkling of the lengths a good man will go to in order to procure a lovely suit. And my suits are rather lovely, or so I have been told. I, unfortunately, will never be able to visually appreciate art, so I allow others to experience art through me. The allure of aestheticism is not lost on me. It isn't even a difficult concept, in essence."

Beaumont was unsure what to think of the man named Brandt, who had so casually strolled through his door, secretary on his arm, spinning tales and speaking in a most lavender cadence. His accent was peculiar, it did not resemble that of the Brooklyn Jews, and in fact it did not sound American at all. One might say that such an accent belonged somewhere in the Middle East, but this man was as Caucasian as they came, in appearance at least.

In regards to Brandt’s suit, Beaumont had to admit that it was spectacular. It was sharp, exquisitely fitted, and a deep cerulean, which contrasted with the man’s burgundy tie, dark brogues, and reflective violet shades. His cane, a deep violet, adorned with a metallic Star of David at the tip, looked more befitting to an aristocrat or noble than a young, blind Jew. 

And he definitely was young, lacking in facial hair, barely a line upon his face, and no outward signs of age upon his visage. Beaumont thought the man might have been twenty-five, at a stretch. His hair, unmarred by any headwear, was short, straight and dark. [i]So, I’m meeting with a young dandy, with too much money to spend.[/i] Beaumont flashed a small smile. [i]Wait, better: A young dandy, with too much money to spend, who insists on spending it anyway, on the most frivolous and silly of things to boot. And now he wants to bring his money here, to me.[/i] Beaumont concluded that this may not be the waste of time that he had anticipated. As he thought so, the blind man turned to face him.

“Ah, I assume you must be Theodore? Wonderful to meet you, I’m very thankful to your delightful assistant for helping me find this place, I might have had a little trouble otherwise, I’m afraid.”

Beaumont let out a nervous cough. “Y-Yes, I am Theodore, but I would prefer that you refer to me as Mr. Beaumont. Ah… Would you like me to show you to your seat?”

Brandt began venturing across the room, tapping his cane as he went, it’s hard tip clanking against the wooden floorboards as he slowly moved around. “It is best that I get a good idea for the layout of a place myself, otherwise I’m forced to rely upon the people around me all too often. Horrible thing, having to have faith in another, especially when it is their word that is the difference between my walking onto a boat, or plunging into the sea. But, you do not want to hear these things, you want me to find my seat so that we may begin.” As Brandt finished his sentence, his cane tapped a wooden chair leg, situated on the visitor’s side of Beaumont’s desk, facing the window. “Ah, I believe this to be it, how convenient.” He sat, still and composed, a touch of a smile ever-present.

All the while, Annie was giving Beaumont an incredulous look. “Theodore?” She asked, her disbelief mixed with a small accompaniment of giggles. “I always knew your first name began with a T, Sir, but I never would have guessed—“

Beaumont was grateful that he didn’t need to hide his glare, because he couldn’t. He did, however, keep his tone level. Brandt could still hear after all. “Annie, would you please?” He gestured at the door. “Mr. Brandt and I have some business to discuss.” 

Sensing her boss’s irritation, Annie quickly made for the door, before stopping and turning to Brandt, who still sat facing the window, not moving in the slightest. “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Brandt.”

Brandt didn’t turn to face Annie, and neither did his voice. “And you too, dear.” It could have been construed as dismissive, but Annie seemed unaffected by Brandt’s response, and retained her smile as she went to the door and proceeded to close it, leaving the two men alone.

Once Annie had left, Beaumont took a second to think. [i]What’s got her acting so giddy? Oh, what does it matter? What I’d like to know is how he knew where to look in order to face me when he walked in, scared the shit out of me.[/i] As Beaumont walked back to his seat, he planted his inquisitive eyes on Mr. Brandt, and saw nothing but an empty vessel. [i]How can he exercise that level of calm? He almost looks asleep. Come to think of it, how did he know my first name? I suppose it can’t be that hard to find out, but I don’t exactly advertise it.[/i] 

And then, the statue spoke. “Stoicism is such a wonderful thing. I find it so at least. One’s ability to sit, nonchalant and unperturbed, with an air of total indifference, is a very valuable tool indeed. I would venture to say that it is one of the most powerful tricks in my repertoire. But I haven’t come here for tricks, nor a game of words, Theodore, so I would appreciate it if we could get straight down to business.”

Beaumont bit his tongue. He knew that if he voiced his frustration too openly, he would give Brandt an advantage in their negotiations before they had even begun. He could, by all means, berate the man, who had swanked into his office, and now sat, insisting on calling him by his forename, but that would get him nowhere. [i]This deal could be too good to pass up, I need to give him a bit of a free hand.[/i] Options evaluated, he replied. “If you do insist on calling me by my first name, Mr. Brandt, may I know yours?”

Brandt smiled, rows of perfect teeth shining in the light of the sun. “Certainly, call me Avi, if you so wish. I like my name, nice and simple, no fuss. Yours, however, is all convoluted.” He proceeded to phonetically sound out the word Theodore. “It’s simply too long. It’s no wonder that you prefer your surname, which is a liveable two syllables.” At this point, Brandt held up a finger, seemingly in thought, before lowering his hand and lightly slapping the light of his chair. “I’ve got it. I can just call you Teddy, or Ted. My, I don’t know how you haven’t thought of that before.”

The inevitable grumble began to creep back into Beaumont’s tone, it could only stay away so long, especially during discussions such as this one. “Please, Avi, feel free to call me Theodore, or Ted.”

“Not Teddy? It was my favourite of the two.”

“Not Teddy. I’m sorry to say that I dislike that name.”

“A shame, it seems the time I spent considering the matter was wasted.” Brandt moved his hand up, half closed, and appeared to examine his fingernails, although that was impossible. Each of them was filed and glistening. “There is no point now, I will call you Theodore, and we will move on. This has side tracked us for long enough. Now, do you mind if I make myself a little more comfortable? I would smoke, if you do not mind.”

Beaumont stifled a sigh, rubbing his eyes as he said: “By all means.”

Brandt nodded his thanks, before pulling a small leather sleeve out of his suit jacket, which he opened, revealing four cigars. He deftly removed one from its sleeve, examining its breadth with a soft touch, and then pulled a guillotined cutter from his jacket, which he used to slice the end, placing the cut base on the desk. Beaumont watched, silently admiring the blind man’s grace. The way he carried himself, and how dexterous he seemed, it was difficult to fathom that this man was impaired. What also intrigued him was Brandt’s taste, similar to his own, and he couldn’t help but voice it. “Are those—“

“26’ Dominican coronas? Why yes, good eye, Theodore. Would you like one?”

Beaumont would usually see this as a difficult question. Accept the offering of a gift, and you are in another’s debt. Refuse, and you run the risk of offending the other party. However, Beaumont was not seeing things how he usually would, enchanted by Brandt’s elegance, and impressed by his choice in smokes. So it was that he agreed to partake, commenting on the complexity of the corona’s taste as he lit one.

After a few moments, Brandt spoke once again. “I am very glad that you allowed me to see you today, Theodore, although I do wish you would have fixed up your tie, at least.”

This caught Beaumont completely off guard, whose shock quickly gave way to indignation. “How can you know that? You’re not blind at all, are you? A conman, come to win me over with fantastic speeches and fancy clothes, it’s deplorable.”

Brandt smiled, leaning in closer to Beaumont, hand around his chin. “Yes, I agree, although I also feel that there is no room for ethics in business. I am not here to make friends with you, let me make that clear, I choose my friends for their handsome faces. Besides, I am often immoral, selfish, discriminatory, tenacious, and intoxicated. In fact, I am usually all of these things at once. Which leads me to my next point, would you like a stiff drink? I’m sure you have a bar somewhere in this office, everyone who can afford to be is drunk at work these days.”

“While I do feel betrayed by your deception, I must admit that your reasoning sounds very similar to something I have said regarding you, not long ago. In fact, it is eerily like what I said. Were you listening in on me?”

Brandt stood then, walking over to where indeed a small bar sat, in the corner of the office, with no direction, but still tapping his cane as he went, much to Beaumont’s chagrin. 

“Even when you think you know all of what a man has to offer, do not make assumptions, nor accusations. It could be that our ideologies are the same, or that it is all a result of coincidence, but regardless, it should not bother you. The correlation between our speeches is a minor detail, and will not be a defining matter of this meeting, nor will it be memorable.” As Brandt reached the bar, he turned. “What does bother me, apart from your possession of alcohol during the prohibition, which really doesn’t bother me at all, is that you haven’t answered my question. And, what will be memorable, is the drink I am about to make you. So, what will it be, Teddy?”

“I have asked you to refrain from calling me that.” Beaumont barked, voice raised. “I do not like the name. You have come into my office, lied to me, and then gone on to insult me, by doing what I have asked you not to. Why do you insist on goading me?”

“Yes, yes, I know you do not like that name, you have said.” Brandt dismissively flicked his hand as he spoke, before dropping his tone, speaking in a silkier voice, one that reminded Beaumont of how the Jew had spoken upon entering the room. “It is what your sister used to call you, is it not?” Beaumont was speechless, and slightly pale at his words. “How long ago was it? Thirty years? You were eight, she was ten, and the whole family was staying at the quaint little lodge in Louisiana. Hmm, that rolls off the tongue doesn’t it? ‘Little lodge in Lousiana’. But anyway, yes, it was her favourite moniker for you then, wasn’t it? And you two got along like a house on fire, didn’t you? I mean of course, you would argue, but going away to the lodge was always your chance to bond, was it not? But then, the accident happened. Devastation, despair... Your family, quite rightly so, never visited the lodge again!” Brandt paused for a moment, studying Beaumont, in stark contrast to the usual happenings in Beaumont’s office. Beaumont looked sombre, his eyes were trained on Brandt, and he was unflinching in his mien. “You must miss her terribly.” Brandt added, his head momentarily bowed in what one might assume was an attempt at respect.

When Beaumont replied, his tone was hard and serious. “You are not here for a business proposition, in any sense of the words. You lie about being blind, you attempt to irk me, and have the goddamn audacity to talk to me about my sister! Now, I would love more than anything to kick you right out the door, and get you away from me, but I have to know something. How do you know as much as you do about my life? I make it a point not to speak of my personal life to others, with the exception of my wife, and I’m sure you do not know her. If you are a rival, and this is your way of presenting yourself to me, then you have my attention, and my frustration.”

At this, Brandt laughed, a charming, musical thing. “I will answer you these questions, I feel that I may owe you this small courtesy, at least. Besides, you look very confused right now.” Brandt went about gathering the ingredients and making a pair of martinis, answering Beaumont’s questions as he did so. “Now, you may think me a liar, but what I say here is the truth. I most definitely have an offer for you, one that I believe will intrigue you greatly.” He shook the ingredients together as he spoke. 

“How I know of your sister? I will say this: I do not know everything, but I do know a great many things, more than anyone I have ever met. But then, I do have an advantage. The thing I find funny... Predictable, but humorous…” He drained the shaker into two cocktail glasses. “Is that you felt the need to ask about my knowledge. It has always been this way, in the past I have been referred to as seer, clairvoyant, sage like… Of course, I have been called many other things, too. You’ve likely heard of me, by reputation at least.” He made to walk back, martini in each hand, cane tucked under his arm. “And honestly, Theodore, a rival? You do think highly of yourself.” 

Brandt placed the martini down, on the FYSE papers Beaumont had used earlier, and then sauntered back to his seat, still holding his own martini. “As for me being blind, well…” He removed his shades, looking directly at Beaumont. “You decide.”

When Beaumont looked back at Brandt, the man who had lied about his inability to see, he did not see the dark, stunning eyes that he had expected. In fact, he saw nothing at all: The man’s eyes, if they could be called such, had no cornea, no iris, no colour, nothing. They were white, transparent, and blank. Yet, this man had demonstrated that he can see.

“What the hell are you?” Beaumont exclaimed. “Unless I’m mistaken you aren’t a magician, which leads me to conclude that you’re somehow inhuman, or some freak of nature.”

A grin stretched across the creature known as Brandt’s face. “You’re warm, Theodore, keep guessing… Although, I suppose I could be seen as a magician, in a sense.”

Beaumont bore his teeth. “I’m not going to play your games anymore, state your business or leave.”

“The nature of my business demands that you understand just who, or what, if you prefer, I am. It is preferable if you come to realise this on your own, so please, think about it, I am not trying to be difficult here. Consider this, if it will help: It is better to reign in hell, than to serve in heaven.”

“You are an agent of Satan?” Beaumont enquired, disbelieving.

“An agent? You insult me.” Brandt laughed, not sounding insulted in the slightest. “I am the definite article. In other words, I am the agent of Satan, as you call him, for he is me.” As he finished his sentence, he put his shades back on, and then removed them once again, a pair of piercing dark cyan eyes in the space the once blank eyes had left. “And, I suppose, I am also a magician of sorts. Satisfied?”

“More confused than anything, the fuck have I done to warrant a visit from you?”

Brandt leaned forwards, regarding Beaumont with his new eyes. “Do you not fear me? I have been referred to as evil incarnate, amongst other things, yet you do not appear as alarmed in the slightest by my revelation.”

“There isn’t enough time in the day for me to worry, I have many enemies, and they are all vicious, if I started to worry now, I would begin to lose my hold on this sector. So yes, even if your presence frightened me, I would not tell you. Besides, can’t you see for yourself?”

Brandt cocked his head. “I think you have some slight confusion regarding my abilities, I cannot read minds, if that is what you’re inferring. I am, however, a good guesser. Also, in regard to your earlier question, I did not need to come to your door to eavesdrop on you, I find that I can hear anything I’d like, if I should choose to listen intently.”

“This doesn’t explain why you have come to see me, a question you have purposely avoided all day, or so it seems, Avi. Should I even call you Avi? Is that actually your name? I doubt it.”

As Brandt replied, he fiddled with his cane, pressing the star against his wrist, eliciting absolutely nothing. No burn marks, nor screams of pain, or any type of effect. “My name, the whole concept of me, in fact, has been elaborately dreamt up. By who, you ask? Not Avi Brandt, but one who goes by many names. You have been dreamt into existence also, but by another. My real name doesn’t matter, because this name, this idea, is all tailored to this situation, and to you, just as my quite lovely suit, created by one of the wonderful tailors I have met, which is all of them, is tailored to me.”

Brandt took a sip of his martini, and motioned for Beaumont to do the same. He complied, taking a sip in synchronisation with Brandt, and then simultaneously coughing with him. “I’m afraid I might have overdid it with the vermouth, just a tad. Give it time though, it will grow on you. Anyway, as I was saying, the reasons behind my name are twofold: One, it is a Jewish name. Of course you would wish to see me once you had heard that, it could mean big business! Two? I like to think of Avi as short for ‘avarice’. That word definitely applies here.” 

Beaumont was following, but didn’t appear sated just yet. “The look, and dress? For that young secretary of yours, she didn’t need more than a little coaxing before she was knocking on your door, asking you to see me.”

“And the blindness?” Beaumont demanded, irritated by the lengthy and loquacious explanation.

“Ah, I added that for fun. Almost backfired too, but your charming secretary took pity on me. It’s easy to plant an idea in someone’s head, after all.”

Beaumont’s expression switched back to disbelief. “Are you saying that you brainwashed her? Brainwashed [b]us[/b]?”

“Brainwashed? What a bizarre concept. You do make me laugh, although you’re not the only one guilty of these assumptions. All of the superstition there is of enslavement and possession is merely that, superstition. No one or nothing has ever been possessed if it has not consented to it first, I can assure you. Consent is like the great binding force of this universe, thanks to its creator. One cannot subjugate another’s will, or force them to do anything really. Fortunately, while a person cannot be forced, there’s nothing stopping me from being suggestive, now is there?”

“You’ve made your point, now can we cut to the chase? This meeting makes me uncomfortable, I would like it over soon.”

Brandt took another sip of his martini. “Do you know why I enjoy a good martini? It reminds me of my surroundings. All of it is dull, tedious, bland, quotidian… You get my point. A simple martini allows me to draw pleasure from something that is equally dry, but not as tiresome. The world around us is perpetually transient, and we are all caught in its snare, despite carrying the illusion of autonomy. Even I, not as human as I may look, am I slave to my own purpose and desire. But I did not come to discuss existentialism with you, Theodore, I came to make my offer, and it is this: You may have whatever you want, to put it simply.”

“And in return, you want my soul.” Beaumont surmised.

Brandt laughed once again, though this time it was wild and untamed. After a few seconds, he had recovered enough to be able to speak. “Your soul?” he asked, a curious glint in his eye. “My, you are conceited, Theodore. Why would I want your soul? Your soul is tarnished and derelict, I have no use for it. If I were in the business of dealing with souls, as I occasionally am, I would not be hunting after men who have been corrupted by years of capitalism. Rather, I would be speaking to a monk, or a priest. No, Theodore, what I require from you is your influence. And I can give much for it. Longevity, immeasurable worldly pleasures, even the resurrection of your sister, or the permanence of your youth… All of these things are possible, and, in the interest of fairness, I would even let you draw up the contract! As I’ve said, nobody gets anywhere in this world without formal consent.” At this point, Brandt resigned to lean back in his seat, waiting for a response.

While Beaumont was offended by Brandt’s disregard for his soul, and worried for its state, he couldn’t help but feel wonder at his offers, although, none of them intrigued him especially. “The first thing I must say is that your request for my influence is ambiguous at best, I do not like being unsure as to what is expected of me. Second, your offers are a waste of time. I do not need longevity, I have a wife and two children that I love dearly, and I would not allow them to grow old without me. As for worldly pleasures, I’m quite wealthy. If I had any interest in hedonism, I would have ran off and started indulging myself years ago. My sister?She is long dead, anything you brought back would be apparition, and not her true self, if such a thing is even possible. Besides, it was a long time ago, and I have moved on, for the most part. As for my youth, I am Thirty-Eight years old, it has already passed. Unlike you, I’m unable to erase the wrinkles from my forehead as I see fit.”

“Hm, maybe you aren’t as simple as I thought. Then, if you won’t accept the offer for you alone, let it extend to the rest of your family too?”

“And make that decision alone? It isn’t my place to do that.”

Brandt began to stroke his chin in long, smooth motions, as if there should have been hair upon it. “What about your son?”

Beaumont’s eyes narrowed. “My son?”

At this, Brandt leaned forward, scooping his hand over the desk, and picking up the only framed photo, before settling back in his seat. “You know, the kid just wants to play baseball… It’s all he talks about, living his dream, playing for the Yankees one day… You took him to see them last month, when they were playing the Pirates, didn’t you? It’s funny, for all the effort you put into hiding it, you really are a kind and attentive father. That was a good game too, the Yankees played well, and afterwards, little Timothy was so full of energy! Until he fell down of course. Did the doctors ever work out what caused his respiratory problem, Theodore? I suppose they didn’t, because he still becomes congested and breathless, even in the school playground. Looks like poor Timothy isn’t going to get to live his dream, or even try to. He’ll likely have to settle for an office job, like his father. Which I suppose won’t be so bad, the money is good, if volatile, the secretary makes a great cup of coffee, and you do get some rather interesting visitors, don’t you?”

Beaumont felt the self-loathing permeating his body as he asked his next question. “You can fix my boy?” he muttered.

Brandt’s face brightened up. “Fix him? I’ll have him batting with the greats in no time! Just a quick little zap and there you go, problem solved! I’ll take that unfair hand life dealt him, shuffle the deck, and give him something a whole lot better, no questions asked. Think he’d like that?” Brandt leaned forward in his chair, giving Beaumont a sincere look. “Honestly, Theodore… It’s more than showing him what he can’t do for his whole childhood will ever accomplish.”

Beaumont wanted to grab at something and squeeze it, he could not believe what he was considering, but had thoughts for nothing but his son: He was running, playing, playing sports, training, living a normal life, with no limits. When he spoke next, it was again in a whisper. “What good is my influence? What would you need from me?”

“In the next couple of years, things are going to begin falling apart. Trust me, I predicted the Great War, and many other atrocities, I know when there’s a whiff of chaos in the air, and right now there’s a batch brewing almost as potent as that cuppa joe dear Annie loves so.” Brandt placed the picture back on the desk, facing Beaumont, his look dishevelled, and continued. “I do enjoy a good rhyme… Although, even a bad one has its place, from time to time. Oh, look, I did it again. Anyway, rather than bore you with long speeches, I’ll keep this to the point. In a few years’ time, the stock market will crash, and the banks will fail, for some time at least. How do I know this? I’m going to orchestrate it, of course. Well, I’ll be giving the orders at least. A band of close friends will do the dirty work. I suppose you don’t mind me calling us both friends? I know that I’m being a little presumptuous here, and that I stated earlier that I choose my friends based upon their looks, but I have recently grown some depth, in the last few minutes at least, and have subsequently discovered that you are becoming very dear to me. A dear asset, at least. Not indispensable, but an inconvenience if lost, much like a key. Yes, Theodore, you, and a few others like you, are the key to the realisation of my goals.”

Beaumont’s face was beginning to grow pale. “Why? Why do you want to do this? What do you gain from it?”

Brandt smiled. “[i]Moi[/i]? Only a small satisfaction, but I do not do these things for myself, I can assure you. If I wished to watch havoc be wreaked upon the world, I would take more vacations in Africa. No, this is for you. In fact, I suppose you could call me the world’s premier benefactor. As fiendish as I may appear, my magnanimity holds no bounds!” Reading Beaumont’s puzzled expression, Brandt pressed on. “Think about it. What do all great obstacles and tragedies incite? Change! And what has been the driving point, the catalyst to many of these obstacles, these tests for you all to overcome? You’re looking at it. Think of every great novel you have ever read, were the characters bettered by the difficulties they faced? Or did they remain unaffected, closed minded, and ignorant?”

“Your creator, he gave up on you long ago, he’s only interested once you’re already dead. But me? I see the value of mortal life! I want to enrich it, mould it, heighten the experience… Challenge, and then reward the participants! This desire drives me forward, but it is all necessary. Do I wish to rule the world, and all of creation? My, I couldn’t think of anything worse. Think of your creator, look at where that got him.” For a small moment, a hint of frustration seemed to creep into Brandt’s otherwise smooth and impeccable voice. “Thousands upon thousands of years of wallowing in self-pity, lamenting his failed creations, as they erected places of worship, and knelt to him daily. But no, he was past caring, he wanted nothing to do with his little [b]project[/b] anymore. And who should be left to pick up the pieces? Me, humanity’s scorn personified.”

“And yes, I’m sure there’s a large part of your conscience, another atrocious feature of the human brain, I might add, telling you that I am still a totally evil being, because my decisions result in the death and despair of many. Well, let me put that thought to bed. The short answer is, you may be right. Morality is so ambiguous and undefined, it’s almost like that gin, sitting on your little bar counter. By all means, that drink should be utterly repulsive, but put it in the right mix, and bam! A lovely martini, and that’s just one of the things you can do with it. The question is, when you remove morality, what am I? A concept, a tool, a means to an end. To not utilise such a thing would be wasteful, yes? And we all must admit, that when there is an advantage to be gained from an action, each of us is a slave to our own rather selfish rationalities.”

When Beaumont didn’t speak, his expression harrowed and contemplative, Brandt made to stand, grabbing his cane as he did so. “It’s funny. I put so much into my look, from the suit I am wearing, to the face I am sport, and yet, I will likely never look this way again. Well, except for the eyes, those were quite natural, in fairness. Now, I must take my leave, I’m sure you understand, I have plenty of people to see today. No rest for the wicked, I believe is the common phrase? How applicable.”

“What about the accent?” Beaumont replied, seemingly in a stupor, his tone vacuous, his eyes affixed to the small photograph. 

“Ah, I thought you would never ask. The accent is a peculiar thing that I have never been able to place, not long enough to gain any distance from it at least. I’m afraid I am stuck with it, or rather it with me, if I really am such terrible company. But no, I do believe it has been heavily influenced by the Israelites over the years, although I can promise you that nothing else has.” He eyed his cane as he spoke. “I said to you earlier that I was quite fond of stoicism, and while this is true you have seen a slight crack in my semblance, so I will tell you something, as a reward.” Brandt eyed Beaumont, who tore his attention from the photo for long enough to regard Brandt, the very antithesis of what he had initially claimed to be.

Once he was sure that he had Beaumont’s full attention, he spoke, in a whisper, almost conspiratorial. “While I am a fan of all things straight faced, I have a much greater affection for one other thing, something that I exercise conservatively, and take care to only use when it is absolutely needed. That thing is suggestion, Theodore, simple suggestion.”

As Brandt donned his shades for the last time, the brief period of eye contact was broken, and Beaumont blinked, before slowly looking around the room, as if taking in his surroundings for the first time in a while. Seeing Brandt stood, shades on, cane in hand, he stood also, upon impulse more than anything, before asking: “When will we write up our contract, Avi? I will work diligently, as long as you promise me that my son will be healthy. If it is truly as you say, and I am doing the world a service, despite the vile means, then I am willing to try.”

“Are you truly?” Brandt asked, slowly moving towards the door, tapping his cane as he went.”

“I believe so. I would like to consider my terms at greater length, how will I find you when I am ready?”

Brandt turned to face Beaumont directly. “Now listen closely for this is important. You must wait until the witching hour, stand in front of your mirror, with the light of six candles, and six candles only, and say my name, as written in the holy books, three times, no more, no less. Pronunciation guides are available in the glossary of any Gideon’s— Oh, who am I kidding, I’ll leave your secretary with my telephone number, or I can write it for you now.”

“I would prefer to take it personally.” Beaumont said with hesitance, Brandt’s joke going completely over his head. “I would rather it if Annie was not in any way involved in our dealings.”

“I make you right.” Brandt nodded. “A good and honest girl such as her does not deserve to be corrupted so, I shall see to it that she does not see me again after today, which I’m sure will upset her a great deal. Now, as I have said, I am terribly sorry, but I must take my leave, I have lunch with the Secretary of State in half an hour, won’t he be surprised?” At this point, Brandt grinned, his mouth devoid of any lineage or sign of age, one last time. 

“But really, Beaumont, I have enjoyed your company, although we should get out next time, for dear Annie’s sake of course. We could catch a show! I am quite a fan of this newly emerging jazz. Now, I’ll expect a response within the next fortnight, which I’m sure will be ample time for you to discuss it with your loved ones, think on it, or even drink on it. If I have not heard from you on the 15th day, I will assume you have declined my offer, and will become unreachable. If that is what you want, I will understand, and you will not hear from me again.”

“Do you not worry that I will speak to others of this encounter? Journalists even?”

Brandt laughed once again. “Theodore, if you wish to talk, then by all means, talk! Honestly, if you can get a reputable paper to print your story, then I’ll consider you a worthy rival. Now,” Brandt handed him a small card with some numbers scribbled on. “Is there anything else?”

“No,” Beaumont shook his head. “There is nothing, not that I can think of at least.” 

“Then goodbye, Theodore, I will see myself out. Thank you for your hospitality.”

With that, the door opened, a dark cerulean shape passing through like mist, and then closed once again. The air was silent.

Theodore Beaumont walked back to his desk, back to the paper with its insignificant headline, back to the NYSE papers, their contents as foreboding as ever, back to the typewriter, which had never been given time to amass dust, and back to the martini sat on his desk, mixed by the Devil himself.
Beaumont took the drink in hand, sniffing it, eyeing it, and then eyeing the photo which still stood upon his desk. Gazing at it with determination, he took a second sip of his cocktail, his throat screaming in protest. [i]It really is quite dry, isn’t it?[/i]

As he continued to look upon the photo, drink in hand, a different sensation seemed to gnaw at his throat. At first, he dismissed it as nothing, but the intensity grew, ripping and pulling at his neck, though the pain was certainly not concrete. It persisted, relentlessly, until he was able to reach a hand forwards, grabbing the photo and laying it over the table, where it could not see him anymore. With a painless sigh of relief, he placed the drink down as carefully as he could, allowing it to spill everywhere. As he leaned forwards, elbows on the desk, and head in his hands, he considered the complexities that had presented themselves in his life up until this point, and just how simple they had really been. A blind Jew walking with a cane would hear his soft whimpers, he knew that.